There's a story of a princess driven from her palace and forged in fire whose desire to live brought together legends and altered history. This is not that story. Wind back time to the distant past. (Butterflies create hurricanes.)
The fallen god Hiryuu stood before the Four, surrounded by the desolation they had wrought. Ashes fell like snow upon the charred rubble. Severed corpses lay scattered by the storm. The few left living crept from the ruins and bowed before the gods- all but one.
Hiryuu's eyes turned heavenward to the Four. They said nothing in stubborn, silent mourning for the human lives their siblings would not acknowledge. The Four demanded (pleaded) that Hiryuu return home. Hiryuu refused and refused again.
(A butterfly beat its wings.)
Here lie a crossroads. Once upon a time, the Four said their farewells and left to seek out four humans worthy to hold a portion of their power. This is not what happened. One of the Four let slip their intention to create four guardians. Something old and powerful sparked up in Hiryuu's eyes and voice. "No," they said, and they would not be ignored.
Power never comes without a price; this was a fundamental law of the universe that even the gods could not ignore. Hiryuu did not want to know how much suffering their siblings' gifts would lead to.
Claws rent scales above four great hearts. Scarlet blood gushed into a goblet woven from air. Hiryuu took the goblet in unshaking hands and drank. The mingled blood was fire and ice and lightning and poison. At last Hiryuu rose, stubborn to the end. The Four returned to their own world, and so Hiryuu bore the blessings of the Four.
(But Hiryuu had been immortal once and never could be so again.)
(Part the Second)
Two thousand years come and gone in the blink of an eye, too many lifetimes to count and nothing, nothing at all to the ones living here and now. The story goes that Kouka was founded by a king who was blessed by the gods. History becomes legend. Legend becomes myth. Time erodes all, even truth.
So, when a princess is born bearing white scales on her right arm and green scales on her right leg and eyes that belong to nothing human…
(Blessed by the gods is so vague.)
The midwife is sworn to secrecy. The king and queen console each other, together in heartbreak. Priests come, inspect the child. Some say that she is a demon, and others say that she is the daughter of one, and look accusingly to the queen. Yet another calls her deformities a sign that she is favored by the gods, that she must one day take the throne lest the kingdom fall. The truth-
(The truth is that no human alive can hear gods, spirits, demons, and all the rest who roam worlds not our own. The truth is that even holy men lack purity in their hearts; they too fall prey to pride and they too have machinations of their own.)
Kill her. Save her. Il and Kashi look into the (dragon) eyes of the three-day-old Princess Yona and discover that they can't bring himself to hate their poor, ugly, deformed daughter.
So she is nursed by the queen herself. No wet nurses means fewer secret-keepers. For the first years of her life, her world consists of Mother, Father, a single nursemaid, and one lavishly decorated room. She cannot imagine that there is a world beyond that door. Oh, rumors fly like maggots in raw meat. The princess is scarred, attacked (by who?) as a child. She was born horribly deformed. She is too sickly to leave her private wing.
(The Princess' nurse loses function of one arm. The next day, she is replaced. New rumors take a dark turn.)
Princess Yona grows. Il gives her a wing of the palace. He showers her with toys and books. Kashi insists on a tutor; he is sworn to secrecy on pain of death. Servants, guards, nobles ask: what is the mysterious princess like?
Her hair is brightest crimson. She wears a veil over her face even when alone. And she is otherwise everything a princess should be, accepting general brattiness as a condition of that tender age...
History continues with barely a feather ruffled. Il ascends to the throne. There is rebellion. Kashi takes a sword to the stomach for her king and love. Locked in her wing, Princess Yona does not learn of this until days later.
Su-won never covers her head with his coat and offers to hold her hand as she sleeps; he has never met his cousin. One of the pillars of her small world gone forever, Princess Yona cries herself to sleep. She wishes there were scales around her heart too. Above all else, she learns to be lonely.
The pain recedes a little more with the passing of every season. Princess Yona lives a life of luxury in her jewelry box wing. She dresses up in the finest silks and files down those ugly claws with the one thing they cannot rend: a rectangle of solid diamond. Beaded slippers and long skirts hide her right foot. She owns veils in every color of the rainbow.
(There is only one mirror in her wing. She does not like mirrors.)
Driven half by curiosity and half by childish, reckless dares, Su-won and Hak venture to Princess Yona's private wing. They do not find the Princess, but they do find the king on his way out. Il is capable of rage after all, and he is a force to be reckoned with. The image of the happy-go-lucky king fragments. Hak is left stunned as they flee.
(Su-won fakes his shock. He has seen this fury once before, and Il wielded a sword that first time.)
