The chocobo occasionally squawked as the Au Ra set about affixing the various satchels and bags that would carry his supplies. The merchant had assured him that the system would be simple to fasten to the bird, and yet the Au Ra found himself confronted with a convoluted system of belts, straps, buckles that seemed to be constructed with little more than leather and wishful thinking. The bird's protests--perhaps themselves a commentary on the nature of his purchase--were not lost on him as he continued to struggle with making sure all of the saddlebags were properly attached to the chocobo’s harness.
The situation was not helped by the gentle snowfall that had overtaken the Coerthas Western Highlands. Flakes would drift and tangle amongst the bird's coal-black feathers, causing it to violently shake every now and then in order to keep the snow from accumulating. Occasionally this action would jolt the buckles, causing them to explode apart from one another and leave the Xaela sighing in exasperation.
Roen had contacted him after several moons of silence wishing to speak with him. True to his word, the Au Ra had been avoiding Ishgard as best as possible, but the Falcon’s Nest and the Western Highlands were sufficiently removed that he could still engage in some manner of commerce. His arrangement with the knight--a glory-seeker wishing to claim credit for his hunts--had removed the need for him to enter Ishgard itself to collect and redeem hunt marks, and though the rate he collected gil was reduced as a result, the security of the arrangement was preferable to any profits he might collect.
The chocobo and the saddlebags both were a result of his planning a long expedition into Dravania. With the help of the aether compass, the Xaela’s hunts had taken him across the breadth of the Highlands enough to know that what he was looking for wasn’t here.
Kasrjin’s struggle was interrupted by a familiar and somewhat lilting tone chiming behind him. "Too tight and it will begin to chafe the bird. He will become unruly if not relieved." He did not need to turn his head to see who it was; Roen was always wearing metal sabatons that were heavier than what he expected her to wear, and so her footfalls--ever marked with an unconscious sense of consternation--were easy to recognize.
A frown split the Au Ra’s face. “I am aware, yet the creature refuses to be still and...these...straps…†He muttered a series of expletives beneath his breath before finally managing to wrestle the last of the buckles together.
Roen stepped up closer to the larger chocobo, clicking her tongue as she pulled on the reins slightly, brushing some snow off the feathers on the neck. Kasrjin noticed her own bird of burden--a hue of golden yellow--following her dutifully and swivelling its neck toward the paladin at the noise.
"How long have you had this bird?" Her hold on the reins were firm but her voice steady, her other hand still stroking the feather under the wing.
"Nine suns, give or take. We are...not yet overly familiar." The faintest of relieved sighs escaped from his lips as the Xaela began to test the integrity of the other saddlebags and pouches...only for some of the buckles to, rather predictably, blast apart in all directions, resetting more than half of his progress. "Novsh rem ila," Kasrjin spat, instinctively reverting to his own language as he scratched the side of his horn with a gauntleted hand. At the time, he had no reason to doubt the merchant’s integrity that these saddlebags were, indeed, “universally sizedâ€. This exercise was a constant reminder that commerce was not particularly his forte.
"This circumstance is dire and requires a different skillset." A frustrated expression on his face was followed by him robotically cocking his head at the paladin's chocobo. "I request the opening of negotiations."
The paladin tilted her head to the sound of buckles and contents coming loose with a wrinkle of her nose. The look she gave him was one of patience, although there could have been a little amusement hidden behind a puff of breath released through her nose. "I can show you the basics. With some practice, it will become like second nature."
The Xaela snorted. "I do not require second nature. This animal is to act as porter, and little else."
Roen canted her head, releasing a longer slower breath. "The better you treat your bird, less trouble he will give you. Some come to be trusted companions to their owner."
"Karadwyr, voroi bakh." There was something intuitively comforting about reverting to a language he knew. Kasrjin’s mastery of the Western language, while improving, was still somewhat tenuous at best, his focus on clear pronunciation and proper diction overriding his sense of tone. His native language felt much smoother, and the chocobo seemed to sense a greater sense of ease from him, however slight it was. At the least, it appeared to fidget less.
Roen glanced over her shoulder to the Au Ra, a small lift to one corner of her lips. "Ah. So you can be soothing." She glanced between him and the bird. "You are a stranger to him, treat your bird with some care and..." She paused. "Does he have a name?"
