Chapter Text
VALA
When she hunts, Vala is graceful and clever, a silent huntress focused on her prey. When she awakens, Vala is anything but. Grumbling and graceless and half-heartedly fighting the warm calloused hands that lightly jostle her into wakefulness. Her eyes open blearily, blurring with sleep as she takes a moment to focus. The room is dim, the candles having long-since burned down to the stubby wick, losing their battle against the dark of the night, and the sky itself has not yet awoken, still held under the thick blanket of night and the pale watching moon. Eventually, her eyes adjust enough to take in the figure stood before her.
“Varl? It’s… too early in the morning.” She jolts into wakefulness at once, her mind beginning to race. “Has something happened? Is mother–”
“Still asleep,” her brother reassures her, and she takes the moment to notice he is dressed and his mark already painted, his weapons held in their various places on his person, “I just… Get ready. Quietly . I’ll be waiting outside.”
The sky is beginning to glow faintly with mild flickerings of red like coals in a firepit when Vala makes her way outside, settling her fur shawl about her shoulders and swinging her bow onto her back to nestle with her quiver. Her brother is shuffling from foot to foot and fidgeting with his bracers, a nervous habit she knows he has worked hard to temper around their mother’s watchful eyes.
“This better not be some trick to psyche me out before the Proving,” she slinks forward, tone half-joking and half-accusing.
She doubts he would do anything to that degree, but the competitiveness stoked between them by their mother has always made them more rivals than siblings. Vala knows herself well enough to admit the guilt and regret that sits heavy in her chest when she sees other siblings in the Embrace and wonders what that might feel like.
“No, I promise it’s not a trick,” there’s a crease in his brow, a quaver to his voice and she realises oh, he’s hurt that I would think that about him . “Just… follow me.”
She follows silently at his back, occasionally picking up ridgewood and hintergold and salvebrush to restock her supplies as they head up the mountain. They keep a slow, steady pace. There is no race, no competition. It feels very solemn. Almost mournful. She wonders if her brother is jealous, resigned to her coming victory. They are both far too aware of their mother’s expectations, and from her, the expectations of the tribe. They are the War-Chief’s children. They must excel . Varl did not win his Proving. Their mother has forever been colder to him for it, her gaze sterner, more unyielding. Vala knows the only real competition she has is from Bast- sharp-eyed, an expert archer, swift, but easy to anger, stubborn, reckless (quiet, anxious, cornered by his family). Her mother has barely given her a second of rest in the past weeks, sending her constantly running the Brave trails and hunting as practice. There is a particular pressure in being the War-Chief’s daughter . One Vala would willingly give up with little thought. She cares little for the pressures put upon her, lets it slide off her like water off a duck’s back. She keeps her head high and takes pride in her accomplishments, regardless of whether or not they meet her mother’s exacting expectations.
They are nearly at the mountain’s peak. Her breath comes in heavy silvering clouds, her fingers grow numb at the tips, her legs are beginning to ache. She knows she is wrong. For all that Vala acts as if she is above her mother’s stern gaze, for all that she acts as if she is happy regardless, she knows it is untrue. Vala fights to meet their mother’s expectations. She pushes herself and revels in competition. What has she gotten for it? The faint feeling of a low-roaring fire igniting in her chest when she gets an approving nod or when she completes a challenge to no immediate critique, the strength and endurance of a brave several years more experienced, a brother she barely knows and hardly understands. Vala knows she will be happy regardless of whether or not she wins the Proving (although it would be a great pleasure to beat Bast), but deep down, she knows she hungers for those faint scraps of approval her mother rarely deigns to provide.
The dark clouds of the night have begun to subside, journeying across the horizon to allow for the growing colours of the day, the sky bleeding vibrant reds and dark purples that soak into softer oranges and blues and pinks. The sun, a brilliant eye, continues its steady ascension in the distance, spreading a gentle warmth across the land.
Varl turns to her, hands outstretched, fingers dusted yellow from the bunches of Golden Blooms. “I would wish you luck, but out of the two of us, you’ve never really needed it. You have All-Mother’s Blessing. And our mother’s blessing. I wish you well for your Proving. And look forward to celebrating your victory afterwards.”
Even though he, too, expects her to win, it feels a lot less crushing come from him. She’s always had better luck than him: Being naturally competitive. Being less moved by the expectations of others. Being born a girl. As she gently takes the flowers from her brother’s outstretched, welcoming hands, there is a moment of regret and roiling guilt at knowing she has taken so much from her brother. There is also a low, simmering anger at their mother for building this chasm between them, for making them believe that they have had to take from each other, for making them enemies before they could be siblings.
In this moment, yellow pollen dusting both of them, Golden Blooms in his hands and on her spear, there is something more important than Vala’s pride and her mother’s expectations: “Do I have yours?” His brows furrow, and she takes his hand in hers, clasping the bright flowers between them. “Do I have your blessing? Will you be cheering for me during the Proving?”
