Fic written for the Pointless but Original Talking Forum Holiday Fic Exchange.
Request Number: 08
Pairing/Groups: Platinum, Royal, Atobe/Shishido
Squicks/Turn Offs in Fic: Anything is fine
What You'd Like to See in Fic: Something interesting; and possibly involving elves.
Gen/Het/Slash/Smut/None/All-of-the-above?: All-of-the-above.
Request: A happy beginning that turns out bitterly in the end. An unrealized love that leads to a helplessly indifferent observation of the lives of others. Something angsty, yes.
Notes: Some OOC. I...don't know why the Seigaku regulars talk like they do. I have a vague idea, but I'm probably the only one that actually understands what the hell I was thinking when I was typing this. XD
Beta Readers: SakuraIroKaze and riku-lvnik! Thank you so very much for bothering to edit through my horrible grammar and music-related idiocy. XD
Author's Message to Receiver: I had some fun with this, though at first I nearly had a heart attack when I saw that you wanted elves. Still, I hope you enjoy this! Happy holidays, sonofon~!
"Winter."
The voice was small but not timid. It was an observation that had interrupted the careful melody doled out by skillful fingers that rested against bright chords. The air was warm, moist with the life of spring that burst from every corner of the grand structure of the house. The doorway had been left open to admit the courtyard into view, a beautiful garden grown with precision filling the space. The tune that had been playing out was now lost to the breeze, yet the figure in the garden continued dancing, moving along to his own rhythm without a misstep and with a smile. His words hung in the air with a haunting sort of finality, a cruelty buried deep within that could only be discerned with gifted, perceiving eyes.
The player of the shamisen looked up at the young child sitting up in bed. Dark, wavy hair draped slightly past thin shoulders, pale skin covering a fragile form dressed in a white yukata. The garb made the child look that much weaker; a pitiful creature with with burdensome thoughts yet beautiful features.
"Winter, my Lord?" his companion asked. Slowly, he began to pick along the three strings of his instrument to the tune of dancer in the courtyard, the silence fading.
The child's eyes never strayed from the man in the courtyard, but a small smile bloomed. Too knowing, in the musician's opinion, but he let it be.
"Niou is the color of winter." the child said, before turning his eyes to the other male. "Don't you think so, Yagyuu?"
Niou's limbs were too pale, long and fit with slender muscle. His arms curved in a grace too unnatural it looked almost grotesque, which was why even his dance looked somewhat macabre. Hair as dull as winter's light sheared through the scenery like the curves of a sickle, eyes of a hue too mineralistic to be human. A lean figure adorned in a white garb accented in both silver and gold. Golden piercings ran along each pointed ear, bangles sliding along each wrist and ankle, ornaments of beads and silver encasing the skin around his neck and shoulders.
He was beautiful, Yagyuu thought. But the young Yukimura Seiichi was right--Niou was as cold as the winter.
Yagyuu smiled. "Would you like to hear a story, my Lord?"
Yukimura's eyes drifted back to Niou. The smile on his face grew, and if Yagyuu examined it too closely, he knew it would make him uneasy; there was something about the human child that unnerved him, something inherent in the sickly form that tugged at a familiarity he was content to ignore.
"A story?" Yukimura echoed, eyes shining. "Of what?"
Yagyuu's fingers held the pick as he continued to play on the strings, the melody remaining uninterrupted.
"A story about a kingdom on the brink of destruction, three foolish boys, and a flock of ravens."
Wood striking against wood echoed along with the shouts of the children, striking up a rather vibrant melody even as grass and flowers were trampled underneath careless feet. The sun was high up in the air, shining down with the heat of an idyllic spring day. Rocks were placed here and there in the meadow, some as large as a grown man, but even these obstacles would not deter the boys from their play.
"Why do I have to play the villain?" one boy groaned, taking half a step back as he parried his other two playmates. His hair was tied back in a lengthy ponytail, the loose strands framing the sides of his face as he scowled at his friends. He was dressed the most conservatively of the three; a simple green and brown tunic and cowhide boots.