Kasrjin rubbed the bird's neck. A satisfied warble gave him adequate feedback for this action. "His name is Karadwyr. The original name, as I was told, was..." A pause, searching for the right word. "Not complimentary. Perhaps for justified reason.â€
"Hmph," the paladin snorted as she stepped forward, lifting up some of the leather strappings to work on the inner bindings first. She slightly leaned to the side as if to show him what she was doing. "Work from inside out, and middle to front and back." She began to re-fasten the buckles. "And intelligent animals reciprocate the attitude you give it."
Far too convoluted. Working with animals was for the Jungsai or Nayantai to deal with. A Khadai’s relationship with animals went as far as eating them or sticking them with enough pointy objects to fend them away from the camps or the hunting grounds.
Roen slid two fingers between the animal's hide and the saddle bindings. "Should fit snug but not too loose. This is easy way to tell."
"As you say," the Xaela grunted. "You wished to speak with me, regardless. I doubt it is about the nature of myself and this bird."
Her lips pursed as she paused, her gaze diverting from him back to the saddle. She worked on the buckles for a few more breaths before she spoke again. "Ah. Yes. There... was a matter I did wish to speak to you about..."
The Xaela cocked his head at her. “Is this environment uncomfortable for you? If you wish, we may appropriate shelter, or at least a tent.†He was certainly used to the cold--the glacier held far harsher conditions than this--but the paladin, while she held a stoic expression in the face of the elements, was not as resilient.
"Hm?" Roen glanced up at him. "Ah, nay. It is not that." A sigh. "I just am finding this a difficult thing to... hm." She glanced away again. Kasrjin tilted his head somewhat. It was unusual to find this typically headstrong woman to be this hesitant about something. Perhaps it was dire. Perhaps Ishgard was on fire, or sinking.
"I thought... well... if we were going to be traveling together... That is if you even want my aid..." She started then paused, her brows furrowing in thought. Rather than concern him, her hesitation simply confused him. What topic could exist that could make one so uncomfortable? "How important is... is your origin to you?"
“An odd question," the Xaela remarked, almost immediately. "What definition do you apply to 'origin'? The land where I have travelled from? The people from whom I derive my custom? The sire and dam who birthed me?"
"Yes. All of that. Where you are from. People who taught you. The land you grew up in." Roen started to absently fasten a few more buckles and check their fit. "How important are they to who you are as a person?"
The movement of her fingers upon the leathers slowed, and a long white breath plumed before her lips. She bit her lower lip in thought before she spoke again. "There are rumors amongst the lips of many Ishgardians, that speak of the dragons' hatred comes from their memory of the sins of the Ishgardian's forefathers. Would you agree with the dragons? That you should be judged by the act of your people?"
His emerald eyes shimmered at her in thought as he folded his arms before speaking. He had heard of the true nature of the conflict of sword and wings in this land. Long ago, the Ishgardians had murdered one of the dragons, thus starting the conflict. A war of vengeance. It was...an obtusely silly thing, to him. "Memory. Memory is an....unreliable thing."
Roen blinked. Where before her grey eyes were regarding him from the corner of her eyes, she turned her head slightly to better meet his gaze. Goldwind, having grown somewhat stiff due to standing still and waiting outdoors, decided to wander about, sniffing and scratching his beak on a few stone walls.
"There is a certain phrase taught to us early on. It would mean..." Kasrjin pursed his lips in thought, gears grinding in translation. "Perhaps...hmm. The equivalent would be, 'an arrow's echo cannot hurt you'. What do you believe your memory is to you?"
She furrowed her brow in thought, giving his words some consideration. "My memory lets me know who I am, where I have been, all I have seen and done. It shapes who I am, and who I decide to become from this moment. All those I have known, all my successes and the failures."
Kasrjin shifted his weight from one leg to another, some pieces of his armor jingling with the motion. "I have noted this. Your people...you measure the worth of your entire lives in memory. For your peoples, memory holds what appears to be infinite power. It governs every thought, informs every choice. Memory drives your...hm.†A pause. “Your passions. Emotions. Love. And also your madness. Obsession. Hatred. You believe that it is memory--the sums of your experiences--that determines who you are, but only the opposite is true. Memory is little more than an image created to make sense of the past. It carries no meaning, no truth, and no pain but what is ascribed to it.â€
The paladin narrowed her eyes. "I believe we learn from our experiences. Our mistakes. And if your mistakes are dire enough, there are consequences that you must face." Her hands had stopped working on the buckles, although her grip on them lingered. She turned a bit more to look up at the Xaela.
