Chapter Text
Hours later, Sun wakes a few winks after dawn. She has never been able to acquire a decent night's rest after staying up for multiple days. Maybe she'll take a nap in the afternoon… For now, she gathers a few supplies from her pack and skitters down to the baths. The Tenakth are either very early risers or very late risers, because she passes only a handful of people. Even in the baths, there are only three others. Which suits her just fine. She's no stranger to communal baths, yet these Tenakth certainly see her as a stranger. Unsuprising, it's too early for anyone to have been given a memo about her. Thankfully, no one brandishes any weapons her way or demands what an Utaru is doing in their midst. It's either not the first time a stranger has stayed the night in the Grove and taken advantage of its baths, or no one would make it this far into the Grove just to take a bath, so whoever is here is meant to be here. Both are likely to be true if this Outlander Aloy apparently participates in the Arena without challenge. Though there might be more story to that Sun hasn't yet heard.
Regardless, she spends a full hour thorough washing her hair (and a quick refresh of her body) until she no longer feels grimy. After two rounds of shampoo, she combs in a leave-in conditioner and scrunches it through. Then she gathers it together and wraps it in a cotton towel, letting it sit while she cleans up. A blissful smile at the notion of fresh, clean hair decorates her face all the way back to Hekarro's room. This time, she'd even brought clothes to the baths, so she isn't sneaking back naked.
She gets about one foot in the door before she's accosted.
"Sun! Where have you been?!" Dekka demands, standing in full armour and paint, in the middle of Hekarro's living room. The man himself is half-dressed in only pants, standing next to her with a pinched brow. He sways on his feet, threatening to tip ass over teakettle at any moment.
"Never mind me, what's he doing out of bed?! Look at him! He's in no state for, for—for anything but rest!"
"I was—" Hekarro starts to say until Dekka holds up her hand, swiftly cutting him off.
"No, she is correct. We have found her now. You should be in bed, resting."
"I am more than capable of standing for this conversation," Hekarro argues, his words slurring slightly.
"Your bone broke through your arm after you crashed a Sunwing!" Sun exclaims, poking him squarely in the chest. "Not to mention the fact that it's infected because you had to return to the Grove immediately. I mean, just look at yourself! You can barely keep your eyes open, and you're frightfully pale! If you are going to remain this stubborn, I will tie you to the bed so you have no choice but to rest."
Out of the corner of her eye, Sun catches Dekka looking rapidly between the two of them with her eyebrows nearly in her hairline.
Hekarro sighs heavily, casting a mournful glance at the kitchen counter: "I was only going to make breakfast…"
The thick guilt in his voice strikes her, a soft, sympathetic smile settling across her lips. The finger poked into his chest melts away, a fluttering touch cascading down his torso as she drops her hand.
"They have started to serve breakfast downstairs. How about we bring up our plates and eat together? So long as you wait here for us," Dekka offers, easily backing Sun's argument up despite her falter.
"Very well," Hekarro concedes and stumbles back to his room.
Sun trails after him, ensuring he doesn't trip on the furniture and fluffing his pillows so he's comfortable. Satisfied he won't run off, she turns back to Dekka and finds her standing in the doorway, watching with a proud, almost satisfied look in her eyes. Given Hekarro's stubbornness, Sun figures she's merely proud that they managed to wrangle the Chief back to bed. After all, she likely walked in on the two of them arguing about such nonsense.
"Are you at least going to tell us where you have been, first?" Dekka demands as Sun walks back to her.
She stops mid-step, scrunching her eyebrows: "What?"
"You weren't here. I'd thought…" Hekarro starts from the bed, listing off.
"He panicked as if you had run off in the night," Dekka states plainly for him.
"Oh! No, I was washing my hair—I hate sleeping on it while wet, so I didn't do it last night. Honestly, I thought you'd still be asleep by the time I got back, or I would have left a note," Sun explains sheepishly. To avoid looking either of them in the eyes, she tips her head forward and unties the towel, letting her damp curls fall onto her shoulders. She hangs the towel inside the bathroom on a hook near the door.
