The streets of the Pillars would always be unfamiliar to Ashur, and the Hyur ran a hand through his blonde hair in mild frustration as he glanced at signs and lanterns, looking for any landmarks. It wasn't the first time he'd gotten lost looking for home, and if this excursion was any indication, it wouldn't be the last, either.
Though this was only the lower end of the Pillars--low enough that it might as well still be in the Foundation--it was still designed with the upper class in mind. Small stone dwellings fit snugly together with bare ilms separating the walls of one house from the walls of another, primarily to conserve space--a commodity that was husbanded carefully within the confines of a walled city. Bricks of gray, sturdy stone provided warmth amongst the everwinter of Coerthas, and all of the houses looked alike.
What separated these homes from the shanties of the Brume that Ashur had grown up in was an oft-overlooked luxury: windows. Homes in the Brume could barely afford functioning hearths, much less the glass and insulation needed for windows, and were often in various states of disrepair. That was without mentioning the fact that on the lower levels, windows letting in the chill could spell one's death sentence during particularly harsh seasons.
Despite--or perhaps because of--these luxuries, Ashur could barely tell whose house belonged to whom. Each house looked nearly identical, and even during this time of chaos, the streets were so clean and polished that it was nigh impossible to tell where exactly he was.
It was some time later, with some added luck, the Ashur finally spotted the house with the name "Vaye" printed on a sign attached to the door. He briefly fumbled for his key, when the door flew open, and Ashur felt a pair of thin arms thrown around his neck, a slight, slender woman hugged him fiercely and wordlessly.
"Careful now, Mother," Ashur said, laughing as he returned the hug. "I'm still technically recovering!"
The woman, Emilia, merely frowned in silence as she released her hold on him. Even in her age, Ashur's mother maintained a sense of robust health. Streaks of silver were beginning to show in her braids of straw-coloured hair, and wrinkles were becoming evident under her cheeks and on her hands, but otherwise she stood confidently and solidly, giving Ashur a careful, cursory inspection.
"Well, everything seems to be in place," Emilia huffed, before her face split into a relieved, gentle smile. "You'd best believe I'd have the Dravanians fleeing all the way back up the Spine if I saw even one hair out of place." She reached out to give Ashur another hug and an affectionate kiss on his cheek. "I am glad you had the time to come home, Ash."
Ashur returned the hug again and tapped his fist to his chest on a mock salute. "All in a day's work, though I am sorry for worrying you." He ducked his head slightly to enter the dwelling.
Though the Vaye family was technically noble by claim thanks to Alric--and later Ashur himself--achieving knighthood, the dwelling was small and modest. There was a second floor of bedrooms, but the main floor was quite small, consisting of a small kitchen folded into a living room, and a back room for storage. Yet despite the tight accommodations, there was an indelible air of luxury, owing to the beautiful decorations adorning the dwelling. Kites of varying sizes and rich colours sparkled in the light of the conical hearth built into the center of the living room. The floor was covered with thick, immaculately embroidered rugs.
"How soon do you have to return?" Emilia asked, glancing upstairs as if wondering if she should make the beds.
Ashur's jovial mood hardened somewhat, as he remembered the fate of his former commanding officer, Ser Praihaux. The images of the Elezen's head being carried off by the wyvern flashed in his mind's eye for the briefest of moments, though he was careful to keep a gentle smile affixed to his face. "I will be re-assigned when I report in tomorrow, but I should be okay to stay the night. Did Al say when he would get in?"
Emilia shook her head as she withdrew fresh linens from the storage room before heading upstairs. "Only that he'd try to make it today. I am not sure what the Commander is keeping him for, but it had better be important! More important than our first proper family gathering in a year!" Ashur grinned as he could hear the irritation in his mother's voice as she carried the linens up stairs.
The kitchen was in a state of chaos, indicative of Emilia's hurried attempts to prepare something. Though she wasn't on the main floor with him, Ashur raised a hand to hide his smile nonetheless. His mother had never been the most organised person--in fact, Ashur had learned to cook quite well at a young age to spare himself, Alric, and their father from a relentless plague of "Everything-that-was-in-the-pantry-at-the-time" stews--but that was something that, at this point in time, he continued to find somewhat endearing.