"'An arrow's echo cannot hurt you'. Your experience provides knowledge you may draw upon...but any joy or pain you derive from it is from you alone. Not from your memory. A scar, too, causes no pain. It only reveals an echo of pain, an echo that cannot truly hurt you unless you allow it.â€
Kasrjin shifted his weight again. “Many of my peoples are from other...tribes, of the Xaela. Some were conquered and absorbed. Some wished to join willingly. They carried with them the memories of their customs and their tribes that once were. Those memories hindered them at times. We taught them what a memory can do, and more importantly, what a memory cannot do."
“What if the memory is still fresh? The consequences still persistent? And the hostilities continue?" Roen had returned to looking at him from the corner of her eye. "The conflict between the Ishgardians and dragons have not ceased. It may have an action of their forefathers that started it, but the enmity continues. We fought a dragon, you and I, not too long ago. Based on a conflict that stemmed from history. Was not that dragon our enemy?"
"You wished to know if I believed the dragons' war to be wrong. I do believe it to be...wrong.â€
It went deeper than that. The conflict at its core was inherently alien to him. Khadai never fought for ideas like vengeance or justice or righteousness. They fought to preserve their lives and way of living, yes, but past wrongs had never entered the picture before. Kasrjin could not even begin to explain this concept to her, though.
“To fight on behalf of a memory is pointless. It is the same as snuffing out a flame in the hopes that doing so will restore the tree. The dragons fight because their memory of Ishgard brings them pain. Ishgard fights for the reverse reason. They have yet to realize that the pain comes from what they ascribe to it.â€
Roen seemed to chew on that for a moment longer. Her fingers rubbed together and a few expressions flittled across her face. His words did give her some reassurance, although it still was not quite at the heart of the matter. Was she still stalling?
Kasrjin unfolded his arms, laying them at his side to return to his neutral stance. “You asked this because you believe I place the same importance to memory as your people."
The paladin nodded, looking off at the snow that was slowly gathering height against the wall behind him. "I agree with some of what you said...." Another pause as she flicked another glance at him. "And your answer is clear that you do not." She shifted her weight, her thumb rubbing against her finger again.
He took note of her growing discomfort, and his own confusion grew.
"Khadai." She cleared her throat with a shake of her head. "I believe I am not being quite straightforward. So I will just... say this. There are people in Eorzea, who would see me as a spy, or an enemy of the state, because of where I was raised, the people I call parents, and the land I call home." She glanced about, her voice lowering. "I was raised in Garlemald. My parents are Garleans. I am... one as well." A slight pause in that admission.
A ridged brow raised itself as Kasrjin’s emerald eyes shimmered at her, but his expression was his typical stoic demeanour.
Was that it? The Au Ra was expecting something far more dire.
"...and what do you wish me to do with this information?" A hand reached up to scratch the side of his horn again. "I am unable to serve as courier at the moment. if you wish to convey this to someone else." Was there perhaps something else? Some hidden meaning that Kasrjin did not pick up on? His confusion swirled somewhat with anxiety that he was being introduced to some new foreign social convention that he would have to work his way around yet again.
A part of Roen seemed to stiffen in anticipation of his answer, but upon his bewildered nonchalance, she too raised her brows, then frowned. Her lips opened then closed. She slowly shook her head. "I... I do not know. I do not know what I wished for you to do. Perhaps I just wanted to share that with you. When you spoke of them, and called them the black ones, I... felt that I was not being truthful in letting you know I share a heritage, the same origin with those people you killed." Her frown deepened slightly, perhaps at her wording.
Kasrjin raised his shoulders. Shrugging was a gesture that was coming to him more naturally. "It is true that I have killed many black ones...Garleans. I question your intention. Do you believe yourself to be Garlean? That you should be treated as one?â€
Almost brazenly, he reached a gauntleted hand out and touched her head, the side of her cheek, her shoulder, her waist....all with the same stoic demeanor as he usually held, though he did not notice her cheeks becoming flush at his motions. "You do not wear the armour. You do not wield the weapons. You bear no insignia, you do not follow their leaders, and you do not seek to conquer those that they do." The corner of his lip curled upward ever so slightly. "I have only your word that you are Garlean as you claim."
"I consider Eorzea my home. It is to these people I owe service and debt. But.." She looked away for a moment, before she peered back up at him. "It does not bother you in the least?"
"I am told my grandsire was Dotharl. A Xaela tribe. Violent. Their way was to absorb whomever they did not kill, and make them forget themselves in a frenzy of bloodlust and war." He scratched the scales of his chin. "As I recall, the chieftain of a conquered tribe tortured, then exhibited to his people as broken and feeble. After that, the Dotharl cut off the chieftain's head so they may drink his soul.†He shrugged casually. “Such as it is. I am Dotharl by association of my grandsire. Does this bother you?â€
She stared at him, her eyes widening at the details. "You... do not practice these things. Your people, your tribe, do not do this." It was not quite a question and she stared at him intently.