The smallest boy smirked at him. "Because you play a villain best, Ryou-senpai." He commented, dashing to the side to avoid said boy's aggravated swing. His own outfit was an emerald-green tunic and black leather boots, the trimming made of modest silver. It was dirtied with the occasional grass and dirt stain, as playtime between the three had the tendency to get rough.
The tallest of those present, dressed in the most elaborate garb of reds, purples, and whites, merely laughed giddily as he whacked the wooden sword right out of Ryou's hand. "No complaints, Ryou! You know ore-sama cannot possibly play the villain!"
Ryou scowled, pointing at the youngest boy in irritation. "Then make Ryoma do it! He's perfect for the role since he's such a brat!"
"Mada mada dane, Ryou-senpai." Ryoma bopped the pony-tailed boy's head with the tip of his sword. "Since you're the son of the Captain of the Guard, shouldn't you just consider this training?"
Ryou sniffed dramatically. "Like you two are good enough to be considered "training"."
The comment irked the other two boys enough that they both whacked Ryou with their swords.
"Lord Keigo! My Lords Echizen and Shishido!"
The feminine call echoed along the meadow, the barest hints of concern lacing the words of their caretaker. All three turned sharp eyes to the elderly Ryuuzaki Sumire, who came tramping up to them with a concerned expression that quickly turned into a disapproving frown. Her modest garments swished about with every step, and with each swish it felt like a death sentence was sounded.
"Your Majesty, my Lords, you should be in your lessons!" she screeched as soon as she reached them. Ryoma's expression defaulted to his usual deadpan look, while Ryou adopted a scowl and Keigo just looked off into the distance, as if she wasn't even there. "Not playing around – and you're covered in dirt again, Lord Echizen!"
Ryoma shot a heated look at Ryou, who was starting to smirk in smug satisfaction. Ryoma had taken a tumble after the older boy had pushed him backwards as they parried, and he ended up tripping over a small rock. It had been a humiliating instance, and one Ryoma would make sure to pay back as soon as possible. He couldn't – out of compassion, mind you – allow Ryou to wander around with an overinflated ego. One Atobe Keigo was enough in the Kingdom of Hyoutei.
"Ore-sama, of course, remains untouched." Keigo felt justified in stating this fact.
It was with no little vindication that Ryoma pulled out a handful of carnations, dirt and roots and all, and smashed it over Keigo's head.
Ryoma was twelve when the first one appeared.
He had been sitting at his desk, the window open to the night air to let it mingle with the stifling heat of his room. Scrolls and parchment were scattered all over the burgundy wood, but golden eyes were fixed at a spot just to the right of the lamp hoisted onto his wall. Dressed in the silken fabric of his nightwear, Ryoma was half-curled up on top of his chair, a thoughtful look crossing his face as he would glance at the bouquet of carnations settled on top of his bed every now and then.
It was one of the many gifts he had been given this summer alone. He didn't quite know what had sparked this interest, but if he let his mind idle too much on the subject, a heat would start upon his skin and his heart would skip a little. As the young Lord of the Echizen Clan, he was no stranger to adoration, but he usually felt nothing but a mild irritation for being sought after. No, what made the butterflies in his stomach stir was who these most recent gifts had been coming from.
He could still remember the nervousness hidden behind the smug smirk of his childhood friend, Atobe Keigo, as he handed Ryoma the bouquet.
The flutter of wings and the scraping sound of the call of a raven interrupted his reverie. Ryoma turned his attention to the window, where a bird of midnight black with vibrant violet eyes was perched, peering down at him. It snapped out another small croon, flapping its wings before it was seemingly satisfied with Ryoma's attention. The boy himself merely stared at it; he knew he should be chasing it away, as the birds were known to be the harbingers of death, but he was in such a good mood at the moment that he couldn't care either way.
"Can you see us?"
The voice was pipingly shrill, a note that was seemingly chorused by the voices of a thousand and and set with a tone inhuman. Ryoma craned his head to take a better look at the bird on his windowsill. If he looked close enough, Ryoma could almost see the way the beak curved into something resembling a smirk. Suddenly, the room's heat plunged into a terrible chill.
