Chapter Text
“It is with most utmost urgency that I bring this matter forth, your luminescence.”
The Sun-Priest unrolls the first parchment and clears his throat, what follows is an impressive list of the latest skirmishes between priests and the carja nobles. Erend counts five other scrolls in the arms of the other sun-priest.
The noblemen and women waiting to be received by the sun king don’t seem to be bothered by the expected wait, they don’t have much to do, Erend guesses, but he sees some try to move closer to the guards when Vuadis starts listing off the names of nobles that have personally offended him. That means Avad will have to listen to their versions of the quarrels too.
The Sun-king nods approvingly, looking oh so concerned by the matter at hand.
Erend stifles a yawn.
He wonders if that look can be learned or if you have to be born with it. He could never be bothered to, he usually just tries not to listen too attentively during these meetings, so his face has nothing to involuntarily react to, causing a great political scandal and whatnot.
Not listening is quite easy, he’s been in Meridian for a year now, but the Carja dialect is still a bit elusive to him if he’s not paying attention.
Ersa is, as usual, unbothered by the daily complaints and focused on writing something on a scroll.
“Don’t I have to be on patrol or something?” He whispers to her. She elbows him without looking up from her writing. Okay then, back to zoning out.
Vuadis is reading the last scroll when Ersa shows the writing to Avad, he nods and finally, finally, dismisses them. They leave just as a nobleman interrupts the sun-priest with his version of facts.
Ersa stops a guard and orders him to distribute the new written shifts to the sentinels.
“If all you had to do was decide the patrol duties why did i have to listen to two hours of that?”
Ersa sighs: “You’re my second in command Erend. You have to learn how to deal with priests and the noble crybabies. A van-guardsman is more than just a soldier, you know that.” Erend rolls his eyes. “ Yeah yeah, i know.”
He also knows that deep down he doesn't mind it all that much and might even have enjoyed last month’s diplomatic envoy into the Claim. He'll only admit this to Ersa under threat.
They drop by the tavern to get some dinner, the rations are included in their pay, and they’re not half bad. It’s mostly corn this time of year, and maybe he’s getting a bit sick of it, but Erend’s never been the one to take food for granted.
The sun has set as they head home. The evening chant resonates through the streets of Meridian and most Carja stop what they’re doing to listen. Oseram aren’t too keen on rituals and such so he doesn't understand what they’re singing about, but he recognizes Avad’s name being repeated a bunch of times.
They stop singing by the time they get to their house. Having a house is something he still has to get used to, after all the years on the road, sleeping in a closed room by himself feels weird. He doesn't mind the bed at all though.
He warms some water, washes the sweat of the day off, and puts on a fresh set of clothes. Ersa is already done when he goes down the stairs and into the kitchen, she’s sitting on the chair next to the fireplace and adding a few logs to the flame.
“Back to the tavern then?” He asks while pouring the dirty water in the basin outside the window. She shakes her head: “I’ll catch up to you later, I have a few things to do still.”
He’s halfway down the street when she shouts his name, he turns around just as a metal key slams against his chest.
“If you get locked out again I’ll let you sleep on the street, ya hear me!?”. She yells from the window. “Yeah I get it!” He chuckles and ties the key to his belt.
The tavern is half empty, most of the soldiers and van-guardsmen are still on duty. They’ll pass by later surely, he orders a drink in the meantime.
He’s not the smartest guy around, but he’s not stupid enough to not know where Ersa disappears to a few nights a week. He doesn’t mind, not like the other oseram or carja would, and he’s glad she doesn’t try to make up excuses.
It still stings a little.
They used to tell each other everything, back when it was just the two of them against the world.
A few oseram come into the tavern, Erend doesn’t recognize them. This is usually his cue, to put on a big smile and offer a drink to the newbies, a “Where do you hail from” a “Oh yeah? My cousin is from there!” and he’d have drinking buddies for the night. Instead, he stares at his cup as they sit in the far back of the tavern.
Things have just started to calm down after the liberation, and Ersa has been spending more and more time “doing things” lately. Steel to bones, he wishes he had someone to “do things” with.
He frowns. Best not to mull over that, so he pours himself another drink from the tap, even if the ale here never tastes quite like the one from the Claim.