invisible things (like unsaid words)

Summary: Hak's hands are large. Introspection- Yona (Hak).

Set: Throughout the story (just finished re-reading vol 9-16, so definitely for those).

Warning: Introspection.

Disclaimer: Standards apply.

Hak's hands are large.

Yona isn't quite sure when she noticed it for the first time. It's always been his hand she clung to, first in ignorance, then in despair, and finally, finally, because he was the only one who remembered her not as Yona – tough, daring, determined Yona – but as the Princess. As King Il's daughter: as the girl she has been before everything went down. As the girl she remembered fondly – but also as a girl she never wanted to be again. Hak does not remind her of that girl – childish, naïve, silly and ignorant of the ways of the world – but he remembers her. That, to Yona, is more than she ever could have asked for. It's always been Hak's hands that guided her, and she never thought about it twice. Except that now, she can feel the memory of their distinct pressure on her skin, the warmth draining away far too fast, and it makes her shiver with sudden loss.

Hak's hands are a teacher's hands.

When she thinks back, they always were; she just didn't notice it in the early years. And it is sad, really, that all the things he taught her later were so painfully necessary in order to simply survive and not because he/she/they could. Had she known how much joy it would bring to her to see him smile proudly whenever she excelled, she would certainly have tried earlier. Or, at least, that is what she thinks. Hak taught her how to make a fire without lantern oil and matches but with fire stones and dry kindling only, how to make the fire last the night and how to make one that does not smoke as to not attract unwanted attention. He taught her how to do the laundry; in the clear, icy streams of Kouka. He taught her to build makeshift shelters for the night, how to move silently through the woods, how to scale cliffs and be on lookout and how to find edible mushrooms and berries and roots. Because at first, it had only been the two of them, after all, on those long, long days after her father's death and their flight from Hiryuu Castle. And Hak might think that Yona doesn't remember them – she knows she was out of it, lost and shattered – but she remembers the little things. Later on, when she needs them, they come back: Hak's lectures are like a song once heard and never forgotten. She can hear his voice when she hunts, and when she fights, and even when she sleeps. Use me in order to survive. But that is not what she wants. Hak is not a tool, he is her teacher, and her friend. The rock in the vast sea that is her turbulent life: the one she clings to when she is in need of something. The feeling of his hand, and his words, and his smile. That's my princess.

Hak taught Yona to fight.

He taught her how to shoot with a bow, how to aim, and, without himself realizing, how to aim at another human being. He taught her to use a sword. Thanks to him, she can protect herself better now, she is not the defenseless, air-headed princess she once was any longer. She can protect things that are precious to her now, too. (One day, she will fight at Hak's side, and-) But Hak taught her more than that. He has annoyed and teased her, but he has taught her one of the most important lessons she can think of: he taught her how to hold her head up high. She is what she is, and she does what she does, today, because of what he taught her and because he is with her. And because he places his trust in her – absolutely, unshakable. Almost everything Yona knows today – with the exception of the things Yoon, Kija, Jae-Ha, Shin-Ah and Zeno taught her, the things she picked up from important people she met during her journey, and a few things she remembers from her time in the palace, like playing the koto and dancing and smiling – has been taught to her by Hak. Come to think of it, did he even enjoy teaching? Yona has to ask him. She cannot remember him complaining, but there are some things that have become second nature to her up to the point that she does not notice them anymore.

(Jae-Ha's flirtations, for example, or Kija's fear of insects, or Yoon's overly motherly nature. None of those things are bad. In fact, they still make her laugh most of the time. But it is just the way it is. It is the way they are – her dragons, her beloved friends and travel companions – and she wouldn't want them any different.)

Hak's hands are nimble hands.

