#youseimanami

Hisfather did, though. And had spat upon it. That, Izana remembers vividly. His mothers nails bit into the flesh of his shoulders and he, as a child, had not understood how her face could be so calm when her body pressed against his spine trembled so violently. 

Scholars, the King had growled, eyeing the crest of Knowledge that hung high upon the wall. They are no better than traitors in training.

At the time, he had been frightened. Been scared. Like all children are in the face of something more powerful than themselves. But he wanted so dearly to please his father, to be deserving of his time.

Izana yanked his arms from his mothers grasp, past her pained gasp, scampering up to his fathers side, and-

That’s my boy. A heavy hand rested upon his head - everything about him was always so heavy - ruffling hair as Izana cleaned the spittle from his chin with his sleeve. Pay witness to this, my Queen. A once and future King of Clarines stand before you.

Even now, the memory stings from the warmth it stirs in his heart. He had been… so happy. So proud. Felt so worthy-

Only for his father to fade once again. To disappear. Off to battle, Lord Haruka always told him. Off to war. And until his 13th summer, whenever a lazy moment would allow recollection, Izana would think upon the memory and dismiss it as no more than a dream. A fantastical nightmare that could be left in the ashes of slumber.

Until it wasn’t.

Cold sweat dampened his collar and steel flashed before his eyes. A blow landed and the wood in his hand rattled like his teeth, like his own spinning brain. 

Elitists. That’s what they are, King Kain said over the sound of his pounding heart, and he pulled back, circled, picked the next weakness to exploit. They think they’re learned, but they are nothing but innocent babes. What could they possibly know of war and peace locked up in their libraries and laboratories?

How Izana wished his father paid the Northern territories no mind. Each time was worse than the last-

It is best, the King grinned, catching the distraction and taking advantage of it. A fist wrapped itself in his loosened hair, his mothers hair, and held tight, to keep them tightly under one’s thumb.

The nape of Izana’s neck still burns and itches, still remembers the texture of a large hand pressed there and squeezing. Until-

You’re pushing yourself too hard, a far softer voice scolded. Small hands chased his away from the hurt, coolness chasing away the heat with one deft motion. You need to sleep.

For once, the softness in his chest relaid itself on his face. And he smiled. I’ll have plenty of time for that after one of these assassins manages to do their job.

Green, the color of a fresh spring day, flashed in his vision. A brow creased with worry. A mouth set with disapproval. I promised Zen I would take care of you. Don’t make me a liar.

Pain strikes straight through his skull in a thunderclap and he shakes the memory clean. 

What would his dearly departed father have to say about this?

“Arewe going to go in, Your Majesty?”

Izanablinks. Stares at the firelight glowingfrom the castle before him, the dark stone cut with gold, and wonders if there is something to be said of those old stories. If the same gods thatbuilt this place would intervene to keep the Wisteria name from tainting it further.

“Ina moment,” he replies.

Zakurais rarely dour. But between his Southern blood, the wind and the snow masquerading as rain, even he has his limits. “In a moment both of ourseats will be frozen to our saddles,” he grumbles. “We’ll have to be cut from them and how then do you propose that we meetyour lady? With a hole in our trousers?”

Despitehimself, despite the sight of his breath misting in a cloud through rain andsleet, Izana can feel his humor improving. He must be the only one of his partyaffected thus, for his mount shifts irritably beneath his thighs.

“Howis your history, Sir Shidnote?”

The weight of Zakua’s stare is heavy on the back of his head. “Fair enough,” he says, uncertain. “I was raised to be a Lord just the same as any other.”

Castinghim an appraisal from the tail of his eye, Izana smirks. “You and I both knowthat peerage does not equate knowledge.”

Zakuracoughs into his fist. “Fair enough.”

“Myfather always said that the North was cursed,” Izana comments airily, bare fingerswrapping around wet leather. “That, as King, I should never set foot in theselands unless I could avoid it.”

“And your brother?”