While the house was equipped with a rudimentary oven--another incredible luxury--it'd have taken far too long to prepare something via baking. A simple but hearty fish soup was easily prepared with everything Emilia had taken out, and so Ashur wordlessly set to work, pulling off his gloves and quickly dusting off his gambeson. He swiftly extracted a filet from the dried fish--a Bianaq bream--while simmering parsley, onions, and nutmeg with butter in a pan. The spices gave a savory, pungent aroma, while Ashur mounted a pot of light broth to boil in the hearth.
"What is it you were exactly planning to prepare, Mother?" Ashur wondered, more to himself than to Emilia, as he glanced around the kitchen. There was also tomatoes, popotos, fresh rolanberries, sweet cream, and cinnamon. In fact, the disconcerting variety of ingredients on display seemed to indicate that had Ashur arrived just a few bells later, "everything stew" was exactly what he was going to get. And while it wasn't necessarily bad--sometimes Emilia was just lucky enough to create an edible combination--it was certainly something that was owed more to chance than any actual culinary skill.
"Have the noble ladies been sharing anything worthwhile?" Ashur asked idly as he prepared a teapot on the other stove.
"Those shrill harpies only care about two things: crocheting and gossip!" Emilia's irritated yell resonated from the upper floor. "Oh, hearing Lady Ennelfeaux complain about receiving the wrong leather satchel from Gridania or bragging about how well her La Noscean oranges are growing in their 'orchard'. Bah!" Emilia stormed down the stairs, thoroughly worked into a frenzy. "A single tree doesn't count as an orchard anyway, you pretentious old bat." She frowned as she sniffed the aromatic scents of Ashur's cooking. "I had the food well in hand, you know! If this is the only respite you get, you should be spending it resting. You wouldn't want to re-open your wounds."
"There's nothing to re-open, Mother," Ashur corrected with a light tone of mock irritation. "Blunt force, no cuts." That wasn't entirely true, of course--though Ashur was cleared to return to action, the chirurgeon that had released him was quick to warn him that additional trauma would mean a much longer recovery time.
Emilia huffed at his correction, retreating into the storage room as the front door flew open.
"I smell something edible! So that is definitely not 'everything stew'!" Alric bellowed boisterously. The older Vaye was still dressed in his chainmail, though his helmet was tucked underneath his arm, leaving his other arm free for some particularly flamboyent waving. Alric glanced over at Ashric, dressed in his gambeson and poring over the simmering vegetables, patting the latter heartily on the back. "Ashur, my boy, you've saved us from culinary catastrophe, as always, as I knew you would! I'll be submitting your name for sainthood to the clergy immediately!"
"The Church only declares saints after they're dead, so I'll thank you to postpone on that," Ashur said, rolling his eyes and flicking Alric in the forehead.
"You boys are the most ungrateful lot I've ever had the misfortune of raising!" Emilia hollered from the storeroom.
Alric laughed, putting his helmet on the dining table and pulling up a seat. "Now, now, mother, didn't you hear? We became knights just to escape your cooking! Why, put Nidhogg in a kitchen with you and he'd be dead before the day was over!"
Light laughter filled the abode, and Ashur was filled with a sense of ease he'd not felt in a while. While the inauguration banquet--and the rowdier tavern party--had been pleasant, the feeling of homeliness was what he'd missed the most. While Emilia was in good health, ever since their father had died of the pox she was prone to loneliness. As much as she complained about the pretentiousness of noble company, those noble ladies were likely the only real interactions she had. Both he and Alric were constantly away, either out on assignment or sleeping in the barracks awaiting more assignment. Though their knighthood had raised their family from the Brume, there were times where Ashur wondered if it had truly improved their lives.
He glanced around at the kites adorning their rooms as Emilia and Alric bantered with one another. Though the stipends they received were more than enough to sustain them--since they more or less went entirely to Emilia--it was clear that money was not what was occupying her worries. Emilia firmly believed a superstition that kites were good fortune. The fact that their dwelling was absolutely covered in them, with each kite growing more elabourate and colourful than the last, was an obvious indicator of how their mother was doing.
Ashur shook his head. Now was not the time to fret about such things. What mattered was that they were all together, for at least this day. He carefully basted the sauteed fish with the fragrant butter and sliced it into chunks, carefully distributing the chunks in polished wooden bowls before filling the bowls with hearty broth.
