ÜMITVÂR

hope  hung  on  a  thread  that  was fraying once again, an exhausting cycle aranya wasn't certain how to escape. the pre-tribunal was meant to deliver the justice she hungered for; instead, there'd only been more violence and thailand's losses had been pushed aside once more. her fingers dug into her palms. would the person or people who orchestrated her children's deaths never stand trail? she knew it was unlikely that noi would possess any new information, but her shoulders still drooped. defeat never became easier to swallow.   ❝ i fear the only ones who aren't in the dark are those behind all of this. ❞   slender fingers fidgeted with the cloth napkin on the table. aranya wondered if it would be better if they returned to thailand, but there hadn't felt fully safe since the deaths either.   ❝ i'm unharmed. but . . . ❞   she swallowed the lump in her throat.   ❝ i'm frightened. ❞

to see her shoulders drop alongside the expression on her face only brings more guilt. it twists and turns the heart in his chest, and he moves forward to pull the chair next to her, to gingerly sit on the edge. she is one of the few that makes him connected to thailand, lets him associate it with home from time to time. and the fact that it is his duty to come to them with information, yet how he fails to do so, makes him feel incredibly guilty. he evades her gaze, looking at the tablecloth, hands clenching into fists on top of his legs. "that... seems to be the case. i- i don't know who to blame, either. there is so much loss..." she continues, and only at her final words, he looks up, desperation crossing his eyes, helplessness that he despises. a hand reaches up to hold her shoulder, teeth sinking into his lip. "aranya- i — i am so sorry." and to think, noi is having doubts, in a moment of political tension such as this. when innocent lives are affected. there is a frantic edge to his words when he speaks. "this might be- too forward of me but- you are assigned round-the-clock guards, aren't you?"

if noi of today were to talk to himself back in ethiopia, he wouldn't have believed that he would have rather stayed there. the chaos that unfolded from the moment they left was both earth-shattering as it was terrifying, and it only seemed to get worse every day. genjirou's words remind him of their time back there, when there were fewer worries in their minds. noi's mouth pinches with worry, quietly moving to sit down next to him. "oh... i take it didn't go too well?" he asks, letting the silence linger a bit more before asking. "or... is it about what happened after?"

"the cards have drawn it out from somewhere." risa, and their superstitions, do not want to give licence to that which might not be to blame. but the fact of the matter is that something has permanently shifted once again. to take a reading in a time of crisis is to take away time from the positive now. though they had sought out the clarity of the cards in their private time, and found themself filled with dread. it is not usually a terrible card, death being rather on the nose for its meanings, but every time it appeared, they withdrew, even from their own traditions. how could this be kept up? "and it was bound to happen. whether predicted or otherwise, a fall must always come after the rise upon the pedestal. don't you think?" it has no particular tone attached. but risa had been the one to read noi first. and deeply.

a rise of his eyebrows, accompanied by the inability to keep his mouth shut. does it have to do with how they have seen his tears? heard the despair in his words, witnessed the slip of his mask? that could be a reason why it is much more difficult to act nonchalant around them. for they have seen him, reached too close to his core. perhaps he had done so too, though he cannot help but think he showed his true hand, even when he shouldn't. "drawn it out from... somewhere?" he repeats, disbelieving. "so you are saying the signs were off all along?" no blaming in his tone ( he doesn't know if he would believe her either way ), though it is clear how he finds that odd. the explanation however, makes him evade his eyes, words too close to a set fate out for them, another concept he does not like thinking about. "that's a bit too... fatalistic, wouldn't you say? and more than that- it seems the falls seem to be more often than the rises nowadays."

