Archive of Our Own

“Hello again,” the Tenakth calls to her, his smile slightly crooked. He would be handsome if he weren’t trying to kill her, Aloy thinks.

“We really have to stop meeting like this!” Aloy shouts back across the clearing, her bow raised, an arrow nocked, aiming at his throat.

He raises both of his hands in surrender, but Aloy has seen how fast he can move and just how quickly the wickedly serrated blade hanging from his hip can cut through metal. “I only want to talk,” he says. “Will you listen?”

Aloy’s eyes flit around the jungle, looking for any indication on her Focus that other Tenakth are approaching for an ambush while this one is here to distract her. She sees nothing. He was foolish to come alone, she thinks. “Talk fast!”

“You’ve been in our Clan Lands for weeks now, on a quest that, if I understand correctly, will cleanse the land of the blood choke, fix the storms that have plagued us these recent months, perhaps even quell the Derangement.”

“That’s the idea,” Aloy says. “Now if only I could get to it without being hunted.”

“Yes, it’s a tall order,” the Tenakth agrees, “even without your every step dogged, unable to take shelter, unable to trade with our merchants without fear of being killed. It doesn’t have to be like this.”

“You really think I believe a Tenakth would help an outlander?”

The man smiles. “A Tenakth? No. But a Carja?”

Aloy narrows her eyes. “Explain.”

“I was captured during the Red Raids,” he says. “But I found… a loophole that let me keep my life. And I’ve found one that will let you keep yours. If you could be so kind as to lower your weapon.”

Being able to move about freely in Tenakth lands without everyone trying to kill her would be a boon indeed. Her gear is in bad need of repair and she’s spending at least half her time searching for GAIA dodging patrols instead of making any progress. Aloy lowers her bow, but doesn’t put away her arrow, ready to take aim and fire if this Tenakth– or this Carja, if he’s to be believed– tries anything.

“I’m listening,” she says.

“You know, I never did get your name. I’m Fashav.”

“I’d rather we stay strangers, if it’s all the same to you. Stop stalling and tell me what this loophole is.”

“Fair enough,” Fashav says. “Though I’m not sure you’ll like it.”

“We’ll never know unless you spit it out,” Aloy tells him.

“Very well. You won’t be permitted to move freely through the Clan Lands at this juncture, even if I gave you right of passage myself; you’ve simply caused too much of an uproar. But if you were to become Tenakth–”

He trails off, still looking at her.

“Like you did?” she guesses. He certainly looks Tenakth, though she’s noticed only half of his body is painted, and Fashav is definitely a Carja name.

“More or less,” he says. “Though the way I did it would bind you in service to the Chief as one of his Marshals– which I’m guessing would be too much of a hindrance to your quest.”

He’s not wrong there. “So what’s the alternative?” she asks.

“Well,” Fashav says. “You could become Tenakth through marriage.”

Aloy snorts in amusement, unable to help it. “ Marriage ? What, to you? You must think I’m stupid!”

“You did come into Tenakth lands without first being granted passage,” Fashav says with a smile. “Though… you’ve lasted longer than most, so you must be clever. Or lucky. But how long will your luck hold out?”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Aloy tells him.

He smiles again, and this time it sets her teeth on edge. “Let me make one thing clear, Nora: if you don’t come with me now, one day, you’ll slip up and find yourself stuck on the business end of a Tenakth spear. It would be a damn shame for such a fine warrior to meet her end like that, because she was too stubborn to accept help.”

He holds a hand out to her and Aloy takes aim again. Fashav sighs, shaking his head.

“I’d hoped I could reason with you,” he says. “But you’re coming with me to the Grove, willing or not.”

“We’ll see about that,” Aloy snarls, loosing her arrow. 

His blade nearly leaps into his hand, arcing through the air faster than her eyes can see, cutting her arrow out of the air. 

As she nocks another arrow he pulls something else from his belt with his free hand. A machine lure . He activates it and tosses it in her direction.

“Are you crazy ?” Aloy snaps as the lure rolls into the grass near her feet, scanning the area with her Focus. Two Burrowers and a Clawstrider are making their way to her location, fast . 

Fashav has the audacity to wink at her. “I figured I’d let them wear you out a little first,” he tells her, ducking into the nearby tall grass. Her Focus picks him out in orange but he’ll be otherwise hidden from the machines, leaving her to fight them alone.

“ Bastard ,” she snarls, taking aim as a Burrower leaps into view before she can find her own cover. “After I’ve taken these machines out, I'm burying my spear in your throat .”

