; engulfed
The weather's turned.
The return to the Reach was dry, at least, though the air was humid the entire time; Orella had woken up early this morning to discover an overcast sky, a pervasive gloom. Not the sort of weather she'd hoped for, but she knows Ashelia has made a long journey here at her request, and she cannot put it off. Not when she knows Helisent will want to leave again, and soon.
At nearing footsteps, she breaks from her reverie and finally looks away from the great statue of Rhalgr. Her eyes feel strange for having spent so long staring up at Him. "... Ashelia," she says as she realises who it is, and gets to her feet respectfully. She looks more at peace than she did the last time Ashelia saw her; fuller in the cheeks and not quite so sinewy in the arms, though she's still alert and somewhat tense. "... Thank you for coming," she says, and she even sounds rested. "... I like what you've done with your hair."
Ashelia runs a hand through her hair a little awkwardly; she still isn't used to having short hair and isn't entirely fond of the style she's managed, but she appreciates the compliment from one of the very few people who saw her with her hair bleached.
"It's good to be back," she replies. She notes the changes that have come over Orella and knows that the same is true of her; Edge has said as much.
"Have you... been back long?" It's clear that whatever is on Orella's mind, she's hesitant to bring it to the fore. Small talk has never been her speciality, and certainly not when there are other things that demand her attention. An invitation, for example.
"Not very long, no." She glances around, looking somewhat impatient. Or perhaps just antsy. She, much like her father, no longer knows what to do with herself now that Ala Mhigo is free. "It's good to see you again, but if you don't mind my asking... why the Reach?"
At that, Orella shrugs, though she can't quite quash a tiny smile. "Ingvald and I are not the only palace guards here," she says, careful not to mention royalty too loudly. "Berend. A... Well, a jackass," she says with a shrug, "But a friend, too. We haven't quite decided what we're doing yet." She hesitates, looks past Ashelia. "It's... close to the Peaks. I-" And she takes a breath, careful to hold herself still, not to let anything spill over. "I think I mentioned some time back of an- of someone I- I'd like to introduce you to," she manages. "If you're up for a journey, that is."
Ashe accepts the information about Berend and tries to file it away for her future reference. At the mention of a journey, however, her eyes light up. "Yes, of course. I've nowhere else to be for the remainder of the day."
Orella snorts at the look Ashelia gets - still just a kid, she thinks - and turns to pick up her sword, swinging it easily onto her back. She's had practise enough, by now. "I've been travelling with Helisent," she says over her shoulder as she leads the way, "So you'll have to forgive my chattering. I've gotten used to being a teacher again, it seems, and it's on the way past old history..."
Orella doesn't recognise the guardsman on gate duty as she leads Ashelia through the easternmost gate, but she nods at him all the same. Berend has taught her a few faces and a few names, whenever they spend time together - which is rare in itself, as the Resistance keeps him working hard despite the capital's liberation.
The tunnel leads them to the long-ruined remains of the Emprise temple, and the silence they share is comfortable, continues being so even as they march onward. There is much and more ground to cover, and the pace has been slower and easier with Helisent, having no particular destination in mind.
Still, Ashe asks questions here and there, and Orella offers what answers she has of the monks, of the land, of the rubble and ruins, though the closer they get to the Wash, the clearer the Watchtower has become in the distance. All she can offer is a simple, "That used to be Ingvald's village," and it does nothing to clear the storm that Ashelia's moue has become.
Ashe has been up this way before, but it's good to be back. She smiles at the purple flowers, thinking of the ones Edge and A'zaela picked for her. She stares up at Imperatoris, at the cannon that is no longer functional. Even now, it fills her with a feeling of rage, perhaps foolishly. "A shame," she murmurs in regards to Ingvald's village, but she says little more on that topic.
What little conversation there had been dies off as the triple peaks stare down at them, both of them still feeling the Empire's eyes heavy upon their backs as they turn northeast of the river, and eventually come upon the incline that leads them to their destination.
Orella scowls at the beasts blocking the mountain path. "Suuds," she explains. "Shites, the lot of them. They didn't use to be so prolific, but I suppose with everything... Well. There's a waterfall ahead, can you see it?"
"I... yes, I can,” Ashe murmurs.
Orella nods. "Get moving. I'll take their attention and meet you there." With that, she draws her sword and stalks off into the main road. It seems a well-practised motion now, and she's thankful for the way the weight finally feels comfortable to her.
Ashelia makes to draw her gun, then thinks better of it; she would much rather leave Orella to her own plans, no matter what they are. She has only ever heard of this place, but those from the Peaks speak of it with reverence: Hidden Tear, a place where people went to mourn, before the Empire banned it for its religious significance.
Orella's rolling her shoulders when she walks up the steps, surprisingly at ease. The sight of other Suuds in the area darkens her face, however, and as she reaches Ashelia's side, she's muttering. "Assholes didn't even bother to send out patrols to clear the roads. Well," she says, a little louder, and turns her back on the tree, sits on the brickwork with one leg swung carelessly over the other. "Here we are. You heard of this place before?"
"I have," she replies. She wonders if it might be worth sending out some of her own people to clear the area, but her thoughts are drawn to Orella's movement, and she sits down beside the woman gladly.
With the clouds becoming evermore pervasive, even Specula Imperatoris is not quite so commanding, and without their gaze focused quite so strongly on the land below, Orella finds it a little easier to speak, though she can't look at Ashelia.
"I haven't been here since my grandparents passed," she says softly. "Never had the time, or couldn't get away, or- Well, you know the rest," she adds, and then pauses, thinking. Considering.
