THE CONFIDANTE

"MY LORD, ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME? Have you been listening at all?"

Kiyoshiro had no need to ask the question, but he felt compelled to do so. Life, he reflected, was nothing but a serious of patterns, endlessly repeating each other, trapping humanity into an infinite loop that ground on and on and on. We ask questions that we already know the answers to, because it is expected of us.

We press on, even when we are no longer sure if there is any point.

He took a deep breath, let it out. His temples throbbed, and he felt every single one of his many years. It was odd, he couldn't help but think. He had never really felt old before, no matter what happened.

He felt old now, though. Older than he could possibly believe.

"My lord…?"

They were in the study, in the suite of rooms in the Palace traditionally occupied by the Crown Prince. It was technically Yoshihito's study, just as the adjoining bedroom was technically Yoshihito's bedroom. Not that he uses any of it, Kiyoshiro reflected. All he does is sit in this room, in that chair, staring out the windows that he never closes. No matter the weather, the windows are open, and no matter what, he is in this chair, unless I drag him out of it. He sits, and he stares, and he drinks, endless bottles of fire whiskey, one after the other.

Yoshihito didn't look drunk, though. Kiyoshiro wondered at that. He drank more than any human should, by any definition, and yet…

He never seemed drunk…

It had been like this, ever since Kiyoshiro had fetched the so-called prince out of his cell. Time and proper care had not improved his state, not one bit. He was still bone thin, even more so, if anything else. Put food in front of him, and he would push the bits and pieces around, nibbling at this, frowning at that. He never went outside, except when Kiyoshiro told him he must. He went everywhere Kiyoshiro took him, following like a dog that had been beaten one too many times. His eyes never left the floor, and when he was left alone, all he would do was drink.

And Kiyoshiro had tried everything. In desperation, he had even put a pipe full of opium in front of the man. Yoshihito had stared at the pipe, like it was some strange, unnatural thing, blinked, shrugged, and looked away. Even the girls Kiyoshiro had tried to send him had come back, hours later, confused, bewildered, and untouched.

It was like the man was already dead; he was just waiting for the shinagami to get around to writing his name down, the sooner the better.

But Kiyoshiro didn't need a half-dead former prince, on the verge of a life to be spent in exile. Once this was all over, once the Fire Lord returned in triumph, if Yoshihito wanted to grind out the clock staring out of a window, drinking bottle after bottle of fire whiskey, well, fine. Kiyoshiro would deliver the crates of alcohol personally, and open them up for him.

But that's not what he needed right now.

"Seriously, Yoshihito," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, wincing at the way pain lanced into his brain, "I need you to at least look at me, show me that you're even there. Can you do that at least?"

Yoshihito stirred. Kiyoshiro felt his heart leap into his chest, excitement jolting through his nerves. He knew it was stupid, but he had been banging his head against the brick wall of the former prince's indifference for what felt like eons now, and he was willing to grasp onto even the flimsiest thread.

But that was all Yoshihito did. He just…stirred. He frowned, nodded, emptied his glass, refilled it, and resumed his staring. Kiyoshiro's heart sank, and he began to gather together the papers that he had spread, so painstakingly, so carefully, on the table between them, not an hour before.

Then, to his eternal surprise, Yoshihito spoke.

"What do you want from me, Imawano-san?"

Kiyoshiro uttered a silent plea to the gods. It wasn't much, but it was something. He honestly couldn't remember the last time Yoshihito had actually spoken something that could reasonably be called a simple sentence. "What I want, my lord, is for you to do what your father had me dig you out of your cell for."

The only movement from Yoshihito was to sip his glass. "Uh huh. Am I not doing that?"

Kiyoshiro shook his head. It was a lot like talking to a particularly dim child. "No, my lord, you're not. You are supposed to be the figurehead of this government, projecting an image of calm and competence to the nation. A reassuring figure, if you will, in this time of crisis. The people are concerned, gods, many of them are on the verge of treason, simply because they have lost faith in your father and, by extension, in everything your dynasty represents."

Another sip. Another sigh. "I do what you tell me to do. I say what you tell me to say. I never argue, never make a fuss, never cause a scandal. What more do you want?"

Anger bubbled and burned in the back of Kiyoshiro's throat, but he swallowed it, pushed it down until it was one with the burning pain in the pit of his stomach. "But, my lord, it's how you do it. Think back to today's meeting of the Privy Council."

Another sip. Another sigh. "That was…I think that was the worst one yet."