The first Burrower goes down quickly, her arrow finding its home in the machine’s eye as it vaults towards her.

The Clawstrider comes into view next, leaping over its fallen comrade, aiming for Aloy with its razor sharp talons. She manages to roll out of the way, bow at the ready as soon as she’s back on her feet. She draws her arrow back, tracking the machine's motions, waiting– she looses it, and one of the canisters on its back comes off with a crack.

She circles around the Clawstrider, aiming for its tail, but it spins around to face her, rearing up and shrieking . Aloy has to clap her hands over her ears as the sonic waves bombard her, her bow falling to the ground. 

She has to roll to the side again to avoid its tail swipe, pulling her spear from her back, her bow out of reach for now. She’s so focused on the Clawstrider she doesn’t see the arrow coming. She’s only aware of the sudden bloom of pain in her calf, her leg crumpling and sending her crashing to the forest floor, her spear knocked from her hands and rolling out of reach.

She looks up at the Clawstrider as it moves almost as if in slow motion towards her prone body, but Fashav is there just a moment later, his blade striking true, the machine going down with a mechanical wail. He turns sharply, weapon raised as the final Burrower comes for him, but the next second, a barrage of arrows take it down.

Out of the jungle emerge two more Tenakth, their bodies painted a camouflaging blue-green, shocking smears of red over their mouths. They both have bows pointed at Aloy.

"Stand down, soldiers," Fashav says quickly, stepping in front of Aloy, blade still at the ready. 

"No, Marshal," one of them says. "We have the right to pursue the outlander, same as you! And it was my arrow that pierced her first! We will take her back with us to the Grove and reap the glory for the Lowland Clan!"

“Then I challenge you,” Fashav says. “If you can best me in combat, she’s yours.”

The two Lowland Clan Tenakth share a glance between each other before nodding. “Even for a Marshall, the odds of two against one favor us.”

“We’ll see about that,” Fashav says, swinging his blade in a graceful circle, readying for the fight.

Aloy rolls over onto her side, hissing, examining the arrow lodged into her skin. She doesn’t have what she needs here to pull it out safely, but she grabs her boot knife and trims back the shaft while the Tenakth are distracted. 

She looks around the forest floor. Her bow and spear are both out of reach but then she sees it glinting in the sun dappled underbrush: the machine lure, still sending out its pulse. Her Focus doesn’t show any other machines coming their way, but if she could extend its reach…

She opens its menu on her Focus, ignoring the clash of metal on metal behind her. The basic lure doesn’t have the kind of power to keep its pulse going at the kind of range she needs for long, but it’ll have to do. It’s not much longer until she hears a low mechanical roar and the distinctive footsteps of a Ravager.

An arrow from one of the Lowland Tenakth pierces the lure, but it’s too late, the machine is in the clearing with them, fortunately with the three Tenakth between it and Aloy. She rolls into the tall grass nearby, hissing at the pain in her calf. She’s able to grab her spear on the way, though her bow is as good as lost to her. She can make another, she thinks. She has a few stashes of supplies squirreled away in the jungle, enough to make something simple.

She slips through the foliage, trying not to put too much pressure on her injured leg, making her way towards an abandoned shelter she’d found along a stretch of river not choked with blight a few days previous, cursing the Forbidden West and the Tenakth the entire way.

She sits on the bank, a strip of cloth and medicinal berries by her side. She takes a breath and cuts away the leg of her trousers to expose the arrow. She eases her leg into the cool rushing water with a hiss and forces the arrow the rest of the way through, biting back a cry.

She spreads crushed berries over the entrance and exit wounds before wrapping it tightly with the cloth, eating the rest of the berries to dull the pain. She limps towards the shelter, the adrenaline having left her body, leaving nearly every part of her aching.

She forces herself to eat what few rations she has left. She needs to go hunting tomorrow. Which she can’t do until she makes another bow. She also needs to mend her armor. All of these little things on top of not being any closer to finding a backup of GAIA. Aloy curls up on the ratty old bedroll and tries not to cry. Sleep is a long time coming.

Aloy wakes to hands on her, her arms pinned behind her back before she’s even fully aware of what’s happening. She tries to get some leverage with her legs to buck her attacker off, but her injured calf screams in protest.

“Easy, Nora,” a familiar voice says in her ear. “I told you earlier, I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Could have fooled me,” she snarls, struggling under him as he starts wrapping ropes tight around her arms.

