near, far
Summary: Closeness, distance. Sometimes he cannot distinguish between them anymore. OneShot- Hak (Yona). (Six days between Sansan and Kuuto.)
Warning: Drabble-esque, fractured, introspection. Spoilers for ch. 133.
Set: Between ch. 133 and 134, I guess (speculation at this point).
Disclaimer: Standards apply. One line borrowed from Five for Fighting, "100 Years".
Merry Christmas 2016!
Day 1
Parry. Stab.
He ducks under another swing, feels the whisper of steel passing his face. So close. Jumps over the next one, brings down his quandao. Feels the adrenaline racing through his blood like liquid fire.
Duck.
There is beauty to the dance. It is especially visible when it is her he is watching, when the sun touches her flaming hair and makes it glow. When the flickering light of the torches draws shadows onto her face that caress her skin and she looks like the queen of the dawn. She is beautiful with the sword, but she is also lethal with it. He has no idea why the prophesy promised her a shield and a sword: she is the sword, incarnate.
Stab.
An undignified yelp and his opponent renews his attacks, slashes at Hak viciously. Hak parries, dodges. Listens to the whisper of steel that sometimes tells him where his opponent will be. The combat gets faster and faster, harder to follow, harder to react to, harder to anticipate – there is a reason why this man is one of Xing's Five Stars.
Duck.
Slash.
There also is a reason why Son Hak, adoptive son of the Wind Tribe's legendary General Son Mun-Dok, once became the youngest general in Kouka's history and was named the Thunder Beast.
He lives the fight.
He side-steps Vold again, whirls on his own axis and comes up low; despite its ungainly length and weight his quandao moves as if it was a mere extension of his arm. Princess Tao's aide leans back in order to protect himself from the lance and speeds forward in the next instant, Hak moves to block him but is distracted by something for a second and stumbles, he rights himself fast as lightning and turns, a sword comes flashing down again, again he can hear the song of tempered steel. He lashes out in a kick that connects solidly with a body, Vold grunts in pain and is thrown back against a three. He turns in the air, amazingly agile, twists his body around and lands with his feet solidly against it, and from there he bends his knees and catapults himself forward with lightning speed. Hak greets him with a two-handed slash that would have wiped anyone out of the air who is only half as seasoned a warrior as they are, Vold parries his attack and skids to a halt on the soft forest floor, jumps up again and this time Hak has to parry his calm, strong slashes.
There–
A stinging sensation on his cheek and they come to a halt, abruptly.
Silence.
Nothing moves, except for their chests, expanding and shrinking under their rapid breathing. Neither one of them moves, frozen in time –
"Ha, Voldopus gotcha, big nyan, didn't he? Well-done, Voldi! First blood!"
Algira is far too enthusiastic, especially for their circumstances.
Vold does not move an inch but grins.
"Looks like I lose."
His friend is more than surprised. "What?! Why?!"
"You think you gonna let me move again, big guy?" Vold asks, and Hak hesitates another second or so (and he is not enjoying it, not at all) before he draws away his quandao from his opponent's exposed femoral artery.
Vold is a gracious loser. "Congratulations. Next one is mine."
Hak snorts. "Princess, do you think there will be a time–"
He stops in mid-sentence.
She is gazing at the sky, unhearing, and her eyes are so distant they do not even see him anymore.
Day 2
People say that the path back to the place from where one started is always the shortest.
People, Hak thinks, can go screw themselves. All that time ago, they crossed Kouka in six days, going from east to west, from Fire Clan Territory to Awa. That journey was short, compared to this one. Now, going back – to Hiryuu Castle, back to Kuuto, the capital, back to Soo-Won the traitor – the journey feels longer than anything else ever in his life.
On the outside, to the world, she looks exactly the same as always.
The hood of her cloak covers her hair. She carries her bow on her back – familiar – and a sword by her side. The sight is… different. He does not like it.
Hak. Teach me the sword. That is an order.
King Il had rather stopped a sword with his bare hands than let his daughter see the consequences of using one. The princess – the protected, sweet girl – had never in her life seen a man die until she saw her father's death. Hak has promised the late king to protect his daughter, and that included, he believes, the protection from herself. But she isn't a little girl anymore. She has seen people die, has even killed herself. He taught her the art of war, taught her well because if there is something Hak does well then it is killing. And she soaked up the knowledge, trained and worked and grew until in her hand, almost anything became a weapon. She became a weapon, much like he is one, only that he accepts this in himself but cannot in her. He hates it. He hates it hates it hates it from the depths of his already-dead heart. But it was necessary, still is. He knows, she knows. All of them know.
