it's not becoming of a young royal to seat oneself on the ground. fortunately, chaehyun doesn't make a habit of visiting the palace gardens when they're populated by potential witnesses - at least, not anymore. it's almost always under the cover of night, the aptly named hour of ghosts when they're likely to be the ones keeping her company after nightmares rip her violently from her sleep. it's only when catching glimpses of the turtle ducks, a sight that used to warm her heart and nearly overwhelm her with fondness, that distant echoes stir within her of her former unbridled joy and wonder for the world, her shine that has worn off and now lies utterly dormant.

dormant, but not dead. splintered, but not shattered. such are the sentiments woven into every platitude she's offered, hollow as they may ring when they fall from the lips from those who haven't even a faint chance of understanding the grief that consumes her day by day. with a hope that drearily dwindles but, as of yet, has not been quite extinguished, she tries with all of (what's left of) her heart to believe them.

before he's within her field of vision, she senses his approach. it beckons a ghost of a laugh from the depths of her chest, devoid of mirth. she might have known he'd find her here, sooner or later.

[ . . . ]

she says what he’s thinking. she always does, even when he wishes she wouldn’t. “they won’t target us.” he lets his mouth betray his feelings, lying through his teeth with an exhale. “it does not matter. i won’t let them touch you, they wouldn’t dare. there’s other ways to get to the fire lord without using us as stepping stones.” 

never mind that they’re the easiest path to take, the ones on the fringe of royalty, the ones with the least to lose. denial is the first step, but he doesn’t have a step two yet.

the portrait chaeyul paints of the misfortune that may have befallen them had she merely picked up the wrong cup leaves her considering a question she’s never thought about before — does she fear death? it takes a certain level of fearlessness to perch oneself atop a dragon, or perhaps foolhardiness, but ideally a perfect balance of both. 

she is not sure if it matters. nothing, even her own mortality, could strike more fear into her heart than the thought of losing him.

her gaze drifts to the side as her hands move away in diverging paths. one finds its way back to her side, while the other grips his sleeve the way she’d always done what felt like centuries ago now, when they were but children and the world still made sense, scurrying along after him in order to not lose him in the crowd. when she could still look to him when all else failed, when she still thought there could never be a problem thrown her way that her brother couldn’t solve.

even then, though she could ignore it far more easily, the reality loomed over her that she was different from him, that many thought less of him for his devotion to her. the bathwater that rode the baby’s coattails the day they were born. least among the royal family. a non-bender. an aberration.

expendable.

she approaches a conclusion at breakneck speed, all the while fighting to keep her expression neutral. he cannot be made privy to these thoughts, lest his efforts to protect chaehyun only redouble, an idea she can’t quite stomach. it isn’t the first time she’s found herself wracked with guilt for having ever existed, wondering how the world may have looked for her brother had he been born alone, but the knife that twists has been sharpened to lethality. dripping with a venom that will corrode away her insides until only a hull remains while she makes no move to slow its progress.

very well, then, she resolves as her bleeding heart unfurls like the first leaves of spring, an invitation, an invocation, very well, then. i’ll take it. the grip of the grave will have its due. if it is her fate to die that chaeyul might live, he will not rob her of it.

she defies all the world’s forces to try and stop her. she bids the gods stay out of her way.

looking back up, she blinks rapidly to keep the sting of tears at bay, taking in the sight of him as though it were already the last time. she’d never thought any power could separate them, mortal or otherwise. which would be worse, the pain of having failed him or of living on without him? which is greater, her longing to keep him from the afterlife or her desperation to be the one that gets there first?

“i hope you’re right.” her even tone belies the maelstrom that roars under her surface, only a break in her pitch at the very end even suggesting that anything’s amiss. not even he thinks he’s right, she’s sure, but they both speak each other’s language of evasion and obscurity more fluently than even the common tongue. “perhaps the fire lord’s investigations will come to fruition.”

she wills the corners of her mouth to curve upwards into a smile, but one that trembles before she can stop it.

there was a time in yoonsung’s life when being in chaesan’s presence was akin to watching the sunrise. bathing in the subtle golden rays — how honeyed words dripped easily from his lips, promising a future that never had the chance to become true. not when legacies burn as bright and harsh as they do in the fire nation. it was foolish for yoonsung to assume any different, to allow the memories of a childhood tryst to cloud the true nature of their relationship. 

there was a time when bloodlines did not matter — but it has long since passed. even if the woman who stood before him sounded like the girl he used to know.a lump of frustration bubbles in his throat — suspicious is hard to swallow, but yoonsung had learned to deal with the bitterness. 

