A/N: Sorry for the wait, everyone. I really didn't intend for this long to go between updates. A lot of stuff just happened—Sun and Moon came out, then I got to go home for Thanksgiving, then I suddenly fell sick, then my finals started creeping up on me—and I just did not find a lot of time to work on this. But it's here now!
Mr. Fancypants: I'm estimating the fic's going to be 16-ish chapters total, give or take. Right now it's going to go up to Azura's pregnancy with Shigure, with the epilogue maybe covering a few years past that.
Rapis-Razuri: Oh don't apologize for the squeeing. Seeing squeeing makes an author squee in turn. If I were any good at balancing personal skills, Haru's would be a more personalized version of Life and Death, yeah. I envision it being called something like "Acceptable Risks".
The tavern bustles with activity, serving girls expertly dodging grabby hands as they weave through the tables. A bard strums his lute near the center of the room, singing a raunchy tune at pitches too high to be on-key. In one shadowy corner sits a man, hooded and hunched over as he nurses a cup of ale. A table a few feet away from him is seated by off-duty guards, recognizable by the noble crests of their employers on their capes. The hooded man raises his head as a snippet of their conversation reaches his ears, interest spiking as he recognizes the subject.
"…a tide unhappy with how things are being run. M'lord's not one for gossip, but even he seems a bit rebellious of late—"
"Quiet, man!" his neighbor hisses, throwing glances around. "Even in a place as busy as this, the walls have ears, yeah?"
The first man mumbles an apology and ducks. The subject is very smoothly changed, but it's too late; their eavesdropper leans back speculatively.
In the four months since King Corrin and Queen Azura's wedding, all has not been well. A faction of anti-Nohrians had begun revolting after King Ryoma's marriage to Princess Elise, and trade from their neighbor had slowed after several of the caravan routes fell under rebel control. This in turn led to food increasing in price, which no one was happy about. The king was doing his best to keep the situation under control, but there really was nothing he could do except wait for things in Hoshido to sort themselves out.
The situation in Nohr is not much better. King Xander has been pushing through reformative legislation, aiming to abolish the meritocratic nature which had led to King Garon's concubine war. Unsurprisingly, doing so has made him extremely unpopular with nobility and commoners alike; the former see him as infringing on their rights, and the latter see him as taking away their chances of climbing up the social ladder. With his wife recently discovering herself to be pregnant, he more or less has his hands full.
And of course, there are all the troubling rumors about King Corrin floating about. Of him being dragon-blooded. Of his father, Prince Hydra, actually being Anankos in human form. Of him inheriting his father's insanity—and some of the more suspicious Hoshidans will nod and recall yes, yes, I knew someone in Shirasagi, and they say he was a mad beast that day—of him being cursed, of him just waiting for an opportunity to tyrannize Valla.
Most of the talk is prevalent among the nobility, as the commoners rarely care who sits on their throne so long as he or she rules well. Gossip about their king's heritage, while an interesting pastime, is ultimately of little concern to them. But it still bodes ill for the young king.
Gunter tugs the hood higher over his head as he rises. He hands his waitress a coin, then makes his exit. He mounts his loyal old horse, waiting faithfully outside, and trots away, a speculative frown on his face.
"…the common people seem to care little, not knowing much of dragons and gods, but the higher ones seem nervous. You may have a situation on your hands soon. From a friend," Kaze finishes, folding the letter neatly and placing it on the table between them. Corrin sighs and presses his fingers to his forehead, glancing about the room. Titled "war room", he generally holds his meetings with his advisors and closest confidants here, and they're all gathered around the large rectangular table that dominates the center. He's at the head of the table, Azura at his right, frowning; their retainers have the seats closest to them. Further down are Lilith, Nestor, and several more men and women. Normally Jakob and Flora would be here as well, but they'd left for a vacation disguised as a diplomatic trip to the Ice Tribe a few weeks previous, and their seats are conspicuously empty.
This is not the first anonymous letter he's received so far. It's the fourth, with the other three coming in on a monthly basis. The messenger boy who delivers it is tight-lipped about who gives them to him, claiming to have never seen his or her face. It's suspicious, but investigating the information in the letters has proven them to be right so far.
"And you believe this 'friend', my lord?" Nestor asks, leaning forward with his hands clasped.
"It echoes what my own spies have been saying," Kaze tells him. "No one's acted on it so far, but people are definitely talking. Some of the nobles who dislike you in particular."
"Haru's reports still say nothing's wrong?" Azura questions.
