**This Story Contains Tcest**
Pairings: Raphael/Donatello, Leonardo/Michelangelo, Raphael/Michelangelo, Michelangelo/Donatello
Info: Alternate Universe, Royalty, Elemental Magic, Action/Adventure, Romance

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~*~ Chapter Two: Agni, Kingdom of Fire ~*~

Fifteen Years Later
…four months before the Trials of Succession are scheduled to begin...

~*~.~*~

Water was an intimate part of Donatello, the magic flowed through his veins as deeply as his own blood. His entire life had been spent surrounded and soothed by its depths, held afloat by the ebb and flow of the rain and the rivers, the lakes and the sea. Every day he felt the pull of the tides calling to him. It gave him strength and calmed his spirit.

But never in his wildest imaginings did he ever think he could be in a place where the air itself was as warm as an oven while at the same time being so wet he may as well have been submerged in it. It was like breathing through a cloth soaked in the warmest bath water.

That wasn't to say that the fire kingdom wasn't pleasant with its tropical heat, the land definitely had its charms. He just wasn't sure that breathing through air that he could chew was something that he would ever get used too.

His chestnut mare gave a frustrated snort as he led her toward the farrier. The shoe she threw earlier that morning was a delay he almost couldn't afford, but her health was his number one priority. Without her he would be forced to cut his travels short, and that was the one thing he could not risk.

This was, after all, his first time outside the borders of his own kingdom, and he was eager to experience everything the other three kingdoms had to offer, the good and the unpleasant.

Throughout his youth he had wished with all his being that someday he would be allowed to travel away from his home. Kept secluded, almost exclusively, within the confines of his castle walls, the one thing he had wanted more than anything else was to see new lands and meet interesting new people. There was so much to learn and experience out in the world, and books could only give him so much information.

But no matter how many times he had asked, it was never to be. His father was in no position to grant his wishes, even if Donatello had bothered to ask him, and his priests were certainly not going to let him go, not after so much time. By their order, the borders of Varuna were to remain steadfastly sealed until the day he was crowned king and could legally give the order to have them opened. And until then he was to remain closeted away behind them, where he was safe, and where no one could ask questions.

But Donatello was nothing if not clever and resourceful and so lucky to have the help of his best friend and closest advisor. April had helped him hatch a, admittedly crazy, plan to escape the confines of his kingdom and explore the empire for six short months before he was expected to compete in the trials.

He knew that as long as he was able to make it outside the border of his kingdom without being identified then he would be free to do as he wished. Even if the priests discovered where he had gone, they would never risk exposure by sending his soldiers after him. The emperor would want an explanation for why the water kingdom's army was suddenly on the march, and after twenty five years there were far too many secrets that could never be answered to risk trying to force the wayward prince back home.

He knew they would be angry with him, and he was prepared to face their wrath when the time came, but until then he was determined to have the time of his life. And the moment he exited the mountains of his homelands and descended into the valley of the fire kingdom for the first time, he knew he had made the right choice.

The verdant landscape was breathtakingly dense, full of deep green leaves and brightly colored flowers, with massive trees of palm stretching to the sky, their long curved branches arching open to the sun above.

But the true jewel of this warm wet paradise was its capital city. Donatello had so far spent the better part of eight weeks marveling at the low buildings spread over a rolling hillside in the shadow of a dormant volcano, their walls made of nothing but thick fabrics draping down from thatched roofs lain with the longest, most rigid blades of grass he had ever seen. Everything in this kingdom seemed to grow to twice, even three times what he considered to be a normal size.

It was all so different and new, and it almost made him never want to go home again.

As he approached the farrier his mare gave an excited whinny in greeting to a small pack of ponies gathered in a paddock to the side of the building. They all raised their heads, nickering in return as they moved to the fence to investigate the newcomer.

The building was squat and one of the few made from mud instead of fabric. The front was open to the outside by way of a large double door. Don could almost see someone crouched inside, just beyond the line of sunlight.

"Excuse me, sir?" Don called out.

An old turtle wearing a heavy apron and clutching a pair of long iron tongs poked his head out of the doorway. "Yes, young man? How may I help you today?"

"My girl here threw a shoe this morning." Don answered, patting his mare's neck. "I was hoping to travel by first light tomorrow, do you think she could be ready?"

The farrier came to them and looked the mare over, lifting her hoof and inspecting it closely. After a moment he stood back, wiping his hands on his apron. "There's no permanent damage done. For two silvers I can have her fixed up and ready to go within an hour or so."

"That would be great, thank you very much." Don agreed, handing over the reins with the money. The farrier thanked him and disappeared with the mare into the dark building.

Across the road was a comfortable looking patch of clover grass overlooking the valley and the city nestled within it. Don settled there to wait, stretched out to soak in the warm sunshine.

From his vantage point he could see the royal estate where it was perched on a hill at the base of the volcano. The buildings were constructed of the same grass and fabric and mud as the rest of the city, but they seemed grander somehow. Maybe it was only his own royal bias coloring the way he viewed the world.