"What an interesting child!" the raven crooned, the tone almost monotone to his ears yet he could somehow detect a note of amusement underneath. "Such an interesting child!"
"What manner of beast are you?" Ryoma demanded, rising to his feet. His sword was resting against the table near his bed; he didn't think he could reach it in time should the strange bird try to attack him. He'd have to rely on his reflexes to dodge and his speed to reach the weapon in time to fight back.
The raven gave a huffing noise, and it took a moment for Ryoma to realize it was laughing.
"Oh, don't be tense now! We've come to talk!" the bird chirped. "Just to talk with the interesting child!"
"I don't think I want to speak with you." Ryoma returned indifferently.
The raven chortled. "Come now, come now. Don't be bitter, our interesting little child!" It cocked its head, its tiny head resting perfectly horizontal against its feathered shoulder as it continued to laugh to itself. The noise sent shivers of unease up Ryoma's back, but he made sure to not show this; showing fear to an unknown enemy was equal to an opening for which to attack.
"Tell us...If we take away your riches, what do you have?" the raven asked.
Ryoma stared at the bird. "...Still more than enough to live."
The raven laughed.
"Shishido-senpai, are you alright?"
The voice was gentle and austere; the marker of a true nobleman, Shishido Ryou thought bitterly. Yet still he looked up at the concerned face of his Vice Captain, managing to produce a deadpan look without the hint of sadness that threatened to rip through him at any moment. His hand tightened around the grip of his sword, seeking comfort from the familiar sensation as he inwardly soothed his own emotions.
"I'm fine, Choutarou." Why wouldn't he be? Today was a joyous celebration, a cheer that had swept throughout the entire kingdom as they saw a courting that had been lasting for years finally come to fruition. The announcement made over a week ago had been one that sent roars of excitement through the crowd, as well as a bitter, sickened feeling to fester in Ryou's gut. He thought he'd feel relieved, when this inevitability came to pass; instead it sent a spike of resentment through his heart, and for that, he hated himself all the more.
"How is everyone keeping their position?" Shishido asked.
Choutarou snapped back into attention, yet the concern on his face was only brought down in moderation. "Everyone is in position, sir; the only problems we have encountered are the occasional drunken guest."
Shishido snorted. "Of course. Lord Gakuto never was very good at keeping his alcohol."
A small smile lit up Choutarou's features. "True. His air magic, however, has him floating around. Hiyoshi was quite upset that he couldn't get him down."
"Ryou! Ryyyyyooouuuu!"
Shishido flinched, pivoting to glare at the approaching figure. Atobe's drunken smile met his eyes before he was grabbed in a tight hug. "Ryou, why aren't you--why aren't you..." The young king trailed off, looking mildly confused as he struggled to remember what he was going to ask.
"Your Majesty--"
"Don't call ore-sama that!" Atobe snapped, suddenly emotional. "You never used to call Ore-sama that! Now that ore-sama is married, you think you can get away with calling ore-sama that?!"
"That is your title, Your Majesty." Shishido sighed in tolerance, not even bothering to try and unwind the emotional drunk's arms from around him.
Atobe sniffed. "One that you never used! Ore-sama demands – demands that you...that you..." Atobe looked over his shoulder, before practically spinning away from Shishido and latching on to a beet-red Choutarou.
"Ohtori! Ore-sama is glad you have come to celebrate this wonderful occasion for ore-sama!"
Shishido scowled, attempting to pry the inebriated youth off of his frozen vice captain. "Keigo, stop harassing your soldiers!"
"'HA! See, you don't use ore-sama's title at all!"
A sigh interrupted the disintegrating argument over titles and whether or not what Atobe was doing could be considered harassment. The trio looked towards the source of the noise, Atobe somewhat slowly as he fought to remain stable, draped as he was over Ohtori.
"Monkey King, isn't it a bit too early to start your streak of infidelity?" Ryoma asked, stepping up with a broadening smirk.