“The second born is called the spare for a reason.”

Zakura coughs again, this time it sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “Andyet here we are, your brother safe and in the South and us here, no worse for wear.” 

Alltraces of good nature leave his voice. “Now I know you were sleeping through the meetings.”

Therain falls faster, soaking through his cloak, until he can no longer feel the ache in his chest, the buzz in his brain. All he feels, all that there is, is cold andwet.

“Izana.” Zakura’s voice is rough beneath the steady shower. “Why are we here?”

It’sa good question. A fair one. And if anyone else were to press, if anyone else wereto ask, they may never learn the truth. In fact, Izana himself does not understandwhat brought him to this place.

Savehe does.

“Whyindeed?”

~~ ~

When theypass the great iron gates at last, past mounds of gray snow and melting ice, he throws his reins to a soaked-through page boy whoimmediately whisk his grunting animals to drier housing. The heft of the air loses some of its weight - seems lighter, seems calmer. Maybe the weather would break soon.

Izana ascends the stairs to the grand entry, each step heavier than the last, and the great wooden doors that have withstood raid after raid from enemy and ally alike opens so easily before him. It quickens him. And now that he hasfound his motion again, he cannot stop, remembers that he has never once in hislife needed to stop. It is not meant for him to pause beyond his own will.Rather, it is meant for his people to keep up.

Whenhe steps, backs bow for him. When he bends his knees, a chair appear below hisseat. When he but exists, announcements rattles off of stone walls, echoingchambers by chamber until it is but a distant memory.

Zakuratakes to his shoulder, hand resting too casually at the hilt of his blade. A servant of the house approaches to take his cloak, but Izana shakes his head once in negation. Holdingup a single hand, the butler pauses, lips pressed thin, and there is… something endearing about it. Something that Izana can’t help but view with a smirk at the novelty.

Asmuch as his father hated this place, had sought to change it, Izana had always been… oddly pleased atits continued existence. The servants of these lands hadnot his father’s ghost to beat docility in them like they did in Wistal, and the butlers gazedrops fretfully down to his feet. Izana’s follow. The edges of his cloak are dripping onto the fine Watese carpeting. The shift of his boot rubs in the mud that the road had flung on them.

Makiriwill be incensed. Izana leans back into the chair, wincing at the cold as itpresses firm to his back, and closes his eyes.

Good.This is half his fault anyhow.

Itis only a minute, maybe more, but the whispers begin on the edges of the room.The questions he is not meant to hear. Zakura is oddly silent at his side and,weighted down by his own stillness, Izana opens his mouth, opens his eyes toinquire about Lady Haki, only to discover she is already there. Watching him with preternatural stillness from atop the stairwell.

“Mylady,” he says softly, and even at his most genteel, it sounds loud. Harsh.Overwhelming in the face of her slight frame.

Shetakes a step forward, her eyes boring into him, and in the faint blue winter lights of the windows at her back, she looks ill, looks half dead. Like an omen. Like apromise if he is unable to bring this deal to fruition.

“YourMajesty,” her voice floats down the stairwell to answer his greeting. “I see the negotiations are going well.”

~~ ~

“Isee.” Haki finally says, after some difficulty. “That is… indeed a uniquesituation.”

Thefire splits and spits in the hearth, sparks illuminating the room beforefading once again, and Izana wraps numb fingers around delicate porcelain. Theytingle, pinpricks of pain filling every point of contact. He is certain, beneath his sodden clothes, that the rest of him is made ofnothing more than ice.

“Areyou going to let her be taken?”

Evenhis heart.

Hisbrows push at one another, his tongue oddly lost. “She cannot marry Zen. The slight would mean war.” Of that there is no doubt. “But I am not preparedto surrender her to Sama.”

“They would take the advantage and that would mean war as well.”

It hurts how easy she reads his thoughts. Sees his logic. That he does not need to explain what is plain to his eyes.

Hakihums around the lip of her teacup. “And our bachelor in Tanbarun. How does he fair?”

