#* / dyn. dehya & al haitham ( apocryphis. )

[immobiliter]

@apocryphis sent a meme: you can’t count on anyone, especially your heroes. (al-haitham to dehya :))

       Dehya hadn't particularly wanted him to find out. Her investigations into Dakan Al-Ahmar had been going on for months, after all, and Al-Haitham would have remained none the wiser to these various goings on in the desert had their own fortuitous meeting at Caravan Ribat not been interrupted by Harun and her other Blazing Beasts mercs with new intel as to the brigade's most recent movements. Given all they'd been through together, it hardly seemed fair to exclude him from the conversation, but there was undeniable ripple of... not fear, exactly, but trepidation settled in the pit of her stomach as she listened to him engage with the problem, ask questions, approach the issue with rigorous curiosity as he presumably would one of his academic texts... and eventually be told by her well-meaning brothers-in-arms that the leader of this troublesome faction of Deshret's Relics was in fact her own father.

       She'd thanked the guys for passing on their intel, and they seemed to get the message at that point to give the pair some space — but, now that they were alone, stood under one of the shaded awnings, shielded from the unforgiving glare of the desert sun, Dehya wasn't entirely sure what to say next.

       Surprisingly, it was Al-Haitham who breached the silence, and the remark finally prompted Dehya to turn her head to meet his gaze. As always with the Akademiya Scribe, it was hard to tell when he was being sincere, but this felt like some genuine attempt at reassurance, albeit a clumsy one.

       “ Yeah. Well, fortunately, my father has never been my hero. ” She hoped she didn't sound too defensive, turning away from him and folding her arms across her chest. What else was there to say? Kusayla had always been a drunk, a lecher, a thug... but now he was a violent murderer too, indiscriminately attacking targets all over the desert. Dehya wasn't surprised at his behaviour, and yet some small part of her foolishly hoped that, ever since the argument that had prompted her to walk out of his life forever, he might have engaged in a little self-reflection and changed his ways. She sighed. “ He's always been like this, but now he's hurting others so brazenly I have no choice but to do something about it. ”

       Trying to shake off her disappointment and bitterness was harder than she expected but, reminding herself that the only way to fix things was to go out there and do something about it, she finally turned back to her companion. It occurred to her that she didn't even know yet why Al-Haitham was here at the Ribat in the first place — whether he had sought her out, or if this had indeed just been a coincidental crossing of paths. “ I'm sorry if you sought me out because Lord Kusanali needs me at the Akademiya or something, but this has to come first, Al-Haitham. If one day the desert is to become a safe place where nobody needs an armed escort in order to cross it, then I have to start by pulling out the roots, one at a time. ”

[immobiliter]

@apocryphis sent a meme: [ aloud ] sender reads aloud to receiver (al-haitham to dehya!)

       There was nothing good or safe to be found in the desert at night. It often took ordinary travellers by surprise: the way that the temperature would plummet the moment the sun dipped below the horizon, the howling winds taking on a distinctive chill, making them even more dangerous than they already were during the day. No-one, merc or desert guide, with any experience worth their salt would dare try to traverse the sands with no natural daylight to guide them, and so the waning light had led Dehya and Al-Haitham to a sheltered alcove to set up their camp for the night.

       Fire was not a problem where the Flame-Mane was concerned, but she still sat beside the flames, monitoring not only the state of the kindling keeping them alive, but also of dinner. When she finally turned to seek out the gaze of her companion, the sight she was greeted with really shouldn't have surprised her. “ Of course you brought a book to read. ” Did Al-Haitham ever go anywhere without one? Dehya was starting to wonder — though at least at this point she knew his tendency to tune himself out of any social situation and lose himself within those pages wasn't anything personal against her.

       Resigned to the fact that this was going to be a very quiet, very dull evening, Dehya turned her attention back to the food sizzling above the fire — up until she noticed movement in her peripheral and was suddenly handed the very same book. She watched Al-Haitham sat down beside her. You read, I'll take over.