"Ryoma, don't make it worse!" Shishido snapped, but it was too little, too late; Atobe withdrew as if burned, a scowl on his face deepening.
" Ore-sama would never commit adultery!"
Ryoma forced a disbelieving expression on to his face, turning golden eyes to a horrified Ohtori. "Really?" he drawled out.
"Brat!" was Atobe's only response, the alcohol stifling any of his creativity. He paused, stared angrily at the men around him, before stomping over to his newly-wedded husband and latching on to his hand. Ryoma winced, amusement dying at the possessive hold. "Oi oi, not so tight, stupid Monkey King!"
"Do not call Ore-sama 'Monkey King', brat!"
"Don't call your husband a brat!"
Oshitari Yuushi, the Court's Advisor who was standing nearby, merely rolled his eyes. "Nice to see some things will never change."
He missed Shishido turning away from his two childhood friends, a flicker of virulent jealousy lingering in his eyes as the expression on his face plastered itself into neutrality.
Yanagi Renji, however, didn't.
When Ryoma awoke, the sky outside was still a blanket of night adorned with a thousand crystalline gems. The moon pierced a luminescent hole and lit up a square patch on the stone floor of the bedroom. The windows, once closed, now stood wide open, a light breeze causing the curtains to rustle. What drew Ryoma's eyes, however, were the five ravens perched on the footboard of the bed. All five stared at him, the feathers a coat of perfect black while their eyes remained colorful and laughing.
"Even here?" Ryoma mused aloud in a voice so soft it may have just been the movement of his lips.
"Can you see us?"
The five began to chortle all at once, the sound making Ryoma startle and sit upright. The dark violet bedsheet fell away, revealing his bare chest as he glanced at the person at his side; Keigo remained sleeping, seemingly undisturbed by the cacophony.
"Keigo is not such a heavy sleeper," Ryoma stated, turning narrowed eyes to the five birds. "What spell have you cast on him?"
"This is no spell, our darling child!" the raven with eyes of sky blue crooned at him.
"He cannot see us is all, our sweet child!" the one with eyes of mahogany added.
He was the newest arrival, and his high tone was colored deceivingly warm. More of the strange ravens had slowly started to appear after the arrival of the first, each with a question similar to the purple-eyed raven's. The second had substituted clothes, the third had taken away pride, while the fourth demanded after his mind. The first question they asked, however, never changed: "Can you see us?" They would continue to speak, no matter the answer.
The first raven flapped its wings. "But how brave, our interesting child, to wear nothing but your skin in the face of this chill!"
"It is only cold when you lot are present!" Ryoma snapped. Next to him, Keigo stirred lightly, drowsily reaching one hand over to Ryoma's side. Ryoma caught the limb and held it to his own, concerned eyes lingering as the young king fell back into slumber. So my own voice may rouse him? Ryoma noted.
"Listen closely, our brave child, for we have another question." the raven with emerald eyes crooned, the monotone of its voice creating a strange distortion of its pitch.
The second raven cocked its head. "Let's see if your mind is as keen as your eyes, our proud child."
"If we have taken away your heart, our sweet child, what do you have left?" the newest raven asked.
A silence settled over the room, the birds curiously still as they waited for his answer. They would neither move nor speak until he answered their questions, Ryoma had discovered, and it unnerved him. Their stillness could not be found in anything living; it was a trait that could only be found in statues and the dead.
"If a heart is the source of our emotions," Ryoma said carefully, keeping his eyes on the five,"Then I have been spared my life and soul."
Once again, a cacophony of laughter erupted.
It never happened, and it never will.
At least, that's what Shishido often told himself. It was a statement that could be applied to much of his life – to all the wrong turn its had taken, in any case. The first time had been when he was fifteen, crouched next to Atobe as they gleefully waited for the nightguards to pass them. They were known for troublesome behavior, and it was a facet of their childhood that none would deny. Shishido enjoyed it; the adrenaline rush of doing something considered "bad", the warm glow he felt pressed side-to-side with Atobe, everything.