A thoughtful hand ran itself through Kasrjin’s ponytail. "Then you have your answer well enough. You do not seek to judge me for the circumstances of my heritage. When should I judge you for yours?"
The Xaela shrugged again. "Truthfully, I question your eagerness to associate yourself with the label. 'Garlean'. Your name is not Garlean. Your dress is not Garlean. Your mannerism is not Garlean. How you speak, what you believe, what you feel, what you do and seek to do is not Garlean. I have only your word that you are Garlean. The only one between us who appears to believe that you are Garlean and therefore worthy of their shame is you."
She continued to gaze upon him for a bit longer, an expression relief starting to wash over her face. The corners of her eyes crinkled. When she dipped her head, it may have been to hide a curl of her lips. Kasrjin studied her expression intensely. Was this truly what she was so conflicted about? A matter of heritage? Heritage was important in this land, but the Au Ra had yet to believe that it brought any measure of anguish in this manner.
"Your sire was Garlean, perhaps? Your dam?†he continued. “Perhaps they dressed as such, acted as such, and sought to conquer my people as such. Had they approached me, dressed in the garb and evident in their intent to act as Garleans do, then I may treat them as only a Khadai can. Yet, they are not you. Nor are you they. In the same that I am not Dotharl.â€
Her lips twisted this way and that as he continued. She shuffled her feet, making an absent show of scraping away a patch of ice on the ground. "I... understand your point." She huffed although it lacked any real indignation. "I am starting to feel a bit foolish."
Kasrjin snorted. “You continue to make the mistake of ascribing to me the behaviours of your own people."
She glared at the stubborn patch of ice. "It mattered to many others so..." She frowned back at him, although there was a slightly pause. It was as if she had words on the tip of her tongue ready to tumble forth, only to be held back at the last minute.
He wrinkled his nose. "If nothing else, your obsession with vegetable material for sustenance disproves that I am one of you." The disdainful gaze on the Au Ra’s face intensified somewhat. “To harvest fruit, berries, or herbs is one thing. But it is...barbaric, pulling plants from the ground to eat. And unclean." The faintest upward curl of his lips indicated that perhaps this was his first earnest attempt at humour.
Clearly his reasoning now has caught her off guard. It took her a breath, before her eyes slowly narrowed and her lips were tugged wider. "You should not dismiss the roots so easily. Popotoes can be quite tasty when steamed and prepared correctly."
He snorted derisively. “I have seen Yerenai no older than five cycles prepare foodstuffs better. You will excuse my doubt.â€
Kasrjin paused, shifting his weight again. "...have your fears alleviated?"
She smiled up at him--a genuine expression she did not bother to hide this time--and nodded.
"That is...good. Though truthfully I am still ignorant of what reaction you expected from me." A wry grin crossed his lips, evaporating as quickly as it had vanished. "If you find that you trust nothing, you may trust that I will not hold the same demeanor as your peoples. Whatever you may think of them."
Roen dipped her head. "You would think I should have learned that by now," she murmured. She seemed to be studying his shoes. "You are not like anyone I have ever known." She crossed her arms, suddenly pulling herself up straight. "And I have known both good and bad." She gave him an odd look, although there was a hint of fondness in them. "I do not think I can attribute you to either."
His gaze was somewhat more stern. "I recognize your jest, but people are not simple. They cannot be easily condensed in such terms in the manner of, 'Miqo'te are numerous and possess a disproportionate desire to mate.' You would do well to remember that such simplicities cannot be attributed to individuals, much less groups of peoples.â€
As the wind began to howl, the Au Ra glanced skyward at the worsening weather. He fastened the bird to the post and withdrew from his waistpack a series of folded hunt bills. "The climate deteriorates. I will require more hunts to be completed yet if I am to fully supply myself for this expedition." His gaze fixed on Roen again. "Are you...well enough to manage?" The phrasing was still awkward. It was not as if he did not know the words, but more that he was still unsure of his conveyance, even after all of this time.
The paladin glanced up at the dark skies and the whipping winds and snow. When Roen turned back to him, her expression had softened considerably since the talk had began. "Worry not, I can manage well enough." She canted her head. "I daresay better than you in somethings." Her words carried a hint of a tease as she looked around for both their birds that had wandered off. "At least your saddle will not loosen anytime soon."