"Hekarro doesn't sleep," Dekka scoffs, casting a pointed look at the man curled up in bed.
"He looks pretty asleep to me."
There's a beat where Hekarro should speak. Both of them watch him, awaiting a response, only for a trumpeting snore to break the silence. A giggle escapes them, and they slip out of the room lest they wake him.
"Normally, he doesn't sleep," Dekka corrects herself, guiding Sun through the winding halls. "He is always up before me and awake long after I head to bed. In all my years, I have never known him to do bed rest. Even when he was a young warrior in the Lowland Clan, he would work through injury and illness."
"Well, not this time; I won't let him."
Dekka's head falls back in thundering laughter, the crest of her Mohawk bouncing with each heaving breath.
"If you are half as stubborn as he is, you will give him a run for his shards!"
"What? Do you not believe me?"
"Hun, I have seen many a healer try—even Kotallo—to make that man rest. Not one has emerged victorious. He cares deeply for his people, even at the detriment of his own health. Once, he had a stomach bug so bad that he was vomiting every few minutes. So he had Fashav sit with him in the bathroom and teach him how to write. Poor Fashav… they ended up sharing the illness."
"Fashav, wasn't he the Carja Marshal?"
"Correct. I suppose news of the Embassy has reached the Utaru, then?"
"I kept an ear out for anything to do with the Tenakth. I wanted to…" Sun sighs, shaking her head at herself. "I had wanted to find whoever saved me, so I could thank them properly. I know how the Tenakth view someone who is maimed, and I did not want them living with that unwarranted guilt."
"I suppose you did not expect this, though?"
"Land Gods—er, by the Ten—, no. But I would not change it. I spent years living in that outpost, with pity as my only company. I wasn't even considered the outpost's primary healer due to my injury! It feels nice to be taken seriously here. Even if people are still staring." She nods her head pointedly to a passing Tenakth whose eyes are caught on her leg. The Tenakth quickly averts their gaze, fixated on the ground instead.
Dekka chuckles and shakes her head. Sun can see a cheeky smile pulling at her cheeks.
"What has he gotten himself into this time?" she whispers to herself.
"Pardon?"
"Don't worry about it—" she pats Sun's shoulder— "For now, do you have any questions? It is my job, after all, to teach others about our ways."
"Yes, a lot! Even with the veterans and the Red Raids, there's still so much I feel I'm missing to even call myself a Tenakth!"
"Ask away," Dekka motions, pushing aside a large curtain.
Beyond the curtain is a hall filled with tables and chairs. A large countertop runs the length of the far wall, inset with trays filled with food. There are at least a hundred Tenakth here, milling about, waiting in line and eating at tables. Dekka guides Sun over to stand in line, handing her a tray while motioning for her to continue the conversation.
"Is this—should I really be asking here?" Sun squeaks, suddenly aware of how many eyes are peering at the strange woman at the Chaplain's side.
"Do not mind them, they have all walked at my side at one point. It is part of the integration process, as we run a great deal differently from the other clans. They will stare, yes, but they would be staring whether you were Lowland, Sky or Desert clan. Utaru merely earns you a few more of the curious ones."
"Alright," Sun mumbles shakily, trying to turn to Dekka as much as possible without looking foolish. "Can we start with decorations? I understand they're to mark deeds, but what is the significance of putting paint on or washing it off?"
Dekka's eyebrows skyrocket before she can school herself into a more neutral expression.
"Very well," she proceeds cautiously, as if cornering a large predator. "As you know, we are a fierce people who hold strength above all else. At our most basic form, we are no more than weapons or tools for our Chief to direct. Thus, we paint our bodies with our victories to keep a record of our deeds in death. It helps others know the burial rites we require. There are some amongst us who even believe our markings help us obtain Elysiven—the paradise after—when we are dead. This is an old teaching, not many believe it still. Most believe our bodies return to the Earth to bring forth new warriors.