so it is the curse of being known. noi knows him. there is no removing this from the pores of alistair's skin. he swallows. a bitter draught. gods, if it was poison, this may be an easier death. easier than the one which pollutes him as love does. "but still we seek it out." he is talking to him. he is not talking to him. he speaks to a vacancy in the corner of the springs, as though their love casts a shadow that cannot be seen unless in dire straits. unless without one another for too long. i think you look lovely. and how it had not been something uttered in jest. here, scars revealed; he shifts for the ache in his shoulders, reveals the rope-like texture all the more. and his eyes cannot help themselves: gazing at the curl, following the drape of the robe. his mouth goes dry with a thirst that cannot be quenched with water. "why did you come here?" but this time, less of a question, and more of a plea. lamentation as he watches noi make themself comfortable, the robe no longer cloaking the nakedness. velveteen of the skin that lies beneath. his hands are too rough for this. his life — is too rough. "it's dangerous to be out in these parts alone. haven't you heard?" and a distinct draught of bitterness enters here: "there are murderers about."

something's wrong. it feels different than that moment up in the mountains, when alistair seemed in control, despite their own desires being thick in the air. now, there is a frantic, unknown quality in his motions, his words. noi does not know what to do with it — only knows that it feels wrong, and that he despises it. the temperature of the water is almost an afterthought compared to how it feels to be touched by his gaze. the words are harsh, unlike the look and the voice that uttered how the wings of butterflies would set him to glow like a lantern. then again, noi knew better than to expect words that would toe that line anymore, no matter how much he wished it. no, alistair had made it clear, had pulled back — though the man in front of him seems to exist far away from that line. he's elsewhere, not within his realm. in turn, around him, noi has never been good at keeping his mouth shut, especially not when his own emotions run rampant in the space between them, heart hammering in that melody again at the sight of him. "many seek rest and comfort in those they care about. it would be... unfair to assume there is no rest to be found anymore, from now on. are we all doomed then, forever?" noi means the two of them, and not them. noi means the world they live in now, the danger that surrounds, that chokes. he does not know if alistair listens. his eyes are focused on a place far away, perhaps in that space where noi isn't. the idea of alistair being somewhere he cannot reach is an ugly thought. one that he does not want to let it fester. maybe, he will be forced to. then, a question, a plea, something he cannot figure out. will he ever be able to? "just- to rest. that is all." cannot bring himself to lie: he did not know alistair would be here. no matter how much he wished to see him, yearned to be alone together again — this was not planned. "i did not know you would be here." more vulnerable, perhaps hurt: "is it so terrible to see me again?" his eyes swim on the features of the soldier in front of him. a quiet plea in his own, for alistair to meet his eyes. perhaps then, he could find the answers he is looking for. confusion swims across his face, eyebrows furrowing, mouth pinched. is it about the pre-tribunal? noi does not understand. "what do you mean?" he pries. "i'm hardly a target, alistair." at least, for now, he isn't. as far as the other knows, even if a sliver of fear etches itself into his chest that he might know. "i'm safe here." with you. even if alistair does not know the secrets that will doom noi one day, the performer trusts him. perhaps foolishly, yet desperately.

the  emperor  tilted  his  head  a  fraction, curiosity growing the longer silence lingered. yura's expression only made it grow. kaito assumed if it was something relevant to their respective nations then it would be the reigning tsarina sitting before him. then again, russia existed in a world of its own. commonalities that could be found throughout a variety of monarchies absent there. as words filled the air, kaito leaned forward, elbow resting on the desk and hands clasped. brow knitted together. a stillness befell him externally but inside mind turned, putting together pieces that lingered in the words not spoken. yet eyes still widened a fraction when final conclusion was reached as the paper was placed before him.   ❝ a hanko sigil, ❞   he murmured. eyes traced the sigil. so many had crossed his desk throughout his life, lines blending together in his mind, but the one on the page was genuine that much he could tell.   ❝ these are unique to one individual or family. i cannot say for certain that they're here with us in brazil, ❞   kaito began,   ❝ but i will look into it. ❞   his gaze rose, meeting yura's, and he extended a warm smile.   ❝ and then we can arrange a meeting with them. ❞