Princess Yona plays tricks on her servants and her tutor when she grows bored, which is often. She reads very well when she wants to, but holds no interest in histories or economics or any other subject her exasperated tutor is intent on hammering into her head. She wheedles bits of freedom from her father: walking through the palace's gardens, dining with her father in the banquet hall. After years of begging, she attends her first ball at the age of thirteen.
She shares a dance with Kan Tae-jun. It is a testament to his inability to lie that the princess who has lived her life in a birdcage can see that he doesn't want to be there. As his brother and father remind him, the man who marries her will be king. Though Tae-jun fantasizes about a day when he wears a crown, he cannot bear the notion of a sickly, deformed wife.
Princess Yona shares a dance with Su-won. He, too, offers sympathy for her condition. He says that he cannot imagine being locked away all the time. She will not elaborate on the topic, and he apologizes with an easy smile. (Later, Hak will ask if he's aiming for the crown. Su-won will turn the subject away.) The cousins glide over the floor. He watches when she doesn't seem to be looking, trying to catch a glimpse of her face behind the swaying veil. He catches the delicate curve of her jaw. There is something red on an otherwise-blemishless cheek, and his first thought is blood.
He wonders. (It is Il who inadvertently taught Su-won about masks. The king has plenty to hide.) He wonders and listens and gathers that there is a certain rumor that is nearest the truth.
Princess Yona's last dance is with Son Hak, at Su-won's urging. She's certain she hears Su-won giggle as they twirl away, he more careless than anything. Hak does not ask about her condition when she expects him to, instead keeping to trivial topics: the weather, the food served. The dumplings are the best she's ever tasted. They part ways, and as Princess Yona is leaving she looks back and Hak is grinning at something Su-won said and her heart might just give out then and there.
The next day, Princess Yona pores over the romance novels she has convinced her maid to smuggle in. Some months later she spies the Wind Tribe caravan and shouts for her lady-in-waiting to help her find a finer dress. She takes a greater interest in cosmetics, practicing on her lady-in-waiting, her maid, and (once) on her tutor. Her effort is in vain: Hak is not at the next New Year's banquet. Princess Yona's lady-in-waiting informs her that he is spending it in Fuuga.
Il never asks Hak to guard his daughter. The General and the Princess cross paths only a few times after that. Beneath her veil (an insurmountable barrier) Princess Yona burns pink at his presence and at her daydreams. (And when her fists clench, those claws are another reminder that she's not entirely human.)
She remembers her first nurse in bits and pieces. The way that her father says she retired is the same way that he says of course you're the prettiest girl in all of Kouka. Perhaps it is cruel, but she refuses to wear her veil one day and yes, her maid is afraid of her. Princess Yona covers her face. The maid begs forgiveness and mops up the broken cup and spilled tea and the princess has no more answers than before, except this: she is dangerous.
So Princess Yona looks down at the hand that Hak will never hold. In the mirror, the eyes he will never (can never) gaze into. She lifts her fist and brings it down on the mirror as she howls her rage.
At the New Year's Banquet that year, Princess Yona does not dance.
That fateful night comes. Su-won drives his sword through Il's stomach. In her personal garden, Yona's blessed (cursed) eyes see the blank slate of her cousin's face and her father's blood pour. She feels her tiny world crumble around her as its last pillar is torn away. She stumbles backward. (Her lady-in-waiting looks around in confusion. The garden is empty.) Father is dead, and she latches onto a single thought: is she next?
There are guards coming. The world has never been clearer. She runs. The world is a blur and her thoughts run together like spilled ink. Soldiers lie broken and dazed in her wake. Someone reaches out the grab her and their fingers snatch only gauze. The veil flutters to the ground. (No Blue Dragon ever truly mastered their power.) Ghostly teeth close around still-outstretched fingers and there is a scream that is not the Princess'. She jumps in desperation and soars over the castle wall.
(Later, investigators will find a trail of destruction coming to an abrupt end in the courtyard. Su-won will remember the whispers and wonder once more. Some say the Princess is possessed by a demon.)
On the other side of the castle, Hak hears commotion and breaks into a run- in the other direction. He sprints toward the king's chambers, where Su-won is. He comes panting to a halt, weapon bare and he stares and stares. Su-won stands on the steps outside the king's chambers, a bloodied sword in his hand. Il lies unmoving in the room beyond.
Hak is loyal to the crown, as the general of the Wind Tribe must be. He is loyal to Su-won, too. He cannot reconcile the two: Su-won, his best friend, and Su-won, the cold-eyed murderer. He cannot deny Su-won's words: that Il was a weak king; that Kouka was weakening under his rule and the threat of being overrun was very real. When Su-won says that the (supposedly) peace-loving king took his own brother's life with the sword, Hak wonders, at the edge of protest. It is easy to imagine the wrathful man he met that day, years ago, killing his brother.