He is surprisingly capable of doing small-scale, accurate work. He will never hold a needle (Yae-Ha would have a field day with the picture that pops into her mind when she thinks of Hak doing embroidery, should he somehow see it one day), or a fan, or even a quill. Hak is not a person who spends his time on artistry. He always was a hands-on person – oh, the stupid things he'd have to say to that, really – preferring to learn how to do things rather than only knowing the theory of it. Yona remembers a day in the past, when she was six years old. Neither Hak nor Soo-Woo ever mentioned it again as to not scare her, but she did not forget. She was kidnapped that day – which, probably, was why they never spoke about it. But before that, Hak, Soo-Won and she explored the village. They ate dumplings and drank tea. Hak caught a goldfish. They admired the hawker's displays. Soo-Won bought her candied fruit. They shifted through the crowd, listening to the musicians, watching the dancers. Yona remembers a glorious day before it was tinted grey by her terror and fear: a day in which Soo-Won led them through the small alleys and backyards as if he knew the city by heart (which he probably did already then) and Hak shadowed her, keeping her safely between himself and Soo-Won. His hands were constantly moving, that day: pointing things out for her, explaining things. Gesticulating, strangely peacefully despite their speed and agility. They are still that way today: reaching out for something, drawing something else in. Sharpening a dagger skillfully, polishing the already-gleaming metal of his quandao. Assembling and disassembling the tent. Doing the laundry, chopping wood, preparing their bags, plucking the feathers of a bird. But also: carving little wood statuettes. Winding together the stems of wild flowers. Swiftly untangling the unruly strands of her hair that got caught in a tree branch. Yona can only remember a single moment when Hak's hands stood still in the past and she does not want to see something like this ever, ever again.

Hak's hands are a warrior's hands.

He swings his quandao with the same ease a writer would show with his quill. It is silly, really, but she likes the sight of it in his hand. Especially when he uses it to do little things, things that have nothing to do with fights and battles and wars. Like when he stops Jae-Ha in his tracks, right when Ryokuryuu is about to do/say/think something stupid. (Yona isn't thirteen years old anymore. She recognizes innuendo when she hears them: if she decides to act all ignorant and naïve, well, then that's her good right, isn't it? Because the world is bad enough as it is, and her friends deserve some fun, and she deserves a break, now and then.) The ease with which Hak – even left-handed – handles the heavy weapon is a thing of beauty, especially if it is not uncovered because of a fight but because he and the green dragon spar. They enjoy it, even though they would never say it out loud: Yona knows her dragons, and she knows Hak. His duels with Jae-Ha are rare but spectacular, and she loves watching because they mean that they are at peace.

(It happens so rarely, these days. And Yona wishes – aches for, deeply and desperately – that she will be able to create a world for her Heavenly Dragons and the Thunder Beast in which they can laugh and smile like that, every day.)

But Hak handles a sword with the same graceful ease. The way he moves with a weapon in his hand sometimes makes her think of a dance, and she wonders whether she looked the same to him when… Well. Sadly, neither a quandao nor a sword is an instrument used in peaceful times. It is precisely because of that that Yona sometimes awakens in the middle of the night and has to clamp a hand over her mouth in order to not awaken Yoon, tightly asleep next to her, and the Four Heavenly Dragons and the Thunder Beast in the next tent. On those nights, she lies awake while the moon goes down, unable to sleep. Yona the princess, grown up safe and protected in her father's palace, would have sobbed and called for someone. (She knows for whom. She wouldn't do it today.) Yona the warrior, hardened and grown and formed by the things she has seen, by the things she has learned and by the people she has met, remains on her bed roll, immobile, her eyes wide open and her hands clenched. Darkness is nothing to fear: fear isn't, either. Yona does not fear her own death but the pain of those she loves, and with each heart beat she promises herself she will do anything, anything, in her power to make those she loves most happy. Her wonderful dragons, Lili, the wind clan members, the people of Kouka. Hak. Hak with his strong, large hands that can fight and kill so easily and yet save her again and again.

(When will I be able to protect you the same way you have always protected me?)

Hak's hands are gentle hands.

Whether it is Ao or a bird with a broken wing, a stranger with an injury or just that he lifts her up onto the horse with him: Hak's hands are gentle.

It's not surprising. It's just the way it is.

It's not like he deliberately keeps the strength out of his grip when he has to touch her; that he shields her even from his own power. It's nothing like that. He doesn't treat her like a spoiled princess anymore; like she has to be protected. He never placed her in a figurative glass cage in order to never let anything hurt her or even come close to her. In fact, Hak's the only one who never treated her merely like a princess. He might have indulged her in the past, he might have jumped to her protection and might have let her sulk. But he never, ever tried to disguise his true strength from her.