they pull their hands back to their lap and pull at the hangnails. it's more nerve-wracking than they thought it would be, watching the emperor look at the sigil, and take in the situation slowly. the pessimistic side of yura expects a rejection; or something worse where this could reach tsarina's ears. those thoughts bring a bout of shame and guilt, for kaito has been nothing but kind to yura. it's unfair for them to think of those scenarios, when the other has done nothing to deserve them. then, he speaks, and yura's eyes widen, looking back at him from where their gaze was stuck on his hands. "oh- oh?" the positive answer is so surprising that they need a few seconds to take it in, and when they do, their eyes widen even more. "thank you, thank you so much." they begin, a bow of their head forward, hands flattening on top of their thighs. they remain bowing where they sit for a bit more, before they tentatively raise their head, meeting his eyes again. "i- i hadn't even considered they might be here." is it possible that yura might have even seen them? no, no, that doesn't seem real, even if it's somewhat plausible. "thank you so much, your majesty. this- means a lot to me." their words grow quiet, yet no less genuine. they return the warm smile with one on their own, eyes filled with emotion, with a wet sheen to them.

the frown remains on their face. the fact that someone turned down isaak's well intentions stings something in their chest, something akin to protectiveness, as childish as it would be to say that out loud. there is another apology at the tip of their tongue, but they do not utter it in words, sensing their brother would not like to hear another one. "that's... frustrating. even if it's something jovial as the weather?" it's difficult to believe, because of how much they try to help when someone tries to learn russian, how much they treasure those moments. then, at something they can help with, they find it quick to cling to. "oh, of course! they have an amazing library here, i am sure we can find books in other languages there. if you have the time- we can go for a look sometime in the next few days, or i can check and bring some for you."

pursing their lips, they wish they could help şenay more. all they can do, however, is lend a listening ear. having varied relationships with one's siblings is somewhat of a familiar topic, growing apart, either by heart or distance, seems inevitable sometimes; no matter how much pain it brings them. then again, there is one thing they know, no matter how difficult it can be. "i don't know him well enough to give you this advice but — do consider giving him a chance. i know the regret is worse than not having tried, in most cases." from the corner of their eyes, they see şenay shake her head. the hand on their arm pulls them to a stop, and for a moment, yura is too afraid to meet her eyes. the fear, that she might be disappointed once she learns, is too strong. they couldn't take that- couldn't take şenay looking at them like that. as irrational as it is, their breathing picks up in that fright, and the reassurances fall on deaf ears. they shake their head, sorrowful dark eyes meeting hers, unbelieving in what she is saying. "no- i am. you don't- you don't know everything — and - i fear you will agree, once you learn."

they weren't expecting to be caught, nor spoken to, not when all they wished to do was to leave the russian chambers. though now, pinned like a fly, all yura can do is listen quietly. for a moment, they expect her initial words to be final. that they will be dismissed now and can rush their way out of the main room. then — the tsarina continues, and their breath hitches. they are caught in more ways than they realized. embarrassment burns hot down their nape, and their mouth opens and closes uselessly. "i- i wasn't —-" it's a losing game, to refute her words, so they bow their head down, and move towards the gestured seat. even when they sit, they cannot find the courage to look up at her, too afraid that she can figure out what's going through their mind with a single look. it's irrational- though yura cannot help themself. "what- what would you like to talk about, tsarina?"

her side, plastered against his, holding his hand in between hers. an anchor grounding her, just as she wishes to be the same to him. here, where she does not have to hide her emotions; she lets herself feel the terror, the panic, and the fear of almost losing someone today. lets those emotions wash over her, and then discards them with the aid of his presence. "no. it is not." her words are quiet, only loud enough for her husband to hear. "i don't know what good all of that did, except show how tightly strung everyone is, and that it can all explode any moment." and they had seen those who perished during the pre-tribunal, and had to face the fact it could be someone else next. "he hasn't. i imagine he is more furious about not knowing about the traitor in their midst. they must be scrambling to figure out how it went unnoticed so far, and if there was an inside man." that's also how she felt about this whole thing. "i will talk to him as soon as the coast clears. it was close. too close."