To strip a warrior bare of paint, as you asked, is to strip them down to their ink and scars. You cannot remove those—you cannot remove who they are or were. Most paint hides scars, which are permanent, nonconsensual markings of the body, and more sacred than bare ink. They paint the Tenakth's lifepath, beyond what they wish to be remembered. This act is a decree of judgment only performed between courting pairs; in the moment you become equals, free to judge the other without pain of consequence. Accepting them is declaring to the Ten that their deeds make them worthy of you. It is the most intimate of acts—where sex becomes more than relief and blossoms into, as the lovesick fools say, making love."
A large Tenakth leans in from behind them, a wolfish smirk making his paint crease: "You planning on going around, removing others' paint, bunny? 'Cause I'll let you see my scars."
Dekka merely turns her head, and the man rears back.
"Woah! Chaplain! Didn't see you there!"
"You would do well to steer clear of such remarks to one Hekarro has claim over," Dekka says hauntingly, fixing him with a disapproving glare that takes years of sticky-handed grandchildren to master.
"The Chief! Keejsah, why did you—why are you letting me go around hitting on the Chief's claim?" the man stammers to his friend, who has stepped a good few feet away from him.
"No one made you, Raoy. This—" she gestures broadly— "clusterfuck is all your fault."
Raoy's eyes flicker between his friend and the pair in front of him for a solid twenty seconds before he shoves his foot in his mouth and runs off.
"I wasn't that hungry anyway!"
Sun stands there, blinking at the space where the man once stood, brows knitted.
"Hekarro has what?"
"Claim. You are duty-bound to his bedside right now, after all. You do not have time for such dalliances. Besides, I may be old, but I am not blind."
"… right. What about the other part?"
The line shuffles forward; they're nearly at the front.
"What other part?"
"Repainting someone."
"Ah, that is much simpler. Repainting someone is an act only done between a courting pair or a bonded pair. One must intimately know their partner's deeds in order to repaint them. To do so is not only to know your partner in exacting detail, but to understand them. To be worthy of them, for you have mastered the battle strategy of their heart."
Sun can't help but snort softly at the fighting metaphor. She had started to wonder where Dekka was keeping those hidden.
"Simple enough. That part, at least, is the same with Utaru… for the most part. Close friends, healers and family members can help reapply paint. Wait—don't you have Tenakth, whose job it is to paint others?"
"We do; they are given special permissions to do so, as some warriors will get too injured in battle or children will be unable to remember their own paint. Their main job, however, is to apply new paint for the first time; they assign the achievements and designs that Tenakth will wear throughout life. However, we do not have one here in the Grove and cannot make the journey to one nearby. Under these circumstances, such jobs fall to me.
Painting is also part of bonding, as mates get special symbols both in life and in death. These help signfiy who the body should be returned to, in the event of demise, or who the warrior should be buried with. I have mine—" Dekka pulls aside a portion of her chest harness to reveal an interlocking chain pressed against her ribs, next to her breast. Sun counts several other smaller chain links coming off of it.
"But that's a tattoo," Sun points out, having learnt the difference between paint and paint over the top of ink recently.
"Yes," Dekka chuckles, "Courting pairs often paint their marks on, and bonded pairs will get theirs tattooed. Death marks are only inked once the body is identified and confirmed. Often, people wait until then to acknowledge it with a mark."
"Huh… and what about armour?"
They reach the front of the line and shuffle down the counter, filling three plates. Dekka allows Sun to do Hekarro's, though she does add several items to it by the end of the line. They continue to talk during the serving period and on the walk back to Hekarro's room.
"Armour is more delicate, as it is deeply personal to a Tenakth and easily broken. One cannot break paint or ink, or even make scars worse. Just as our decorations paint our achievements, armour reflects our stations and triumphs. It acts as a second language; we make new armour out of the machines we have slain and the battlefields we have conquered. In turn, we only remove it for those we trust, especially when we are in positions of power. As well, only our 'mates can remove it, unless we are too gravely injured to do so ourselves. Removing pieces hold the same connotations as removing another's paint, only slightly less intimate—if you choose to leave the paint on. Even when we are at a healer's mercy, we remove only what is necessary. Which can make healing certain injuries difficult."