Kasrjin’s head dipped in a nod. "My gratitude, then. Alert me if you see any Garleans nearby."
She nearly snorted out a chuckle as he strode away.
The situation was not helped by the gentle snowfall that had overtaken the Coerthas Western Highlands. Flakes would drift and tangle amongst the bird's coal-black feathers, causing it to violently shake every now and then in order to keep the snow from accumulating. Occasionally this action would jolt the buckles, causing them to explode apart from one another and leave the Xaela sighing in exasperation.
Roen had contacted him after several moons of silence wishing to speak with him. True to his word, the Au Ra had been avoiding Ishgard as best as possible, but the Falcon’s Nest and the Western Highlands were sufficiently removed that he could still engage in some manner of commerce. His arrangement with the knight--a glory-seeker wishing to claim credit for his hunts--had removed the need for him to enter Ishgard itself to collect and redeem hunt marks, and though the rate he collected gil was reduced as a result, the security of the arrangement was preferable to any profits he might collect.
The chocobo and the saddlebags both were a result of his planning a long expedition into Dravania. With the help of the aether compass, the Xaela’s hunts had taken him across the breadth of the Highlands enough to know that what he was looking for wasn’t here.
Kasrjin’s struggle was interrupted by a familiar and somewhat lilting tone chiming behind him. "Too tight and it will begin to chafe the bird. He will become unruly if not relieved." He did not need to turn his head to see who it was; Roen was always wearing metal sabatons that were heavier than what he expected her to wear, and so her footfalls--ever marked with an unconscious sense of consternation--were easy to recognize.
A frown split the Au Ra’s face. “I am aware, yet the creature refuses to be still and...these...straps…†He muttered a series of expletives beneath his breath before finally managing to wrestle the last of the buckles together.
Roen stepped up closer to the larger chocobo, clicking her tongue as she pulled on the reins slightly, brushing some snow off the feathers on the neck. Kasrjin noticed her own bird of burden--a hue of golden yellow--following her dutifully and swivelling its neck toward the paladin at the noise.
"How long have you had this bird?" Her hold on the reins were firm but her voice steady, her other hand still stroking the feather under the wing.
"Nine suns, give or take. We are...not yet overly familiar." The faintest of relieved sighs escaped from his lips as the Xaela began to test the integrity of the other saddlebags and pouches...only for some of the buckles to, rather predictably, blast apart in all directions, resetting more than half of his progress. "Novsh rem ila," Kasrjin spat, instinctively reverting to his own language as he scratched the side of his horn with a gauntleted hand. At the time, he had no reason to doubt the merchant’s integrity that these saddlebags were, indeed, “universally sizedâ€. This exercise was a constant reminder that commerce was not particularly his forte.
"This circumstance is dire and requires a different skillset." A frustrated expression on his face was followed by him robotically cocking his head at the paladin's chocobo. "I request the opening of negotiations."
The paladin tilted her head to the sound of buckles and contents coming loose with a wrinkle of her nose. The look she gave him was one of patience, although there could have been a little amusement hidden behind a puff of breath released through her nose. "I can show you the basics. With some practice, it will become like second nature."
The Xaela snorted. "I do not require second nature. This animal is to act as porter, and little else."
Roen canted her head, releasing a longer slower breath. "The better you treat your bird, less trouble he will give you. Some come to be trusted companions to their owner."
"Karadwyr, voroi bakh." There was something intuitively comforting about reverting to a language he knew. Kasrjin’s mastery of the Western language, while improving, was still somewhat tenuous at best, his focus on clear pronunciation and proper diction overriding his sense of tone. His native language felt much smoother, and the chocobo seemed to sense a greater sense of ease from him, however slight it was. At the least, it appeared to fidget less.
Roen glanced over her shoulder to the Au Ra, a small lift to one corner of her lips. "Ah. So you can be soothing." She glanced between him and the bird. "You are a stranger to him, treat your bird with some care and..." She paused. "Does he have a name?"
Kasrjin rubbed the bird's neck. A satisfied warble gave him adequate feedback for this action. "His name is Karadwyr. The original name, as I was told, was..." A pause, searching for the right word. "Not complimentary. Perhaps for justified reason.â€
"Hmph," the paladin snorted as she stepped forward, lifting up some of the leather strappings to work on the inner bindings first. She slightly leaned to the side as if to show him what she was doing. "Work from inside out, and middle to front and back." She began to re-fasten the buckles. "And intelligent animals reciprocate the attitude you give it."
