Private The Step Taken

[Sitra]

Today was the beginning of the rest of her life.

How grandiose of a statement for how little fanfare greeted the start of it; the day's idle humming of birdcall hardly did justice to the tumultuous years leading to her arrival at the gates of the Astenvale Monastery. The abode of misfits and hedge knights.

No surprise then that she should find herself of all people surrendered to their custody so that they could help see the young squire through the remainder of her tutelage, something that was initially entrusted to their household knight.

There were no great expectations of a lofty greeting from either party, nor was the endless droning of oath swearing and retelling of old, feeble traditions, but merely the polite deference afforded to even the lowliest visitor arriving upon their threshold. She was not an idiot, there was no doubt in her mind that she may have very well played a part in the subdued introductions; the fashion in which she arrived was not exactly an inspiring one.

There she stood at their gates with an expression that spoke volumes of her ambivalence, while her instructor for the past year muttered the customary platitudes in a foreign tongue - though it was one she knew almost as well as her own. By the side of Ayl-Maltene Ranna Anakanos, Sitra was hardly all that inspirational of a presence in comparison.

Not to a knightly order who likely put more value in the former's confidence and platemail as opposed to the latter's undoubtedly expensive attire and... as was said, a face that spoke volumes. At the moment she was much too busy musing her farewells to a life of freedom to wipe the grimace from her lips.

Nonetheless, she could not deny the majesty of her new home - austere and replete with a certain rustic simplicity as it was - there was an undeniable dignity to it. Even the most oppressive places could have the charm that came with being a hallowed institution, and who better fit that description than the Astenvale Monastery, from 'neath the shade of the Eldyr tree?

They had songs about it once, and she even knew a few, but she also knew that they were no longer sung anywhere of significance.

Hence, the face speaking volumes.

Sitra was so busy recklessly plowing forward that she hadn't stopped once to contemplate what lay ahead, and so finally took the time to evaluate her surroundings with something bordering on interest; the ennui in her eyes no longer so grave. For a moment she even gave breath to lungs starved of hope, watching the proceedings as she was transferred from one jailor to another with what might be considered enthusiasm. Not that it was all that impressive of a display of emotion, really. As a matter of fact it was a pathetic, quickly fleeting thing.

And yet it was the first time in a long while that she dared to hope.

"This is where we must part, dear girl. At least for a little while. Have you all you need?"

"I think I'll be quite alright, oma. You forget that this is not the first time I've left my family without supervision, after all."

"You're an impertinent thing, do you know that?" Ranna's riposte was vague, and Sitra didn't dare wonder if it was because she referred to the knight as grandmother, or the oblique references to her previous escapades. It could easily be both.

"So they've told me. But all the same, you need not fret over me so much. Truly. You understand more than most what this step means to me, and of my willingness to take it." The smile on Sitra's face was modest, but sincere. She didn't smile all that often and so couldn't quite manage anything more beyond the demure.

She pushed herself away from her horse so that she could reach forward to entwine her hand around Ranna's own, in a final gesture of affection. The knight now comfortably astride her mount in preparation of departure. "You need not worry about the wild child any longer, you've done more than enough for me." Sitra made squeezed a little tighter.

She seemed to pause after having made the compliment, mentally chewing over the words before her face suddenly, subtly twisted; disentangling her hand as gracefully as she could from the knight's comforting grasp, as if she'd caught herself doing something she didn't like doing. Which she did. She was most definitely not a toucher, something her companion knew well enough judging by the wry smile that graced Ranna's cracked lips. Most others would probably be a little offended, to say the least. But not her.

"And so I thank you for everything, especially for tolerating my selfishness in these past years. Without your tutelage I rather doubt I'd be taking this step at all, nor would I have had the confidence to do so. And... that is all I have, I think."

Ranna couldn't help but to laugh, genuine amusement flitting across her face at the awkward display of emotions. Not unkindly, mind you, but they both knew that dealing with her feelings was never one of Sitra's strong points. Something that had caused them both a great deal of trouble over the years, even as the girl made monumental efforts since then to improve on it.

That part of her training was a little less of a success than their other regimens.

"Oh, right. Please do give my parents my warmest regards when you see them next. Tell them that I will write to them when I can, as well as to Uncle Radenne. Tell them..." that I regret a number of things, "that they need not worry about me here, for I intend to bring nothing but pride to them. They may not believe it otherwise, I imagine."

