#background theodith

They said some things weren’t the same when they came from Saoirse’s explanations. Some things, when they came to people, had to come from them. 

“Besides,” they added with half a shrug, “language without understanding of the culture will always be incomplete.”

For reasons Julianus wasn’t about to question the Pirate Queen opened her mouth to tell the rest of the story. 

It hadn’t been easy, nor the idea had come automatically to them. After that first kick, the Queen’s Lawyer took the habit of asking her about her tribe, their customs and their language from time to time — always making the disclaimer that Meredith could say no, and Julianus would not get offended. They understood, in their own way, what it was like to speak of a place that was gone; a place that should’ve been home but wasn’t. Even if some Laochra survived, scattered to the winds like Diaspora does to the spores of new and old life, the tribe as Meredith knew it was lost forever. 

Much like the Altazor that should’ve-been was for Julianus. 

Meredith seldom said no, to Julianus’ surprise. Sometimes she did, of course, but sooner or later she’d come around it, calling out to Sanlaurento (it startled them every time) to tell her whatever bit of information they had asked about and she didn’t want to part with at the moment. They never asked anything extremely personal, not about what it hurt. Sanlaurento didn’t interrogate, it was more like they weaved the stories they were told, unweaved them, and weaved them again. Tale and Language, Myth and Truth Recorded, one by one, Julianus ended up with a handful of constellations about a people they had never met. 

Naturally, they began to write it down. Lists upon lists of details and worldvisions, of idiosyncrasies, scathology, legends, customs and everyday life. More than once Meredith even surprised herself by giving some of that information to Sanlaurento without request; she shared them just because (or for reasons she never stated out loud). One day, she said out loud to the room that she didn’t understand how someone could care that much, just for the sake of caring. 

She didn’t expect Saoirse to reply: “Julie’s like that. They see all of us as stories worth being told.”

Meredith’s cheeks turned a furious red, her frown deep and her mouth curled in an annoyed snarl. She dropped the subject immediately. Trust Saoirse’s annoying bastard of a partner to have crept like that under her skin. Meredith would defend them at gunpoint if someone soured their day, that was her job and her job only. 

Saoirse smirked at Meredith like she knew, and Meredith shot them a death-stare, even if she knew the Quartermaster would never even flinch.

* * *

The idea came to them out of nowhere, while they were lying in theirs and Saoirse’s bed. 

“What if I write it?”

“Hm?”

“I know enough of both languages to write a bilingual version.”

They didn’t need to specify, Saoirse already knew what they were talking about. With tenderness, they grabbed their hand and began kissing their fingers. “You could even write a dictionary too.”

Julianus’ smile was radiant like the stars on a clear night. “Maybe I should.”

* * *

Two years, four months and six days later the first version of the manuscript of The Tales and History of the Laochra Tribe of the Snowcap Mountains was complete and fully transcribed in Saoirse’s handwriting, as Meredith did not understand Julianus’ half of the time. JC hadn’t even asked Saoirse to do it, they had taken to it on their own during their many free hours with the original excuse of there being a copy of it, just in case, and their Julie not having the time to do it. Or the fatigue-free tendons. 

The manuscript was long enough that only advanced printing presses, like those in Zadith, some cities of Prakra and Balkovia, and maybe Vesuvia (if the rumours of modernization of the City-State under the Countess’ and her Consul’s rule were true) print them. Printing, however, wasn’t up to them — Julianus hadn’t needed to say it aloud for the nature of the Tales to be understood: it was a gift for Meredith, so it needed Meredith’s revision and approval. They were prepared to argue their case though, as they had learnt to be. They wanted to print it after it was revised so people would not forget, so the Laochra could still live on, not just through Meredith but through her words. Words now written in magically sealed ink. 

Words that would not fade away, so if the chain of life sustained in the memories of others ever broke, Meredith’s people would still live on. When Sanlaurento dropped the hundreds of pages long manuscript in Meredith’s desk they told her as much, despite their racing heart. 

“I didn’t actually plan to finish it for your birthday, that was just a coincidence.”

Meredith’s usual annoyed scowl had softened as Sanlaurento explained what she had in front of her, after her initial “What’s this supposed to be” and “I’m in the middle of something, Sanlaurento,” even though she wasn’t really busy. Saoirse would know, and Julianus asked Saoirse before going to see Meredith personally. As they explained, they had begun to flip on the parchment papers of the hand sewn manuscript and even trace the lines of a map that had been inserted in the manuscript through a transfer spell. 

There it was. Her people’s history as she had told her, as others had documented it too, complete with a note of thanks and dedication to her. She didn’t understand. She, of course, knew Sanlaurento cared, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that Julianus did, that their entire life was an exercise on caring, of weaving, of telling, of doing, simply because they cared. Yet one thing was having someone who listened to her, from time to time. Someone who was asking her to correct any mistakes they could’ve left unnoticed so the story of Meredith’s people could be told, was something else entirely. 

Her eyes stung. Julianus had never seen Meredith crying but they didn’t say anything, afraid the Queen would quick them out. 