"Don't I know it," Sun mutters as they turn into the upper-station hallway. Dekka arches an eyebrow, prompting her to continue. "His ribs are bruised, something I did not find out until we had reached the Grove. For all I know, one might be broken; I haven't had a proper chance to look them over. If I had known, I would have never let him leave Plainsong, let alone stand!"
Dekka scoffs: "Hekarro likely knew as much. He has hid many a thing from me to avoid resting. Do not beat yourself up over his stubbornness; you will only dull your spear."
"I was asked to be Tenakth because of my healing abilities. If I am unable to even ascertain the Chief's injuries, let alone keep him in bed, then I do not deserve this position."
Dekka stops, letting go of the door to Hekarro's room. It falls shut with a light click of beads against each other. Turning to Sun, she is cast in the creeping haze of morning light, which draws out the wrinkles of wisdom creasing her face into a stern, steady gaze.
"Treating Hekarro's injuries and keeping him in bed are two very different things. We do not ask more of our healers beyond the treatment of injuries and do not hold them accountable for what a warrior chooses to mask. Make no mistake, he knew his ribs were bruised. You treated him as best you could, based on the knowledge you had access to at the time. Beyond that, well, I fear the only way to get that man to stay in bed is to sit on him."
Sun snorts—she can't stop herself! Despite her dour mood, she was always weak to jokes. Even particularly bad ones.
Dekka pats her on her shoulder: "I'm sure you will find some way we have yet to try to get him to rest. We do not extend invitations to our ranks lightly. Especially not Hekarro. So, please, do not think such a minor thing makes you unworthy of kinship. Being Tenakth is not something anyone can take from you, not even the Chief. Regalla openly challenges him, yet she still remains Tenakth. It is our identity, just as Utaru will always be part of yours. You do not have to forget one to have the other; meld the two together and make your strongest self. It will only make your clan stronger in turn."
"Thank you, Chaplain. It—it means a lot to finally have somewhere I want to call home," Sun whispers softly, hanging her head, too afraid to meet her eyes during such a charged confession. "I know it has barely been a day, but I feel wanted here. That is not something I have felt in a very long time."
"Other clans might not be as open-minded, given your heritage and maimed status. But none will openly challenge the Chief's ruling. They have less ground to stand on now, given Marshal Kotallo's shared status. If a Marshal can retain his title and strength, even if he still needs to find both within himself, then you have nothing to prove either."
"If we keep going on like this, I fear I might cry," Sun sniffles, feeling the tears well up in her eyes.
"Well now, we wouldn't want that on your first true day amongst us," Dekka says, swiftly pulling back the beaded curtain to usher Sun inside. "Let us eat, then we may celebrate your accomplishments by decorating your skin!"
The two of them round the corner to the living area, only to find Hekarro standing at the kitchen counter, fiddling one-handed with a pouch. Or, at least, he was. Now, he stands stalk still, staring at them like a deer caught in a machine's light. As if he is hoping that if he doesn't move, they won't notice him. In front of him is a teapot and three mugs, one with a honey dipper still inside the pot. The man himself is dressed in loose pants and an unbuttoned shirt that hangs at his sides, showing off his unpainted chest (the sleeves are very loose, which likely enabled him to get it over the splint easily). His hair is still braided, catching stray sunlight in the flyaways.
"And what are you doing out of bed?" Dekka scolds him, as Sun seems to have lost her voice at the soft sight in front of her.
"I am making tea, as is customary," Hekarro states plainly, managing to get his fingers into the bag and spread it open.
Setting the trays on the cold sand of the fire pit/stove, Sun crosses the room and takes the pouch from him. He has the audacity to look startled while his hand shakes too hard to keep any leaves in the scoop! She's surprised there isn't more of a mess across the counter in the form of little strands of honey. And she's certainly not going to question how he managed to fill the kettle with water.
"Sit, I will do this. You are in no state to prepare anything for anyone, though your hospitality is appreciated," she cajoles him, adding three scoops of tea to the teapot. Then, without giving him a chance, she picks up the kettle and takes it over to the fire pit.