"My little brother," she starts, softer than before, "Should be buried here.”
At that, Ashe averts her gaze. "A peaceful place for anyone, I should think." Still, she notes the words "should be" - and if this is Orella's first time coming here in so long, then what of her brother? She leaves these questions unasked.
"...Thank you for bringing me."
Orella snorts. "Not if you believe the legends. Old women wailing something dreadful behind the falls. He'd have hated it," she continues. "He was a hellion. Always too loud, too excitable. Made me play swords with him whenever mother and father brought him to the capital." From the way she's talking, it's clear there's no venom in any of this. "I always wondered what he'd be like, grown up. He'd be..." and she has to really think about it, "Gods. Not even thirty."
"Around my age, then," Ashe says. Something catches in her voice. She's aware of the stone beneath her, of the spray from the falls, of the damnable towers in the near distance.
Orella just nods, watching the Suuds lumber in the distance, remembering this place the way it used to be, clear and cared for. She realises she knows little of Ashelia, in that moment - not how old she is, nor what her favourite foods are, not what her plans for the future are. The silence between them stretches out forever as she ponders all this, as she remembers those selfsame details about her brother.
And then, so quiet she might not have moved her lips at all: "I killed him."
The gasp that leaves Ashe is quiet, stifled; she doesn't know how to react or what to say, but she feels the grief in those three words. It was the last thing she was expecting, and maybe that is what prompts her eyes to fill with tears. She looks down at the earth to keep them from Orella.
"He should be here," Orella says eventually, lips numb. "Should be, but I don't know what happened to his body. It was- he left home to join the Resistance, back when it didn't even have a name. Stupid boy," she mutters, and runs a hand through her hair. "I don't know how the Garleans found them, but it was my unit sent to deal with them. He was- it had to be me," she says, and her fist balls up within her hair tightly. "I had to. I couldn't let them take him, or- do it badly. I- I had to. Quick. Clean. It was- it was dark, and he fought back- they all did. I kept my helmet on. He didn't deserve to know it was me."
"I'm so sorry," Ashe whispers. Her heart aches for her friend, another reminder that the Empire's cruelties will never truly be washed away with liberation, or with bloodshed, or perhaps even with time. "We'll remember him here. Or at the... the mausoleum in the Lochs. Or both." The words sound so desperate - futile - even to her.
"Why bother?" the words escape Orella before she can stop herself, but she finds she doesn't want to take them back. "He's long dead, he doesn't care for stones or thoughts or-" she cuts herself off, lets her hand fall from her hair once again. "Commemorate him and you'll have to do the same for every person that fell since Theodoric took the throne. You'd be doing that for a long, long time, for people who don't know who you are or what you're doing. I carry him with me, and when I die, that'll be it. As it should be." She takes another deep breath. "I suppose I wanted to... indulge. You remind me of him, sometimes, is all."
"Thank you." The words are soft; for all Orella spoke of how brash and foolish and loud the boy was, she can only take the comparison as a compliment. But there's some other thought on her mind, and when she voices it, she's angry. Not with Orella or herself, but with something well beyond any one person. "Kugane was... I wanted to love it in the same way Edge does. But I'd look to the district where all the foreign embassies were located, and I'd see them there. The Empire. Still sneering at you, able to say and do what they like because they can get away with it." She has to take a deep breath to redivert her frustration. "Why shouldn't we commemorate them all? Theodoric, perhaps I'm in no position to speak for, but... gods, it's been only a moon and it's like the world is already eager to forget it. All of it."
For the first time, Orella wonders what Berend thinks of it all, how he'd earned his place in the Resistance, still taking care of his wife's lance, and resolves to ask him. They'd not been so dissimilar, once, but perhaps time has changed him as it has her. "Some of us," she reminds Ashelia softly, "Want to forget. Not that we can, but..." and she shakes her head, helpless in the face of this. "What would you do?" she asks instead.
"I don't know," Ashe admits. "I..." She has to stop for this next part, truly think on it. "I don't want revenge. To repay their cruelty. But neither is it enough for us to simply pretend that we should move on from it all. The Empire is no different or better for our victory, and we do all the world a disservice by setting aside that fact."
Orella finds she cannot quite disagree with that, but neither can she fully agree. She wants someone to be accountable, and the crown prince- the mad king- every one of them who could have been held accountable is dead. "I don't know what I want," she murmurs. "And I've spent a long time thinking about it. There's one or two heads I'd yet like to crack, to hold accountable- but as for the rest? Nescio. And I don't think I ever will."
She recognizes the Garlean word like a punch to the gut - something from her father's subconscious. "We'll have time, I suppose." The words are bitter as they leave her. "And in the end, it isn't any of us who will decide which histories are told."
"I suppose not." she's never thought about the far-off future like this before, but there are things worth living for, now. It's still novel, to her. Hesitantly at first, Orella raises a hand, lifts it to Ashelia's head, and musses the hair. A familiar gesture. A well-practised move all siblings know. "You've done good work, Ashelia. Never doubt that."
Ashe gives a little bit of a start at the contact but smiles nonetheless; a breathy little giggle even escapes her. "...It's good to hear," she admits, and she means it. "I can only hope-" She doesn't know quite how to finish her thought in a tactful manner. Hope I've lived up to what your order was meant to represent, perhaps.
"...Thank you for taking me here," she finishes.
Orella has quite enough doubts for the both of them, and she ruffles Ashe's hair again before stretching and getting to her feet, offering the girl a hand. "Come on," she says. "Let's get back to the Reach, and I'll introduce you to Berend. And you," she says decisively, "Can tell me about Kugane."
