This is going to be a collection of 5 different drabbles. Each one will have Kurapika talking to a different person. If you have any questions, feel free to message me!
Also, I don't own Hunter x Hunter, yadda yadda yadda. :-)
Besides Woble's occasional snore and the hurried scratches of Oito's pencil, the royal chambers were blanketed with a thick sheet of silence. Kurapika liked to believe that between the looming dubiousness of the Dark Continent and the damned Succession War, silence was a sign of peace, calm, rest.
The Kurta stifled a sardonic laugh at the thought of rest because, really, when was the last time he managed to sleep more than three hours at a time? Currently, Kurapika was almost certain he'd spent more time knocked out cold than slumbering in a comfortable bed "like a normal person," as Bill liked to remind him constantly. But in his defense, a normal person wasn't tasked with the responsibility of guarding an infant from assassins or scouring the underworld for the eyes of his slain kin.
Somewhere above, the Gods were surely laughing at the boy. Leave it to his twisted luck to land him in the middle of a political fuck fest before voluntarily exploring the closest equivalent to Hell on Earth.
Kurapika was never one to underestimate danger, but the situation became much more real after the death of Prince Momoze. And while he usually had a firm grasp on his sense of professionalism, being the target of Oito's scorn had triggered the slightest hint of shame within his hardened heart. It took a few more seconds than usual for the Kurta to swallow his humiliation and assert that his only objective was to protect her and her child.
Well, that, and to retrieve the scarlet eyes from Tserriednich. But one look into Prince Woble's clear, naïve eyes was enough to convince the blond that she didn't deserve this – she deserves to live.
It's Woble's unjudging stare and Oito's quiet resoluteness that keeps Kurapika from breaking the heavy silence in the room. Even if the Queen made a personal vow to never converse with him again, nothing could convince him to abandon the mother-daughter pair.
To his surprise, Queen Oito's voice pierces the veil first, her pencil halting its movements momentarily. "I… must apologize," she began quietly, gaze still focused on the scratch paper in front of her. "I know you're just as averse to this unnecessary bloodshed as I am. It's just, Prince Momoze…"
"…Shouldn't have died," the Kurta continued for her when she began to trail off. His voice, normally even and composed, came out much rougher than he preferred. Whether it was the result of teaching nen to a group of boisterous brutes or insufficient rest, he couldn't tell.
Oito hummed in quiet agreement as she reached towards the sleeping Prince with her other hand. "She was so young," the royal murmured softly as she caressed Woble's cheek. "She was not my daughter, but we are family." She sighed. "We all are."
The Kurta couldn't help but swallow thickly at this. It reminded him of a much younger Kurapika, dirt caking his fingers as he dug the grave of a rather sour old woman who did nothing but antagonize the clan's youth. Regardless of whether they had gotten along or not, there was nothing the boy wanted more than to see his brethren's faces, to hear their voices once more. "That is why we're here, your Majesty," Kurapika replies almost monotonously, as if he had practiced this line countless times before. "We won't let the same fate befall Prince Woble-"
Suddenly, fiery, obsidian irises are pointed straight at him, burning with a passion that is all-too-familiar to the blond. "I am aware of your purpose, seeing as I am the one who commissioned you in the first place." Behind the careful mask of regality that all nobles seem to don, anger and disappointment and familial love swirl in the depths of her tired eyes. "But why must it be this way? Why must we be forced to spill our own blood?"
The Queen paused abruptly, as if she realized her voice had gotten higher and more desperate. Kurapika simply stared at the wall ahead, if only to pretend as if the lapse had never happened.
"If the other Princes were as amicable as you, your Majesty, Bill and I could extend our services to them, like you requested," he eventually says, even if the Queen's back was currently turned to him. "However, there are people who want Prince Woble dead. I won't be redundant, but please understand that at this present moment, you and your daughter are our priority."
From his position in the corner of the room, Kurapika sees her nod. "I understand. Again, I am deeply sorry. I know you two are trying your best, and I am extremely grateful for your help."
The Queen can't see him, but the blond is shaking his head, as if the action was enough to convey what he truly wanted to say. Don't apologize, you have every right to be angry. This bullshit game is absurd, and no one should have to go through this.
Kurapika settles with, "There's no need to apologize," and a weary smile when she turns to look at him.
Several moments of silence passed again as the Queen watched Woble's sleeping form. The clock's hands slowly inched towards seven o'clock – the end of his shift and the beginning of Bill's – and the boy couldn't help but wonder if he had enough time to briefly visit the medical ward. He could imagine Leorio having another aneurysm after discovering that the blond's eye bags had only gotten darker, and Kurapika didn't know whether he should smile or frown at the image.
"On second thought," Oito's drained voice called from the bed, pulling the Kurta out of his musings, "You're rather young, as well." She's seated to fully face him now, her face showing no trace of the frustration from earlier. "What brought you into this business in the first place?"
To be fair, it was an honest question. Given Kurapika's hobbies and personality, he didn't exactly seem like the type of person who aspired to be a bodyguard for a living. The boy suppressed a sigh out of respect, instead taking that moment to think of a proper answer. "It's good money at times," he replies almost reluctantly. The old Kurapika would have berated him for justifying a job purely for its monetary value. "And as a new Hunter, I thought it was a decent first job."
Oito's stare could have intimidated a lesser man, but the Kurta's time in the mafia had trained him well enough. She seemed to believe him. At least, she didn't outright protest his response. But there was a knowing glint in her obsidian gaze that led him to think otherwise.