All it took to silence the young squire's rambling was a firm pat on her head from Ranna's elevated position as she leaned over in her saddle, knowing that this might very well be the last and final time she'd be able to do so. When next they met it could be as equals, and the child would be a child no more. It was a bittersweet fact of life, yet one she had long since come to understand; the girl's insistence on being treated as anything but had made it abundantly clear.

"I'll be certain to tell them, not that they don't already know."

"You really don't have to walk me to the gate, oma."

***

That was yesterday, however. Today was actually the beginning of the rest of her life.

Sitra didn't know what to make of it, at first glance. The Astenvale Monastery was a rather unassuming place, hidden from nearly all eyes of civilization beyond a few paltry villages dotted around the forested countryside. To match it, she quickly found that the dormitories were equally unassuming, bereft of a great deal of creature comforts that she was accustomed to after all her twenty years.

She could at least say that the beds weren't entirely intolerable, though it was one of the few virtues she could discover upon first glance.

And of course, the day's idle humming of birdcall was again to be the young squire's fanfare, causing her to blink and shift in affirmation that it was indeed morning. Then, without missing a beat, she proceeded to throw herself into the newly creased sheets - catching the majority of the impact with a face made swollen by sleep - and permitted herself a few more precious seconds in the place she'd so blissfully dreamed moments before.

There was a surprising dearth of activity after she'd arrived, at least initially.

Aside from the oath swearing and initial walkthrough of where she'd be spending most of her time for the foreseeable future, the bulk of the next few days were spent in relative isolation while they seemingly figured out what to do with their latest squire. And so she did what she did best - haunt the premises like a ghostly apparition. At first she spent her time finding appropriate stables for the thoroughbred gelding that had served as her complacent mount for the past several months, then came the less arduous task of finding where she wasn't allowed, before rooting around the places she was allowed.

Which she did, of course, with commendable enthusiasm. Even going so far as to wander far enough to an old well on the outskirts of the grounds, lured by the noise of squires doing things they shouldn't be doing. Rather than chiding them, she instead placed coins in coinless hands and watched fascinated while an absurd amount of money was thrown down the dark abyss, quickly learning that it was a tradition of sorts.

She was not blind to the fact that some simply pocketed the change, yet said nothing.

Information was a valuable currency, and Sitra considered it a bribe well spent for what she learned from children with lips loosened by her generous tribute. Not all of it was relevant. Indeed, most of it was the mundane gossip that permeated practically every tightknit community from one end of the continent to the other. All the same she tucked it away for future reference; not knowing if who was bloody who would ever be particularly useful to her, but she was prudent enough not to casually toss aside such tidbits. You never really know.

Eventually as the hours turned to days she had finally run out of places to go and pliable young minds to pry information from, now choosing to walk the gardens in the hope of catching a particular someone coming and going from any of the outlying buildings.

That she had family in residence was something she was already made aware of, but had not caught a glimpse of the elusive Bebin Theros since stepping foot in this place. Wondered briefly if he existed at all, even. Although she had asked to that effect and was in turn assured that yes, such a person did exist. And no, they didn't know where he was right now.

On a mission, perhaps?

With no further leads to follow, Sitra Vené Tanyakoettir discovered an inconspicuous place to sit amidst the overgrown flora that seemed to threaten at any moment to climb up and over the squire in order to claim the seat she'd just taken. Not that she terribly minded the encroaching overgrowth, finding the isolation a nice change of pace to the madness of the multi-roomed dormitories and accepting that it came with a few weeds that might contest with her peace and quiet.

There she sat, waiting. She wore an approximation of the same outfit that she came to Astenvale with - an elegant doublet, blouse, and plain breeches this time. Not exactly an inspiring mix-up, but the idea of stockings and long, pleated skirts outside of the rare occasion that she was given a moment of freedom from the increasingly expanding list of chores was soon abandoned.

Somehow she doubted it would improve as the days wandered into weeks.

Before she was carried away entirely with life in this place, she would have liked to hear the wisdom of a cousin she'd met only once. To ask the questions that begged to be asked, at least from her. And who knows? Perhaps she'd find something in common with her own blood, however removed they might've been by time and ties.

Then again, probably not. There were... more than a few differences between the two.

 

[Bebin]

It was all a dream.