A soft smile dawns on her brother’s face and there is a realisation that she has never seen him smile like this because of her . “Of course, you have my blessing. I will be cheering you on the whole time.”
“Maybe, after the Proving and the celebrations, we could… go on a hunt together? You could tell me about your Proving? And about your time as a Brave? I’d appreciate hearing your stories, and learning from your experiences.”
“I would like that.”
When they head back down the mountain, they don’t race for their mother’s approval. They race for the joy of leaping from tree to tree, for the joy of feeling the wind swell past them as they rappel down cliff faces, for the joy of being together.
Vala has changed her mind on what boon she will request should she win the Proving. She looks forward to more races like this one, just spending time with a brother she is now starting to get to know.
***
BAST
The outcast is of age to run in the Proving. The outcast. That small, wild haired girl he threw a rock at so long ago. The motherless child who got to have that mountain of a man at her back to protect her. What trick had she pulled on All-Mother that she might have a father, a parent, a caring guardian to watch over her while Bast had his taken from him? Where was All-Mother’s love in that? The motherless red-haired girl who had thrown his own defiance back at him, made herself the better person and returned a hit that stopped his own. She had survived a motherless upbringing and now had the strength to run in the Proving. The outcast was of age to run in the Proving, and she had the ability to win it.
That’s all Bast really takes in from all of Loma’s grumbling, and Resh’s crazed ranting and spineless pleading, as he tries to convince High Matriarch Lansra to remove the outcast from the Proving. She can’t, of course. It goes against the sacred traditions of the Nora (although this tradition has only ever had one reason to come into play before, not that it was accepted), and to act against it would require the agreement of both High Matriarch Jezza and High Matriarch Teersa.
“Teersa would not hear of it. And Jezza is too soft to stand against it. There is nothing I can do,” Bast’s wizened great-grandmother snarls from the head of the table, Loma mumbling her support of her mother.
Den sits quietly by Bast’s side, eyes on the breakfast spread of berries, bread, and cured meat before them, though no one but Loma has reached for the food yet. An overwhelming wash of icy cold overtakes Bast, and he looks up to find himself caught in the dark burning gaze of the High Matriarch. He has always found these ‘family meetings’ unpleasant, the stifling opinions and expectations of High Matriarch Lansra and his uncle oppressive and inescapable, while his grandmother does nothing but agree and go along with them. No matter how hard he tries to follow after their example, there is always something not quite right . A bitter taste in his mouth, an anxious swoop in his stomach, a pain in his chest. He does his best to ignore these feelings.
“Bast,” the hiss of his name from the High Matriarch’s lips brings him back to attention.
“Yes, great-grandmother?”
“You must win the Proving. You, or the War-Chief’s girl. If the outcast runs, and I fear she will, you must do all in your power to ensure she fails. Do what you must, no matter the cost, she must not succeed. She must not be allowed to join the tribe. Do you understand?”
“And don’t get caught.” Loma murmurs, disinterestedly. “No point being outcast yourself.”
Resh jumps into the conversation before Bast has to say anything and he takes a short, shaking breath, looking away from his great-grandmother and uncle as they scheme against the outcast, and his grandmother picks at the food on the table. Den catches his gaze, gesturing towards the door and, together, the two of them sneak out unnoticed by their plotting relatives.
The sky is still light with early morning sunlight, but the streets of Mother’s Heart are already abuzz with activity as everyone makes the final preparations for the Proving and celebrations. There are strings of lanterns being attached from rooftop to rooftop, decorative rope ties being hung and stages set up. Bast has always loved the Proving celebrations- the food, the singing and folktales, the tribe coming together from all corners of the Sacred Lands to celebrate as one. The Proving has always been the closest he has felt to All-Mother’s love, the warmth of all the Nora combining. Faintly, he recalls attending the celebrations with his parents: being carried in his mother’s arms while Den perched atop their father’s shoulders. Those memories feel long ago now, lost to flames and scarlet silks. His dark mood lifts when he sees the pair waiting up the path, their smiles growing to match his as he runs his way over.
“So, ready for the race of a lifetime?” Nakoa’s grin is sharp but he sees no threat in it, and never has, despite what others say about his friend (and he hears the whispers. That she’s damaged , broken , not quite right after what happened all those years ago, back home in Mother’s Rise).
“Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting years for this. I’ll finally get to be out with all of you. Not cooped up training.”
“We’ve been waiting just as long, you know.” Yan laughs, guiding them all through Mother’s Heart towards one of the campfires, already burning. “Now, time to get you a proper breakfast befitting of a soon-to-be Brave.”
Ferl and Muns join them as they feast and laugh around the fire, sharing stories of their own Provings that Bast has heard a dozen times and will hear a dozen more.