Kiyoshiro had to nod, because it was true. Once, the hardliners and the zealots had been united in the pursuit of their goal of forcing Ozai, their puppet, onto the throne. Now, their unity was shattered, and they were at each other's throats as they struggled for dominance. Meanwhile, those who had been united in opposition to them were equally divided, torn between loyalty to the Fire Lord and, Kiyoshiro couldn't help but suspect, sympathy for the growing rebellion.

And then there were those who just sat, dumbfounded, eyes shifting back-and-forth between one side and the other, wondering when someone would tell them to shut up.

"Yes," Kiyoshiro admitted, "it probably was. And you did nothing."

"I made the speech you passed to me. I said what you wanted me to say."

Yes, you did, in a quiet voice, without even getting up. I don't think anyone even heard you. I had to call out the guards to calm them down, and even then, we got nothing done.

Nothing…

"But…" Kiyoshiro steeled his nerves, and tried again. He had to press home his point, had to make an impact. This was the most he had gotten out of Yoshihito since he pulled the man-child from his hole; it had to mean something.

Right…?

"That's just the thing, my lord. You are supposed to be standing in for your father. Stand up, be heard, do what I tell you to do, but forcefully. They don't have to listen to me; they have to listen to you, whether they want to or not. Don't you see?"

And then, to his shock and awe, Yoshihito began to laugh. As in, really laugh. Hard, almost uncontrollably, practically doubling over in his chair. Frowning, deeply confused, Kiyoshiro asked, "My lord…? May I ask what's so funny…?"

Yoshihito wiped his eyes, struggling for breath. "Oh, it's not actually that funny…it's just…heh…it's like I've come full circle, you know? That's what he asked me. You don't have to do anything, just be there, look imperious, pretend to be interested, clap and say something about how I've made an excellent point, an excellent presentation. And, like I said, it's not funny at all, I see that now. I couldn't before, because I was a prince, but now that I'm not…it's just…so much makes sense now…" Yoshihito calmed himself, resumed his position, looked out the window, went back to sipping and staring. "I'm not making any sense…"

Kiyoshiro shook his head. "No, you're not…just…look…just, take this." He passed him the text of a carefully prepared speech. "We're announcing a bonus next month, for all the soldiers currently in arms and loyal to His Majesty your father. We need this to sound like a special gift, a reward for loyalty, a celebration of the founding of the dynasty, which is also next month. If you don't give the speech correctly, it'll come off as a move of desperation, make us look weak."

Yoshihito frowned into his glass. "But it is a move of desperation, because we are weak."

Kiyoshiro nodded. "That's true, but we can't let the people, and especially the military, see that. So, please, read the speech, and try to project your voice this time, okay? We're going to try to induct the next draft class early again next month, and we need this announcement to drown out that one, or else we'll be in for another round of draft riots."

"Surely," Yoshihito observed, "the army can put these ones down, too."

Kiyoshiro sighed, slumping back in his chair. "I don't know if we can rely on that anymore. Just…please, for all of our sakes, start playing the role you've been given."

Another sip. Another sigh. "I'm trying, I really am. It's just…heh…" A shake of the head, a sip, a sigh. "Nevermind. I'll read it. Drink?"

Kiyoshiro wanted to say no, and knew that he should. But…

"As a matter of fact, my lord, I think I will take a drink."

Yoshihito waved at the bottle. "Help yourself. You're the one who keeps it coming, after all."

Kiyoshiro had to admit that was true. He took a drink, then another, and only then departed, praying that the small bit of hope he was feeling wasn't due to the whiskey.

It was. The speech was a disaster. Yoshihito even got booed.


Oh, Yoshihito. He's like the Starscream of this AU; he just can't get anything right. He even seems to kind of fail at being a failure.

Or is he? Only time will tell...time, and this fanfic.

Forgot to mention this, but, to the lovely inthehood: Actually, the idea that "merely thinking of treason is worthy of forced seppuku" is a product of post-Meiji, pre-WW2 Japan, when the militarized government worked hard to drum this idealized version of the samurai era into people's heads. The reality was that the samurai stabbed each other in the back all the time, and seppuku was not a punishment for treason but, rather, the punishment if you failed at your treason. If you won, and got what you wanted, well, you weren't a traitor, were you? The samurai, in the end, are a lot like medieval knights: Violent thugs who ended up with good publicity.

Oh, yeah, and Lady Kaelyn? I know. There's a reason why parting of the ways is my shorthand for, Here There Be Feels. It's also nice to know that someone besides the wife and I appreciate Christopher Eccleston for the job he did.

Oh, and this: imgur gallery/ utUDo6W (without the spaces, of course)

Moving on! In the next chapter, Korra goes on trial, and some weird shit happens. Stay tuned!