His hair short, his beard but scruff. A field of green before him. The mist of the morning that clung and crept across the night cooled needles of the chir pines. Still heavy with beads that shimmered like jewels along their run. Skirted tall sentinels that watched over the land, long before there was any brick baked beneath the sun and laid against the earth.

They burned too.

His eyes came open beneath the surface. The viscous liquid in his lungs. Drowned and buoyed his breath all the same.

---

"Word is, " Syr Iramene said idly, as his hands flipped through reports. Stopped on one particular piece of parchment. Brow knit together. "she arrives today," he set the page down beside a fresh one, grabbed up a quill, and began to scratch out notations.

Bebin was not sat far. Hunched over, at a bench as his wide back rose and fell with steadying breaths. Their rythms almost synced with the laps of the luminous fluid that pooled within the Nymphaeum's tanks.

Iramene stopped his scratching. Eyes peered up, cautious as he hung over the parchment at his desk. "She's your... relative?"

"Cousin's child," he said, almost a cough, went back to his breaths. Slow. Steady. Full.

"Second cousin then," Iramene went on, eyes flit down to his writings. He scratched a few more.

"So you would call them, yes,"

"And you?"

"Bhatiji,"

Iramene's made a quiet sound. Like the shift of air as scales dipped and raised. "You'll see her then?"

"When the time is right,"

Another scratch of the quill. "Of course,"

"Well, Medicant," Bebin probed,

Iramene's pen came to stop. Tapped. His eyes flicked up. "Well," he started. Eased back into the old wood of his chair. Expression measured. "A bit of rest would do you some good, Theros,"

A nod. "Of course," he was frayed. A chord coming undone. Liable to snap. Strands already compromised.

"Maybe, spend time upon the grounds? Tend to the new crop of squires, and those ragged lot fools enough to take the oaths,"

Bebin began to wind his long tresses into a knot. "How long?"

Iramene frowned. Let the papers fall. "You've more to offer than your-"

"Iramene,"

The younger knight sighed. Shook his head. "If you're so set on tearing yourself apart, least through the summer, though a whole year would be best,"

A cruel grin splayed across Bebin's face, as he finished knotting his hair. He sat up straight, and went on with his ritual. "Noted,"

 

[Sitra]

Sitra wasn't feeling too disheartened about her lack of success so far in spotting her intended target; it was still early in the day, after all. And while the discovery of her cousin would have been a wonderful development, it was only one of two reasons why she decided to spend her free time in the gardens, well away from prying eyes and ears. The other reason was rather more immaterial, and it had nothing to do with anything except her own peace of mind.

Now that she'd settled into an easy rhythm of life in the monastery and established some semblance of a routine, it was simply nice to carve out a quiet moment for herself from time to time. To sit and contemplate all that she'd accomplished that day - perhaps to set aside an hour where she might be allowed to meditate on whatever thoughts or anxieties or triumphs that plagued her thoughts. Anything really. Or nothing at all.

So long as she could sit in peace and quiet for a while, it mattered not where she let her mind wander.

Her first week or so at the Astenvale Monastery was draining, to say the least.

No surprise that she found it to be an unexpectedly pleasant experience to finally get the opportunity to collect herself amidst the tangles and blooms of the monastery's overgrown gardens. Her head was as sore as her body, and had no qualms in admitting that a place to retreat after the morning's studies and afternoon's chores was a thing that she dearly coveted.

And until the clatter of footsteps steered her thoughts back to reality, she had indeed been enjoying her privacy. Much like a cat basking in the warmth of the afternoon's rays, her reaction had been equally as languid in how she addressed the intruder; her one eye opening against the glare of the sunlight so that she might better assess the vague, unfocused shadow of the knight standing before her.

There was a moment where all she could do was mutter was a polite greeting as her vision adjusted, waiting for the specter above her to come into focus - and for her bleary gaze to make out anything beyond the harsh outline of the stranger in the garden.

 

[Bebin]

Bebin came to a stop at the clearing A moment of silence to spy the young woman who lounged about the green that wove its way across the ancient grounds of their Monastery.

How a face could be so familiar, and yet, new, spun within his thoughts.

"Squire," Bebin said, a bit tight lipped from the near distance. His eyes sharp and unwavering. A breath in. Long and cool. A small laugh huffed from his nose.