       She stared at him a little dumbfounded for a moment, surprised that he would so readily hand his book over and expect her not to use it as kindling for their fire. Running her fingers along its spine, Dehya took in the title ( fiction? surprising ), before opening it and taking in the walls of text on its pages. “ I'm... not much of a reader. ” She snapped the book shut, but soon realised just what she might have implied with her words. “ I can read, Kusayla took the effort to teach me but... reading a book doesn't exactly help me out here in the desert. Usually we would just tell each other stories. See who has the best one. ” Kusayla had taught her enough to pen letters, to read and understand merc contracts, but the thought of sitting there, comprehending page upon page of words in an attempt to put a story together... it would either take her way too long, or she'd reach a stumbling block in the face of too complicated a word and give up.

       Reading had only ever been a tool for her to better understand and manage the world around her. Not a source of pleasure or interest or excitement.

       As Dehya handed the book back to him, she expected some sort of pointed remark in return, but he said nothing. Instead, that familiar silence once again stretched on between them. And then —

       What if I read it to you?

       The question drew her gaze to him again, wondering whether she'd heard him correctly. She hadn't referenced those nights with her brigade, or even with her father and Dakan Al-Ahmar, regaling in storytelling in order to make him feel bad for the comparative silence of their own camp... but then, the Akademiya's Scribe wasn't known for being easily guilted into doing anything he didn't already want to do.

       First he had offered to come with her to track down her father and his group of mercenaries, and now, instead of retreating to a corner to read in silence, he was offering to read to her. Either he valued the story he'd brought with him very highly indeed, or he needed to stop surprising her and go back to acting in the predictable manner that had helped form her first opinion of him.

       She could simply just refuse his offer. Things would no doubt go back to being predictable between them if she did.

       As her blue gaze flickered between his face and the book returned to his custody once more, both illuminated by the firelight, Dehya found that she did not want to say no.

       “ All right. But let's at least eat first. ”

       And so they ate, and a short while later Dehya found herself sat beside him as he made good on his offer. The storytelling might not have been as exuberant or dramatic as those that Kusayla had regaled her with as a girl on a nightly basis, but that didn't matter. This was better than the evening endured in silence she had expected... far better, if she'd taken the time amidst recent turmoil in her life to truly examine what these efforts of his had meant to her as of late.

[immobiliter]

       It was a lot to ask of him, to demand in a promise that he would have no choice but to adhere to if he wanted to keep her trust. Al-Haitham was right, after all: to those unfamiliar with the brutal, uncompromising rules of desert life, what she was asking him to do would sound an awful lot like murder. He wasn't a desert-dweller, he was a scholar — that surely made him more familiar with the Matra than with the often singular, retributive justice pursued by those raised on the sands beyond the rainforest's border. A place where the rule of law dictated by the Akademiya did not apply, where it often did not reach, and where, in many cases, it simply was not welcome.

       But, Kusayla's death was not the outcome she was actively looking for in all this. Not at all. And that was why Al-Haitham's initial, knee-jerk reaction to her plea prompted indignation to flicker in her blue irises. “ I'm not assuming. I'm preparing for the worst outcome. ” That was all this was. A fail-safe, a guarantee that should all other attempts at subduing or reasoning with her father fall apart, and should her own sword-arm be compromised by her foolish, sentimental attachment to the man, he — an unbiased third party — would act in her place.

       Dehya was about to reiterate that to him when he spoke again and, much to her continued surprise, gave her his word that he would do as she asked. As simple as that. She'd been so ready to argue her point some more that she didn't entirely know how to react to this capitulation — or indeed what to say in response. After a moment, she nodded, her voice softening to match his. “ He's my father, Al-Haitham. Our relationship may be... complicated, but I don't wish him dead. I want him to face responsibility and justice for all those people he's hurt over the years. ”

       I will not ask you to do this unless there's no other way. She held his gaze for a long, unwavering moment. And I will not put Kusayla's blood on your hands unless I am incapable of following through with it myself.