“Why can’t Saoirse correct it?”

“They did, here and there, but that was mostly editorial and of form, not of content. If I wanted Saoirse to do it, I would’ve asked them to.”

“But why? Why don’t you want them to do it, you let Saoirse do anything?”

“Because this isn’t Saoirse’s story.”

Against all precedent, the Queen, no, Meredtih Gwynsdottir, stood up to hug Julianus. When they told her they could add, at the end, a list of all the names from the tribe that she remembered or could be recorded, she hugged them tighter. 

Eight months later The Tales and History of the Laochra People of the Snowcap Mountains was a printed book.

* * *

The Laochra believe that the stories of the world and the people who live in it are sustained by the Collector (Bailitheoir) and the Storyteller (Seanchaidhe). The former is believed to live at the end of the world, where it is always dark, except for the aurora borealis. The latter is unknown in origin, many accounts believe it is the veneration of the first person to record the Laochran language, others believe it is the conceptualisation and deification of the base concept that unifies them as people: that each member of the tribe is a collection of memories. That is to say that each person doesn’t just have a story, but the person is their story.

Be it as it may, as it will be discussed aplenty in the respective chapters, the Laochra believe that the Seanchaidhe records the stories that the Bailitheoir, darkness of the world and reaper of the dusk of the souls of their people —that is why they send them South on boats when they die— tries to communicate with the Storyteller, who guards and writes the lives of the Laochra on the stars in the sky.

Words have a capital importance for the Laochran culture and religion, with everyone’s First and Last words being recorded by the rest of the tribe...

This wasn’t the first time Meredith had watched Saoirse dip their feet in the ice-cold water at the end of the world. They stayed behind this time, out of the water, knowing that in their silence, their Quartermaster knew she was there. 

“Julie believes I might have been, or supposed to be, the one you call ‘Bailitheoir ’.”

“What?”

“I think I remember. I remember… I remember Death.”

“Saoirse, what the hell are you talking about?”

“I believe humans call them Death Itself, I didn’t need to call them.”

The atmosphere shifted as Meredith watched Saoirse’s human-like guise blur in real time. The heavier it felt, the brighter the aurora borealis lit up. 

Saoirse’s voice was almost distorted. Almost. “You could meet them, but you’d have to go to Vesuvia to do that, and you hate Vesuvia. 

Before Meredith could ask why would she want to meet Death or whoever it was Saoirse was talking about, whatever vast and incomprehensible thing that whomever Saoirse was talking about was, her Quartermaster spoke again:

“‘Seanchaidhe’ is an apt epithet, don’t you think?”

Vesuvia wasn’t that different from what they remembered. They had travelled to the City a handful of times when they were studying in Firent and  the plague was no longer a risk. Julianus liked it — lively and cosmopolitan, the atmosphere vibrated with magic, making it seem like anything would happen. 

As soon as they reached port, Elizabeth and Tariq dragged Meredith their own way, Drew walking calmly behind them. That left Julianus, Saoirse and Theo to go search for their outfits on their own. They walked the streets together, Jules holding Saoirse’s hand while they animatedly talked with Theo about fashion, textures and the like, sharing jokes as they browsed through the Red Market. 

When they ran into Meredith, Julianus couldn’t help but to tease Theo a little bit. Theo replied with some teasing of his own, telling his friend he was sure Saoirse and them wouldn’t even make it out of their room at the party. 

“Let’s see,” Jules said, that little smile on their face that no one in the crew knew if Saoirse had copied from them, or them from Saoirse. 

They didn’t have much more time to stroll around the City after they got their outfits. Not wanting to be late, they made their way to the Palace, meeting with Meredith on the door. While Meredith and Theo had separate rooms, Saoirse and Jules had one together, as it was customary for couples who didn’t request otherwise. They didn’t remember saying anything about it, but the pink-haired servant that was guiding them through the Palace said one could tell. 

Jules felt Saoirse short next to them, quickly followed by their arm around their back. 

They wanted to ask the name of the servant, to thank her, but she was gone before they could say anything as soon as they were shown their room. Julianus soon forgot about it anyway, as Saoirse pressed against them from behind.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were impatient.”

“How about ‘curious’? It’s hard not to be when you have been very insisting about me not spying on your outfit. Despite you helping me choose mine.” 

“You’ll have to tame that horse because I want to shower before I begin getting ready.” 

Saoirse just made a deadpan comment about their woes, that Jules fully knew they didn’t mean. Saoirse was a patient person (because Saoirse was a person, eldritch existence aside), and Saoirse liked to indulge whatever little ritual Julianus came up with in situ. They found them entertaining, and they could see why their partner liked to come up with little explanations and decorative reasons for certain things.

They just were fun to follow. Not that Saoirse ever expected to think that, but that was their Julie. 

Saoirse asked if they were allowed to have a bath with them, and they were, though of course it ended up being half bath, half make out session. Yet, the moment they began getting ready once they were out of it, Julianus shooed them out of the bathroom with a gentle push. 