aranya  blinked,  head  tilted  slightly.  had  they met before? no name arose in her mind it, but it wouldn't be the first time a name had slipped from her recollection, embarrassed as she'd be to admit. lips almost part, the question on the tip of her tongue, but his words silenced the words before they were spoken. she quickly shook her head.   ❝ no. ❞   she took care to not say it too quickly.   ❝ you're kind to offer, but i'm fine, truly. i wasn't harmed during the chaos. it's nothing but worries. ❞   consciously, she made her hand fall back to her side. only a day ago she'd been thinking of how best to announce her pregnancy; now, she worried it would put a target on her.   ❝ thank you. so long as they're well enough for visitors. ❞

a small nod at her decision, he is glad that she is unharmed. though now, the worry of a physician out of the window, the shift to his occupation mode is more difficult. in his mind, he has to face who she is, and the fact that technically, they are family now. she's her sister-in-law, and neither she nor the king knows anything about it. phai does not know if he wants them to know, especially at a time when tensions are already running too high. it can't possibly turn into something good, could it? he snaps back into reality, offering her a kind smile, albeit still muted. "i am glad to hear you are well, then." he takes a step back, gesturing down a makeshift corridor. "i can take you to them, if you follow me."

it feels wrong not to reach out, even if he knows he can't due to the uncertainty that would bring. not knowing if akshay would mind it or not, he does not want to make them uncomfortable. phai used to be more sure around them but now — it all seems up in the air. it hurts in a way that he cannot put into tangible thoughts, let alone voice out loud. especially not at a time like this, when his hurt does not matter at all. although their words make light of the matter, they do not bring the reassurance phai initially sought. his face twists, and he looks at them once again, to spot the scrapes in question. "show me- please. did you get them taken care of? what- what happened?" and at the question about his own self, he is quick to nod. "yeah- none of it is mine." nothing of note on his own self, only a few bruises here and there, under his clothing, away from their sight.

it would not be the first time he ends up on the bad side of a royal, or simply someone in a position of power. and most times, it's so much crueler that he would not put this in the same category. that fact cements itself at the sudden apology, and phai is quick to shake his head. "it's alright, your majesty. all of us are going through trying times." a simplification, perhaps, so much so that it can be categorized as a lie. he hopes the sultan won't point it out. "i apologize if i stopped by at the wrong time." the physician is about to offer to come later when the motion of rostam's hand urges him further inside. phai nods instead. "i understand." or more so, he can imagine that pressure to be perfect. to not crack under the pressure. heavy is the head that wears the crown. he does not envy that life. how ironic, when he thinks of what he has learned — and pushes that thought away immediately. after walking to where the sultan intends him to go, he sets down the medical satchel down at the corner of a sofa, and waits for him to settle down. "how have you been feeling? is there any discomfort? any signs of fever?"

her  sons  had  returned  to  their  rooms after breakfast, takola confused why he couldn't venture to the training yard to practice sword fighting or watch the ethiopian soldiers train, but their safety was most important. the pre-tribunal had only highlighted how many nations, despite proclaiming they desired justice as well, couldn't be trusted. her daughter was sleeping in her arms, mal singing softly to her, when the door open. a smile began growing only to pause as she registered the look on phai's face. the fraction of peace she'd felt in the morn was replaced by a sinking feeling in her stomach.   ❝ always. ❞   she handed taraji to the governess, waiting until they'd entered the nursery. motherhood set aside, queenly image falling into place.   ❝ what's wrong? ❞

guilt makes itself apparent. the sight of malaika with taraji, disrupted by phai's visit. there's an apology at the tip of his tongue, mentally reprimanding himself as he bows his head forward, teeth sinking into his lip. "sorry, i could- come back later —" he begins, though it sounds like a lie even to his own ears. the truth festers in his mind, it begs itself to be known. she is kind, as she always is, and the guilt worsens when he realizes what he interrupted her peaceful morning with. all he can do now is to go forth with the reason for his visit, feet taking him inside, though sorrow and panic mix into one another. they weigh down at the bottom of his stomach. "i- i don't know how to say this. it sounds- crazy. if i say it out loud, i will sound crazy." he pulls the letter from his pocket, and holds it out. does not dare meet his queen's eyes. "i found this yesterday evening. it's- from my mother. could you read it, please? especially the last paragraph."