They had been making their way towards Ryoma's room, hoping to break their younger friend out so that they could go on a late-night horseride. It was Atobe's idea, as it usually is; Shishido was meant to be the voice of reason within the group and Ryoma wouldn't bother to come up with ideas for them to spend time together. They had nearly reached Ryoma's bedchambers when Atobe said something that started it all.
"Ore-sama is going to make the brat his husband."
It was given pompously, of course, chock-full of the prince's usual narcissism. Shishido almost thought he was joking, but when he turned to look at his friend, he saw it; the nervousness hidden behind those eyes, the adoration seeping through as they came closer and closer to their destination.
And just like that, Shishido felt his heart crumble to bits.
Soon after the declaration, Atobe began to shower the younger boy in gifts; started to play games of flirtatious rhetoric with him. Sometimes his eyes would linger too long on Ryoma, his smiles became that much more warmer when he saw him. Sometimes, his touches became teasingly gentle, while other times they were daringly bold.
Shishido couldn't watch them for long. The courtship dance between his childhood friends – one the object of his own affections, the other like a younger brother – made something terrible grow inside him. At that time he was fifteen; he was prone to jealous fits if he watched them too long. His anger and frustration would build; usually the outlet was a grueling sword match. SometimesAt times, though, violence wasn't enough. At times, he wanted something much worse.
Shishido, now Captain of the Guard, only watched and tried to tell himself he had just been a silly child back then.
"His Lordship has fallen ill."
The statement was clear, delivered in a monotone that brooked no argument. Yanagi Renji, the Court Physician, had just stepped out of the bedchambers and into the attention of every powerful figure of Hyoutei's Imperial Court. His king stared at him for a long moment, before striding forward and into the chambers of his ill-fated husband. Captain Shishido stared aimlessly around a bit, his face having gone slack; a light tap on the shoulder from his Vice Captain prompted him back to the present.
"What illness afflicts him?" Oshitari inquired after a moment of silence had passed.
Yanagi crossed his arms, his attention hovering over each gathered figure. "One that cannot be healed nor exorcised." Gakuto, standing next to Oshitari, scowled. He had been contacted first to aide Ryoma, but whatever caused the youth to spiral into his current state was not affected by his magic. Yanagi had been called in to take a more physical approach; one that had, apparently, fallen short.
Abruptly, Shishido pivoted and stormed away.
"They believe you to be ill, our interesting child!" the raven crowed, delighted.
They were gathered all around the room, wings flapping as they flew and trotted from one area to another. They were too noisy, Ryoma thought bitterly; constantly chattering to him and each other, echoing sentiments already heard, making obvious observations of his predicament, the beat of their wings against air echoing within his room. It felt like his head was being smothered by all the noise, a pressure building within that almost brought tears to his eyes out of sheer frustration.
"Are you in pain?" Atobe asked, leaning over from his bedside. His eyes were openly concerned, and Ryoma wanted nothing more than to wipe that look from his face. He wanted Atobe to smirk at him smugly, tell him to stop being so weak. The King was holding his hand, his thumb brushing lightly across Ryoma's palm as a gesture of comfort.
Ryoma closed his eyes, trying to ignore the ravens' laughter. "I'm fine, Monkey King. Wipe that stupid look off your face."
Atobe paused, squeezing his hand tighter as a variety of emotions flashed across his face. Finally he pulled up a smug smirk, but he was unable to completely wipe the concern out of his eyes. "Ore-sama never has a stupid look! Ore-sama's facial expressions are always beautiful and glorious!"
Ryoma snorted, a small smirk curling his lips. "Whatever you say, Monkey King."
He opened his eyes and stared straight into piercing blue.
"Tell me, our thrilling child," the newly-arrived raven trilled, "If we take away your soul, what do you have left?"
"Ryoma?" Atobe pressed, relapsing into concern at the younger's silence. His eyes widened as tears leaked from his husband's eyes.
"A name." Ryoma answered hollowly. "Just my name."