       And then, just like that, the focus once again turned to the task in hand. Dehya found herself grateful for it. She nodded. “ I have a potential lead. The last camp that Dakan Al-Ahmar attacked was stripped of everything of value with no survivors. But they have to sell on their stolen goods for a profit somehow, and my men believe they know the route of the caravan merchant responsible for taking those goods off their hands. Our best bet will be to lie in wait for them and see if they can offer up any information as to the brigade's whereabouts. ”

       It was settled, then. “ I'll make final preparations to leave and will meet you back here in an hour. ”

It is a universally known fact in Sumeru (or at least in the scribe's close circle of friends and acquaintances) that teamwork is not one of al-Haitham (otherwise numerous) talents. Fortunately, pragmatism is, and an affinity for efficiency that dictates that he must sometimes play with others in order to get the results that he wants with minimum risk and friction. Or, so he will justify his own decision to himself later on. There is no real need for him to escort Dehya on this mission - sure, she could use the help, but had he chosen to go back to the rainforest and the city and his books instead, he has no doubt that the outcome would remain unchanged. Kusayla would be brought to justice, sooner or later, one way or another, and Dehya would return triumphant.

The only variable in this equation, are how long it will take Dehya to do so by herself, and how much she will burn herself in the process. Thus Kusayla is her father, after all. Not a very great one, from what little he understands, but her father nevertheless. Even he understands very well how this fact alone may cloud her judgement at the most critical time, or how much taking her blade to her father's throat may just as well equate driving it through her own heart.

If this variable and its implications are enough to move the scribe into action and collaboration, that is his business and his alone.

Still, her request causes him pause; a rare flash of stupefaction stilling reserved features for one second too long. One second enough for him, too, to catch the fleeting distress in the striking blue and gold of her eyes. His word. His word that should she fail to do so, he will be the one to kill her father. Al-Haitham is not naive. Where in the rainforest this would be considered murder, in the desert, justice and safety has to be taken into the hands of the strongest; and the ruthlessness of the desert leaves little space to righteousness. Perhaps there is a world there, if they don't rid the world of Kusayla, Kusayla will be the one to get rid of them. Kill or be killed. It is not barbary as the old sages once would have had them believe: it is the law of the desert, and it is the reality they have to contend with. No more, no less.

"You immediately assume that killing him will be the only solution to end his reign of terror. Let's not jump to conclusions just yet." Still, there are many options to exhaust before they come anywhere near that. "Don't mistake my prudence for hesitation. I am well aware of the weight that is taking another man's life, which is why if, and I emphasise that, if it comes to that, I want it to be once we are certain there is no other way, and this is our final recourse. If it comes to that, then yes, you have my word. I will follow through and do what needs to be done. I promise." Is it a streak of sentimentality, that carries this promise? Perhaps. Perhaps a small part of him believes that no child should have to be forced to raise their blade at their father. Perhaps he had been fortunate that his own father had died too young to have the time to disappoint him. Betray him. Perhaps he had been lucky that his father had been a harmless bookworm. Perhaps it is his responsibility, then, to shoulder on this burden, and spare the child who has already been hurt by her father.

"Let's start by tracking him down and coming up with a plan. Ideally one where you get the answers you seek, and no blood needs to be spilled when it can be prevented." The scribe concludes; his voice just a touch quieter. "I assume you already scouted Caravan Ribat and your Eremite contacts for information? If you give me one hour to gather supplies and send word to Lord Kusanali, we can head out while the sun is still high."

[immobiliter]

       Dehya nodded. Al-Haitham was right: Lord Kusanali had the same desire to bring peace and stability to the desert as she did, and now that she had been freed from the Sanctuary of Surathasna and was able to rule Sumeru once more, Dehya finally had hope that real, lasting change was within reach. She would not begrudge one missed meeting, not if her excuses lay within the very issues they were trying to address. And with that matter resolved, she fully expected her companion to then offer his well-wishes for the daunting task facing her and depart for Sumeru City.

       But he didn't.

       The question took her aback, drawing her gaze back to his face. “ Other than him finally snapping and going too far? ” As soon as Dehya had offered her answer she knew it was too weak, too hasty, too defensive. He made a good point ( not that she'd admit this to his face anytime soon ) — one so good that she hadn't even considered it herself. She could not deny that this was a change in behaviour from when she had been a part of Dakan Al-Ahmar years ago, and even from a scant few months ago before these raids had become both more violent and more frequent in nature. What had changed? Why now had he decided to escalate these attacks? Dehya planned to stop him but, despite the restless itch beneath her skin to hunt down the brigade and confront them with blade and fists as soon as possible, before anyone else got hurt, wouldn't it be better to determine why they were doing this in the first place?