Hak sinks onto one knee to pledge (reaffirm) allegiance to the king of Kouka (his dearest friend). Beneath the pretty shell Su-won creates is something pointed, fierce, and gloriously relentless. Hak knows this as he knows that Su-won will do whatever it takes to achieve his goal, as he knows that he will lend his strength to that cause.
(Long live the king.)
(Part the Third)
Pinpricks tug at Ik-su's arms and hair. Voices mutter in his ear: she is lost. Find her. The chatterings guide him as he rises, like a children's game: he is warmer now, he is getting colder...wrong way! Yun spots him stumbling out into the forest and shouts after him to at least stick to the path.
Paths less chosen and all that, a high voice chitters. While Yun mutters irritation, Ik-su smiles at his adopted brother's (for their relationship is surely not father and son) anxiety. Although he will never said it aloud, he feels sorry for Yun, who cannot see the fuzzy edges of their world where it overlaps with others, nor can he hear the voices that fill it. A thought fills him with laughter- if Yun did have the Sight, he would boss around spirits as easily as he did mortal folk.
Ik-su comes upon a girl and he has never seen anyone so more clearly lost. He first thinks that she is half-fae with those glimmers of magic swirling about her. Then he looks again, and realizes that she has no innate ability (for those shards of power are only borrowed) except for an indomitable spirit that is all her own.
Yona shakes her hair out of her eyes and raises her fists as Ik-su raises his hands in surrender. She looks hungry, he says (a chorus of voices burble agreement) and invites her to his and Yun's home. She accepts the offer and Ik-su follows the giddy forest sprites home.
Yun is less than pleased at the new addition but greets Yona civilly enough. He's even less pleased at Ik-su losing one shoe somewhere in the forest, and makes this known. Then, because both Ik-su and Yona are useless, he makes dinner and starts looking for fabric to sew something more practical than the shredded, gaudy dress Yona wears. This is how a former princess comes to live with a (not) doctor and a priest.
The first days are difficult. Yona is used to being the center of existence. Yun does not like or trust royalty as a matter of principle. His words are a slap in the face: hasn't she ever thanked anyone in her life? Yona wavers, guilt pooling around her as she realizes: he's right. He doesn't owe her a thing. No one does, and that she is princess means nothing at all. Ashamed, Yona apologizes and although neither of them realize it then, everything has changed.
Standing in the morning sun (what seems to be) a lifetime away from the palace, Yona realizes three things: here and now, she is alive. Cursed (blessed) though she is, she is still alive. She wants to continue to live and she wants to stand on her own two feet. And so the first layers of that weak exterior fall away. She is a far more eager student than she ever was for her tutor as she learns to gather edible plants, how to sew, how to weed a garden, how to set traps.
She learns how to take the life of an animal. She learns how to be hungry and how to sleep on the ground. The first time she catches a fish with only her claws, those scales seem a little less unsightly. Bit by bit, her naivete falls away as she realizes: the common folk live harder lives than she thought possible. Guilt is a twisting knife with every memory of her former, carefree life.
Though Yona wears the scales of the Four, she is still purely human and so deaf to their voices and the voices of the spirits. When wriggling things shimmer into existence it is only Ik-su who sees. Evil, they whisper. They will spill blood here. He goes to the door and sees them: armed men and women, belonging to no army. Thieves and murderers, an imp howls at his elbow.
Yun follows Ik-su from the hut. If Ik-su is afraid, it means bandits or a storm and the sky is clear today. He goes for his biggest grinding-stone. He won't go down without a fight, though he knows how this will end.
Yona sees, too, with her far-reaching eyes. She bursts into the clearing. The robbers emerge from the thicket. The birds have stopped singing. (Ik-su wonders if they too can sense the demons that follow the scent of death.) Five against three and the five are armed. Still Ik-su does not regret the oath he took to never spill blood.
Yona runs forward and she can only think one thing: protect them. She has fought only once before but everything she lacks in skill she more than makes up for in raw force. She makes a fist with her thumb inside and only snowy scales keep it from breaking. She leaps and whirls (and moves as though she is dancing) and few strikes make contact, but it is enough.
Three robbers are left standing and it is clear to them that they are outmatched. They run, dragging their companions, and Yona does not pursue. This, Yona realizes, is something that she can do, possibly better than anyone else. She can fight and she can protect others. (She tries to ignore the inner voice that says she couldn't protect Mother and Father.) And so she begins practicing: she paralyzes the animals caught in her and Yun's traps instead of slitting their throats; she finds a solid-looking boulder and learns to throw a proper punch; she practices her flying kicks with a fervor almost religious.