 

[Sitra]

"Squire,"

The voice was entirely unfamiliar to her. It was not one belonging to any of her tutors, nor was it one she recognized as one of her peers. The fact that this stranger was no doubt a knight proper had startled the young squire out of whatever casual response she might have been ready to answer with, and she took a fleeting moment to straighten herself out and look presentable.

Then she looked to Bebin with suddenly shy eyes, feeling the most absurd traces of uncertainty grip her heart from out of nowhere. It did not help that the tangible silence between the pair was broken with a single word that hinted at something more than a polite greeting - considering how he went out of his way to find her. Otherwise she would have been perfectly content uttering a quiet reply before proceeding to ignore him entirely.

But before any reply could find her lips, she looked upon the beturbaned man's face; his muted countenance looming over her with an expression as unreadable as the ledgers he had tucked beneath his arm. There was something about him that she couldn't quite place.

Sitra had always wondered what her cousin looked like.

Surely she would have been told something to that effect, yet nobody in Saknne seemed to know. Not anymore.

There was an assumption that they at least shared some likeness in common, for after all she was aware of their mutual origins. And thus she was feeling confident that they must appear familiar enough for her to detect a sense of kinship, even from first impressions; in her mind the fact that they'd not once laid eyes upon one another for nearly two decades mattered naught.

And with a childlike naivety did Sitra believe that they might've shared more in common at first glance.

But it was enough for her to suspect, seeing him for the first time.

"... my greetings, syr."

To the point. Polite. An easy opener where the other options were to either spill her heart out or to surrender the initiative and speak not at all. She wasn't even certain that he was her cousin; the family she knew had lived divorced from their homelands for decades now, and both dressed and groomed themselves in the fashion that those in Saknne do. While this man had the appearance of a particularly frisky tomcat, and wore his black whiskers as proudly as the rest of his person.

And so rather than an a greeting without any ulterior motives or questioning stares, that's precisely what he got. Her almond eyes travelled up to his face questioningly while her hands tucked into one another upon her lap as if she needed to keep them from wandering aimlessly, which they probably would've.

The urge to interrogate her hairline with her fingers was still carried a strong presence.

So who was this man? As a matter of fact, who was Bebin Theros?

These were the quiet questions that could be found in her eyes were he to look hard enough, for she did not hide her new curiosity - and left it to a gamble that he might offer of his own volition what she was searching for. To assume his identity on the off-chance that the only other brown person here was the family she was looking for was in poor taste, so she didn't.

But she offered no more than that courtesy, not quite yet.

 

[Bebin]

Try as he might to keep his cool composure, Bebin could not help but feel a sense of pride as he looked upon his niece.

Second cousin, in the lands of Altalusia, but far and to the South, amidst the foothills of the Mhearan's tail, such rigid delineations of familial ties were not so splintered. Cousins were next to bothers and sisters. Their children, nieces and nephews. The bonds of family, held the tighter.

So in that bit of flesh that pointed back up to him, he saw his cousin's nose. His own mother's eyes, dark as the life giving wells that gave them water, there behind it.

"You bare even more of your mother's countenance than last we met," his features eased, just the more, and his head keeled down, in a way more familial. "I doubt you recall that visit," he held out a hand, with fore finger, middle, and thumb splayed, down by his waist. "About this tall then," he laughed, traced the singers about the bones of his cheek, "Rounder in the face," the look in his eyes softened. "Sherazi curls, still rowed about your crown," he let the memories swim about the currents of his thoughts as he took the sight of the young woman in. "But, you must forgive me, bhatiji, you are a woman grown now, and I," he bowed to his kin. "Forget myself,"

He straightened up, and looked to her once more. "I am your Mama," an odd tenderness had warmed his voice. Though he realized how odd the word may have sounded to one raised so far away from the lands that bore the phrase. "Your mother's cousin," he said, with a bit more stiffness to his tone.

 

[Sitra]

Sitra allowed the tension she had felt building up in her shoulders to deflate in the aftermath of Bebin's greeting, not having expected her cousin to be so... personable. As a matter of fact she hadn't the faintest notion of what to expect, and so was undeniably taken aback by the nostalgic reminisces of a cousin she'd met so long ago. Her own eyes softened in reaction to his own; her smile blossoming into something a little less modest.

As she was hardly someone for emotions, she didn't know how to react. Not at first.