He rolls her onto her back and she winces, trying to shift so not so much weight is on her bound arms. She bares her teeth as he places a hand on her side, his big hand spanning her ribs.

“Look at you,” he says, concern evident on his face even with just the low light of the fire and weak gray dawn. "You were thin when I first saw you weeks ago. You're nearly skin and bones now. You can't keep going like this."

She spits in his face. 

“Hmm,” Fashav says, wiping it away with the back of his hand. “Stubborn even to the end, I see.”

“This is not the end,” Aloy warns him.

“I suppose you’re right,” he admits. “It’s better to think of this as a beginning.”

He opens one of the pouches hanging from his belt and reaches inside, pulling something small and round out. He holds it out to Aloy between thumb and forefinger so she can get a better look at it.

“Do you know what this is?” he asks her.

It’s really too dark to see, but it looks like some kind of berry, darkly colored. Given its size and shape, she would guess it was one of the medicinal berries that can be found abundantly in this land, but she doesn’t trust Fashav that much. She thinks of her first week in the west, when she’d found a bush of dark blue berries she’d thought would ease the pain of a Clawstrider’s acid attack. Instead, she’d eaten them in the morning and woken up with the moon high overhead, sprawled in the field where she’d found them.

“Try to put that in my mouth and I’ll bite your fingers off,” Aloy warns him.

“Hmm,” Fashav says again, a smile tugging at his lips, and his amusement just serves to make Aloy even angrier. “I’m sorry, sunshine, but I can hardly have you kicking and screaming the entire way back to the Grove.”

He pinches her nose shut with the fingers of his other hand, watching her expectantly. Aloy can hold her breath for a long time, but not indefinitely, and he forces the berry between her teeth as soon as she gasps for air, one hand sealing over her mouth so she can’t spit and the other rubbing down her throat rhythmically, encouraging her to swallow.

She jerks against his hold, but she’s tied and he’s strong . Saliva floods her mouth at the berry’s bitterness, its juices faintly numbing her tongue. She has to swallow eventually and Fashav lets her go once the effects start to hit her, slowing her writhing beneath him as her eyes slip shut.

When Aloy wakes again she’s in an unfamiliar place, warm sunlight streaming in from the canopy above. She’s in a cage constructed of bamboo lashed together, in what looks to be an overgrown courtyard.

Her armor is missing, but she’s still wearing her clothes underneath it, and the bandage on her leg has been changed. She reaches for her Focus and finds it missing, terror rising in her throat.

“I see you’re awake,” a voice says, and Aloy startles.

There’s a woman in Lowland Clan paint crouched next to her cage, her colors making her blend into the surroundings. She has a crest of white hair and is the oldest looking Tenakth Aloy has yet seen.

“You should eat,” the woman tells her, slipping a plate of food through a small opening at the bottom of the cage. “The Ten know you could use some meat on your bones.”

Aloy’s stomach rumbles loudly as the smell wafts towards her, but she hesitates.

“Something wrong?” the woman asks, raising an eyebrow.

“How do I know it’s not poisoned?” Aloy asks.

That startles a laugh out of the woman. “We’re Tenakth, girl! We don’t use such cowardly methods to dispatch our enemies.”

Aloy’s stomach rumbles again and she knows it’s a chance she’s going to have to take. Fashav had been right, as much as she hates to admit it, even to herself; she hasn’t been eating well lately, and she needs all the strength she can get.

She reaches for the plate. There are no utensils provided, so she tears into the roasted meat with her hands and teeth, tart paleberry sauce bursting over her tongue. It’s the best thing she’s eaten since coming west, and she eats until she simply can’t anymore, licking her fingers clean.

The older woman watches her with interest all the while. “You’ve caused quite a stir, young lady. Do you have a name?” she asks, when Aloy is done eating.

Aloy’s eyes scan the room they’re in. Even if she wasn't in a cage, there are Tenakth everywhere. She wonders if she’s just been served her last meal. “Aloy.”

“Aloy,” the woman repeats. “I’m Dekka, Chaplain for the Lowland Clan.”

“So what now, Dekka?” Aloy asks. “You said Tenakth don’t believe in death by poisoning. So how is it happening then?”

Dekka looks at her with some confusion. “Marshal Fashav said he already explained to you the Daolrut.”

The word is unfamiliar to Aloy, but she can guess it’s meaning. “The… marriage thing?” she asks, having to force the words out. “I didn’t think he was serious.”