So he taught her.
The weapon by her side is old. The blade is forged from tempered steel folded over and over again, heated and cooled successively until the fire and the ice have both embedded themselves into it. Hak might be no expert but he recognizes the technique used by only a dozen sword smiths on the continent when he sees it; the blade of his quandao is made of the same material. It shimmers when the light hits it, blue, cold and steely. It is not a beautiful blade, though it carries beauty, as well. It is lethal. The sword hilt is wooden, held by a bronze peg. Simple, functional, a cross-hilt and a single, black gem on the pommel. And: a red dragon is crouching on it, wraps around it like a living, breathing being, and its eyes are flame.
"This has been a treasure since the times of our ancestors. With it, King Soo-Won will believe that you are speaking in our name. Please accept it as a gift."
"It is a beautiful weapon, but I cannot. You said it was one of your country's greatest treasures."
"You must. What you are giving up, we can never repay you. And all our hopes rest on your shoulders. Please, take it, and may you journey safely."
"I will be back."
"I know you will. Take care of yourself. I will protect your friends in your absence."
Four mythical dragons, an ancient sword. Hak never liked prophesies. Now he finds this particular one is coming true.
Next is the shield.
Soo-Won.
Soo-Won always protected her, until he tried to kill her one day. But Soo-Won had many opportunities to kill them since then, and he has never went through with it. What, Hak wonders, is he still hiding? What are his plans?
Has he been protecting her from the start?
(He is only falling deeper and deeper.)
Day 3
She dreams of them at night.
He does not need to see, because he knows. The nights on the border of Xing and Kouka are cold, winter approaching. In the morning the grass looks like glass, dusted with silver-specked crystals. It is beautiful, the way it frames her, fragile and yet – cold. Dangerous.
She tosses and turns, and then, suddenly, she freezes.
Those are the moments, he knows, that she can see them in her dreams: her four dragons, the Mystical Beasts, the companions Heaven chose for her. If Hak ever thought the prophesy Ik-Soo the priest had made, all those months (years?) ago, was stupid, he has long ago learned to accept it. It is hard not to believe in them when you see them with your own eyes: see the White Snake lift boulders with one hand that no man could lift, see Droopy-Eyes Ryokuryuu soar towards the sky. Watch Shin-Ah gaze into the distance, and Zeno skip around them like he isn't the oldest of them all but even younger than Yoon. If Hak ever thought–
You will, without fail, protect your king and master, Hiryuu.
How stupid. How laughable. How – how utterly and entirely right. As a princess, she needs protectors. Who would be better suited to protect the most precious being on earth than four mystical creatures with the reincarnated power of four ancient gods?
What am I against the four of them?
Sometimes.
Sometimes, Hak looks at them and feels everything bubble up within him. The rage, the jealousy – the hate.
He has spent his entire life by her side. Why them? Why not him?
Prophesies, that is why.
Stupid, ancient prophesies, words and images dreamed up by men too weak to go out to fight with the sword. Ignorant men who prefer manipulating the people around them with lies and made-up stories instead of facing them and convincing them by living what they preach. Little wonder Yu-Hon had chased the priests from the castle.
That is not true, Hak, and you know it.
The voice sounds like hers, always has. She is his conscience, his guiding star.
Ik-soo was not like that. And you know. You believe him, too.
How can he not believe when he has seen the star rise with his own eyes, has witnessed its ascent? How can he not believe in her when he has been at her side for all this time?
And, besides. The dragons were chosen by fate. Yes, she consciously decided to take them with her, has adopted them - made them hers. But Hak was chosen by her from the beginning. Before there were dragons, before there was a prophesy, before there was a we and an us and a goal – before all of that, there was a Hak, I want you. She wanted him to go with her, she claimed him. She made him hers, and he forever will be.
And yet – the doubt will always remain.
There's not much he can do, really, he has taught her everything he knows. She is strong enough to protect herself now, and when she cannot, she still has the dragons. (He refuses to believe they will leave her side, even when they're imprisoned like now.) He can only follow her now, and protect her like he has always done. If she needs it. If she accepts it. In moments like these, when she has nightmares again, he can draw up her blanket to make sure she is warm, can put his hand on her brow reassuringly and can watch her calm down again slowly, slowly.
He can hear Jae-Ha, stupid Droopy-eyes, idiot green dragon. Ryokuuryu's annoying voice, so accurate, so wrong. Sometimes, you and her, you seem both too close and too distant.
Near, far.
Hak honestly cannot distinguish between them anymore.
Day 4
They reach the territory of the Sky Clan the next evening.