Or that was to say, she was too inclined to lean towards one end of the spectrum or the other. In life she was either utterly muted, a practice she'd learn to maintain throughout her long, dull days of her life in Saknne, or her feelings ran amuck like a garden left unkempt; the overgrowth of brambles, vines and foliage all around her resembling in a way the same labyrinth of feelings she oft had to navigate all her life.

That was why Bebin's cousin - little more than a young squire in the monastery's garden a moment before - was the perfect image of a calm, serene noblewoman. Not partial to any overt displays of emotion, she instead listened to all that he had to offer with that same open smile, giving little away of what raced behind those desperately wide eyes of hers. And never so much of shifting from her place upon the bench.

Then there were no more words to be spoken, at least not from him. All the questions she might have wanted answered were answered, and despite the lack of any immediate resemblance, it was more than enough for her to accept what was spoken as truth.

By the time her cousin had concluded his short introduction of not only the past, but the present in where they both stood as equals in adulthood, Sitra had already stood from her seat. Her posture held all the poise she'd been trained for, with her hands linked gracefully together; fingers loosely laced through one another.

"I do not see anything to forgive, Bebin Theros. I certainly didn't seek you out so that we could act as strangers."

Not entirely comfortable with the sudden deluge of emotions that threatened to leak out of her, Sitra's almond eyes slid shut for a brief moment, only to direct them afterward to the narrow gap in the leaves where the afternoon sun still revealed itself - not quite at the highest point in the sky just yet, she noted. But it was getting there.

When her gaze had returned to Bebin, it was with the clarity of the words she'd speak next.

"Within reason, of course. I have no intention of forgetting myself or my station, please know that." Sitra's brow had furrowed after she had spoken - in what was probably a display of mock seriousness - but it'd vanish far too quickly to make any distinction. And in exchange there was something less intense as replacement; the unmistakable earnestness from before, upon remembering his earlier words. "Also, I'm afraid that I don't recall your visit. I was somewhat smaller then," an understatement, if there ever was any, "and I know there is no changing how little we've seen of one another in the past, but I'd like the chance to know you better, now."

She remembered little of herself as a babe, for obvious reasons.

Yet she was oddly pleased all the same to learn that there was even more of her mother in her than before.

With a cant of her head to the side, as if suddenly and abruptly ashamed of some invisible conduct she'd forgotten, her gaze once again skipped past Bebin to a horizon unseen to one of them. "If that's quite alright with you... cousin? I wish I knew a better manner to address you, in a way my mother might've."

That she meant a counter-reply to being addressed as bhatiji was obvious, though what was less obvious was her annoyance with the fact.

She wordlessly reprimanded herself over the failure to learn such a simple familial honorific - or at least to be asked to taught it. But it was too late for that. Too late for a great many regrets, she supposed. The sheer joy of learning what she had sought was diluted, somewhat, by the illness in Bebin's countenance.

She saw it, and simply hoped there was another answer for it. That there wouldn't be one more regret upon her shoulders.

 

[Bebin]

A nod, gentle with purpose as he accepted what she proposed.

"It would be most alright," he made known with the low rumble of his voice, the roll of river stones under steady currents. "In the common tongue, I would be more considered your mother's brother," he offered. "And you my niece," a hiss of a laugh. A sharp smile. "Hence, Mama,"

He took some steps closer, easy as the breeze stirred the leaves, and the sun dappled through the canopy. The blue robes that marked his mastery of the Loch, accented by the deeper dye of his turban. A proud hood, wrapped and tucked about his crown.

It marked the work of steady hands, that had wound and twined the yards of dyed cotton. Sure enough to keep it neat.

Yet dark circles sunk beneath his eyes, and there was a pallid quality to the brown of his skin. As if a hunger for the brightness of the sun, and the feeling of warmth in the bones.

"How go your first days at the monestary?" he asked idly. His eyes about the space she occupied. Almost afraid to see a part of himself, he had long left behind, find him now after so many years.

 

[Sitra]

Mama. That word was one that she was perfectly familiar with; she did not understand the nuances of Sherazi as Bebin did, but she thought she had followed along well enough. Mama. The uncle from the mother's side of her family, so yes, she supposed it made sense. But to imagine the man standing there in her mother's place was a curious thought; having looked again for the distinction and seeing it in a hundred small ways.

Those tomcat features aside.

Sitra watched while the man she knew now to be her uncle drew closer with an easy, confident stirring of his feet as if there was already an inherent trust to be given to a complete stranger.