“your majesty, i would never assume you would do something so wicked towards your people,” yoonsung dully retorts,“especially to such a noble and supportive family to your rule as the sangs.” 

yet the minster cannot pretend he is only made of stubborn grudges and stones. yoonsung cannot pretend how sometimes his eyes catch a glimmer of chaesan’s older self and his stomach drops, how his mind races towards maybe grief as swallowed up a decades-long friendship. 

“i am merely your humble servant,” exhaling deep through his nose before he stills the unsureness in his voice, “i can only assure you that the han family will do their best to uncover who dares sully one of your nation’s most important festivals. we will not stop until the culprit is caught.” 

a threat? yoonsung is not foolish enough to do so; it’s merely the truth of the matter. 

the familiarity of how her lips mouth his name is not lost on him; the lack of title brings back the memories of the sunrise. “pri— firelord chaesan, you cannot think of a reason to why someone would want to weaken the sang family?” he steps forward, his body moving almost instinctively to close the distance between them. “or the noble households in general? i fear that every death only adds to the destabilization of our country.” 

“of course, you are right. one might easily conceive of why such an unscrupulous individual may seize an opportunity to strike at any one of us. but that’s just it, minister. therein lies the question that plagues me so.” it’s more of an admission than she’d ever indulge in under any normal circumstances. a crack in her armor, a fleeting slip of the mask. would that she could allow for such vulnerability, between only the two of them in the morning’s complacent calm that settles deep into her bones. she no longer has that luxury, though; her fate has been long since sealed. there is no one left to guide her.

at her side, her hand clings ardently to the fabric of her clothing, steadily tightening and loosening its grip. a habit she’s had since time immemorial, whenever the world seems to be tilting wildly on its axis and she must quietly steel herself in a way typically subtle enough to elude the prying eyes of the public. it’s only this compulsion that, in moments like these, betrays the fact that somewhere still lurks a mere mortal caged within the layer of iron that lies under chaesan’s skin. 

“as you said, there is no need to speculate as to their motive; they likely wish to weaken the noble households in general. so why, then, were the sangs chosen? i do not call into question their importance or place in our nation. the family ranks among my supporters, yes, but they are not the only ones. with so many of us in attendance, including myself, why them? clearly, whatever plan has been set in motion... it requires a light touch.” the eternal game, the subtle push and pull that can be used to one’s advantage should they find the strings and learn how to manipulate them. chaesan always despised it. now she has no choice but to assume the role of one of its chief players.

it is no small feat, but at last, she meets yoonsung’s gaze again. survivor’s guilt is something she knows well. something she’s lived with since the day she ascended to the throne, something she’s almost settled into comfortably like a longtime companion, adorned herself with and worn day in and day out while those around her pretended not to see it.

the emperor has no clothes.

it doesn’t mean she can outright admit it, but somewhere in her expression, there is a silent pleading with him. someone, someone should know that her grief is genuine, that her ache to understand why is borne of the unspoken question: why her and not me?

“It’s not even noon yet. I just want to remind you of that.” Itsara is part-amusement with the rest of her being a very critical bite. She watches her underling with an unmitigated scrutiny —  Princess Chaehyun, who is as much a subordinate as one of the Great Dragon Lords could be, anyway. 

“Your highness, that is.” She coughs nervously, shamelessly and obviously providing herself a very quick recovery with the apologetic dip of her head. “I want to remind you that it’s not even noon yet, your highness, and that —  well, at this rate, do you even want to learn?” It’s probably a bit more confrontational than she means it to come across, reinforced by the way Itsara turns to face the princess, expression steeled by a visible confusion between mentor and inferior. “I mean —  I mean that literally, by the way. As in, if you don’t want to learn, we don’t have to, but also, if you do want to learn, then you have to do this. Your highness, again. Sorry.” 

A bit of an exaggeration on Itsara’s part, though she wasn’t sure how else to answer what the difference was between starting just before sunrise or starting when the rest of the nation was awake. The more she thought about it, the more she realized there was probably no difference at all. Chaehyun didn’t need to know that, though. What she did need to know was the second act in a play Itsara had loved as a child. It was the very memory that had compelled Itsara to join the theater troupe at Ember Island to begin with. 

In a way, after much quiet and meticulous deliberating on her part, it was also why she was in the position she found herself in now. It hadn’t actually occurred to her that Chaehyun never once threatened any damning ultimatum for the discovery her highness had made that fateful day. In Itsara’s mind, the pendulum had started swinging the moment Chaehyun discovered her in costume. There was no better option than falling to her highness’ feet, pleading and drowning out what was (as she remembers it now) just her stunned silence. 

“You’re at the best part, you know. Right before the lovers reunite beneath the stars, they dance. The dance is so beautiful, it lifts their very spirits to a shining brilliance above them in the middle of the night sky. They see that the color of their light is the same and they know without a doubt: they’re meant for each other.” It takes a lot to stifle an otherwise dreamy, indulgent sigh from leaving Itsara’s mouth. “Doesn’t that make you excited?! Imagine, dancing with someone like that! Come on!”