“Fortunately for you, he was indeed,” another voice says. A man in stark white and gray paint not unlike Fashav’s comes to stand behind Dekka, giving Aloy a look she’s all too accustomed to. Disdain, for the outcast, for the savage Nora, for the outlander trespassing in the forbidden west. Like she’s a snake, and he’s not sure if she’s venomous yet and isn’t going to take his chances.

“Marshal Kotallo,” Dekka says, rising from her crouch. “Is Fashav ready?”

“He is,” Kotallo says with a nod, his eyes still on Aloy.

Dekka opens the cage and Aloy stands gingerly, though her leg doesn’t hurt nearly as bad as it had the previous day, looking between the two of them. Kotallo jerks his head in the direction of the guarded exit and Aloy follows him, acutely aware of all the eyes on her as they move through the compound.

Kotallo guides her to a doorway covered by strands of delicate metal beads. He looks at her expectantly, and Aloy pushes them aside and enters, the metal chiming as the beads sway back and forth after she releases them. She can just see Kotallo’s form take up a post on the other side. Aloy isn’t sure whether he’s sticking around to make sure no one comes in, or to prevent her from getting out.

She turns and surveys the room. It’s smaller than the others she’s walked through, mostly taken up by pits sunken into the ground, one of which has been filled with water. Fashav is there,  waiting for her. He’s wearing her focus .

“How’s your leg?” Fashav asks, lounging against the wall, his arms crossed, his eyes flicking over her.

Aloy stalks up to him, ignoring the pain in her calf. “That’s mine ,” she tells him, voice tight and quiet.

“It’s a very interesting trinket,” he says mildly. “And one I’m willing to give back. After we’re married, of course. Again, how’s your leg?”

“How do you think it is?” Aloy asks him.

Fashav huffs an amused breath and shakes his head, as if she’s the one being unreasonable here. “I know you’re angry,” he says.

“You don’t know shit,” Aloy spits.

Fashav shrugs. “Debatable. What I do know is that you have two options here. Go through with the Daolrut, or face execution.”

It’s not a fucking choice , and he damn well knows it. Aloy is nearly vibrating with fury, her nails biting into her palms.

“And after–”

“After the Daolrut, you’ll be able to travel the Clan Lands as you please. And you’ll have my help in your endeavor. Whatever weapons you need, whatever armor, I can see you equipped to your satisfaction.”

“Fine,” Aloy growls, and she sees some of the tension bleed out of Fashav’s shoulders.

“What is this… Daolrut?” Aloy asks, the word feeling strange on her tongue.

“It’s an older tradition, one nearly lost thanks to the Red Raids,” Fashav explains. “The west was more open then, though the Tenakth have always been… insular. Outlanders were avoided usually, rather than outright hunted. But some outlanders made their mark here, through their prowess in battle, and were sought out for partnerships. It was thought to strengthen the Tenakth, this introduction of new blood.”

“Let me guess,” Aloy says dryly, “not uncommon for this new blood to have been left out of this decision.”

“You’re not wrong,” Fashav says. “Believe me, if there were any other way to aid you on your mission, I would have done that instead.”

Aloy makes a frustrated sound in her throat. “Okay so that’s the why ,” she says. “As for the how – what does this actually entail?”

Fashav has the good grace to actually look slightly abashed. “There’s a public claiming ceremony,” he says.

“A public claiming ceremony,” Aloy repeats slowly.

Fashav looks uncomfortable, but he doesn’t drop her gaze. “In the past, it would usually just be witnessed by the claimant’s squad, in my case, the other Marshals. But it’s been at least a decade since the last Daolrut, and you’ve gained quite the reputation. It’s to be in the throne room, in front of any of the Tenakth who care to witness it.”

Aloy isn’t actually certain whether or not she would rather die. She’d witnessed the Carja tradition once, of the couple’s sheets being ripped from their marriage bed after consummation to be checked for blood before being carried joyously through the streets, and she had expected something more like that.

But to have it be witnessed ? 

“I need to sit down,” Aloy says, her knees wobbling, her legs no longer willing to hold her up.

Fashav grabs her before she can tip over, easing her down onto the old stone floor, mindful of her injured leg. He stays kneeling next to her.

“I know nothing in this situation is ideal.”

“I can’t do this,” Aloy says.

“I can't believe I'm saying this, but I liked it better when you were spitting fire at me."

Aloy laughs at the absurdity of the statement, just a little amused huff of her breath.