Not that she found anything wrong in the fact. Quite the opposite, really. Bebin had shown her nothing but kindness in his words and in the way he regarded her with an instant familiarity, and so she was more than happy to receive this newly discovered cousin with another vanishingly small smile; the last one had disappeared, if only for a moment, upon seeing his face. The closer he came, the more that feeling returned with far more urgency than before.

To that, she did try her best not to look too closely, and to not be so nosy; how likely he would feel scrutinized under her gaze was anyone's guess, so she tried not stare too long - nor too obviously. But certainly enough to notice how they shared the same, prominent aquiline nose that seemed so dreadfully common in the family.

How lovely, at least she had that in common with her cousin.

Bebin's words brought her back to the present with nary a blink to suggest her thoughts had drifted.

How went the first days of hers at the monastery? How funny of a question to ask, for she wasn't entirely certain about that herself. "I find myself settling in surprisingly well, Mama. I wont lie and say that I had no concerns of coming here, only that they were more trivial than I had dared hope. I certainly did not expect the kindness and the patience I have been given... and so many things are different here as well,"

She couldn't help but to draw her words short, coming up with no good way to frame her answer to the question that had been asked; she was doing well enough, that was true. Yet she did not know how to explain how and why things were so different without coming across as... snobbish? Childish? She was a noblewoman amongst hedge knights, and an adult already amongst so many children.

There were other Orders that would have readily offered finer accommodations, as well as Orders that did not expect those with noble blood to help with the menial chores; the laundry, the cooking, the preparation of firewood. And yet the work was simple enough that she had no real complaints beyond her need for a proper bed - and maybe a proper bath - at least one that was not so lukewarm.

However, she would not burden the serious looking man with such things. Wasn't she settling in nicely?

Nonetheless, the words had already left her mouth, almost unbidden. It was too late to simply change the subject without perhaps raising a brow, as he had asked her how her first days had went and that probably included how those different things might have affected her.

Many might've simply told the truth, for Bebin had acted nicely enough, but she knew better than that. She learned at a young enough age to judge others without the bias of friendship and familiarity. Bebin Theros did not seem the type to suffer fools casually.

"Yet I've found my place at the monastery, and I am glad to have come." Sitra was not entirely lying about that, although she took care to avoid any reference to her meeting with the Knight Pursuant Shallows. That was another discussion, and another subject, entirely. "I had thought I learned a great many things during my studies at home, but there is always more to learn, and there is always a wiser tutor."

She thought for a moment, then added something else.

"There seems to be an endless list of chores to do, but I imagine there are lessons to be found in those as well."

Her eyes twinkled a little bit at that. She was still learning about humility, it seemed.

 

[Bebin]

Calm and impassivity were well worn masks over Bebin's features. Worries untold stewed and stirred, too far down beneath the surface of his mind. Known to him, felt by him, and dredged up now, unsettled, by this new element.

His kin.

His cousin's daughter.

A memory from a visit long past, come again as a prospective of their order. A squire to be. All the promise of a Knight, were her mother's letters to be believed. Ambitious. Cunning. Capable of much and more.

Words written with love, as much as worry, Veerji,

His sister had written.

Bebin gave a nod. Measured as a pour of cool water. "There are lessons to be found in all tasks, if one cares to find them," he agreed, easy as his eyes came to her again. A crack of a smile showed on his lips. "Most of all in the toil, dirt beneath your nails, and grit clung to the palms," he motioned and went to sit down before her, legs gathered and folded beneath him. His smile sure upon his lips. Small and secret as it was beneath the dark bristles of his beard. But there was no hiding the gentle joy in his eyes.

Whether he was aware of it yet. That was a mystery.

One his fingers felt they might find in the grass as they stroked the cool blades of green.

 

[Sitra]

Sitra mulled over what was said with that same look of quiet, introspective seriousness as before; something that most people in Astenvale would have gotten accustomed to by this point. That was, only if they happened to share more than a precious few words with the young woman.

She did consider what he meant by the nature of toiling for a few moments longer, thinking about her newfound duties of gathering firewood or assisting the cook in one of their many duties, and ultimately came to the same conclusion - there was little merit to be found in those tasks, as necessary as they were.

Not having the slightest idea whether the expression she'd adopted conveyed what she thought, Sitra found it wise to merely let that topic of discussion pass with a quiet murmur of agreement and a nod of her head. This was simply how she was raised, especially around family, and so didn't try too hard to argue with the logic he was presenting.