He drew up a chair to join them at the table, and things were good for a time.
Though this was only the lower end of the Pillars--low enough that it might as well still be in the Foundation--it was still designed with the upper class in mind. Small stone dwellings fit snugly together with bare ilms separating the walls of one house from the walls of another, primarily to conserve space--a commodity that was husbanded carefully within the confines of a walled city. Bricks of gray, sturdy stone provided warmth amongst the everwinter of Coerthas, and all of the houses looked alike.
What separated these homes from the shanties of the Brume that Ashur had grown up in was an oft-overlooked luxury: windows. Homes in the Brume could barely afford functioning hearths, much less the glass and insulation needed for windows, and were often in various states of disrepair. That was without mentioning the fact that on the lower levels, windows letting in the chill could spell one's death sentence during particularly harsh seasons.
Despite--or perhaps because of--these luxuries, Ashur could barely tell whose house belonged to whom. Each house looked nearly identical, and even during this time of chaos, the streets were so clean and polished that it was nigh impossible to tell where exactly he was.
It was some time later, with some added luck, the Ashur finally spotted the house with the name "Vaye" printed on a sign attached to the door. He briefly fumbled for his key, when the door flew open, and Ashur felt a pair of thin arms thrown around his neck, a slight, slender woman hugged him fiercely and wordlessly.
"Careful now, Mother," Ashur said, laughing as he returned the hug. "I'm still technically recovering!"
The woman, Emilia, merely frowned in silence as she released her hold on him. Even in her age, Ashur's mother maintained a sense of robust health. Streaks of silver were beginning to show in her braids of straw-coloured hair, and wrinkles were becoming evident under her cheeks and on her hands, but otherwise she stood confidently and solidly, giving Ashur a careful, cursory inspection.
"Well, everything seems to be in place," Emilia huffed, before her face split into a relieved, gentle smile. "You'd best believe I'd have the Dravanians fleeing all the way back up the Spine if I saw even one hair out of place." She reached out to give Ashur another hug and an affectionate kiss on his cheek. "I am glad you had the time to come home, Ash."
Ashur returned the hug again and tapped his fist to his chest on a mock salute. "All in a day's work, though I am sorry for worrying you." He ducked his head slightly to enter the dwelling.
Though the Vaye family was technically noble by claim thanks to Alric--and later Ashur himself--achieving knighthood, the dwelling was small and modest. There was a second floor of bedrooms, but the main floor was quite small, consisting of a small kitchen folded into a living room, and a back room for storage. Yet despite the tight accommodations, there was an indelible air of luxury, owing to the beautiful decorations adorning the dwelling. Kites of varying sizes and rich colours sparkled in the light of the conical hearth built into the center of the living room. The floor was covered with thick, immaculately embroidered rugs.
"How soon do you have to return?" Emilia asked, glancing upstairs as if wondering if she should make the beds.
Ashur's jovial mood hardened somewhat, as he remembered the fate of his former commanding officer, Ser Praihaux. The images of the Elezen's head being carried off by the wyvern flashed in his mind's eye for the briefest of moments, though he was careful to keep a gentle smile affixed to his face. "I will be re-assigned when I report in tomorrow, but I should be okay to stay the night. Did Al say when he would get in?"
Emilia shook her head as she withdrew fresh linens from the storage room before heading upstairs. "Only that he'd try to make it today. I am not sure what the Commander is keeping him for, but it had better be important! More important than our first proper family gathering in a year!" Ashur grinned as he could hear the irritation in his mother's voice as she carried the linens up stairs.
The kitchen was in a state of chaos, indicative of Emilia's hurried attempts to prepare something. Though she wasn't on the main floor with him, Ashur raised a hand to hide his smile nonetheless. His mother had never been the most organised person--in fact, Ashur had learned to cook quite well at a young age to spare himself, Alric, and their father from a relentless plague of "Everything-that-was-in-the-pantry-at-the-time" stews--but that was something that, at this point in time, he continued to find somewhat endearing.