Fashav smiles at her, touching under her chin gently with his fingers, his thumb fitting into the divot right below her mouth. "That might be the first time I've seen you smile. It looks good on you, sunshine."

He lets her go when she pulls his face from his grasp, hiding her burning cheeks behind a curtain of red hair. She can't believe this is her life.

"You let me know when you're ready, but this has to be done today," Fashav tells her, and he stands to give her some space.

Aloy scrubs her hands over her face. She's endured worse, she tells herself. And Fashav– she peeks at him through her fingers. He's not looking at her, rearranging things on a little table tucked away in the corner of the room.

He's… handsome, she thinks, observing his profile. More than that, he's capable , almost terrifyingly so. The image of him cutting her arrow out of the sky is one that will stay with her a long time.

Most importantly he's the first Tenakth that's done anything other than try to kill her.

"Will I really be able to come and go as I please once we're married?" she asks, fingers curling nervously around her knees. 

He glances sidelong at her. "More or less. I'll probably have to travel with you the first few weeks, until word spreads that you're no longer to be harmed."

"I won't be stuck here with you as you… do whatever it is Marshals do?"

"Marshals are the Chief's roving law givers. We don't usually stay put in one place for long, and I've already briefed Hekarro on what I overheard about your mission the first time we met. I've practically been ordered to help you."

"Why couldn't he have just ordered everyone to stop hunting me?" Aloy asks.

"Ah, the Chief is bound by duty to enforce our laws. As am I. It is lucky our Chaplain suggested a way you might be saved."

"Dekka?" 

Fashav nods.

Aloy frowns. "Why you?"

"I… volunteered," Fashav admits after a moment.

Aloy scowls at him. "Why?"

Fashav turns to face her more fully, licking his lower lip as he thinks for a moment. "You know, for those first few weeks you were in Tenakth territory, I didn't believe you were real? Each story about you was more fanciful than the last."

Fashav laughs softly, scratching the unpainted side of his face. "I found it hard to believe that there was a flame haired outlander who seemed more ghost than woman for how she could evade all of our best trackers."

He taps the Focus on his temple and smiles at her. She wonders how much he's been able to figure out from it.

"Stories of how she faced down machines alone," Fashav continues, "including a Thunderjaw. I thought when I found you, if I found you, you'd be eight feet tall and built like a Behemoth."

Fashav crosses his arms, his head tilted slightly as he stares off into the middle distance, remembering. "And then I saw you. Nothing but a slip of a girl, no more than twenty summers under your belt, staring down a rampaging herd of Chargers, each one dispatched with a single arrow to the eye. I knew right then you were something special, sunshine."

Aloy can feel heat creep into her face. She's had admirers before, of course, but this is different. This is someone she can't afford to turn down. He hasn't hurt her yet, not really, but she's in no position to stop him if it's something he decides he wants. She stays quiet.

Fashav gives her a look like he knows what she's thinking. "There were other volunteers, of course," he says as the silence drags between them, "but Hekarro agreed that I was the best person for the job. I'm the only Easterner among the Tenakth, and I know full well how… strange the customs here can be to one unacquainted."

"There were other volunteers?" Aloy asks. "How many?"

"Ultimately the plan was kept just between the Marshals. Not all volunteered, maybe half? Please don't take offense when I say that to be the one to bring you to heel would be a mark of pride for whoever managed it. You've become something of a legend."

Aloy presses her palms to her eyes, praying to a Goddess she doesn't believe in for the earth to swallow her up.

"Do you even want to be doing this?" she asks, wanting him to say he's as reluctant as she is.

"I never would have had a choice in who I married, even if I stayed in the Sundom," Fashav explains. "My parents would have arranged a suitable match with a girl from another noble house and that would have been the end of it."

What a strange way to look at it, Aloy thinks.

"We may not be each other's first choice," Fashav says, "but that doesn't mean we can't make the best of it."

Aloy hears someone clear their throat and she looks sharply at Kotallo's shadow still visible through the metal beads. Aloy had honestly kind of forgotten that he was there. Had he been listening to their entire conversation?

"It seems like time's up, sunshine," Fashav says.

"Really?" she asks, her heart leaping into her throat. She thought she'd have more time. 

Fashav nods. “Wash up and then I’ll get you painted. After that, I’ll carry you into the throne room. I’ll… be gentle, with the claiming. I’ll make sure you enjoy it.”