If he were not so weary, Izana would laugh. The things that he could do - has done - for his country may be unspeakable, but even that is a price too steep to pay on his soul. “Raj is as wellas can be expected.”

Thineyebrows raise in question. “But not enough.”

“Itwould be cruel,” he replies, and it is a challenge not to smile when her expression turns fond. “The throne has seen enough of that these last few generations. I would prefer to minimize it in my rein.”

“Andyou call your brother the idealist.”

Forreasons he cannot fathom nor can his mind articulate, his chest aches. Fillswith a sense of loss for something that was never truly his. “I never said Iwasn’t.”

Haki’sgaze grows weary under his. Flits away. “Why are you here, Your Majesty?”

“Time,”he lies, but it’s not. It’s just not the whole truth. “Time and distance. Tolet the negotiation table cool.”

Hestarts – he starts – when her handalights upon his wrist, as graceful and delicate as a butterfly perch. It takeshim back to his youth, when he was a child in his mother’s gardens. Long beforehe felt even the first whisper of the responsibility he was meant to wield. Longbefore he knew what it meant to be as cold as he feels now.

“Youdid not come here to ask my advice on diplomacy,” she says, not unkindly, just-true, and the image is shattered. Whatever solace she provided gives way, andhe is loaded once more, the weight of his country- of his people and their future- against that of a single waif of a common born girl. 

It is a wonder that he does not give way beneath it.

“Ivalue your opinion.” He does not move, does not dare disturb her lest she take flight. “That is all.”

Itfalls silent. Somewhere down the hall, agrandfather counts the hours. Tells him the precise moment that fate sought to break their pact.

“Youhave to marry her.”

Thereis no regret in her voice, no upset. It’s a simple statement that he knows costsher everything, yet she gives it without pause.

“Igave my word,” he says, so simply. To be your husband. To be your future.

“Izana.”His name is like a shock on her lips, striking every nerve until he is nothing but raw and tender bone. “You know what must be done. You cannot let such an advantage fall intotheir hands.”

“Butthe contract,” he licks his lips, grimaces at the sting, and why, why does this kingdom deem it rightto call him King when at this moment he feels so much a boy? “I have given myword.”

“So… did you sayyes?” Hisame asks, cold eyes cast over Mitsuhide with a scrutinizing glare.“For the moment, I’m the one she’s technically betrothed to. Which means, Ihave the right to ask,” he continues when he is met with surprised, slightlypanicked eyes.

If only Mitsuhideknew; it would be all different, those eyes would be full of pity instead ofalarm. But Mitsuhide, bless his soul, is a simple, honest man. He would neverguess.

“So, what was youranswer?” Hisame pushes, pouring wine for the both of them. His heart onlythrobs a little faster than usual, and it only hurts a little to withholdMitsuhide’s gaze.

“I told her,”Mitsuhide starts, casting his eyes away and looking into the distance, “that Icouldn’t be with her.”

“Hmm.” There’s afull stop there – a second to breathe, a second to stop and think how could he ever fall for this stupid… buthe keeps his poise, bringing his glass to his lips. “Why?”

It takes a littleverbal nudging, but in the end, it’s not hard to extract information from theknight. What he hears is not far from what he expected – still, it’s less, and he is disappointed in Mitsuhide.

“Well… puttingaside your true feelings, and how you two reallyfeel about each other, it sounds more to me like your words meant for a partnerwho’s been by your side forever, and not for a person who has just confessedtheir feelings to you,” he says, and his glance falls from Mitsuhide’s sourface to the glass in his hands. “I’m not saying that you should revealeverything about yourself, or anything foolish like that. But really, of allpeople, consider just who it is you’re putting on this front for.”

He doesn’t have tolook to sense Mitsuhide tense beside him, and he feels his own fingers tightenaround his glass.

“You coward,” hesays – more to his own reflection in his goblet, than to Mitsuhide sittingbeside him, but he doesn’t have to know. He doesn’t have to know how the oneputting up the biggest front in this whole thing is Hisame Lugis.