While the house was equipped with a rudimentary oven--another incredible luxury--it'd have taken far too long to prepare something via baking. A simple but hearty fish soup was easily prepared with everything Emilia had taken out, and so Ashur wordlessly set to work, pulling off his gloves and quickly dusting off his gambeson. He swiftly extracted a filet from the dried fish--a Bianaq bream--while simmering parsley, onions, and nutmeg with butter in a pan. The spices gave a savory, pungent aroma, while Ashur mounted a pot of light broth to boil in the hearth.
"What is it you were exactly planning to prepare, Mother?" Ashur wondered, more to himself than to Emilia, as he glanced around the kitchen. There was also tomatoes, popotos, fresh rolanberries, sweet cream, and cinnamon. In fact, the disconcerting variety of ingredients on display seemed to indicate that had Ashur arrived just a few bells later, "everything stew" was exactly what he was going to get. And while it wasn't necessarily bad--sometimes Emilia was just lucky enough to create an edible combination--it was certainly something that was owed more to chance than any actual culinary skill.
"Have the noble ladies been sharing anything worthwhile?" Ashur asked idly as he prepared a teapot on the other stove.
"Those shrill harpies only care about two things: crocheting and gossip!" Emilia's irritated yell resonated from the upper floor. "Oh, hearing Lady Ennelfeaux complain about receiving the wrong leather satchel from Gridania or bragging about how well her La Noscean oranges are growing in their 'orchard'. Bah!" Emilia stormed down the stairs, thoroughly worked into a frenzy. "A single tree doesn't count as an orchard anyway, you pretentious old bat." She frowned as she sniffed the aromatic scents of Ashur's cooking. "I had the food well in hand, you know! If this is the only respite you get, you should be spending it resting. You wouldn't want to re-open your wounds."
"There's nothing to re-open, Mother," Ashur corrected with a light tone of mock irritation. "Blunt force, no cuts." That wasn't entirely true, of course--though Ashur was cleared to return to action, the chirurgeon that had released him was quick to warn him that additional trauma would mean a much longer recovery time.
Emilia huffed at his correction, retreating into the storage room as the front door flew open.
"I smell something edible! So that is definitely not 'everything stew'!" Alric bellowed boisterously. The older Vaye was still dressed in his chainmail, though his helmet was tucked underneath his arm, leaving his other arm free for some particularly flamboyent waving. Alric glanced over at Ashric, dressed in his gambeson and poring over the simmering vegetables, patting the latter heartily on the back. "Ashur, my boy, you've saved us from culinary catastrophe, as always, as I knew you would! I'll be submitting your name for sainthood to the clergy immediately!"
"The Church only declares saints after they're dead, so I'll thank you to postpone on that," Ashur said, rolling his eyes and flicking Alric in the forehead.
"You boys are the most ungrateful lot I've ever had the misfortune of raising!" Emilia hollered from the storeroom.
Alric laughed, putting his helmet on the dining table and pulling up a seat. "Now, now, mother, didn't you hear? We became knights just to escape your cooking! Why, put Nidhogg in a kitchen with you and he'd be dead before the day was over!"
Light laughter filled the abode, and Ashur was filled with a sense of ease he'd not felt in a while. While the inauguration banquet--and the rowdier tavern party--had been pleasant, the feeling of homeliness was what he'd missed the most. While Emilia was in good health, ever since their father had died of the pox she was prone to loneliness. As much as she complained about the pretentiousness of noble company, those noble ladies were likely the only real interactions she had. Both he and Alric were constantly away, either out on assignment or sleeping in the barracks awaiting more assignment. Though their knighthood had raised their family from the Brume, there were times where Ashur wondered if it had truly improved their lives.
He glanced around at the kites adorning their rooms as Emilia and Alric bantered with one another. Though the stipends they received were more than enough to sustain them--since they more or less went entirely to Emilia--it was clear that money was not what was occupying her worries. Emilia firmly believed a superstition that kites were good fortune. The fact that their dwelling was absolutely covered in them, with each kite growing more elabourate and colourful than the last, was an obvious indicator of how their mother was doing.
Ashur shook his head. Now was not the time to fret about such things. What mattered was that they were all together, for at least this day. He carefully basted the sauteed fish with the fragrant butter and sliced it into chunks, carefully distributing the chunks in polished wooden bowls before filling the bowls with hearty broth.
He drew up a chair to join them at the table, and things were good for a time.