Hekarro and Dekka say nothing as she lights the fire behind the little metal grate, letting the fire heat the sand above and the metal pot in the centre. Thankfully, Dekka does demonstrate what to do with the kettle by taking a small bowl off her tray and nestling it in the sand to heat its contents. Sun mimics her, letting the hot sand bring the kettle to a boil while she fetches the cups and teapot. They sit on a low tray next to her, just as Hekarro sits across from her, having wiped the shock off his face.
"Do you two mind if I—?" Sun gestures to her prosthetic.
"If it makes you comfortable, we will not hinder you," Hekarro agrees quickly, motioning for her to proceed.
"Perfect," she sighs and removes her prosthetic. "Now! Which of these need to be cooked, and which can I eat as they are?"
Dekka informs her of the various preparation requirements for the dishes they have brought back. Most of them apparently taste better when heated, so Sun nestles their bowls into the sand until the stove becomes an array of small bowls between the three of them. Almost like stepping stones. The three share dishes with each other as if sharing a successful hunt, offering bits of food as Hekarro catches Dekka up to speed on his side of the story. Dekka asks for Sun's afterward, a little myrthe in her eyes, whispering that she does not fully believe Hekarro's valiant description of their trip back. Hekarro pleads silently across the stove, so Sun concedes a few truths for falsehoods, merely to preserve the Chief's dignity. She's certain Dekka sees straight through each fabrication, and yet says nothing. Merely laughs when they recount Erend and Kotallo's nervous dance around each other.
Eventually, the kettle boils, the tea is poured, and the last few morsels of food are eaten. Dekka clears away the dishes, yet leaves the fire running (the proper thing to do, apparently, when a resident is in the home). Sun drags her pack from around the corner—as it's within her reach—to her and roots in its contents until she procures a jar of roots.
"Here, chew this—don't swallow it," she instructs, handing one to Hekarro.
He reaches for it hesitantly, holding it between his forefinger and thumb to properly examine it.
"Oh, I'd be a fool to poison you now. It's a painkiller, so you can sleep more comfortably. Perhaps then we won't find you up and about making tea by yourself."
"I trust you. The root merely looked familair." He emphasizes his point by chewing the root.
"You looked skeptical at best."
"I'm—" Hekarro is cut off by a yawn that forces him to cover his mouth in order to preserve his dignity.
"Tired?" Sun offers. He nods his head. She stands. "Come on, let's get you back to bed. Dekka will keep me company; apparently, she's going to assign my decorations."
"I should be present for that," Hekarro barters, rising to his feet regardless.
"Think of it this way: the next time you see me, there'll be a little puzzle for you to solve. Who knows, maybe I'll finally understand all of your great deeds without having to ask." She lets him lean on her as they walk the short distance to his room.
"I would gladly tell you each and every story. You need only to ask."
Sun is glad he's a full head taller than her (not that she's particularly short!), at least for the fact that it hides the flush creeping across her cheeks. With how important achievements are to the Tenakth, she knows that the comment holds significant weight to him. Likely more than it does to her, though not without a considerably slim gap, as she has always loved hearing warriors and diplomats retell their greatest triumphs. They made the world feel alive, if only for a moment.
"I would love to listen when you're feeling better. For now, please rest; even a blinded machine could tell your ribs are causing you pain. Those will only heal when you allow them to."
"Very well," he sighs, climbing into bed and letting them draw the covers up. "Wake me when you're finished, so that I may welcome you properly to the Tenakth."
"Of course." Not. I am no fool, Hekarro; you are fickle enough as it is to get to sleep. I refuse to disturb what little rest you allow yourself to take.
Satisfied, Hekarro allows his eyes to shut, and Sun draws the curtain, tucking him away for a late-morning nap. Dekka is waiting by the door, a smug look on her face and a notable lack of serving trays. She ushers Sun from the room and down the hall to her own room, away from prying eyes and any easily disturbed slumbering Chieftains.