Far too convoluted. Working with animals was for the Jungsai or Nayantai to deal with. A Khadai’s relationship with animals went as far as eating them or sticking them with enough pointy objects to fend them away from the camps or the hunting grounds.
Roen slid two fingers between the animal's hide and the saddle bindings. "Should fit snug but not too loose. This is easy way to tell."
"As you say," the Xaela grunted. "You wished to speak with me, regardless. I doubt it is about the nature of myself and this bird."
Her lips pursed as she paused, her gaze diverting from him back to the saddle. She worked on the buckles for a few more breaths before she spoke again. "Ah. Yes. There... was a matter I did wish to speak to you about..."
The Xaela cocked his head at her. “Is this environment uncomfortable for you? If you wish, we may appropriate shelter, or at least a tent.†He was certainly used to the cold--the glacier held far harsher conditions than this--but the paladin, while she held a stoic expression in the face of the elements, was not as resilient.
"Hm?" Roen glanced up at him. "Ah, nay. It is not that." A sigh. "I just am finding this a difficult thing to... hm." She glanced away again. Kasrjin tilted his head somewhat. It was unusual to find this typically headstrong woman to be this hesitant about something. Perhaps it was dire. Perhaps Ishgard was on fire, or sinking.
"I thought... well... if we were going to be traveling together... That is if you even want my aid..." She started then paused, her brows furrowing in thought. Rather than concern him, her hesitation simply confused him. What topic could exist that could make one so uncomfortable? "How important is... is your origin to you?"
“An odd question," the Xaela remarked, almost immediately. "What definition do you apply to 'origin'? The land where I have travelled from? The people from whom I derive my custom? The sire and dam who birthed me?"
"Yes. All of that. Where you are from. People who taught you. The land you grew up in." Roen started to absently fasten a few more buckles and check their fit. "How important are they to who you are as a person?"
The movement of her fingers upon the leathers slowed, and a long white breath plumed before her lips. She bit her lower lip in thought before she spoke again. "There are rumors amongst the lips of many Ishgardians, that speak of the dragons' hatred comes from their memory of the sins of the Ishgardian's forefathers. Would you agree with the dragons? That you should be judged by the act of your people?"
His emerald eyes shimmered at her in thought as he folded his arms before speaking. He had heard of the true nature of the conflict of sword and wings in this land. Long ago, the Ishgardians had murdered one of the dragons, thus starting the conflict. A war of vengeance. It was...an obtusely silly thing, to him. "Memory. Memory is an....unreliable thing."
Roen blinked. Where before her grey eyes were regarding him from the corner of her eyes, she turned her head slightly to better meet his gaze. Goldwind, having grown somewhat stiff due to standing still and waiting outdoors, decided to wander about, sniffing and scratching his beak on a few stone walls.
"There is a certain phrase taught to us early on. It would mean..." Kasrjin pursed his lips in thought, gears grinding in translation. "Perhaps...hmm. The equivalent would be, 'an arrow's echo cannot hurt you'. What do you believe your memory is to you?"
She furrowed her brow in thought, giving his words some consideration. "My memory lets me know who I am, where I have been, all I have seen and done. It shapes who I am, and who I decide to become from this moment. All those I have known, all my successes and the failures."
Kasrjin shifted his weight from one leg to another, some pieces of his armor jingling with the motion. "I have noted this. Your people...you measure the worth of your entire lives in memory. For your peoples, memory holds what appears to be infinite power. It governs every thought, informs every choice. Memory drives your...hm.†A pause. “Your passions. Emotions. Love. And also your madness. Obsession. Hatred. You believe that it is memory--the sums of your experiences--that determines who you are, but only the opposite is true. Memory is little more than an image created to make sense of the past. It carries no meaning, no truth, and no pain but what is ascribed to it.â€
The paladin narrowed her eyes. "I believe we learn from our experiences. Our mistakes. And if your mistakes are dire enough, there are consequences that you must face." Her hands had stopped working on the buckles, although her grip on them lingered. She turned a bit more to look up at the Xaela.
"'An arrow's echo cannot hurt you'. Your experience provides knowledge you may draw upon...but any joy or pain you derive from it is from you alone. Not from your memory. A scar, too, causes no pain. It only reveals an echo of pain, an echo that cannot truly hurt you unless you allow it.â€
Kasrjin shifted his weight again. “Many of my peoples are from other...tribes, of the Xaela. Some were conquered and absorbed. Some wished to join willingly. They carried with them the memories of their customs and their tribes that once were. Those memories hindered them at times. We taught them what a memory can do, and more importantly, what a memory cannot do."