The time comes for Yun's annual trek around the Fire Tribe. He asks Yona if she'll accompany him; she agrees. They camp and he leads the way, long familiar with these roads, and she guards. Bandages cover her right hand, her right leg, and her eyes. One night when they stay in a young couple's home in exchange for good food, Yona watches a hawk fall, an arrow lodged in its wing. Archery, she thinks, would be useful to learn. So she mentions it to Yun, who agrees and gives her a pouch of the money they've made selling herbs, hats, and shoes.
The village not large enough to have a permanent weapons store, but there is a craftsman at the traveling market who makes bows. Yona examines each, and the customer next to her suggests a sturdily-built wooden bow. They strike up a conversation: he doesn't use a bow himself, but a lot of people in his mountain village do. He's an herbalist by trade, having been taught by his grandmother. He says his name is Kija, and Yona hesitates only a second before telling him hers. It is safe. The only connection that exists to her past life is her name; not a soul in Kouka has seen her face.
While Kija and Yun discuss the best ways to gather and preserve plants, Yona explores and purchases a mask in the shape of a butterfly. She cannot yet reliably control the power of her eyes.
So Yona and Yun wander from village to village, buying and selling, and Yona notices common threads linking them all. Hunger. Poverty. These have plagued the land for generations. The problems are exacerbated by Kan Su-jin, who conscripts near all the men into the Fire Tribe's army.
She is Kouka's princess, whether she wears the crown or not. Still so unbearably ignorant, she at least knows this: her father loved this country in his own, weak-willed way. (Yet still so many suffered. They suffered while she was waited on hand and foot.) Perhaps this, Yona thinks one night, is the reason she was born this way. She has the power to change this kingdom and if she does not act she is guilty of the same sins as her father.
She dons a mask in the shape of a butterfly. She does not take up a sword; she has no need when each of her right fingers ends in a claw. She descends from the sky, crimson hair whipping in a frenzy, like some forgotten god. She lands on the ground, scaled arm and foot bared for all the world to see, and proclaims to the awed mortals that this village is under her protection.
Yun watches from the safety of the crowd. In this world the strong control the world and the weak shuffle along and do as best they can, and Yun is weak and so very aware of this. He cannot stand before armed soldiers without fear, without dying. But…he is not useless. For all the blessings she wears Yona is not invulnerable, and so Yun will be there to clean her wounds, to sew the gashes and set broken bones, to stave off infection and disease.
And this is exactly what happens. Yona fights and Yun patches her up afterwards. Yona learns the meaning of pain the first time an arrow pierces her leg and still she is not deterred. Yun tells her to be careful although she will not listen. (And if she ever does and gives up fighting for her own, the world may end then and there.)
Kan Su-jin dispatches his youngest son to track down and eliminate the masked insurgent. She becomes the stuff of campfire stories, the ghost whispered of by the laborers in their paddies. They say the cruel General's enforcers cannot touch the villages under her protection. They say she brings food to the hungry children and medicine to the ill. Against all odds, Kan Tae-jun finds himself face to face with the masked warrior.
He is shaking and she is still. (His face is familiar and she remembers nothing of their one interaction.) He orders his men to arrest her. Most disobey, out of fear or out of respect for the person who helped their families. The bravest and the most foolish rush forward and fall (but do not die. Nobody will die here today.)
And while the children squabble, the adults have a conversation that goes like this: you are stirring up rebellion. While your goal is admirable, the general and the king can't overlook that. Heuk-chi says this in the manner of one discussing recent mild weather.
It isn't our intention. Yun is sincere: he wants to help simple folk, not uproot the kingdom.
...I thought not. (Few realize how clever Heuk-chi is, and this is how he plans to keep it.)
While Yona looms above the retreating soldiers, Yun and Heuk-chi hatch a plan of their own. Within a day, the Masked Warrior vanishes from the face of the world. Though she is gone, the changes in the land of Fire continue to ripple and warp the tribe.
Tae-jun leads a contingent of soldiers to find the person (vigilante, bandit, hero) known as the Masked Warrior, and nobody can prove the rumors that spring up around them. Soldiers seen hoeing fields...or so the gossip goes. There's a form somewhere in the bureaucratic labyrinth of Saika claiming that a house in a certain village was seized to act as a remote base of operations. If the people in that village were to be asked of this, and look to each other in confusion because that building is now a hospital...well, clerical errors happen all the time, don't they?
In Kuuto, Su-won pieces together reports and whispers passed amongst the shadows and discovers a newfound respect for Heuk-chi. In Saika, a treasonous General schemes. In the Sen Province of the Kai Empire, a veiled woman dances for the festival of fire.
Ik-su's a fairy. Or part-fairy, whatever. This was not planned at all. Also, the idea of Yun and Heuk-chi being the only sane men in their respective groups and calmly talking things out while everyone else fights never fails to crack me up.
This au may or may not be continued.