(She sometimes thinks he is desperately hiding something else, instead, something equally vital, life-changing, but–)

Yona remembers the feel of his hand on hers when he helped her to shoot her first arrow, and when he first guided her into the sword-training techniques. Whenever he hands her something – fire wood, a bowl of Yoon's stew, her own strength and dignity – he does so with his strength carefully restrained, but never concealed. It is what makes his touch so gentle, she thinks: the fact that he considers his atmosphere and the things – and people – surrounding him, and that he immediately adjusts to them. And he does so no matter his own circumstances. When she was injured and in pain, there was no gentler touch than the one of Hak's fingers brushing her hair out of her face. He had lifted her up, had carried her to their room. Even though he had tried to shield her from it, even the tiniest vibration had made pain lance through her, hot and furious. But his hands had been so, so gentle.

One would think his large hands would cause him to break things, or to smash them or crush them or, at least, damage them.

That is not true.

Despite his rough and large hands, the only thing Hak has ever broken is her heart, and Yona isn't sure whether this counts at all.

Because he hasn't broken broken it. It is more like a deep-seated, bone-weary ache that she feels, has felt for some time now. These days, Yona looks at Hak and cannot breathe, and the explanation is earth-shatteringly simple and clear: she is in love with him.

Hak: stupid Hak, annoying Hak, the one who used to laugh at her tears, who used to tease her with her fears, the one who would, nevertheless, hold her hand when she had a nightmare. Silly Hak who would provoke her until she ran away and then come to rescue, whether she got herself kidnapped or ran into stubborn suitors. Insufferable Hak who has made jokes at her expense since she can remember, who has risked his life for her, again and again, since they fled from the palace, who was ready to take on a small army of raiding soldiers in order to ensure her escape. Stupid, idiot Hak who will not leave her side long enough for her to make a significant decision without considering his input, who will not let anyone close to her he does not trust, who, stubbornly, refuses to let her out of his sight if she does not explicitly order him to do so. And who, in an ironic display of ignorance that does not suit him because he is so damn perceptive when it comes to others but that is so, so, typical for him, does not understand. Who, despite being next to her every day and every hour, simply does not look at her and see. Or maybe he does look, somehow, but he manages to avoid her eyes and turn away whenever she can feel the words tangle together in her throat like painful pieces of glass. He turns away or changes the topic or reminds her of his status as her servant and bodyguard; and Yona has reached a stage in which she does not care anymore. She just wants him to look at her: Yona, woman, former princess, fighter, travel companion of the Four Mystical Dragons. Daughter of the late King Il. Just her, Yona, because there is nothing she is or has or could be that would make her worthy of being with him. It is just this she can offer him: her heart.

This is why it throws her off so badly whenever he smiles like that.

When she wins the shooting contest on the Wandering Market, for example. When she makes him proud. When she makes him laugh – she loves his laugh: clear and open and bright. Like a breeze of air, embracing the world. When his face is so open and honest he looks so much younger, like the Hak he was before Soo-Won's betrayal.

(Better have him smiling and laughing than the terribly empty face he showed when she was injured: she'd do anything – anything – to never see it again.)

Strange, how she still relies on his mere presence more than on anything else. Strange how much she loves him. She never thought there would be a way to love someone more than her own life, but maybe that is just another part of her. One day, when there is peace and time, she will tell him, and watch his face change. For the better or the worse, he will always be in her heart.

"You good, Princess?"

"Yes, thank you."

Yona smiles, and watches the sky.

[Sometimes, being around her is like bleeding out on the inside, slowly and excruciatingly, while being unable to do anything about it.

That's okay, he figures. Hak always had hands large enough to cover his external and internal injuries – and his own heart – with them completely. Because she is Yona – Yona, Princess of the Dawn if not of the country of Kouka, rightful heiress to the crown, member of the royal family and Master of the Four Heavenly Dragons. Yona, beautiful in the dying light of the sun as she glances down at the castle that once was her home.

Proud. Strong. Beautiful. Not his, not ever.

But then, it she was any different she wouldn't be his Princess anymore.]