“What if the memory is still fresh? The consequences still persistent? And the hostilities continue?" Roen had returned to looking at him from the corner of her eye. "The conflict between the Ishgardians and dragons have not ceased. It may have an action of their forefathers that started it, but the enmity continues. We fought a dragon, you and I, not too long ago. Based on a conflict that stemmed from history. Was not that dragon our enemy?"
"You wished to know if I believed the dragons' war to be wrong. I do believe it to be...wrong.â€
It went deeper than that. The conflict at its core was inherently alien to him. Khadai never fought for ideas like vengeance or justice or righteousness. They fought to preserve their lives and way of living, yes, but past wrongs had never entered the picture before. Kasrjin could not even begin to explain this concept to her, though.
“To fight on behalf of a memory is pointless. It is the same as snuffing out a flame in the hopes that doing so will restore the tree. The dragons fight because their memory of Ishgard brings them pain. Ishgard fights for the reverse reason. They have yet to realize that the pain comes from what they ascribe to it.â€
Roen seemed to chew on that for a moment longer. Her fingers rubbed together and a few expressions flittled across her face. His words did give her some reassurance, although it still was not quite at the heart of the matter. Was she still stalling?
Kasrjin unfolded his arms, laying them at his side to return to his neutral stance. “You asked this because you believe I place the same importance to memory as your people."
The paladin nodded, looking off at the snow that was slowly gathering height against the wall behind him. "I agree with some of what you said...." Another pause as she flicked another glance at him. "And your answer is clear that you do not." She shifted her weight, her thumb rubbing against her finger again.
He took note of her growing discomfort, and his own confusion grew.
"Khadai." She cleared her throat with a shake of her head. "I believe I am not being quite straightforward. So I will just... say this. There are people in Eorzea, who would see me as a spy, or an enemy of the state, because of where I was raised, the people I call parents, and the land I call home." She glanced about, her voice lowering. "I was raised in Garlemald. My parents are Garleans. I am... one as well." A slight pause in that admission.
A ridged brow raised itself as Kasrjin’s emerald eyes shimmered at her, but his expression was his typical stoic demeanour.
Was that it? The Au Ra was expecting something far more dire.
"...and what do you wish me to do with this information?" A hand reached up to scratch the side of his horn again. "I am unable to serve as courier at the moment. if you wish to convey this to someone else." Was there perhaps something else? Some hidden meaning that Kasrjin did not pick up on? His confusion swirled somewhat with anxiety that he was being introduced to some new foreign social convention that he would have to work his way around yet again.
A part of Roen seemed to stiffen in anticipation of his answer, but upon his bewildered nonchalance, she too raised her brows, then frowned. Her lips opened then closed. She slowly shook her head. "I... I do not know. I do not know what I wished for you to do. Perhaps I just wanted to share that with you. When you spoke of them, and called them the black ones, I... felt that I was not being truthful in letting you know I share a heritage, the same origin with those people you killed." Her frown deepened slightly, perhaps at her wording.
Kasrjin raised his shoulders. Shrugging was a gesture that was coming to him more naturally. "It is true that I have killed many black ones...Garleans. I question your intention. Do you believe yourself to be Garlean? That you should be treated as one?â€
Almost brazenly, he reached a gauntleted hand out and touched her head, the side of her cheek, her shoulder, her waist....all with the same stoic demeanor as he usually held, though he did not notice her cheeks becoming flush at his motions. "You do not wear the armour. You do not wield the weapons. You bear no insignia, you do not follow their leaders, and you do not seek to conquer those that they do." The corner of his lip curled upward ever so slightly. "I have only your word that you are Garlean as you claim."
"I consider Eorzea my home. It is to these people I owe service and debt. But.." She looked away for a moment, before she peered back up at him. "It does not bother you in the least?"
"I am told my grandsire was Dotharl. A Xaela tribe. Violent. Their way was to absorb whomever they did not kill, and make them forget themselves in a frenzy of bloodlust and war." He scratched the scales of his chin. "As I recall, the chieftain of a conquered tribe tortured, then exhibited to his people as broken and feeble. After that, the Dotharl cut off the chieftain's head so they may drink his soul.†He shrugged casually. “Such as it is. I am Dotharl by association of my grandsire. Does this bother you?â€
She stared at him, her eyes widening at the details. "You... do not practice these things. Your people, your tribe, do not do this." It was not quite a question and she stared at him intently.