"They still do," the ninja nods.
Corrin closes his eyes, concentrating. How many could he count to stand with him, if things went badly? The Chalons, the Akiyamas…all the Vallite nobles, probably, if their gratitude to him outweighs their fear of his father. A few more Hoshidan and Nohrian lords. Not all of them.
"I don't know what to do," he finally admits, opening his eyes and looking at everyone around him. "If some of the nobles really are planning…rebellion, I don't think there's anything I can do to stop them."
Taking family members hostage is just about the only thing he can think of to ensure their obedience, and the thought makes him ill. He cannot—will not—subject anyone to the same situation he and Azura had been in. This isn't a problem he can fix with a slash of his quill and an adjustment of the laws. This is something he can only take as it comes.
"Your Majesty, and I apologize for the brazenness, but…is there any truth to these rumors?" Nestor's face is lined with worry.
Corrin weighs the question very carefully. Another king might tell him to mind his place, but Corrin's always encouraged those in his retinue to speak their minds. Confirming these rumors runs the risk of having his people turn on him, but on the other hand…the rumors are too accurate to be created by chance. Someone had to know his secret, and that someone may have a way to prove it. Coming clean, at least to his allies, might be the safer option in the long run. Steepling his fingers, he decides to chance it. "There is. Anankos was indeed my father, but that's all that's true. I'm certainly not trying to bring about the ruin of Valla or the world, I promise."
He watches, trying to tell what his closest friends and advisors are thinking. Kaze's face doesn't change expression, though the way his eyebrows have risen betray his surprise. Felicia's mouth openly works in shock, while Mozu looks downright flabbergasted. A few of the nobles start whispering to each other, while Nestor's face has gone three shades paler. Azura takes his hand under the table, unnoticed, and from her seat further down Lilith gives him a supportive smile.
Silas pushes back his chair and stands up. "Well, son of that tyrant or not, you're still my king and my best friend," he declares, and the rest add in their own words of assent. Only Nestor is quiet, staring down at his gloves as if all the answers to the world's secrets lie in them.
"Thank you, everyone," is all Corrin can say, touched by their acceptance. "I've decided to inform you all because I trust you, so I expect what I just said to never leave this room. Now, let's turn to the matter of these rumors. How dangerous are they?"
"Rumors destroyed my mother," Azura murmurs. Her eyes are sad and haunted by some distant memory, and he squeezes her hand. "They never seem like much at first, but they build up, until the weight of them crushes you. And this early in our regime… we need to put a stop to them, now."
"Especially since they have grains of truth," Lilith adds. "Twisted truth, made to look awful, but truth nonetheless."
"Then how do we end them?" Corrin asks, looking about his advisors.
"We can counter the rumors with our own," Kaze suggests. "Put a positive spin on them. Say that even if you are the son of a tyrant and a dragon, it means nothing about your own moral character. Point to all the historical accounts of righteous sons and daughters turning on their manic parents. There's even examples as recent as Lord Xander and your Nohrian siblings. Paint yourself as a tragic figure overcoming the burdens of his legacy."
"In fact, you could even use your dragonkin heritage as a positive," Felicia mentions. "We worship dragons, don't we? They're revered."
Azura glances at Nestor. "We do, but the Vallites have a particularly bad history with this particular dragon." Corrin follows her gaze, frowning; he can't tell what the Vallite is thinking, and that worries him. He adds, "And I have no desire to be held up as a deity."
"We can call in help from your brothers if we have to," Mozu offers, timid, and Corrin shakes his head.
"No. I've let them coddle me long enough. I need to show the nobles I can handle threats on my own, or they'll never respect me. Besides, even if I wanted to, my siblings are busy enough with their own problems." His siblings' last letters have all been tense of late. Xander's wife is pregnant and his people are angry with him, Ryoma and Elise struggle to handle the rioting, and his other siblings are each occupied with helping their respective king.
They spend another hour debating, shooting ideas back and forth. When he can see the sun beginning to set through the windows, casting the room in fire-gold, Corrin decides it's time to stop. "I'll take everything you've all said into consideration. Thank you, and you're all dismissed."
As they all rise, Nestor is the first to leave, shuffling to the door with a speed that belies his age. Corrin makes to move towards him, but a hand on his arm stops him. His wife gazes up at him. "Give him some time," Azura says quietly.
"I feel like I should say something, though," the half-dragon admits, shooting another glance at the door. Nestor's pale green hair is already bobbing down the hall, quickly swallowed up by the other people. "This has to be a shock."
