A/N: I'm not even entirely sure, to be honest. I've kind of had this finished on my laptop for at least a month, staring at it balefully and picking it apart, before putting it back together in an almost identical way. So I've given up. This is me stopping. Mashiro/Arika, 1468 words, give or take.
Enjoy, and know that feedback is much appreciated. I wasn't entirely sure about how well this flowed and would like to think that I've trimmed it of most the awkward sentences. Still dubious about characterisation on both fronts, concerning Arika and Mashiro, so con-crit would be delightful.
Set post-Zwei.
It's after the victory party, when everyone's gone home and Nina's contract has been cancelled so she can go home to the warm embrace of not-really-Sergay, that Arika goes looking for Mashiro. It's late and she's tired and she just wants to crawl into bed with the young woman and call it a night, but she's gone awol and it looks suspicious if she goes to bed in Mashiro's quarters without the young Queen there. Somehow, more suspicious than when she goes to bed with the Queen there, and it's an odd thought.
She eventually finds her in one of the little used hallways where they'd had a lot of the old portraits and tapestries moved after the renovation. Partially it was to make room and partially (the greater part, she knew at the time, because she'd had a hand in organising it) was because out of sight meant out of mind and Mashiro needed a chance to get a clean start at ruling, without the dead eyes of past rulers looking over her shoulder the whole time.
Mashiro, of course, managed to negate this course of action by searching out the most depressing and oppressive of the art work whenever she was in a mood. She's hit upon a real winner this time, when Arika finally finds her, wrapped in one of the rich, heavy winter robes that they mostly keep on hand for diplomatic excursions to colder climes and so Mashiro can skulk around the back halls of the castle that they don't bother keeping warm and sit opposite grand portraits of her and Arika's dead parents.
Technically, Nina's and Arika's dead parents, but it's a subject everyone's still sore about and it still feels weird to think of it like that, still too new. Especially because Nina still has a father, really, and she's wavering violently between wanting to jump his bones and taking up a career in which she'll be a sworn virgin.
It's a nice cloak though, so Arika joins her under it when she finds her and then sits, enjoying the warmth of their proximity for a moment before she asks her what she's thinking about.
"Nina has daddy issues." Mashiro shrugs, bluntly, shoulder bumping against her own.
It's true, but Arika doesn't know what that has to do with anything really. "And we both have mother inferiority complexes." She replies. She'd heard someone in the court use the term to describe them both and had been incensed, once she'd finally found out what it meant, but it's apt. Even if she hates it. Mashiro does too, because she flushes and looks away.
"She wasn't my mother though." She mutters.
"You never knew that."
There's a long, pregnant pause, while Mashiro's gaze looks past her and focuses on the face of the previous Queen and her Otome, both young and, yet, still not quite so young as Arika feels she and Mashiro are. "I should have though," She says eventually, brittle. "I always suspected. Everyone did. She even looks a little like Nina, once you know. And you look like her as well." Like it's a crime that Arika resembles the mother she never knew. Her gaze is accusatory now. "Nothing like me."
Arika feels impotent. She wishes she had the words to fix this, but she's not smart like that. She doesn't know what to do or what to say, so she settles for what feels right. She draws them up and winds her arms around Mashiro and presses herself up against her back, holding her. Mashiro's hands come to rest over her own, linked around her waist, and although her face is tilted away she makes no move to pry Arika off her. Arika feels a tiny spark of triumph. "Hey, d'you think Nina would have known how to rule the way you do? Do you think she would have ignored her personal problems to worry about every tiny crisis this country goes through, above and beyond the call of duty, at her personal expense?" Mashiro flushes; Arika can see the colour crawling down her neck from where she's whispering fiercely against the shell of her ear. "You're not the only one who worries about if she's good enough," She admits quietly, faltering a little. "I know I'm not half the Otome my mother was." Her gaze flits sorrowfully now to the portrait before them.
Mashiro turns abruptly in her grip. "You're every bit the Otome your mother was!" She responds harshly, her eyes bright and wet.
Arika smiles indulgently at her and continues on, ignoring the interruption. "But you're twice the Queen that Nina would have ever been." And her voice is strong with conviction as she says that. She may not know a lot, but she knows that much.
If Nina had grown up in the castle she would have been indulged and spoiled; Arika's not the most imaginative or precognisant, but she can see that as clear as day in her head. Mashiro's insecurities, perversely enough, were what drove her on to succeed. All the pieces fell into place, with Arika arriving in Windbloom and encountering both herself and Nina on that day. And maybe Nina could have been a great monarch. Perhaps with her mother hovering over her shoulder to guide her and Arika by her side as a childhood friend, probably continuing on to become an Otome, a royal Otome, much as she has anyway, they could have stood side by side and inspired awe and a new age of prosperity in Windbloom, as she has with Mashiro. Maybe in some far-flung universe, where their respective mothers didn't die, right now some other Arika was romancing some other Nina and there was nary a Mashiro to be seen. But that was a different world and they were different people, utterly. In answering the simple question of whether the baby Nina had been found and returned to her rightful place, rather than replaced with Mashiro (And really then, Nina wouldn't even be Nina, would she? She'd be Mashiro and Mashiro would be someone else completely different and that makes Arika's head hurt. She doesn't want to imagine Mashiro as anyone other than she is, fragile and elegant and beautiful and stubborn and unyielding, in the most frustrating combination imaginable.) would the country of Windbloom have been better off? Many a monarchist might disagree, but Arika knew the answer with honest conviction and it was a resounding no.
"And even if you hadn't been a queen," Arika continues, taking Mashiro's cheek in a gentle palm and drawing her close until Mashiro can feel the rush of her words over her lips as she speaks softly. "You would have been great." She punctuates this with a kiss. Quite possibly the sweetest, most heartfelt kiss that Mashiro's ever been gifted enough to receive. She feels her knees buckle, but Arika's arm, the one that isn't attached to the hand cupping her cheek reverently, is holding her securely round her waist, pulling her against her and keeping her upright.
She loves this girl. More than anything. In that moment, she knows she's not nearly as strong as Arika seems to think she is, because she'd forsake her kingdom and all for this, this moment, just to make it last forever.
Eventually, long moments later, they separate. Mashiro turns in Arika's grip again, embarrassed, and burrows under the slightly taller girl's chin. Arika nuzzles her with her chin and holds her close. They're still facing the portrait, but it's not as intimidating to either of them as it was mere moments previously. "Do you think…" Mashiro begins shyly and then trails off. Arika hums curiously and gestures for her to continue. Mashiro doesn't often do shy and it's intriguing. "Do you think they did this too? Are all Otome really so close to their masters?" She asks, indicating their relationship with a gentle hand on Arika's when she says 'this'.
"Hmm." Says Arika, acknowledging the question while she gathers her thoughts. "I don't know. I don't really know much about them. I think-" She takes a breath and pauses to compose what she wants to say. "I think there's something about the master-Otome relationship that forges a strong bond instantly, in the heat of battle. Like when we met, or when we were under the castle. So maybe." She shrugs. "but who can say for sure about how close they were. Maybe we're following in our mother's steps and maybe not." She shrugs again, unconcerned. They've gotten good at forging their own path.
"Even though she wasn't really my mother." Mashiro says quietly, casting her gaze down.
"She wasn't really mine either." Arika replies contemplatively. She thinks again that she's glad she had that portrait moved.