       Perhaps he could read the hesitation in her face, and perhaps that was why he made the offer that he did. Or perhaps he... genuinely wanted to help. Whatever his reasons, Dehya's surprise was palpable — and her pride immediately wished to rise in protest. Yet she silenced it long enough to listen to his justifications, arms folded across her torso, silently considering his argument. The man certainly knew how to make one, damn him. No wonder he was an academic scholar.

       Even once he fell quiet, Dehya let the silence stretch on between them, unable to do anything but begrudgingly commend his methodical sort of wisdom. She inwardly sighed. Would she regret bringing him along on a mission so personal to her, ego and brusque attitude and all? Most likely. And yet at the same time, something in his words had weakened the stubbornness of her usual resolve, and allowed doubt to creep in...

       “ If you come with me, I need you to give me your word... ” Dehya hesitated, and for a moment Al-Haitham might have gleamed something much more raw and vulnerable shimmering in her blue eyes. Naturally, it was gone as swiftly as it appeared. “ I'm not afraid of having to raise my blade to Kusayla, but... if for whatever reason I am unable to follow through with what I have to do to put an end to his reign of terror over the desert, I need your word that you will. ”

       There was a desperation and intensity in her voice, her gaze that she hoped would convey her full meaning. It was a lot to ask of him, she knew, but if he was going to be the level-headed brain and comrade at her side, he needed to be willing to act where she could not.

Unfortunately, life rarely ever goes as planned - especially in the line of work Dehya, and apparently her father, dabble into. And thus Dehya finds herself in unwanted (perhaps even unwelcome?) company, and the scribe finds himself marginally involved in a family feud that is not his to get involved in. He knows it. She knows it. Neither of them is going to pretend otherwise or make apologies for it. There would be no point burying the proverbial snake in the sand and pretend it isn't there. Thankfully, Dehya is as direct as he is, and wastes no time in apologies or excuses or explanations he did not ask for. None of it would fix whatever this situation has turned out to be - and none of it would make her feel any better.

A father gone rogue on a disillusioned daughter, then. Al-Haitham, for once, holds his tongue. His own father had not lived long enough to have the chance to disappoint him, and his grandmother, to his knowledge, had never involved herself in unsavoury activities of the murderous proclivity - therefore, he cannot claim to understand what turmoil must be agitating Dehya in this moment, but... he can understand the urge to act. "No need to apologise. I don't want to put words in our Archon's mouth, but I'm fairly sure she would agree with your assessment of the priorities at stake here." He crosses his arms over his chest. Clearly, the task Lord Kusanali had entrusted him with needs to take a backseat. But, instead of bidding her good luck and goodbye and turning back to return to the city, the scribe remains rooted in place, pensive.

... al-Haitham had had no intention of meddling in Eremite affairs when he woke up that morning, but -- something about Dehya's agitation and resignation sits oddly and uncomfortably on his chest. And something about what she said hooks to a part of his brain, like yarn to a cat's claw.

"And, if I may... you said your father has 'always been like this', but clearly, him attacking others seems to be a change of behaviour. Enough at least to give you pause and reason to intervene. Aren't you wondering what could have triggered him to escalate the way he did?" Something is afoot in this strange story. And perhaps he is stepping way out of line, and if he does, he trusts that she will have no issue telling him in no uncertain terms, but... something is going on here that he cannot quite let go of.

"Take me with you." A bold, brash offer, perhaps. But an honest, sincere one, deshret-branded eyes boring into hers. "You know I won't be a burden. I can hold my own and help you get the job done faster. I also know enough about Dakan Al-Ahmar from personal research and dealings to have a rough idea of what I'm getting into. I can help. Besides..."

For the first time, al-Haitham almost seems to hesitate. But - no, there is no reason to hesitate. She will understand what he means. So, he continues: " ... you and I both know that in high stakes situations like a sand storm or a personal one, emotions run high, and mistakes are more prone to happen. Having another working brain nearby can help keep a level head and put things in perspective even when the going gets the toughest. Not to say you won't, but... it might be easier that way." And in al-Haitham's world, there is no shame with taking the easy way in.