"I'll talk to him for you, if you want," Lilith offers. "He probably won't want to see you anytime soon."
"Are you sure?" Azura asks with a frown. "I'm fairly certain he still hates you."
"He probably does," is his sister's response. "But the last we spoke, we agreed to at least be civil. And I can understand his feelings, a little. I loved our father, but I was afraid of him too, in a way that only those in his service or his slavery truly know. That gives me…perspective."
The king sighs, running a hand through his hair. "If you're certain about it, then that would be helpful. If he's still upset or has doubts after, tell me and I'll set aside time to speak to him."
She smiles and gives a salute, like they're back in the Northern Fortress. "You can count on me."
She gives Nestor a few days to mull everything over before she goes to speak to him. Already the halls are abuzz with whispers, servants mouthing the words "Anankos' son" to each other, over and over. Corrin had requested the truth of his heritage be kept among those in the war council meeting, while having supporters suggest on the grapevine that maybe it wouldn't be so terrible if their king were the son of Anankos. That way he could counter the worst parts of the rumors without technically confirming anything.
"You," Nestor says flatly, upon seeing her standing outside his room in the servants' quarters. While Vallite attitude has warmed to her enough that she is no longer greeted with glares every time she sets foot outside, very few would be happy to see her.
"Me," Lilith agrees. "May I come in?"
He studies her suspiciously, then mutters something her ears can't pick up and steps aside. She enters the room, looking about. As the head chamberlain, Nestor is given a slightly larger living space than most. Lilith has been here once before, and she finds it much the same from then: clean, sharp-smelling, and well-lit. She can understand the constant light; the slaves had not had that privilege in Fort Tartarus.
"I suppose you knew." The green-haired man's bitter voice breaks her out of her thoughts. He still hasn't moved from the door.
"About Corrin being Anankos's son and my brother? Yes, I did. He didn't learn of it until after the war was over, though. After he'd rescued all of you."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better? We escaped a dragon's rule, only to be once again under a dragon's rule. You'll forgive me if for being a bit ill at the thought."
"I can, and I don't hold it against you. That's not why I'm here."
"Then what do you want?" He does not sound angry or suspicious. He just sounds tired.
"To tell you that I understand the fear you feel."
Anger flashes in his eyes. "You cannot possibly—"
"I didn't live as a slave, but that didn't mean I was free," Lilith interrupts, and it's so out-of-character he falls silent. "I was as afraid of my father as everyone else. He was…terrible, in his anger. Cruel with his words, and he was not kind to those who failed him. Being his daughter did not exempt me from this. So trust me when I say that, though I wanted his love, I was scared of him.
"And part of that cruelty is inherent in a dragon's nature. But it doesn't define us. Whatever his heritage may be, my brother is a good man."
"By all accounts so was Anankos, before his madness consumed him. Can you guarantee your brother won't turn out the same way? Can you guarantee you won't?"
Her hand tightens around her dragonstone, tucked deep in her apron pocket. A dragon's sanity is a thin, tenacious thing; even she has struggled with it. It was easier when she was in Moro's service, as the naturally calm nature of Astral Dragons had suppressed her own wild urges, but now she must readjust to them.
It doesn't help that Anankos taught her enough of dragons to be of use to him, and no more. She knows how to fight, where the scales part and expose vulnerable flesh, and how to fly. But she does not know if the dragonstone will continue to work for her and her brother, whether their lifespans are long as a dragon's or short as a human's—she suspects hers, at least, will be long. She does not know whether the madness will eventually consume them too.
There is one thing she is certain of the madness, however. "No, I cannot. But I can guarantee we will fight it every step of the way. And as someone who knew my father personally, let me suggest this: perhaps Anankos didn't fall because of his madness. Perhaps he fell because the country he loved turned on him, and he had to go through it alone."
Then she turns on her heel and leaves Nestor to his thoughts.
Azura finds Corrin staring at his dragonstone, turning it over and over in his hands, when she returns to their room for the night. His gaze is intent, focused, his brow furrowed as though trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle.
Adjusting to married life has been…interesting. Some aspects of it aren't all that different—they'd practically lived together beforehand, so sharing meals, for example, was something they were familiar with. Other aspects were quite different, such as sleeping together (not sex, though that was enjoyable, but in the other way). Corrin was a cuddler, which she normally would have found endearing if he also weren't a heavy sleeper with an iron grip. Escaping was impossible in that situation. If she woke up before him, she had pretty much no choice but to lie there and wait for him to wake too, or hit him awake. He in turn complained about her thrashing in her sleep. Things like that. It was hard, but they were slowly getting used to it.