Aloy feels her face turn to fire, while the rest of her body is completely frozen, refusing to move. Fashav watches her for a moment before approaching slowly, extending a hand out to her. After a moment’s hesitation, Aloy takes it, letting him pull her up. He doesn’t let go of her hand, bringing it to his mouth, his lips soft against her knuckles.

“Is it easier if I do it for you?” he offers, his breath warm against her skin.

Aloy pulls her hand from his, and he lets her, stepping back.

“I can do it myself,” she says.

Fashav nods, his gaze dark and unreadable. Aloy turns from him, not really trusting him at her back, but she needs that illusion of privacy as she takes a deep breath and starts stripping, letting her clothes fall to the floor.

She slips into the cool water, shivering a little, lathering up with soap conveniently placed on the ledge of the tub. It feels good to wipe days’ worth of sweat from her body; it’s been too long since she’s had more than a frigid stream to bathe in. 

She’s acutely aware of Fashav in the room with her. She can see him just out of the corner of her eye, not actively watching her, but not averting his gaze either. Aloy supposes it doesn't matter, considering how intimately they're about to become acquainted.

When she turns to face him fully, he has a towel ready for her.

“Let me,” he says when she reaches for it.

Anger rolls through her like thunder. She glances at the beaded curtain, where she can still see Kotallo’s silhouette. How many Tenakth in the grove beyond? She’s naked, her weapons, armor, even her Focus stripped from her. If she escaped it would be a miracle, and even then the only thing she would have to look forward to is being hunted again.

He seems to realize when she’s made her decision, wrapping her up in the soft cloth and rubbing her down with gentle efficiency, squeezing the ends of her braids where they had trailed in the water. She resists the urge to cover herself once he’s done, taking his hand when he offers it and following him towards the table that she now realizes holds a variety of pigments and brushes.

It starts chaste enough, for all she's naked. He takes her hands in his one at a time, painting concentric zigzagging rings of white up her forearms. Her heart hammers as he paints her throat next, his eyes softening as he covers the scar left by Helis. He lifts her hair carefully, connecting the white band around her neck, almost like a collar of paint. She grits her teeth and tries to keep her breathing even.

He paints jagged lightning bolts over her breasts and Aloy does her best not to react as the delicate bristles pass over her nipples, the sensation causing them to stiffen into peaks. Thankfully, Fashav doesn't say anything, kneeling in front of her to paint bands around her thighs, then her ankles.

“There we are,” he says finally, standing and taking in the sight of her.

The paint itches faintly as it dries, and Aloy resists the urge to scratch at it.

He places a hand on her unpainted waist and what’s about to happen really, truly hits her.

"Wait," Aloy says in a small voice, gripping Fashav's unpainted arm.

He tucks a braid behind her ear. "We're out of time," he reminds her.

"I know," she says. "Just… can you tell me if it really does hurt the first time?"

Fashav is quiet, and when Aloy hazards a glance at him his skin has gone almost as white as his paint.

"Wait here," he says after a moment. 

She watches him go to the beaded curtain. His voice is low as he talks to Kotallo and Aloy only picks up a few words, mainly Dekka and slickroot . She sees Kotallo leave and Fashav stays by the curtain, nearly vibrating with some kind of energy that Aloy doesn’t understand.

Kotallo isn’t gone for long, passing something through the curtain to Fashav.

"This should help," Fashav says as he returns to her.

"What is it?" Aloy asks, taking the object from him. It’s a small clay jar. Aloy opens it and finds some kind of ointment inside. It’s a translucent green, like the inside of an aloe plant, and it smells vaguely medicinal.

"It's slickroot ointment," he tells her. “You shouldn't feel pain as long as you're relaxed, which I understand is a tall order in this situation. So you can… spread some of that around and inside of yourself. It should relax the muscle,” he takes a breath, “help you get wet."

"Oh," Aloy says, feeling how red her face is. "That's... Thank you."

Fashav turns from her, giving her the privacy she needs. It's nice of him, she thinks, even though there's not much point; he's going to be fucking her in front of what sounds like the whole damn tribe.

Aloy lets out a slow breath and scoops a little ointment out with her fingers, reaching hesitantly between her legs to apply it. She's already a little wet, she's embarrassed to find, from when Fashav's brush had dragged so steadily across her breasts. Aloy wipes the remaining ointment from her fingers on an unpainted patch of skin, closing the jar and setting it on the table.

“Ready?’ Fashav asks her.

“If I say no, is anything going to change?”