The ceramic cupshatters in Mitsuhide’s hand, dragging Hisame out of his short episode ofself-loathe. For a second, Hisame thinks he may have gone too far – it wouldn’tbe a surprise, he tends to overstep boundaries like children hop over thejumping-rope – and he clenches his jaw with a small inward squeak, ready toreceive a punch when Mitsuhide raises from his seat.

“Sir Hisame.”

And yet, Mitsuhidedares to surprise him, greeting him with a civilized smile. “In about two yearsor so, there’s a chance I might actually consider you a good friend.”

Hisame isimpressed, but schools his expression into that of mild indifference. He is notwilling to give it to the man who makes his heart throb so achingly to see himflail over his self-discipline.

Even though hethought he managed to push his buttons justfine…

“Such tolerance.Too much, even,” he remarks pouring another glass, and hands it to Mitsuhide.“Maybe you should learn to work a little harder.”

The knight takesit – the mere millimeters they are short from their fingers to brush could bethe inch between the driftwood and the drowning man.

 *

 Sending the manone loves to the one he loves, andthen hiding behind a tree to spy on them is not the most dignified pastimeactivity ever – but as Earl Seiran personally joins him, Hisame’s only worrybecomes the finiteness of wine in his goblet. If he is to hear a confessionfrom the lips of Mitsuhide, one puny goblet would not support him enough tokeep him on his feet.

Not that he isreally keen to nurture his ridiculous love for Mitsuhide; it is pointless andentirely futile. The knight is penniless, has little word in court, and lovesKiki so dearly he must not have eyes for anyone else. Yet, it feels good totease him, rile him up, and watch his perky little butt and long lean legs ashe marches away. Mitsuhide, in this sense, is a fine specimen: simple, honestand aesthetically pleasing.

Not that Hisamecouldn’t survive a rejection, if he heard it in the roundabout form of aconfession to someone else – he simply loves loving Mitsuhide, for how gullible he is.

He is not reallywilling to give it up just yet.

“I realized, Iwill most likely never marry,” Mitsuhide says then, and Kiki looks just asastonished as her lord father or Hisame himself. “I deeply admire His HignessZen.”

It… it’s not theconfession Hisame readied himself to hear. Not a confession he has ever imagined to hear, and not… not somethinghe can comprehend. He is deafened by the loud drumming of his heart in his ear,and his brain registers though that they are still talking – that Kiki loughsshortly before saying something and the tension disperses from their tone – buthe can’t quite understand a thing.

It takes a fewdeep breaths to focus back on the conversation before him.

“No matter thesituation, I would choose His Highness over anything. When it comes to him, myresolution is absolute,” he hears Mitsuhide saying. He knows that his surprise– his panick – is visible on his face, but hiding in the shades of the tree hehopes no one notices.

As he listens on,it becomes clear that the confession was not of romantic manner. Still, it madehis heart uneasy, and it takes him aback to realize just how big Mitsuhide’seffect can be on him.

“Such a fool,” hemurmurs clicking his tongue. He means it for Mitsuhide – but he also means itfor himself, who has foolishly panicked over… over a love he treats as apastime; a love that entertains him but was never meant to make him allflustered.

“Surprising, isn’tit? Sir Mitsuhide’s respect and affection for His Highness,” he asks Kikilater, letting his feelings find his voice once Mitsuhide leaves them to greetthe knights from Sereg.

“Isn’t it?” Kikiagrees. “It started long ago.”

“From when hefirst became his aide?” he inquires to satisfy his newfound curiosity. It takesKiki a moment to think, and he is willing to wait, intently, for an answer thatmay lull his worries or stir something in him.

The answer Kikicomes up with is more complex than he has thought, and shows her deepunderstanding of the knight.

They fit together well, he thinks with the melancholy of a rival whorealizes he never had any chance. He is not prepared yet, not quite, to saygoodbye to this love he has entertained himself with for long; but he is,slowly, starting to get himself ready for it.