Adjusting to her queenly duties was perhaps the least difficult of things that came with her marriage—if anything the hardest part was getting used to the crown, more a circlet of gold really, she now had to wear at all times. Most of her duties she'd done beforehand, and of the new ones appearing at social events was the only one she really disliked. Fortunately there had only been one of those so far, the party celebrating the anniversary of Valla's rebirth, but there would be more in the future.
Hard to imagine it's already been a year…
"What's troubling you, love?" she asks, dropping down on the bed beside him.
"Nothing," he answers vaguely, slipping his dragonstone necklace back under his tunic. "Just thinking, is all."
She purses her lips. She gets the sense Corrin's hiding something from her. Azura contemplates pushing it, but remembering the last few times he's been troubled decides to back down. She trusts he'll tell her when he's ready. "Alright."
They each set about preparing for bed. Azura hums an absent tune as she changes into her nightgown and combs her hair. Then she cuddles with Corrin under the covers, head against his chest, listening to the reassuring drum of his heartbeat in her ear. He's warm and cozy, and she's just starting to drift off when his voice destroys that.
"How much do you know about dragons?"
Azura has to repress a huff at being pulled back from the edge of sleep. But she registers his question, and turns over the contents of her mind. Queen Mikoto had given her the dragonstone in case of the day Corrin needed it, and her mother had taught her the song to weaken Anankos, but neither of them had actually explained the lore behind dragons. So it's with a frown that she has to say, "Not much, I'm afraid. Why?"
"I've been thinking," he sighs, pulling back slightly so he can look down at her. His red eyes almost seem to glow like a cat's in the night. "Maybe we should send someone back to the Rainbow Sage's tower. See if there's anything we missed about dragons in there."
"Well, I'm certainly not opposed to it, but what brought this on?"
The mattress dips as he shifts his weight. "I just…feel like I should know more about that side of me. Just in case something happens."
"You're you," she promises, lacing their fingers together. "And nothing's going to change that."
He presses his lips to her neck, and she can feel his smile against her skin in the darkness. "Thank you, Azura. But I still want to know. Just in case."
"We'll find out," she promises, and the conversation dies after that.
As the sheets of rain pour down on him and the wind whips at his face, Gunter tightens his cloak around him in a futile attempt to ward the bad weather off and asks himself: just what is he doing out here?
It's a rhetorical question, of course. He knows why he's out here, in the middle of the night in a storm. He is chasing whispers, seeking atonement for his crimes against Corrin by investigating the rumors. All accounts indicate a Hoshidan daimyo, by the name of Lord Jiro, is at the center; Gunter is a bit surprised and a little disappointed by his protégé's failure to investigate .
As the walls of the noble's estate come into view, a guard steps out of the rain, lantern held high. He squints at Gunter suspiciously.
"State your business," he demands.
"Give an old man shelter for the night?" Gunter asks in as meek a voice as he can manage. He's left his weapons, armor and horse at the town's inn, and he feels absurdly naked without them. At least he has a knife strapped to his boot and years of experience for protection.
The guard frowns, torn between simple compassion for an apparently feeble old man and wariness.
Gunter spreads his arms. "As you see, I have nothing to harm you with. One night, is all I ask, then I'll be on my way."
"I'll take you to the mistress," the Hoshidan decides.
Lord Jiro must be out, then. That's fortunate—while still somewhat racist to Nohrians, his wife, from what Gunter has gathered, is not as extreme, and should have no problems adhering to the rules of hospitality for him.
He's brought into the estate, grand with its red-shingled roofs, pristine white walls, and large koi ponds, with water clear enough to perfectly mirror the stormy sky. The guard walks at his back, and out of the corner of his eye Gunter can see that he's left his katana loose in its sheath. He is hustled into the main building, through the entrance hall, and into a large receiving room, where he meets the lady of the house. Lady Kaori is a heavily perfumed woman, wearing the robes of an onmyoji. Rich, decadent, and she looks down her nose at Gunter when she sees him, putting down her cup of tea.
"What have you brought me, Tetsuo?" she asks her guard.
"A traveler, my lady," he responds, pushing Gunter forward. "Nohrian, by the looks of him, but he's old and wishes to call on our hospitality."