A thoughtful hand ran itself through Kasrjin’s ponytail. "Then you have your answer well enough. You do not seek to judge me for the circumstances of my heritage. When should I judge you for yours?"
The Xaela shrugged again. "Truthfully, I question your eagerness to associate yourself with the label. 'Garlean'. Your name is not Garlean. Your dress is not Garlean. Your mannerism is not Garlean. How you speak, what you believe, what you feel, what you do and seek to do is not Garlean. I have only your word that you are Garlean. The only one between us who appears to believe that you are Garlean and therefore worthy of their shame is you."
She continued to gaze upon him for a bit longer, an expression relief starting to wash over her face. The corners of her eyes crinkled. When she dipped her head, it may have been to hide a curl of her lips. Kasrjin studied her expression intensely. Was this truly what she was so conflicted about? A matter of heritage? Heritage was important in this land, but the Au Ra had yet to believe that it brought any measure of anguish in this manner.
"Your sire was Garlean, perhaps? Your dam?†he continued. “Perhaps they dressed as such, acted as such, and sought to conquer my people as such. Had they approached me, dressed in the garb and evident in their intent to act as Garleans do, then I may treat them as only a Khadai can. Yet, they are not you. Nor are you they. In the same that I am not Dotharl.â€
Her lips twisted this way and that as he continued. She shuffled her feet, making an absent show of scraping away a patch of ice on the ground. "I... understand your point." She huffed although it lacked any real indignation. "I am starting to feel a bit foolish."
Kasrjin snorted. “You continue to make the mistake of ascribing to me the behaviours of your own people."
She glared at the stubborn patch of ice. "It mattered to many others so..." She frowned back at him, although there was a slightly pause. It was as if she had words on the tip of her tongue ready to tumble forth, only to be held back at the last minute.
He wrinkled his nose. "If nothing else, your obsession with vegetable material for sustenance disproves that I am one of you." The disdainful gaze on the Au Ra’s face intensified somewhat. “To harvest fruit, berries, or herbs is one thing. But it is...barbaric, pulling plants from the ground to eat. And unclean." The faintest upward curl of his lips indicated that perhaps this was his first earnest attempt at humour.
Clearly his reasoning now has caught her off guard. It took her a breath, before her eyes slowly narrowed and her lips were tugged wider. "You should not dismiss the roots so easily. Popotoes can be quite tasty when steamed and prepared correctly."
He snorted derisively. “I have seen Yerenai no older than five cycles prepare foodstuffs better. You will excuse my doubt.â€
Kasrjin paused, shifting his weight again. "...have your fears alleviated?"
She smiled up at him--a genuine expression she did not bother to hide this time--and nodded.
"That is...good. Though truthfully I am still ignorant of what reaction you expected from me." A wry grin crossed his lips, evaporating as quickly as it had vanished. "If you find that you trust nothing, you may trust that I will not hold the same demeanor as your peoples. Whatever you may think of them."
Roen dipped her head. "You would think I should have learned that by now," she murmured. She seemed to be studying his shoes. "You are not like anyone I have ever known." She crossed her arms, suddenly pulling herself up straight. "And I have known both good and bad." She gave him an odd look, although there was a hint of fondness in them. "I do not think I can attribute you to either."
His gaze was somewhat more stern. "I recognize your jest, but people are not simple. They cannot be easily condensed in such terms in the manner of, 'Miqo'te are numerous and possess a disproportionate desire to mate.' You would do well to remember that such simplicities cannot be attributed to individuals, much less groups of peoples.â€
As the wind began to howl, the Au Ra glanced skyward at the worsening weather. He fastened the bird to the post and withdrew from his waistpack a series of folded hunt bills. "The climate deteriorates. I will require more hunts to be completed yet if I am to fully supply myself for this expedition." His gaze fixed on Roen again. "Are you...well enough to manage?" The phrasing was still awkward. It was not as if he did not know the words, but more that he was still unsure of his conveyance, even after all of this time.
The paladin glanced up at the dark skies and the whipping winds and snow. When Roen turned back to him, her expression had softened considerably since the talk had began. "Worry not, I can manage well enough." She canted her head. "I daresay better than you in somethings." Her words carried a hint of a tease as she looked around for both their birds that had wandered off. "At least your saddle will not loosen anytime soon."
Kasrjin’s head dipped in a nod. "My gratitude, then. Alert me if you see any Garleans nearby."
She nearly snorted out a chuckle as he strode away.