"Is this the manifestation of guilt, Captain Shishido?"
The tone in which the inquiry was delivered was devoid of both accusation and curiosity; a calm intonation given with a similar demeanor. The inquirer stared at the other in silent patience, his eyes held steadfastly closed while his face continued without expression. Sometimes, Shishido couldn't help but wonder if Atobe just preferred the calm, quiet types for his Inner Court – no doubt just so he could hear himself speak all the better. (A more realistic – and depressing – reason was that they all served as constant reminders of the late Kabaji Munehiro, a personal guard of the king that had given his life for Atobe after an assassination attempt when he was thirteen.)
Still, Shishido turned to face Yanagi. The Court Physician was struck with a mild shock at the flushed face and evident tear tracks that marred the usually-composed face of the Captain of the Guard. There were only two emotions Shishido Ryou was noted for showing: anger and smug satisfaction.
"Shishido," Yanagi began, a note of dawning horror coloring his voice. "What have you done?"
Shishido shook his head, closing his eyes as if to shield himself not only from the sight of Yanagi, but of reality. "Nothing. I can't...I wouldn't..."
Yanagi pressed further, alarmed at the weak answer. "Captain Shishido, if you know anything about what has caused Lord Echizen's illness, it is imperative you share it! If you don't, there is a very high possibility that Lord Echizen will die." He took a step forward, looking almost ready to shake the other man back into thinking straight. "Don't you understand? You would have caused the death of your own friend."
Shishido froze, horror sweeping across his visage in grotesque clarity. An eternity of silence stretched between the two, broken only as Shishido suddenly collapsed to his knees.
"They didn't say this would happen." Shishido started, voice and eyes lowered. He kept his head bowed as if to study the grass beneath him, each spike of green smoothed out to angular perfection or crushed beneath his own weight. "I had...I was fifteen..."
"What did you do?" Yanagi interrupted, seeming to sense the other waver.
Shishido's fists clenched at his sides. "They said they could grant me any wish. Any wish, no matter how small or big; I didn't believe them, of course. I know that wish-granting and fortune-telling are popular scandals, but I...I was just so angry. I would have done anything to make myself feel slightly better, so I...I wished for..."
"I want to be the one with Keigo!"
The room exuded a chill Yanagi had only known in the dead of winter, an angular prison of dark stones. Vibrantly-colored rugs choked out the expanse of the dulled stone flooring, the single window left open to invite in the sunlight and warmth that skirted away from such a place. Yanagi could practically feel it--the type of magic that saturated the air with a thickness that weighed down on all present. It sent icy licks at every part of his exposed skin, and he fought to remain composed so that his body wouldn't give in to the urge to shiver.
"So these dream-sellers are the cause of this?" Atobe asked, eyes fixated on Ryoma's sleeping visage.
The young king's tone was as warm as the room itself. From what Yanagi knew, the other had yet to leave his husband's side; he wore layer upon layer of furs and cloth to keep himself warm. His pale skin was starting to turn slightly red in response to the clash in temperature, yet Ryoma still looked worse for wear. Buried under mounds of blanket, dark circles ringed around the youth's eyes. His once tanned skin had turned an unhealthy pale, his lithe form diminishing into skin and bones.
"Yes," Yanagi explained, feeling almost out of breath at the one admission. "Supposedly, the caravan consists of two men. One is the business partner; a gentleman with a pretty tongue and clever enough to hide his tracks. His partner is the one that 'grants' these 'wishes'; a small ceremony followed by the telling of the cost."
Yanagi had not asked Shishido what the cost of his dream had been. Pressing even this amount of information out of the other man had been hard enough; a feat that felt like he was trying to squeeze water out of the driest rocks. It would have been impossible, had Shishido been a lesser man--but the Captain of the Guard was a man guided by principles, not ambition. It was because Yanagi knew Shishido so well that he decided to keep his part in Ryoma's condition secret, even from the King.
"I wonder," The tone of the King made Yanagi cringe, his slitted eyes briefly opening in response to stare at his Lord. "What the price of such a thing as this was."