Back in the mountains, the air is frigid and clear as crystal. He goes to catch some fish in a clear mountain lake while Vold, Algira and she set up camp. When he returns, he hears his name, so he stops just out of view of their little shelter.
"Hak is an excellent fighter."
Vold always sounds like he's trying to be polite and impolite at the same time. But mostly polite.
"But why do I always have to force him to spar with me?"
A chuckle, soft and warm. "Hak never much liked unnecessary sparring."
"But sparring's not unnecessary!" Algira, righteously unconvinced. "It's a way to train! How can he become stronger if he doesn't train?"
This time, she laughs. "What if you're already one of the strongest, then?"
"So when was the last time he sparred regularly?"
None of their business, he wants to tell her, but of course, she always knows.
"I can't remember, really."
The two Stars leave it at that.
He always knows where she is and what she is doing, so when she gets up after everyone else is asleep, he follows her. She knows he is there, Hak is sure, but she ignores him. Flexes the wood of her bow, selects an arrow, notches it and draws the string. Two years and still – still. Her aim is true.
Ten arrows, twenty. Hak watches in silence.
Finally, he breaks it. "You are anxious to meet him again."
She does not turn to look at him. "Maybe."
It makes him angry, for some reason.
"You will have to face him like an enemy. You know that, right? Will you be able to? Can you look at him and remember the things that count?"
"Do you think I'd forget them?"
"No. I think that you're thinking of the people of Kouka."
"But not of Kija, Jae-Ha, Shin-Ah, Zeno and Yoon? What do you take me for? Believe me, Hak. I know exactly what is at stake here. I have been traveling and learning, always wanting to protect the people of this country. Awa, Xing, Kouka, it does not matter, don't you see? Everyone deserves to live in peace!"
She is beautiful when she is angry. He never loved her more than then, and less.
"You still love him, don't you, Princess? Deep down, you're happy to see him again. Will you be able to face him? Will you be able to kill him?"
"Is that why you came with me?"
Silence.
Hak watches her in the dark. Her shoulders are tense.
"You haven't sparred with anyone since we left the castle."
It is a low blow. It hits him, cold, how she knows – but of course, she always knows. "I'm just indulging them."
She does not answer.
He does not help her collect the arrows, just watches her, a shadow figure in the approaching dawn.
She has the shape of a woman.
"You couldn't kill him, either, Hak."
When she is done, she turns to leave. Her voice is so silent he barely understands her.
"Both of us still love him."
Day 5
The closer they get to Hiryuu Castle, the less they talk.
Algira and Vold have to have noticed – they are not stupid, after all, rather the opposite – but they do not comment, and she is insanely thankful for it.
Hak behaves like always: he keeps watch and gathers firewood and goes hunting, and always, always is there if she needs a hand or stumbles or as much as looks tired. It usually is vexing, the way he always always knows when there is something wrong with her, but right now, it does not matter. He, too, feels the wrongness, every single one of their cells screaming out for their lost companions. They would not be here without Kija, Jae-Ha, Shin-Ah, Zeno and Yoon. They would never have made it. And yet, there they are, on their own. Some months ago, she would have loved to be alone with Hak, just for a day, to spend time with him, look at him without anyone noticing, to revel in his closeness and his attention. Now her wish came true. And and she hates herself for wishing it in the first place, for desiring things that have such consequences. Her time with Hak came at the cost of her precious, beloved friends. It feels like treason.
It is.
The days are cold.
The white season is steadily advancing, bringing icy winds and sheets of rain that vary with wet, cold fog; the mountains around Kuuto can be treacherous at the best of times. As long as they stay on the move it is fine, she wraps herself into her long cloak and tries not to think of anything. They seek shelter under rocky outcrops and even in one or two man-made shelters, used by shepherds during summer, now long abandoned. The wind whistles through the valleys, sings on the mountain tops.
The nights are colder.
It has been a long time since they slept so close to each other. Once upon a time it was natural to sleep by his side, completely normal – until it was not, anymore. Nevertheless, she drifts towards him again now, as if he could offer her the warmth she is so desperately missing. She cannot help herself and wishes she could. She feels so cold on the inside that she thinks she might never be warm again. Hak is right there, and then he is not anymore even though she can feel the rise and fall of his chest at her side.
Sometimes, he is so far away she cannot breathe.
He must have felt her stir, or maybe he, too, is unable to sleep with the wordless fact that they are almost there. Two more days. Or maybe he just knows, like he always knows, that she is awake.
He extricates himself from her.