“Fair point,” Fashav admits. “I know it’s hard, but you can trust me.”

He removes the outer layer of his chest piece, setting the jagged metal spikes onto the table, leaving just his tightly woven under armor. Then he’s lifting her like she weighs nothing, throwing her over his shoulder and carrying her through the curtain.

Aloy hides her face in Fashav's back, but she can see Kotallo's greaves as he follows them. There are… a lot of voices, many people calling out to Fashav to congratulate him on his conquest.

Strangely, Aloy just feels herself getting wetter, nearly leaking, and her nipples have gotten stiff and sensitive. She squirms a little in Fashav’s hold and he just holds her tighter, one arm around her legs, the other on her thigh, just below her rear, his fingers dangerously close to where a pulsing heat is starting to build. It’s the slickroot , she reminds herself. She hadn’t realized it would be so effective.

It’s not long until Fashav comes to a stop and the voices around them fall quiet. She wonders if they’re in the throne room now. 

“I’ve brought before you the interloper from the east who has evaded us these past weeks,” Fashav calls, his voice ringing through the silence. “No doubt by now all have heard of her deeds, of her prowess in battle. And yet is it I who have conquered her and brought her before you, to claim my right to perform the Daolrut, and take this outlander as my wife.”

“Let it be so,” a startlingly deep voice answers him. “Claim this outlander before all assembled, and let none doubt that she is yours.”

Fashav lays her down on her back on a woven mat. Aloy steadfastly refuses to look at any of the Tenakth assembled around them, hiding her eyes in the crook of her arm. Fashav doesn’t stop her, just settles one of those big hands low on her belly.

The fingers of his other hand move between her legs, sliding through her copious wetness, the slickroot making her agonizingly sensitive. He finds her clit easily, working it in small tight circles and Aloy claps a hand over her mouth to stifle the whine that wants to burst out.

“Ah, ah, sunshine,” Fashav says quietly, just for her. He’s still rubbing her clit, but the hand on her belly moves and pries her own away from her mouth. “You have to let everyone hear you.”

He gathers both of her wrists in one hand, pinning them above her head. Aloy turns her head slightly, closing her eyes, unwilling to see how many people have gathered to watch her be claimed.

Fashav’s fingers are wicked , drawing the unwilling pleasure out of her body with practiced motions. She kicks a little as he eases two fingers inside of her, trying to clench up and keep him out, but it’s no use. He rocks the heel of his hand over her clit, his fingers deep inside of her, rubbing up against something that makes her shudder. Moans come unbidden and she can’t stop them any more than she can stop the pleasure radiating out from Fashav’s manipulation of her body.

She comes with a little sob. She’s so fucking wet around Fashav’s fingers and she can feel herself getting even wetter . Finally Fashav eases up, drawing his hand away. He kneels between her legs and Aloy realizes he’s not even out of his armor. He gets a hand under each of her thighs and pushes them up towards her chest, shuffling closer so she can't close her legs. She feels so frightfully exposed, surely everyone can see right into her dripping core.

She keeps her eyes on Fashav, trying to block everything else out. He releases one of her thighs, reaching under his tassets to pull his cock from the shorts he wears underneath. Aloy makes a small, frightened sound, and his expression is so, so tender.

“Deep breath now, sunshine,” he says as he drags the tip of his cock through her soaked folds. 

Aloy takes a shaky breath and he pushes in slowly. She’s so wet and open, there’s no resistance to him at all, her body parting for him as easily as water. 

Aloy keens as it seems that there's no end to him. There will be nothing left inside of her, she thinks wildly, all of it pushed out to make room for Fashav's cock. She clutches at his arms, the spikes of his pauldron pricking her skin.

Of course it ends though, his hips flush to hers and she thinks she can feel him in her throat.

"Not so bad, hmm?" he murmurs into her ear, his teeth catching on the lobe.

He rolls his hips and Aloy cries out, fingers scrabbling over his chest piece, holding him close.

He starts to fuck her in earnest then and Aloy is completely helpless to stop the stream of cries that burst forth from her mouth. She hadn't known –

"Fashav!" she cries, his name the only word she remembers.

She clings to him, burying her face in his throat, muffling her cries there. He lets her this time, his hips working tirelessly, drilling his cock into her achingly sensitive cunt again and again.

She doesn’t know how long it lasts, time losing its meaning as pleasure becomes the only thing she knows.