At one point, he catches sight of High Matriarch Lansra moving through the crowd, Resh on her heels as they head towards All-Mother Mountain, and he feels his good mood start to fade.
Nakoa, of course, as sharp-eyed as him, catches it. “So, how are you really feeling?”
“Angry. The outcast,” his voice quavers. He pushes forward, spitting the words, “the outcast is running in the Proving. And they think she has a chance. I can’t let that motherless curse steal my chances of winning. Our chances of winning. Nakoa, I won’t .”
Nakoa’s gaze goes soft, something sad shimmering in her eyes briefly before she answers. “It doesn’t matter what she does. If she even shows. Bast, you just run that Proving. Don’t think about her, don’t think about Vala. Just keep going, and know that Den and Yan, and Ferl and Muns, and I- we’re all cheering for you. Besides, even if you don’t win… I’ve got a plan.”
Bast’s face contorts in confusion. “What sort of plan? If you’re hoping High Matriarch Lansra will help you because we’re friends–”
Nakoa scoffs. “Yeah, already tried that. Didn’t work. Unsurprisingly. But, I've got a back up plan.”
“Well, you don't need your back up plan. Because I am going to win the Proving, and get us that boon.”
There is a solemnity in her eyes as she reaches one hand out to him. “Bast, you’ll become a Brave, as you deserve. And the tribe will be lucky to have a Brave like you. Just– don’t put too much on this. Whatever happens, we will get justice for our families.”
Between the discussion in the house and the sadness in Nakoa’s smile (he doesn’t understand, there’s something she’s keeping from him, why won’t she tell him?), Bast feels the anger surging within him.
He leaps to his feet and snarls (all too much like his great-grandmother, a small part of him cries). “I will win, Nakoa. Not Vala, not some feral flame-haired outcast. Me . I’ll win and we’ll get our boon and then we’ll go and make him pay for what he did. For what he took from us. I swear on All-Mother, and if you won’t believe me, I’ll prove it.”
He doesn’t wait around for a reply, marching off from the fireside gathering to gather his weapons and prepare for the approaching fight.
***
Vala
The first Vala hears of an outcast running the Proving is from rumours swirling around Mother’s Heart, and the angered mutterings of Bast as he marches past (no doubt rooted in him from High Matriarch Lansra and her prejudices). The first Vala hears confirmation of an outcast running the Proving is from her mother lecturing the Braves who will be serving as proctors.
“I understand that there are some concerns regarding the rumours circling about the possibility of an outcast running in the Proving. Allow me to put any such concerns to rest,” Vala can see the tension leaving Resh (the least loyal and most prejudiced of the Braves) as her mother addresses the proctors. “These rumours are correct. The outcast girl shall be running in the Proving, as is her right to fight for the chance to join our tribe and to join our number, as a Brave. I understand there are some who are… unhappy with this news. So take heed. Should I learn of any interference in our sacred right, you shall find yourself outcast. Am I understood?”
The chorus of affirmatives that follow includes a notably quiet Resh (Vala suspects he was silent and just mouthed the words) before the proctors all scatter to prepare or celebrate.
Vala wanders over to her mother, painting a curious but innocent expression across her face. “What do you know of this outcast? You seem… protective of her.”
“It is an affront upon All-Mother to go against our sacred ways and deny the outcast her chance to truly complete and earn her place amongst the tribe.”
“Do you know anything about her?” She fights not to shrink back under the sharp gaze of her mother. “I want to prepare myself for the competition, knowing my opponents can keep me ahead. Is… she competition?”
Sona snorts. “She is indeed. She was trained by Rost.”
For a moment, a shadow falls over her mother’s face. A darkness, a pain that Vala has never seen before. But as soon as it arrives, it disappears, falling back beneath the unreadable expression her mother wears most often.
“Rost was once the best of us. An expert hunter, an expert fighter and an expert teacher . She will be a great opponent. Trust me, daughter, when I say this: never before has there been such a close competition amongst the winners of a Proving. The victor shall be you, Bast, or Aloy.”
Her mother tries to walk away and Vala finds herself jogging after her. Vala is notoriously curious. Her mother knows it, her brother knows it, the whole Nora tribe knows it. Does it get her in trouble? Occasionally. Is the trouble worth it? Absolutely. And this outcast girl, Aloy? Vala is dying with curiosity to find out more about her. Especially now hearing how skilled she will be.
“What more do you know? Surely , you must know more. You’re the War-Chief!”
“Enough, Vala,” the War-Chief’s voice is sharp and commanding (there has rarely been much difference between her mother Sona and War-Chief Sona, but in this moment, the difference is stark), “prepare yourself as best you can. But I can give you no more. Nor shall I. You shall win by your own merit. And I hope you will win. Do me proud.”
Vala, Bast or Aloy.
It was certainly shaping up to be an interesting Proving, Vala thought to herself, heading off to prepare herself for the coming trial.