He thought about how different his life could have been if his circumstances hadn't been so limited, if he had been allowed to make diplomatic visits, if his current visit here had been as a guest of the king, rather than in secret under the guise of a scholar writing a book on life in the empire.

It was the simplest ruse he could think of to maintain as he travelled. As long as he kept a roll of half scribbled parchment at his side at all times, he could deflect questions about who he was and where he was from. Most people grew bored and changed the subject as soon as he started talking about kingdom economies and trade.

But as he looked at the palace, he couldn't help but daydream about what might have been. Perhaps he would have spent his winters here, basking in Agni's warmth to avoid the snow and ice from back home.

And then there was the prince, Raphael. And Michelangelo and Leonardo. He knew all their names, of course, but that was all he had ever been told about them. When his father had sealed Varuna's borders he had also cut off all communication with the world beyond their mountains. Donatello had never even been allowed to write them letters.

It made him nervous, the idea that he would be meeting them for the first time on the first day of the trials. It wasn't supposed to work that way. They were supposed to enter the competition as friends who had grown up together, who knew each other's strengths and weaknesses, who could work together as a team. They were supposed to be as close as brothers.

There were many things he was supposed to have in his life that fate had deprived him of. That was part of the reason he was on this journey to begin with. How could they expect him to be an effective king if he had never seen the world with his own eyes.

He sighed at the melancholy thought and laid back on his shell with his arms propped up behind his head, gazing up at the fluffy white clouds drifting lazily across the crystalline blue sky. The tunic he wore was just a little too heavy for the heat of the day and he was starting to lightly sweat, but it wasn't enough to make him truly uncomfortable.

To his left he could hear the soothing gurgle of a small stream that was twisting its way down the hill into the valley. He let his head fall to the side as he stared at it longingly. The water looked cool and refreshing and he had to resist the strong temptation to simply lift his hand and pull the liquid to him.

April had made him promise, even swear on his mother's grave, that he would never use his power while he was outside the borders of his kingdom. She had warned him, if anyone saw him manipulate the water it could place his life in danger. There was no way to know how others would react to his presence, and even if it were favorable, to have his identity revealed would bring up too many questions that Donatello simply could not answer.

It was a difficult but necessary sacrifice that had taught him a lot about his own self-control, even if it physically pained him to ignore the need to use his magic.

Besides, his life was so full of secrets anyway, what was a few dozen more in the name of exploration.

The water bubbling cheerfully in the stream still called to him though, and he was just contemplating getting up and walking over to it when he heard the scraping sounds of wheels in the dirt drawing near on the road behind him.

"Well look who it is! Funny running into you here my friend!"

Don lifted his chin, tilting his head back to look behind him. Approaching from the north was a merchant from the city square that he had befriended soon after arriving in Agni. He was a middle-aged turtle with uncommon brown spots covering a good portion of his jade colored skin.

"Elric!" Don answered with a grin, quickly sitting up. "I haven't seen you in a week. How is your little one?"

"Growing like a weed and tougher than me by far!" Elric said with a roaring laugh. "Sorry for disappearing on you like that. I got a lead on some choice material and it couldn't wait. Look! Eighteen full bolts of Cavern Spider Silk all the way from Aeolus for a price I would have been stupid to pass up!"

The merchant lifted the covering on the cart he was pulling behind him, beaming with pride. The silk was a shining sky blue with sparkling patches of white swirled through it. Don smiled as he approached, thinking of the bathrobe in his rooms back home that was made from almost the exact same fabric, only his was a deeper color, more purple than blue. He'd never seen a Cavern Spider himself, but if what he had read of the beasts was true, the color of the silk changed depending on the temperature of the cavern in which the spider built its nest.

"It's beautiful." Don offered. "I'm sure that will bring in a good profit for you."

"Your damn right it will! Ha!" Elric guffawed again. "But what about you? Why are you out here on this fine day?"

"Just having my mare tended to." Don answered, gesturing toward the farrier. "I'm glad I got to see you today because I'm afraid I will be leaving Agni in the morning. It's time for me to continue on my journey."

The merchant's face fell in shock. "No! My friend you cannot leave before the mask!"

Don blinked. "The... what?"

Elric huffed like he was offended that Don didn't know what he was talking about. "The Wildfire Masquerade. It's our grandest festival, held under the first blood moon of every year. The city has been buzzing about it for weeks! I can't believe you haven't heard! You must stay! There will be music and dance, enough drink to drown a Emberboar, and the fine company of many young men and women..." The merchant finished with a smirk, suggestively wagging his eyebrows.

Don offered a teasing grin, "Elric, what would your wife say to that?"

The merchant held up his hands in mock offense. "I may be married but I'm not dead, my friend! I'm allowed to appreciate a nubile young body if one is being flaunted in front of me."

Don laughed and paused to think. The blood moon was only three days away. He could stay if he cut his days in Sucellus short.