So instead she moved to sit with him as well, content with returning to her seat on the bench; the distance was reasonable, and she preferred to avoid any grass stains.

Whether or not she found value in the toil of the earth was less relevant than staying tidy, now.

"I suppose that is fair, and I won't deny that there is value and happiness to be found in simple labour. But is it why you decided to make Astenvale your home?" Sitra lied effortlessly, managing to change the topic of conversation in order to obliquely address one of the questions she'd been more interested in hearing the answer for.

Her question about whether or not he came to this place to garden was decidedly rhetorical.

"If I may ask, mama. I don't mean to intrude on things that aren't my business."

No doubt she was curious as to why this man, so far from home, decided upon the remote order of hedge knights far removed from both their shared past. And the rest of the world, for that matter. But she knew that her vanity in desiring a more respectable, venerable institution to continue her studies was not shared by all.

Sitra's vanity aside, asking him why he decided to come so far to this place wasn't necessarily a surprising thing to ask. Who wouldn't wonder why someone went so far from home, especially if they were family?

And while her mother had spoken of her cousin before, it was all mostly in wistful reminisces; their history having long since been relegated to a distant past from before she travelled to Saknne in order to be married off to Sitra's father. And so the girl sitting on the bench with her hands folded in her lap was hardly privy to any knowledge of his life.

That her mother still exchanged active correspondence beyond the occasional letter would be news to her.

Most especially if that correspondence was about her.

 

[Bebin]

The moment that spread between them was full of a silence. A calm that was punctuated by the rustle of wind through the leaves, and the gentle hum of insect wings abuzz as shiny bodies zipped about.

Mixed with the smell of flowers.

"You may," he said finally. He brought his hand up, and upon the bridge of his knuckles crawled a hearty beetle. Shell lustrous and black. "And you are family, it is only natural that you have questions," he had many of his own. But in their time. He lift his hand, just a hair higher. The beetle's shell cracked open, revealed translucent wings.

How the chitinous shapes shimmered with traces of sunlight before they stormed to life and the fat little shape took off. Into the greater world beyond them.

"I came to this place, not much older than you are now," he said, his smile still worn as he looked to her. "Too much fire in my heart, to see what might be found in the earth beneath me," he bowed his head to her, and to those ghosts of the past her coming brought with her. "What do you know, of your mother's homeland, bhatiji?"

 

[Sitra]

The words Bebin had spoken were meticulously listened to and considered by his cousin, and Sitra had nodded in return when he'd finished.

Although she remained otherwise quiet; if her expression was anything to go by, it was clear that at least a little bit of her attention was reserved for the beetle that scurried across Bebin's fingers in search of an escape. She was watching as it was lifted into flight by a flutter of its wings, sending it on its way to parts and adventures unknown.

To that, she permitted a smile to unknowingly grace her lips. It was admittedly a small smile, one that she probably hadn't even realized she was making, but that was precisely the only kind she allowed others to see without restraint, or without any deliberate intention on her end. When her eyes had returned to her cousin, there was nothing of the faint hint of unabashed amusement that had flitted across her lips.

But the look in her eyes was still kind, welcoming. Even if she forced anything more behind a wall of stony neutrality.

"Aha, I believe I understand now. My parents said the same about me once - too much fire. But I don't think they necessarily meant it as a compliment," Sitra had replied with a slightly sheepish laugh in spite of herself; she couldn't help it. Bebin's words had brought back a great deal of memories that she appeared noticeably embarrassed by, and made it clear that she had no intention of diving into them today, if ever, by the way she dismissively shook her head.

As if she could have shaken those thoughts away like some wayward leaf atop her head.

Only when the subject of her mother's homeland was broached did she allow something else to show itself behind her gaze; an earnest glimmer of curiosity that made her blink in sudden and unbidden surprise. Then her eyes were alight with the question, as if she'd been somehow waiting for it.

And so another glimpse of genuine emotion settled within those almond depths.

Sitra forced herself to sit upright, just a tad more while she mulled over what Bebin asked.

What did she know about her homeland, in all honesty?

That was definitely another question she'd have liked to ask had Bebin not gotten to it first, knowing only the reminisces of her mother - same as when she spoke of her cousin - and little more besides. It was true that she once travelled there, to the Sheraz Mountains. But she was young then and remembered very little except what others had told her she'd seen.