"Fair enough," she concedes with a practiced smile, and the blond suddenly feels like a young child who's trying to lie to his mother. The Queen stood up from her bed, albeit slowly to avoid waking Woble. Paper in hand, she approached Kurapika, who, she noticed, never slouched or relaxed, even when she wasn't in the vicinity. Two delicate hands held the paper towards the Kurta, who eyed it curiously before taking it from her grasp.
He had assumed she was jotting down the other Princes' locations or writing a diary entry of some sort, but instead of her graceful cursive, the paper depicted a blooming lotus flower, its petals bright and delicate and beautiful against the grey waters. Kurapika couldn't help but gaze at her work in awe. After all, he couldn't draw something so intricate yet simplistic in a million years, and here she was, sketching away as if half the boat didn't want her infant daughter dead.
The boy raised his gaze to meet Oito's, and although he wasn't aware, the Queen took note of the faint boyish gleam in his brown eyes. She stared for a moment before deciding that this was the youngest he's ever looked.
"This is amazing, your Majesty," he finally breathed out, lips curled upwards ever-so-slightly. He motions to hand it back to her, but the Queen backs away, answering his confused stare with a pleased look on her face.
Oito clasped her hands behind her back to further show that she had no intention to take the sketch back. "Please, keep it," she insisted, shaking her head firmly as Kurapika opened his mouth to protest. "I had mentioned to you before that I grew up in poverty," she began to explain, and the boy idly wondered if she was just trying to distract him. "As a middle child, I wasn't quite old nor strong enough to do physical labor. So, I practiced nearly daily for years until I was decent enough to accept commissions."
He had almost forgotten about her bleak past, given the Succession War business and all. However, being reminded of it was almost sobering, and the blond couldn't help but feel his respect for the royal grow. The Kurta bit the inside of his right cheek subconsciously – a habit for whenever he was in deep thought – as he examined the flower once more. "If I'm not mistaken, the lotus represents purity in Kakin culture, correct?"
The Queen nodded. "Yes, as well as spiritual awakening, faithfulness, and rebirth." She eyed him with a measured look, searching for any sign of understanding in his features. Unsurprisingly, he stared back with quiet curiosity. "I like to draw them every once in a while. They remind me of where I came from, how I got here," she told him gingerly, and when he looks up, her sights are focused far away, not unlike the times where he daydreams about emerald forests and Pairo's light laughter.
Oito exhaled slowly. "I know very little about you, but there's one thing I can confidently deduce." Kurapika stills, and he can't quite explain why the Queen is making him feel so anxious. She then pushes the lotus drawing closer to his chest, almost as if she wants him to hug it. "You are still so, so young. The way you carry yourself… it's like you're consciously marching towards your deathbed."
The boy's face remains blank with deliberate professionalism, but her statement bears heavy on his stomach. "You could say that," he says, swallowing a lump in his throat, "but I don't quite understand your point, your Majesty."
She regards him contemplatively, and it takes nearly everything he's got to not fidget in discomfort. "Don't forget who you are," she ultimately replies, voice edged with a regal authority befitting of her role. "I will not order nor force you to tell me your life story. It is not my place to delve into your past."
Kurapika releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding, but his stomach is in knots and the room is too hot and he doesn't know what to say. He could give her his default 'my business is my own' spiel, but low-rank or not, she's still royalty.
Her small hand is suddenly on his shoulder, causing him to tense up immediately. "It's okay to grow up. It's a part of life. But when all's said and done, you're going to be tired. And when that happens, it's good to think about the boy you used to be." One look into her obsidian eyes, and Kurapika could have sworn that he saw a flash of familiar, pacific blue irises, like the ones his mother had.
He should respond. He should at least acknowledge her advice, maybe even thank her for her words. But his voice remains clamped in his throat, and suddenly the boy isn't so sure he could trust himself to say anything without choking. If she was anyone else, the Kurta could easily deflect her with a practiced coldness. But again, she's a fucking queen, and Kurapika had sworn to keep a lid on his usual impulsive nature. The blond's lips are tightly sealed, but his eyes tell Oito all that she needs to know. She smiles one last time before walking towards Woble.
"Bill will be here soon. You're free to prepare to leave," she says off-handedly, brushing some of her daughter's hair to the side. Kurapika's still frozen in his corner of the room, but he at least manages to nod silently. A few moments later, he's doing his usual departure routine – securing all possible exits, replacing the batteries on all their communicative devices, and a whole list of other things she would deem unnecessary under normal circumstances. But alas, Woble had no choice but to enter the War, and Oito was willing to go to the ends of the Earth for her child.
When Bill finally arrives, Kurapika gives him an affirmative nod before waving to Queen Oito and the now-awake Prince Woble. Normally, this is where the blond exits without a word. But this time, the Kurta gives the three of them a small, polite smile before closing the door behind him.
Woble laughs at the incredulous look on Bill's face, who's too busy sputtering, "Your Majesty, did you see that?! The Ice King smiled!"
Unaware of the commotion in Oito's royal chambers, said Ice King lingered at the end of the corridor, eyes unfocused and fists clenched. No one said he had to listen to her. She was his current employer, nothing more. Nothing is more important than securing justice for my clan.
But even he couldn't deny the days where it hurt to get up from bed. He couldn't shrug off the fact that whenever he thinks of revenge, his heart pounds in time with a thousand war drums, but his knees threaten to buckle from under him due to sheer exhaustion.
Kurapika considers the walk to the medical ward before shaking his head and trudging to his room. There's no time to sleep, his mind screams, I'll never find Tserriednich! The eyes, the eyes, the eyes!
That night, he dreamt of burnt huts, Woble's laughter, and his mother's embrace.