@noctiividus

Insist as they might, and do they ever, Chaehyun has never quite believed her fellow highborn when they say there will come a day when the title your highness evokes anything in her besides a tumultuous wave of nausea. Twenty-three years in and, despite all efforts to the contrary, she still can’t quite keep her face from twisting into an uneasy grimace upon hearing those words put forth in her direction. Twenty-three years has been long enough for her to learn that not making a fuss over it is generally the greatest kindness she can do her people, as the fear of addressing a royal improperly pervades those who’ve seen the consequences enacted by those less generous than the empathetic princess  —  and yet, still she bristles. 

“Hey, I’m deferring to your expertise here. If there was ever a time to drop the formalities and just call each other by name, I think this might be it. Especially since we have to do these lessons out in the great beyond where I can only imagine the map says ‘here be dragons.’ No one around to be scandalized.” The secluded corners of Ember Island aren’t truly so shrouded in mystery, even to Chaehyun, but she’s often inclined to rather creative hyperbole in order to get her point across. While she speaks, her arms lift vertically above her head in a stretch towards the skies, all the various ways in which a precise blade could be thrust between her ribs in that interval running through her head out of habit.

Set in her ways as she may be, she’s always gone to great lengths to prevent her elders from instilling in her the same parochial narrow-mindedness that seems to hold them each and every one in a vice grip. When her arms swing catawampus back down to her sides, she sighs in a momentary resignation, eyes slipping shut while she tries to envision the scene Itsara described in such brilliant, vibrant detail. Perhaps it’s due to her inexperience, never having even been in the vicinity of romantic love for another or an appreciator of the arts, that the beauty and wonder of it all is lost on her.

“If you ever see me going all gooey for someone like that I implore you to put me out of my misery.” A hand pushes her bangs aside as her eyes flutter open once more, shaking her head and managing to look at least a little bit apologetic. “I have no desire to make this any more difficult. It’s just - all this warm fuzzy romantic stuff doesn’t do anything for me. All well and good if it makes other people happy, but I always preferred stories with more... action. Why don’t they make more plays about war or adventures with dashing heroes saving the day? I could probably immerse myself or whatever you call it in a role like that.” 

Chaehyun gives a shrug, realizing she’s rambled into complete irrelevance. 

minister han yoonsung may be the only remaining man alive from whom fire lord chaesan averts her gaze. a likely futile endeavor to obscure something from his own piercing eyes, or an avoidance of some sight she cannot bear for more than a few moments, like staring directly into the blazing sun above? it isn’t clear, and may well be a bit of both, but regardless, meeting with him always rings somewhat of a confessional, a faint feeling of exposure — but then, no one seems to see straight through her quite like he does. and of late, she detects the inherent distrust between them just as easily.

“i’m afraid,” she utters, the trace teasing in her tone so scant that the uninitiated may mistake it for disdain, “this wasn’t my handiwork, minister.”

for but a moment, she smiles. rather than the hollow likeness of a smile that she plasters on day by day to placate her court, it’s a genuine one. one that sets alight her deep, blank eyes, one that proves that somewhere within her life yet persists, dwindling, languishing, brittle brown leaves crumbling into a soil that thirsts for only a drop of water.

what there once was will not be again. before there is time enough to blink, chaesan falls flat anew.

“i cannot claim credit — not that it will stop me from shouldering blame. and suspicion. nothing out of the ordinary,” she adds, with a sly glance back at yoonsung. “i regret only the number of eyes that will turn to me, while the true culprit undoubtedly escapes their notice. i can only hope it does little to impede the investigation.”

she heaves a heavy sigh, neck rolling from side to side before she shakes her head.

[ . . . ]

when he speaks, his voice sounds distant to him, breath catching in his throat like a tell-tale sign of the anxiety that’s creeping its way up his throat. “chaehyun.” a tentative hand reaching out to wrap itself around her wrist, checking her tangibility. a split second later he draws her into himself, encompassing her into a hug, arms wrapped around her as if his flesh could stop any sword from penetrating through. “i thought ㅡ i thought ㅡ ”

i thought it was you is left unsaid, like saying it wills it into existence, like saying it is a stain he couldn’t possibly wash off his hands. he exhales sharply, a hand stroking the back of her head. they don’t have much time before the guards will usher everyone back, but procedures be damned, he knows they’ll both go to the sangs before anyone else.

“are you injured? did you drink anything?”

@noctiividus

in the split second before she can tear her eyes away from the horror that unfolds, she knew he was coming. she’d put all her money on it, before she’d place an ounce of faith in even the sun rising in the morning or the forces that hold her in place on the ground below.

chaeyul, chaehyun. two minutes between them the day they were born. a fraction of a fraction of that, the moment push comes to shove.