the joke would be reassuring if not for the bleakness and irony weighing it down. dante moves to sit down next to the other, and shrugs, shaking his head. "i am quite sure we are not going to rot down here." another attempt at reassurance, a grin on his lips. "i think it's pretty much a fluke, you know? a scare tactic. they cannot find all of us guilty. so if you know you are not- i'm sure it will work out." dante isn't this kind most of the time. somehow, the terror in the other's face makes him kinder. "hey, we all have our weaknesses." god knows dante has plenty of them, none he is willing to share right then. "for what it's worth, i too agree that this is bullshit." a crude way to put it, not words that would come from a medici's mouth, but more so from a working-class child's.

"You are my whole world, Dante Fabri." Araminta whispers, voice barely audible to anyone else. In all their years together, she's always presumed it known. Love did not need to be said to be felt. Or so she thought. Barreling down in the depths of his dark, brown eyes she shakes her head. "This is not a difficult decision because it is not a choice we will make." She responds, nonsensical even in her profession of devotion. Hands moving to his own, holding it close to her chest where her heart beats. "I will not run a cost-benefit analysis on your life for ours. Because-" Araminta fights against her instinct of saying less, of keeping to the frost of her demeanor. Pushing past her reservations, she nods; "I love you." When was the last time she said it? When was the last time he heard it? "Maybe if we loved each other less, we would say it more." But in the precipice of death and danger, it needed to be said.

dante does not know what he wants to expect. whether a situation in which she blindly agrees would soothe his heart and make this easier. or where her current reaction is the relief he has been needing so far. it's complicated, all of this is. stuck in a prison cell, with their fate undecided, in the hands of people who he would not trust with their dinner choices, let alone their life. what he knows is that her complacency would make some things easier. prove the version of reality he has made up in his mind, one in which he does not really matter to either one of them. the ugly side of his insecurities, his misguided anger, all of which would be reasoned that he was right. and then, araminta speaks, and hearing those words makes him grateful that he was anything but. her voice is quiet, yet the words are enough to move mountains, to thaw the ice wrapped around dante's heart recently. it cracks, the pieces of ice shattering on the ground. the back of his eyes sting, and he reaches out. it's an unconscious reaction, to reach out to her, to take hers in his, to squeeze it in his grasp. to comfort. to love. how could he pretend to forget? he doesn't know which words to reply to all of that, and then thinks he has been speaking too much recently, all of little truth. other hand reaches out to her cheek, to pull her into a deep kiss. drinks it in, like a man dying of thirst who has been stranded in the desert, like a fool who has been denying himself everything good within his grasp. when he pulls back, he speaks. "... alright." he does not know if they can afford it. to not consider this possibility, but araminta so close, with those words still hanging in the air, he lets himself imagine that they can. "i love you too."

the king's line of sight falls to them, a stinging pain tugs at underlying concern, pushing him forward despite his inner protests. there were many times that the caring, nurturing side of his personality won to the side he thought a king should have; this was one of them. he cared for the people of madagascar's high court as closely as he would those of his own family, their faces were ingrained on his heart, and his soul would speak to such a sentiment when given opportunity. "are you well?" rafael prods as he rests in a chair opposite the other. "given what has transpired since we left the shores of our home land, i would not think less of you if you weren't. in fact, i would consider it normal."

the performer is sitting on one of the sofas in the main chambers, shoes off his feet, legs crossed underneath him. his signature phin, the guitar, is laid discarded to the side, and his gaze is focused on the ground. idly, his fingers pick at his nail beds, as he tries to wrap his head around everything, and fails to do so. over, and over. mulling over his own failures in trying to get ahead of things, the lack of knowledge, the doubts that won't leave his head. the king's presence is surprising, and it makes him break out of that reverie, straightening up, uncrossing his legs, and putting his feet back on the ground. the words are kind, yet he does not know if he should lie or tell something similar to the truth. "i... am alright." physically, at the very least. compared to what it could have been. "there is just- a lot to think about, it's frightening." there, a version of the truth. "i hope you are well, too, your majesty."