Atobe dropped a finger gently against Ryoma's cheekbone, sliding down the curve of the youth's cheek with such tenderness it was nearly heartbreaking. Ryoma gave no notice, not even a twitch; his eyes remained fastened to the ceiling in an unseeing stare. Atobe traced the curve of his husband's lips airily, his eyes--for the first time Yanagi had ever seen him--gazing at the boy on the bed with eyes of dark, sharpened ice.
Atobe placed his hand over the boy's eyes, shielding them from view. "What kind of price was paid to reduce you to this pitiful form, brat?"
Magic was a fickle art, Ryoma had remembered. Too many people these days believed it to be nothing but a force that could be controlled and wielded by those gifted enough to channel it, but any true master knew the reality behind the illusion. It was more than the inscription of runes, the chants of spells, the sacrifices of blood and flesh that so often misconstrued magic to the mass.
Magic lived. It breathed. Ryoma remembered what it had felt like, his first encounter with magic. His older brother had been an exceptional mage, earning himself a reputation throughout the kingdom as the most skilled warrior due to his ties with the element of fire. Ryoma had been eight, and it was the first time he had seen his brother in six years; it was also to be the first time he had felt the anger of magic. That same magic that had given Ryoga the strength to cut down his enemies had turned on him in an instant, an inferno raging from the inside that had melted all of his organs. All Ryoma had been able to remember of the event was the warm caresses of the gleeful magic that had escaped from Ryoga's corpse and the smell of smoldering flesh.
It had come as no surprise to him when his parents had forbidden him to use magic.
"Are you scared, our loyal child?"
The raven was as dark as the rest, his eyes a chestnut brown that had only peered at Ryoma in either concern or fury. Often Ryoma would feel the sharp point of its beak as he imagined it to start to peck at his face, digging the sharp curve of its mouth into the underflesh of his eye as it attempted to gouge out one golden iris. His eyes, Ryoma had learned, were utterly fascinating to the birds--that was perhaps why he could never close them. He always felt so tired, yet his body remained still and his eyes open. His room was neither lit nor dark; it seemed to be caught in the stage half-way, empty except for himself and the eight little ravens that had never left.
"Of course you're not, our interesting child! For have we not taken your heart? You are no longer allowed to fear!" the raven of violet eyes cackled.
His fellows cried out in equal delight, taking off in a mad flutter of wings as they screeched from one corner of the room to another. Ryoma watched them overhead with not even the slightest interest, his eyes going unfocused briefly before snapping back into focus as he caught multicolored eyes peering back at him from laughing faces.
It took a moment for him to figure out the room was as silent as death, the ravens unnaturally still as they perched about. For one frightening instant, Ryoma wondered if he had been asked a question and they were now waiting on an answer – what had they taken from him now? Ryoma's eyes scanned the room, looking for any new arrivals, settling on the opened window as if to wait for an appearance.
"You look in the wrong direction, our thrilling child." a raven crooned in amusement.
Ryoma's eyes snapped around, his body becoming still as he looked straight into hazel eyes. Pale flesh covered a tall, lithe form. The garb that adorned the other was foreign and dark, the material of a coarse, black fabric with equally-dark feathers attached to every seam. Crystalline lenses shielded sharp eyes, lips formed into a line that told of neither happiness nor displeasure. The man was older than Ryoma, perhaps of Atobe's age, and carried the same amount of charisma his narcissistic husband did.
It was only when the other man reached out to grip his face that he saw he had not fingers--but flesh that curved into sharpened claws stained as dark as the feathers of a raven.
"Tell me," the voice was heavy with magic, and for a moment, Ryoma felt a kiss of fire slide across his cheek, "What is your name?"
If a man's riches were taken, was he still not a man? Material possessions--like clothes and shelter--did not determine the definition of life. Pride could be stepped on or done away with, the mind could be lost, the heart could be broken, the life could be taken--yet a man may still be man. The soul could also be robbed, for even with no souls, rocks and plants still exist. They are known by others, taken care of or destroyed, yet they continue with the persistence of their name.