She acts on instinct, without even a second of hesitation. (That comes later, when she ponders the moment again and again and despairs over the fact that she cannot even blush at her own stupidity anymore. Later, along with the guilt. You are binding him to you, you have to let him go. Hak deserves to be happy.) But right then, her hand moves without her own volition, emerges out of the bundle of blankets, traitorously, and reaches for him.
Hak freezes.
She freezes.
But her searching hand does not hesitate. It finds his arm, his side, tugs at him, and, after what feels like eternity, he moves back towards her. Almost as if helpless against her insistence, unwilling, too willing, she cannot distinguish between it. Hak folds himself around her as if he never did anything else. All reason leaves her at his sudden closeness, the incredible warmth that is Hak. (Childhood friend, protector, teacher.) He wraps his blanket around her, as well, and his hands are inexplicably tender.
He never touched her any different. Even when he was angry with her, when he grabbed her arm or stopped her from doing anything, even those moments when he cornered her before a battle and pleaded with her to stay back and to let him do the fighting – even when he taught her sword-fighting, his touch was so, so gentle. And Hak–
The tears are unexpected, even to her, completely surprising.
She buries her face in the rough, home-spun material of his cloak, feels the tears stream down her face, slowly at first and then quicker. Swallowing a sob, she hides her face, but she cannot hide her trembling shoulders and hands. All at once, and all too much, so much loss and despair, coldness and emptiness. So much happiness, with the dragons, and so much love.
So much sadness.
This is the end, a voice whispers in the back of her mind, and she thinks she has heard it before.
Day 5, Reprise
She is crying.
Hak wants to cry, as well.
Instead, he tucks her in, draws her against him and holds her while she weeps into his shoulder soundlessly. He does not say anything, and neither does she. But she falls asleep after some time, relaxes minutely. He listens to her breath evening out, holding his so he can hear the soft exhalation of air. Strains his ears and listens until the only sound he hears are her soft breaths and the sound of his own blood in his ears.
Hak, I am going back. I know I never left you a choice before, but this time… I can't force you to come with me. Hak, please, won't you stay here?
What does she take him for? Does she really think she can get rid of him so easily? He has an oath to keep: one to her father, one to his adoptive father. And, lastly: an oath to her.
It was a test.
Order me to stay, and I will.
And she looked at him, straight, her eyes endless and strength in her voice. She is never more beautiful than when she knows she will be obeyed.
Stay here, Hak. That is an order.
And Hak thinks–
I will protect you from the world, until you step into the light of the dawn and have no longer need of me.
Day 6
The air is frigid.
"Princess." Vold. "We should depart soon."
Strands of her hair are dancing in the cold wind. The sky is grey; forbidding.
"Yes."
Hak watches her. She is looking at something – the reflection of a mirror, a ghost of the past. Hiryuu Castle, on the other side of the valley; splendid in red and gold in the evening light. Not even the grey skies can diminish its beauty. He thinks he only knows one thing that is more beautiful than Kouka's capital.
"It is cold."
"That's because we are in the mountains."
Why is Vold telling her this? She knows, herself. But she smiles, because she always does, and turns away again.
"Tonight, it will freeze over."
Algira is already calling, beckoning them to follow. Vold turns, not without glancing at Hak. He knows. They have to leave. But he, too, cannot look away.
Her voice is so quiet he almost doesn't catch it.
"At that time, I didn't know it could be this cold outside the palace."
She takes a deep breath, as if to steel herself. It could as well have been a sob. And as much as Hak would love to touch her, to draw her into his arms and comfort her – he can't. This is the one thing he can never, never do.
The Princess turns to him. There is the ghost of a smile on her face, beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time.
"Hak, I'm going back to face Soo-Won, to negotiate a treaty between Xing and Kouka, and to free Kija, Shin-Ah, Jae-Ha, Zeno and Yoon. Will you come with me?"
With the red dawn in her back, she looks like a goddess, descended from Heavens, more queenly than anything he's ever seen. There is no other reaction that would be more appropriate: Hak drops to his knees and bows his head, and feels the world still around them.
"I will follow you anywhere, my Queen."
Even if it means I have to disobey your orders.
...
"Stop right there! Who are you? Identify yourselves!"
And she steps forward, her head held high, all the poise and grace and beauty he always knew was inherent within her for all the world to see but Hak catches her and gently pushes her back. Steps in front of her himself, pulls down the hood of his cloak.
"I am Son Hak, formerly of the Wind Tribe, former General of Kouka, also known as the Thunder Beast. I am here to accompany Princess Yona, daughter of King Il, the rightful heir to the throne."
I'm just counting the ways to where you are.