“Perhaps I’ll makeit my jurisdiction then, to never give Sir Mitsuhide any kind words, no matterthe circumstance. You can pass that job my way anytime.”

“Actually, I’d sayit’s your role, rather than jurisdiction,” Kiki says with a smile.

“Indeed,” Hisamelaughs, heart heavy but voice cheerful. “The role of the bad guy!”

 *

 Deep in the nightand after what it feels like at least a gallon of wine, Hisame can say withconviction that Prince Zen seems like the type to trap someone in a room andlock them up until he gets what he wants.

It still gives himslight surprise that neither of the prince’s devoted aides try to refute him –and his curiosity peaks, so much he actually considers cheating himself into amission visit to Wistal sometime in the close future. He doesn’t have thefondest of memories of the prince… maybe it’s time to change that.

“Oh,” he says, asa thought suddenly hits him. “Sir Mitsuhide, what is your plan for tonight?”

It’s not a brightthought. Not when his vivid imagination supplies him with a thousand ways SirMitsuhide could spend his night.

“What do youmean?” the knight asks back, and Hisame is thankful for the wine that makes hislimbs all jelly for mellowing his desire.

If only he hadcontrol over his tongue, too.

“You’re notstaying at house Seiran, right?”

“I’ve been stayingat an inn nearby since yesterday.”

“Oh, is that so?Then let me stay with you!” he asks, smiling away his non-existent guilt overthe Earl’s invitation to stay the night on the Seiran premises. “I’m sure noneof the nearby inns will have any free rooms available.”

Mitsuhide visiblygulps. Hisame approves of the wine’s decision to tease him.

“But,” the knightprotests, “it’s a one-person room.”

“You’re useless,”Hisame says, casting his eyes away as his brain supplies with further images onall the activities that can be enjoyed on a single bed. “I would’ve thoughtthat an aide of His Highness would want to stay in the finest room available.”

“… I justremembered, there’s a couch in there,” Mitsuhide replies innocently.

“In other words,you will be giving me the bed?”

 *

 Moonshine filtersthrough the windows, and Hisame can hear Mitsuhide fumble about – sheetsrustling, followed by the creaking of the sofa – and it takes him all he has inhim to refrain from doing something stupid.

“Sir Hisame, areyou awake?” he hears Mitsuhide asking, and he cannot suppress the sigh breakingon his lips. “That was a sigh just now, wasn’t it?”

He could probablyjump him. Coerce him into something. Steal a kiss from those dumb lips.

Anything.

But it’s hisprinciple not to chase someone who is not interested in him – and his pride, ohhis pride would definitely not survive if he did make a move on the knight.

“What is it, SirMitsuhide?” he asks coldly.

“Sorry, it’s just…I wanted to ask you something.”

He looks so pure.So earnest. So terribly dumb.

Hisame nods forhim to continue.

“Are your mostimportant feelings those that make up your whole self, or those deep within?Which do you think are stronger?”

He sits up,running a hand through his hair.

Should he takethis question seriously, helping this idiot of a knight, who also happens to bethe one he would like to jump just about now? He could think of many ways toopen Mitsuhide’s eyes to reality, but… not one of them required him to use histongue to speak.

Suppressing asigh, he massages his temple and takes a deep breath before he replies,dropping his hand to his side.

“Regardless ofdegree, if your important feelings and whatnot are tied to strength, thenneither the former nor the latter will be very different. If you were to losethose feelings and replace that strength with weakness, the end result is thesame for both. After all, once you lose those feelings, the strength tied tothem also disappears, doesn’t it?”

“I understand.”

“So which is it?For you.”

“The latter. Sincethey are at my core, I’ll be able to continue protecting it until the end of time.Or at least, that’s how I see it.”

“I see. Well then,” Hisame says, turning hisback on Mitsuhide to sleep. “Don’t you have your answer?”