"What is your name?" the ravens cried, one after another. They cut each other off, laughed and chattered unintelligibly, all cawing the same exact thing over and over. The man leaned over his bed showed no signs of excitement at their outbursts, eyes still staring straight into Ryoma's as the ravens slowly calmed. It was only when the last of the titters of amusement vanished that Ryoma answered.
"I was Ryoma."
Slowly, the man drew his claws down the sides of the boy's face. "You were."
"You see, my Lord, magic is a temperamental beast. It can nurture, but at the same time," Yagyuu explained, picking at the strings in a rhythm that was both choppy and elegant, "It can be crueler than anything it has created."
Yukimura's smile had never wavered throughout the story. His eyes had eventually drifted back to Yagyuu, alight with something close to amusement as he listened avidly. Even now, his head was tilted in a questioning manner as he regarded the other male, the smile on his face practically making him a vision in the sunlight.
"So Lord Ryoma was devoured by the magic?"
Yagyuu smiled in response, giving him a small nod. "Yes. They say nothing but ash could be found on the bed he was laid on."
"And what of King Atobe and Lord Shishido?"
Yagyuu adjusted the rims of his glasses, his smile dropping as he leveled the child with a considering look. Yukimura's cheerful disposition never faltered, yet Yagyuu couldn't shake the feeling the boy was deriving something entirely too enjoyable out of a history he had – doubtlessly – been taught since he was old enough to form words.
"You don't wish to say it, Yagyuu?" Yukimura asked, his tone warm but somehow utterly terrifying. "The conclusion to your own tale? How my grandfather led his army into the Kingdom of Hyoutei, burning their capital to the ground and killing anyone who so much as spoke a word against them?"
Yukimura's eyes flashed. "How our songs speak of bravery yet our old soldiers reminisce more on the rivers of blood they had caused? I remember the ending so well, you know, because it was the only part reiterated among my family. Over and over, like some vile curse that we were trying to pick apart. How, once our army invaded the castle itself, after slaughtering noble after noble, they finally reached the royal chambers of King Atobe – " Yukimura cut off, the smile on his face widening.
Yagyuu thought he saw the devil within the child at that moment.
" – to find the king already dead. He had slit his own throat after having murdered his own Captain of the Guard." Yukimura finished.
For a moment, silence reigned.
"...They said he had gone insane with grief," Yagyuu allowed lowly. "That with the demise of his husband, paranoia and grief had swallowed his mind. The only person the King would allow in his presence was the Captain of the Guard."
Yukimura laughed; it was light and melodious, but it echoed through the courtyard like the tolling of a death bell. "So in the end, Lord Shishido was the one with Atobe after all."
Yagyuu allowed the last notes of his melody to hang in the air, switching his eyes from the child to Niou. The elf was leaning back, utterly still with his face upturned to the sun with a wide grin on his lips. His arms were open and welcoming to the warmth, his skin looking like unpolished marble that enveloped the light rather than reflect it. His eyes were half-lidded as he looked almost drunk on the sunlight.
"Our presentation has ended, my Lord." Yagyuu stated, sweeping into a deep bow. "May we take our leave, my Lord?"
Yukimura's eyes were fixated on something in the distance, a small smile that, in Yagyuu's opinion, seemed entirely too hollow to belong on the face of a child. Yukimura's voice was light when he bid them to leave, his eyes never straying, even as Niou strode back in and then out down the corridor with Yagyuu. The child half-turned his head to peer at the doorway, eyes calculating as the pair's footsteps faded.
"Since a dream was bought with such careless words..." Yukimura murmured, eyes moving to look at the ceiling. "What could Genichirou have possibly wished for, I wonder?"
A raven with golden eyes smirked down at him.
A/N: I'm not very good with romance, and the whole prompt was pretty loose, so it somehow ended up like this. The ending was meant to be loose--meaning you'll never know if Yukimura ends up like Ryoma, dies, or kills Yagyuu and Niou first. XD (Yes, Ryoma turned into a raven.)