Chapter Text
Some of the most sacred objects to an Au Ra, whether Raen from Othard or Xaela in the Steppe or Kievan Rus, were their scales. A few times every year, they shed them over the course of a few irritating and uncomfortable days and ended the ordeal with a neat pile of smooth, leathery, sunlit or twilight plates. What they did with the discarded scales varied; many kept them in talismans or placed them at shrines. Some, like the Xaela Orben tribe, used them as crafting materials, weaving and sewing them into beautiful shimmering designs. A few even gave them to their loved ones as keepsakes.
While Elayne regularly debated whether having scales was actually a good thing during shedding season, for the most part she actually rather liked them. Sure, it limited how much skin she could ink, but given the number of scars she would have had if she didn’t have them, she felt it was a decent tradeoff. Hers in particular blended in with her hair and contrasted beautifully with her pale skin, creeping all around her body in elegant and graceful patterns. And she was very grateful that she didn’t have to shave every few days like nearly every other humanoid race she knew of and deal with all the miniscule itching cuts that would entail.
In the strange, uncertain calm after the storm of the Dragonsong War, after a particularly difficult shedding period, Elayne was considering what to do with the newest pile of plates. She always saved a few for making charms, that wasn’t negotiable. But what about the rest? This time wasn’t like the rest; she wasn’t on her own anymore. She had the best of friends, a family that had taken her in and loved her as their own. Ishgard had become her home.
Usually she buried them if she didn’t use them, and there was that one odd time where, when she had no food, she had ended up eating a couple of her scales like some weird lizard. But it was very rare that an Au Ra would eat their own scales, considering the act barbaric and uncivilized, and the few who would only did so in times of famine. No way was she saving them for food. So what would she use them for?
The answer hit her. She knew what to do now.
The next day, she went downstairs and ate with Aymeric in Borel Manor’s kitchen, the two busying themselves with all the bills and petitions the new House of Lords and Commons had submitted. Occasionally she’d stop to give him advice or tell him a brief story about Kievan Rus’s ancient leaders and how they handled the nation’s problems, from disgruntled men trying to re-establish the patriarchy to Garlemald’s occupation of her homeland, partly focusing on the tale of Tsar Konstantin II, father of the current empress of the Rus. A clever and wily Rook ruler, apt to measure every word with razor-edge precision, he had ended the long and bloody feud between the Rooks and the Rus and led his people through Garlemald’s inexplicably peaceful invasion, later abdicating to pursue other interests. Though many had questioned why he resigned his throne at such a critical time, anyone who knew him knew he was playing the long game. Aymeric had particularly loved that story, wondering how the former tsar would have handled some of Ishgard’s problems.
Once she’d had her fill of legal jargon and storytelling, Elayne wrapped her favorite shawl tight around her and went outside to sit on the porch, silently drinking in the chilly summer air and the sights of the towering spires and great white yonder below the city. A few minutes later, Aymeric joined her, two mugs of a sweet yet spicy liquid in his hands.
“I got you something,” he said quietly.
Elayne took a mug, sniffed it, then eagerly downed a gulp. “Apple cider. Where did you get this?” she asked with a smile.
“I had a barrel in the cellar, and you mentioned your father loved it, so I figured might as well,” he told her, sitting down on the steps beside her. He quietly took in the sights, pondering deeply before he spoke again. “Thanks for helping with paperwork. I don’t think I would have gotten much done without you.”
“If it means you get some actual fucking sleep, then by all means, bother me all you want,” she told him cheerfully. “Might as well do my part to keep you from finding an early trip to Halone’s halls.”
The two sipped their cider in peace, listening to the hustle and bustle of the city in the distance. Elayne felt the small weight of her little gift in her pocket. It was one of the greatest gifts an Au Ra could give. And Aymeric more than deserved it. She gently nudged his leg, and when she had his attention, she handed him the small pouch. Curious, he undid the string and pulled the present out, only to freeze in astonishment when he found a few of her scales.
“Elayne, are…are these what I think they are?”
“No, they came off the demon-wyrm’s corpse. Of course they are, mishka.”
Aymeric stared at the glistening scales in his hands, seemingly unable to figure out how to react, until he finally decided “fuck it” and reached out to hug her. She returned it happily.
“Truthfully, I don’t know what to do with them, but I know what they mean. I promise you I’ll cherish them, snowdrop,” he said, affectionately ruffling her hair.
“I just put them in little charms or amulets. Not that different than what you Ishgardians do with putting locks of hairs in brooches,” she suggested.
“I thought that was a Far Eastern thing? Not a Rus thing?”
“It’s an Au Ra thing. Culture doesn’t matter when it comes to the scales. You can’t just have piles of scales lying around all over the place. There’s no telling what people would think. Now that I mention it I could probably prank Emmanellain with them…” she mused to herself.
Aymeric stifled a snort so hard that he coughed. He still remembered the hobby horse prank vividly. “Never change, Elayne,” he whispered fondly.