“You’ll get many rewards for your compliance, thank you very much.”

“Oh, I’m the one getting the rewards tonight? I thought you liked being the one getting them.”

“For being a void with eyes and I being the horny human, you’re absolutely incorregible.”

“I thought you liked it.”

“I do,” they said, asking Saoirse to lean down to kiss their lips.

Saoirse kissed them back before going to get ready themselves, looking around their room when they were ready, and seeing how soft the bed was. It was very, to their discovery. Julie was going to like it, they thought — it had not gone past them that while they were not even close to Theo’s original royal status, or Elizabeth’s for that matter, they had come from a very economically comfortable background. To begin with, they were a lawyer who had studied in Firent. That said something on itself. 

While their Julie wasn’t conceited in the slightest and had separated their choices from those of their family, out of what Saoirse knew and could tell from having observed humans for so long, there were some things that, like Theo, they couldn’t shake off. Luxurious bedding was one of them: Julie always raided rich people’s quarters for certain possessions and home making elements were one of them. Saoirse’s bed in the ship had never looked nor felt plusher. 

Lying back on the bed, waiting, they began making conversation with them. They talked about Vesuvia, about Theo and Meredith, and the party itself. Julianus revealed they didn’t know if they would come to something like this otherwise. 

“I don’t think this is the kind of party to come alone, or at least I wouldn’t attend alone. I don’t mind doing things on my own, but again, this isn’t it.”

“I’m sure there’s going to be a lot of people looking for other people.”

“Well, it is a sex party,” they said, their voice carrying into the bedroom from the bath, “I just have a bit of trouble thinking about the hypothetical.”

Julianus did not know how the conversation turned from there to if they’d be interested in someone else, if they weren’t a thing. They couldn’t help trying to figure out why Saoirse was asking, even though they knew Saoirse was asking simply because that’s how they explored things they didn’t quite understand. Asking.

“I think I’m answer is not going to be as interesting as you think it will be. Though I honestly do not know what you’re expecting— the thing is I just can’t picture myself with anyone else other than you now? I know you wouldn’t care if I let you know I wanted another partner or to sleep with someone else, but unless I had a specific itch, I just… don’t see it.

“Like, okay maybe if Meredith wasn’t my boss, but Theo has the right of way there because he is my friend and I want him to be happy, Tariq is very handsome; If you make me think of other ships Jade and Louis are very pleasant to the eye, and maybe in another life I would flirt with them. Maybe in this one too as a joke, and to piss Rodrigo off. Even then they’re all very nice hypotheticals I care little for when I have you right here.

“Your all the private devotion I will ever need.”

They came out of the bathroom. They had their hair in waves, two red flowers pinned to the side of their head. Julianus was wearing a black bustier styled corselette, it had garter straps hooked to black thigh high socks, and was wearing black boots that went almost as high up as the socks. They were fitting into each arm a pair of above the elbow, black gloves. 

They looked stunning. They always did. It wasn’t the outfit that made Saoirse look at them like that.

“Mo grá?”

“Aside from the Queen, I don’t think anyone has ever chosen me like that.”

Jules walked towards them, who was now sitting on the bed, and stood between their legs. They kissed their forehead. “Well, to you, to love is to protect. For me, to love is to choose, too. You’re a wonderful person to choose, Saoirse.” 

For a being as old as Saoirse, loneliness was something they had to be used to. For a being as old as Saoirse, who also spent so much time around humans, they don’t think they would ever notice what loneliness was if it wasn’t for their proximity to them. Saoirse’s hand found Julianus’ side, as their mouth pressed itself against their skin and their clothes. 

“No comments on the outfit? You look very handsome. I am most definitely the luckiest person in this Palace, sorry to Theodore.”

“You look, you look—” Saoirse didn’t know how to finish their sentence. How human of them. How odd. How misplaced. How very Saoirse. Them and Jules were both like that: misplaced. Yet right then they looked beautiful, inviting, sexy, like the sea, like freedom on Saoirse’s hair and like not a wave, but a tsunami changing their coastline forever. 

Saoirse didn’t need to finish their sentence for Jules to get it. “See, this is what Tariq means when he says you’re bound to make me mad with power.”

“You like it.”

“Oh, I do. Nothing like being loved and fucked by my favourite eldritch entity. Like I said: my own private devotion.”

Saoirse smiled at them; a kind of smile only reserved for Julianus, one that carried a different complicity than the one they had with the Pirate Queen. 

“Do you want to have a look around, or do you want to prove Theo right?”

Sanlaurento snorted. “Never. Let's go make people jealous of how good we look.”

Saoirse was happy to indulge them. Out of their room and into the party, Julianus hooked their arm around Saoirse’s. It made them stop. Looking at them with a little smirk, Saoirse crouched down to sit Julianus’ on their shoulder, turning their head to kiss their thigh. 

“Why walk when I can carry you?”

“Mad with power, and it’ll be your fault.”

“I’ll have to find something to keep you in line then.”