Thunder booms outside, and the room is briefly illuminated by lightning through the window. Not even a racist can turn what looks like a feeble old man out into a chilly, rainy night, and Lady Kaori's face softens when she looks at Gunter, trembling and wet and apparently weak. "Alright. Hand your cloak to a servant, I'll have Tetsuo bring you to the kitchens so you can get a hot bowl of soup."
He murmurs his thanks and ambles after the guards. Gunter's glad they opt for soup, as he still can't get his old fingers to work Hoshidan chopsticks properly. As he eats, some of the servants stop and shoot him wary glances; a few even dare to approach him, and he fends off questions about what he's doing, travelling alone and at night, with a simple lie about all the rumors of the king making him want to flee Valla. That seems to make the others relax, and their tongues become a bit looser. Not loose enough to say anything incriminating, but he learns an interesting piece of information: something about a "guest" in the dungeons.
When night falls he is brought to a room in the guest quarters. Gunter waits for hours, soldier's training keeping him awake until most of the house is quiet. Then he slips out from his bed and heads straight to where he's gleaned the dungeon building is, grimacing as the rain—which has not let up at all—whips at his face.
The man on guard out front is lazy and inefficient, half-asleep; it is an easy matter to dispatch him with a solid blow to the back of the head. He falls over, unconscious, and Gunter steps over his body and makes his way inside.
It's dark, and he backtracks outside to take the guard's lantern. Raising it, orange light scatters, illuminating the shadows to reveal several cells. The one at the very back has a solid black shape within, hunched over, and Gutner steps towards it.
There's a man within, wearing ninja garb. He squints at Gunter through a black eye, grimacing at the light. "Well you're def'n'tly not one 'f the estate guards," he slurs through a mouth of broken teeth. "You were in th' army, weren't you? One of th' king's advisors."
"That's right." Gunter doesn't make the mistake of lowering his guard, keeping one ear on the door even as he speak. "Who are you?"
"Name's Akiyama Haru. Was assigned by th' king to watch a potential threat. Decided to take a risk, to try and verify my suspicions." The ninja laughs self-deprecatingly. "You can see how well that turned out. Now 'Lord' Jiro's holding me over my family to get their cooperation, and forging letters to the palace about how everything's alright, no need to investigate further."
Well, that explains why Corrin isn't looking over here, if fake letters about how nothing's wrong are being sent. More troubling is the ninja's last name. The Akiyamas are a fairly large, well-respected family. If the rebels have their loyalty, even forced, they would gain quite a bit in soldiers.
"Tell me quickly," the great knight mutters, glancing over his shoulder. "What's happened? What have you found out?"
"Jiro's working with some lady…never got her name or face, but she knows a lot. They want t' overthrow th' king…plannin' to start up a rebellion. They're th' ones who started up all those rumors in th' first place…"
His fingers tighten around the bars of the cell. As he'd feared. "Do you know who their sympathizers are?"
Haru rattles off a list of names, and Gunter memorizes each one, tucking the syllables away carefully inside his mind. When the ninja is done he turns, intending to rummage through the unconscious warden's keys. "I'll get you out of here."
"No, you need to leave me here," Haru says forcefully, with more clarity than he's managed in the entire conversation. "If they come down and find that I'm gone, they'll know the jig is up. They're already nervous about the king's counter-rumors; my escaping might push them to rebel sooner than they planned, before we can do any good with this information. Least this way King Corrin'll have the advantage of knowing they're coming; he can prepare for the situation, maybe even contain it a little before it gets too out of hand."
Gunter nods, slowly. The spy's words make sense, much as it pains him to leave a loyal soldier behind. But he knows some sacrifice is necessary.
"The king will rescue you," he promises instead. "As soon as he can."
Haru chuckles and leans his head back against the wall. "He needs to focus on getting this under control. I'm not going anywhere."
Gunter lingers only long enough to slip Haru some of his leftover dinner between the bars, which the man devours like a wolf. Then the Nohrian adjusts the unconscious guard's body, placing a fresh mug of beer in his hand so that he'll think he just passed out from drinking too much. Double checking the area to ensure there was no sign of him ever being there, he returns to his room. He will wait for morning, feign gratitude and forgetfulness, and go on his way. After…
This isn't the sort of thing he can just trust to a messenger, like he has his past letters. The names, the info, all of it would tip their hand if the insurgents got ahold of it. The only choice he has is to go to try and find one of Kaze's spies and hope they believe him, or go to Castle Avalon and deliver the information personally. The former would take too long, so really, his only choice is…
A feeling of resignation creeps up on him, and Gunter sighs. It seems he'll have to pay Corrin a visit after all.