"I only know what I have been told of it, or what I've studied of it from literature," she began, her brow furrowing the littlest bit in contemplation. It wasn't an easy task for her to define a thing so nebulous for her; to compile all of what she'd learned into words in order to describe what she'd not seen with her own two eyes. Or at least didn't remember seeing. "So I'm afraid I can only tell you what others have said. About what my mother left behind."

The slight drawing of her feet against the ground, the hugging of her body as if to make herself comfortable against some invisible chill. "I imagine you would know more than I ever could, Syr Theros."

Having grown up there himself, and having lived as per the customs of her mother's people.

All of that was merely conceptual to her, in comparison.

 

[Bebin]

A smile still curled there on Bebin's lips, as he watched her expression shift and change with ripples of emotion. Gusts of feeling, turned placid as thoughts churned beneath the surface.

Bebin closed his eyes, and went on with his smile as he listened on.

"Yet I have not read these scriptures from which you have studied," he said. "Nor have I heard the tales that your mother has passed on to you, what picture might live on in the mud of your mind," His eyes came open once more, and his eyes looked to hers. "But I knew it as a beautiful land," he gave with a soft bob of his head. His head turned, ever just toward the west.

"In moments such as these, calm and full of warm quiet, I can still hear the songs of its valleys, and see the faces of its mountains," his smile was a fragile thing. As tender as a new reed, shoot up from soft earth. "Mera Ghar, Sheraz," Yet a thing that dared to be.

 

[Sitra]

Sitra felt a little wave of relief wash over her as her cousin had let her finish without interruption, and had not criticized her for the non-answer, just as he hadn't bothered to make further inquiries about the earlier words she had spoken. That was good; she had no intention of elaborating on that quite yet, if ever, and felt bashful enough for sharing her innermost thoughts in the first place.

That was not what a noblewoman of Saknne was raised to do, after all.

So it was very pleasant indeed to be allowed to speak without scrutiny.

More than that, actually. Her words were accepted by this Bebin Theros as some kind of alternative to actually having seen these things with her own eyes, and he appeared curious to hear what she had learned about their shared history. Not that it was anything save for him trying to be nice, of course, but it was flattering nonetheless.

She honestly didn't think there was any shame in being taught from a book rather than experience; it was why she was here in the first place, as it happened. To have the opportunity to learn from the knowledge accumulated in the Monastery. To become something other than what she already was. Her abilities regarding the more conventional side of playing a gallant knight were already present, already honed by several years of intensive practice. But as for what she wanted now?

The knowledge and ways of the arcane, nor of proper knighthood, would not be found in Saknne. That much she knew.

That particular conversation was neither here nor there, however. What was happening now was only a chance to reminisce with someone that Sitra had already accepted as a part of her life almost as soon as she'd made acquaintances with the man sitting before her, looking so very wistful.

"Then I was right in not knowing nearly as much as I should about our home," Sitra had quirked her lips to the side at the mentioning of her inexperience; the thought that even a description as to the point and scanty with detail as Bebin's seeming so elusive to anything she'd known before did admittedly amuse her. "I have heard about the mountains of Sheraz and how beautiful they are by my mother. But the valleys of Saknne are little more than dips in the earth, and our mountains no better than hills."

For the most part, at least. There were mountains further inland, and a few of those mountains were indeed a small source of pride to the peoples of the coastal city. It was a place of pilgrimage and folklore that someone rather more attuned to the rich history of her city would be more than happy to reminisce about in the same way that Bebin had for what they had in their homeland. And yet, it was not a place one could see from the city proper, so did it truly count?

"I would love to go there, Mama. To see what you spoke of with my own eyes, rather than with books."

The way Bebin had described it in loving detail, of the place he'd once known, only served to stroke the flames of that yearning; her mother often spoke about it with the exact same gentle fondness to her many times during her dull and boring childhood, and it was hard to miss that same reverent smile dawning upon her cousin's lips, now.

Sitra's eyes flickered from the blooming flowers about them, back to her cousin so that his eyes were brought into focus with her own. She no longer made an attempt to brush away the irritating tendrils of hair that seemed to now escape with every gust of wind, seeming much more intent with what she asked next of the man sitting in the grass beside her. "Would you like to return one day, if only to visit?"