“i didn’t... don’t worry about me,” she mutters, clinging to him in kind as if her life depends on him — and doesn’t it? to anyone else, her words might sound dismissive, but chaeyul knows her. better than she’d dare to say she knows herself. she’s answering his questions, attempting to put his worries to rest, but the greater part of her mind is racing, pensive, scrambling to process what had just occurred and piece together some semblance of sense. 

it’s almost comical to her now. would be, were it any time to dispel the tension with her lilting laughter. all the combat prowess she has in her own right, even a dragon at her disposal, and all any would-be assassin had to contend with on this fateful evening was her aversion to all things feminine, loath to partake of any food or drinks with her lips painted the deep red of crushed berries. never did she think she’d be wishing later on that being dolled up was the evening’s only misfortune. would she be lucky enough to keep bumbling her way past potential danger by the skin of her teeth?

“but why lady sang?” may the powers that be forgive her, she’s not thinking about the sangs, not truly, not just yet. it would come as no surprise to anyone, anyway, that her concern lies with chaeyul, the fulcrum around which her life has always been shaped. she’s always thought their relatively low rank in the royal family, so far on the outskirts that a gentle breeze might blow them into the abyss, afforded them a certain level of protection. but if the sangs had become a target.... whoever’s responsible for this, whatever their intentions, she can’t anticipate their next move, at least not yet. as of right now, she can only do everything in her power to protect him for the foreseeable future.

grief for lady sang will hit her later, with a vengeance. all the more intense for having delayed it — but what choice does she have?

they’ll tell stories about this. such is the price one pays for power and prestige, having been born into a performance that will persist in perpetuity. exit stage right, left, tear your way through the backdrop or dive face first into the audience; it matters not, for your presence yet lingers even in the wilting wisps of the shadows you cast.

when she finds a moment’s solitude, that which she often covets above all else, the only thing on chaesan’s mind is the tales that will one day be spun out of the events that had preceded. the strings of fate may wear thin, but never do they seem to snap in twain. this is surely the harbinger of something, and something that will leave its mark on the world for better or worse.

those who sing her praises will speak highly of her eternally level head, assessing the situation with a relative calm even when all around her gives way into utter catastrophe. those who take a less charitable view will clutch their proverbial pearls at her shocking apathy, how the fire lord didn’t shed a tear as one of her own met an untimely and exceedingly gruesome demise. neither will see the truth. how, like so many times before, she’d been assailed with a painful clarity of the world around her, one she could only survive by severing all emotional involvement that isn’t white-hot rage — and so collapsed another wintry chasm of chaesan’s withered heart.

suhui, though. suhui just might. if anyone understands the inner workings of fire lord chaesan, it’s suhui.

“thank you,” she murmurs in response to the dull hum she’d heard over the incessant ringing in her ears. she can only presume suhui had come to report completing an errand, and respond in kind. seated on the floor at the edge of a table, she traces the brim of the cup in front of her as she stares at the wall across from her, expression inscrutable. 

before her handmaiden can set out to do more of her bidding, she snaps somewhat out of her reverie, eyes moving to the other’s back.

son chaeyoung. cis female. she/her. presenting princess chaehyun, twenty three-year-old non - bender and fifth in line for the throne. personable yet indolent, they finds themself apprehensive of fire lord chaesan’s reign. will this be their salvation or their undoing ?

World’s Least Princess™. doesn’t have an ambitious bone in her body and couldn’t be happier to be fifth in line to the throne. if she could somehow put even greater distance between herself and that level of responsibility, she would do so in a heartbeat just for good measure. being the resident non-bender in the royal family doesn’t come with many advantages, but the widely held view that it makes her less fit to rule is something of a consolation prize.

why, then, without an ounce of bending ability to her name, was she the one to bond with a dragon and remain a dragonrider steeped in controversy? she wishes she could answer that! she prefers not to dwell on it, typically dismissing the question with a well-placed ‘fortune favors the bold!’ or equally empty platitude and going on about her day. 

it can be a little difficult to wrangle her into doing her work, but one of her more redeeming qualities is that she does have a genuine passion for it buried way down deep, a typically untapped resource that overfloweth when one can dig past the layers of laziness. it lends itself to a sincere enjoyment and natural aptitude for her assigned duties, although she admittedly takes a far greater interest in the military side of things than diplomacy. despite preferring the company of a dragon, she has a way with people.

the one point of contention where it’s a lot harder to convince her to yield is regarding her appearance. she always makes sure to look presentable, of course, but if she had her way she’d likely be indistinguishable from any of her male contemporaries. she’s willing to endure an evening done up like a proper princess for an occasion that truly necessitates it, but she’s not particularly good at hiding the abject misery she’ll be in the whole time.