Her back arches as she comes hard on his cock, her eyes staring unseeing at the sun soaked canopy of leaves above, a wail rising from her throat as she shakes through it. It seems to go on and on, each thrust pushing the pleasure higher.

Fashav's thrusts are losing their steady cadence and he finally pushes in one last time with a groan, his cock pulsing deep within her. He pants over her for a few long moments, his breath puffing hot against her throat.

Aloy starts coming back to herself as the pleasure begins to ebb, realizing that her ears aren't in fact ringing, but that the Grove is alive with the sound of cheers.

Fashav pushes himself up on one arm, keeping his cock buried deep within her. There's a flush high on his unpainted cheek. The paint he still wears is a mess, blue and white smeared together over his skin. 

He pulls out of her with care, tucking his cock back into his shorts and Aloy can instantly feel a trickle of his spend leak out of her cunt.

With a grunt of effort, Fashav helps Aloy back up over his shoulder. She can feel one of his arms as a band around her legs, keeping them pinned, and another at the small of her back.

So when a moment later, a third hand palms her ass, spreading her open and letting more spend drip out of her she makes a low noise of protest that goes ignored.

"The claim of Marshal Fashav on the outlander is valid," the same deep voice from earlier booms through the throne room. "By our ancient rite of the Daolrut, she is his."

Aloy hides her face in Fashav's back again as he carries her through the crowd, people coming up to congratulate him. Fashav fends most of them off with grace, and eventually Aloy sees only greaves with yellow and blue accents surround them.

"You really made her sing, Marshal," a woman's voice teases and Aloy feels her face flame.

Fingers scoop up some of Fashav's leaking spend and push it back into her cunt and Aloy does her best to kick, but Fashav holds her fast.

"She's a feisty one," she hears Kotallo's voice say, approving. 

"Stop teasing her," Fashav admonishes. "Help me get her dressed."

He sets Aloy down gently and she's relieved to find the room they're in is devoid of anyone but Fashav and the other Marshals, as much as she doesn’t want to deal with them, either.

To her complete astonishment, they’re all eager to outfit her with her own set of Tenakth armor. Aloy hardly knows what to do with herself as they help her into it.

"It's a little loose," the woman who had commented before says, adjusting some of the straps. "But we can get you to a stitcher, have them fit it to you."

The armor is a little big on her, but Aloy is just grateful to no longer be naked, even if it does leave more of her midriff bare than she would normally like. She can see the paint on her arms is nearly ruined. There’s paint in her hair , of all places, staining her beads in Fashav’s colors. She rubs at one absently, thinking how thoroughly debauched she must look.

“Come on,” Fashav says, smiling at her. “Let’s get something to eat.”

Aloy marvels at the difference in her reception. Judging by the angle of the sun as it moves westward, it’s been mere hours since she awoke, and already the mistrustful looks she received before are now ones of open curiosity, even acceptance. 

Fashav keeps a hand on the small of her back as he guides her through the Grove towards the cookfires. Now that she’s not slung over his back, she takes in what she can, noting the exits and which Tenakth might be guards versus just well armed. It’ll be easier once she has her Focus back. If she gets it back. She glances up at Fashav who smiles at her like he knows what she’s thinking.

“No need to plan your daring escape, sunshine,” he teases, voice low just for her, confirming her suspicions. “Tomorrow we can get you geared up and we’ll head out, wherever you point the way.”

Aloy wonders if there’s any point in trying to shake him off. Probably not, she thinks. He’s already proven he’s a skilled tracker.

The Marshals all gather by a fire, taking their seats on overturned logs or bits of an old wall that has crumbled to only a few feet in height. Fashav pulls Aloy close enough that their legs are pressed together and she allows it, still feeling off kilter at the casual mood, like the entire tribe hadn't just watched her scream her pleasure as he fucked her. 

One of the other Marshals brings a tray laden with mussels and fat, bright red crawfish on a bed of golden colored rice and blistered wild beans, setting it down within easy reach for everyone. Aloy can see steam rising off of it, the scent making her stomach growl, even though she’d just eaten a few hours previous.

She follows everyone’s example, cracking open a mussel and using half the shell as a makeshift spoon. It’s delicious , even though she can feel Fashav practically preening next to her.

“Never did get your name, sunshine,” he tells her, wiping something from the corner of her mouth with his thumb.

How absurd, Aloy thinks. They’re married , and he doesn’t even know her name.

“It’s Aloy,” she says.

“Aloy,” Fashav repeats, and if she likes the way her name sounds in his mouth, well, no one but her has to know.