There was no doubt it was a risk; he was supposed to be traveling incognito and the royal family was sure to make an appearance at such an important ball. But, at the same time, that was the appeal that had Don immediately considering it. The almost certain possibility of being able to catch a glimpse of Raphael was too good to pass up. Every day of his life he felt a gaping emptiness inside him that he knew was the absence of his elemental counterparts, and the thought that he could perhaps be close to one of them, if only for a moment before the trials began, was far too tempting to ignore.

Besides, he was skilled at keeping a low profile, and he would only need to stay a short while, so theoretically there was little risk. Not to mention the fact that there was no chance at all that the prince would recognize him for who he truly was. Until now no one outside of his own kingdom had ever seen his face.

Don nodded, grinning at his friend. "Of course, I'll stay. It sounds like a lot of fun."

"Wonderful!" Elric practically shouted, slapping Don on his shell and laughing heartily.

~*~.~*~

The night of the celebration arrived quickly, and Donatello found himself being pulled along with the crowd toward a large open field within a thicket of mangroves. The space had been transformed into a fay paradise, with hundreds of torches lining the edges, lighting the night with a warm glow.

Dozens of Velcafay bounced from torch to torch, dancing in the light, filling the space with their twittering calls as their small blazing bodies flickered cheerfully. There were tall tables scattered around an open dancing area with a group of musicians set up in front of a large dais near the back of the glade, the music they played a deep thrum that vibrated the ground beneath his feet.

Everyone was richly dressed in fantastic costumes made of the brightest fabrics with grasses and flowers adorning their shoulders and hips. And on each face rested ornately decorated masks made of plaster, painted to look like flickering, flashing flames, making every head look like it was a blazing fire.

Donatello planned to stay near the edges of the party, blending in with the shadows there, he wanted to simply observe and absorb the music and culture of the night, so he didn't bother dressing up. Not that any of his limited belongings would have been suitable anyway.

Near the entrance to the clearing were a few tents set up offering food and drink and a variety of other things. As he passed the first tent he jumped with surprise when a withered old hand shot out and wrapped around his wrist.

He spun to see the wrinkled but fiercely clear green eyes of a granny turtle observing him up and down with a haughty look. "Just where do you think you're going looking like that?! Hm?"

"I... uh..."

"Where are your adornments?! You can't possibly think to go in there with nothing on?!" The old woman pursed her lips, waiting impatiently for an answer.

Donatello tried his best to hold back his grin. This old turtle was tiny but quite formidable, there was no doubt.

"I... I'm not from around here..." He started to explain.

"A foreigner eh?" She said with a squint and a sniff. "Well, come along then!"

She turned with a swiftness he didn't expect from her bent old legs and dragged him behind her into her tent.

Fifteen minutes later he emerged looking unrecognizable to himself. The old granny had given him a thick grass skirt that hung to his knees, painted in oranges and reds, with a matching short cape dripping with the same colored grass. His mask covered half his face and was lavishly decorated with long thin palm leaves that curved up and over his head and small shining stones that ringed his eyes with flame making his face glitter in the firelight. He looked down at her with a grateful smile.

"Now you bring these back to me before you leave, you hear!? They're not yours to keep!"

"Yes, ma'am!" He agreed with a chuckle. "I promise I will. Thank you."

Her face softened with an indulgent smile as she shoo'd him away. "Go! Have fun dear."

Moving through the sea of people he realized it had been foolish to think he would have been fine without a costume. Every single body in attendance was wearing the fancy dressings and he would have stuck out like a sore thumb without them.

He spent a moment trying to find his friend Elric in the crowd, but with a mask on every face they might have been standing right next to each other without knowing it. The costumes were so elaborate that no one could be identified, and it was so liberating. Almost immediately he found himself relishing the feeling that the mask made him completely invisible in the crowd, and that, for this one night, he could be anyone he wanted to be and forget about who he was pretending not to be.

An hour passed, then two, Donatello moved through the waves of people, eating and drinking without paying much attention to how much he was consuming. He was awestruck, completely drawn in by the intensity and the passion with which these people celebrated their lives. There was nothing from back home that he could compare it to, his people being far more reserved in their indulgence. For the first time in his life he allowed himself to feel more than he allowed himself to think and he was thoroughly enjoying being so pleasantly lightheaded.

Occasionally someone would grab his arm and drag him out to dance, trying to teach him the steps as he stumbled around beside them, but he found that he didn't care that he probably looked like a fool as he laughed, hanging onto the arms of his partner. He was having far too much fun.

So much so that he lost all track of the time passing. It felt like only a moment had gone by when he looked up to find the full red moon reaching its peak in the inky black sky.

Don was thinking about finding a place to sit to rest his feet when the band stopped in the middle of a song and began to play a distinctly grander fanfare, heralding the arrival of the royal family. He perked up and without thinking moved closer to the dais, eager for his first look at the prince of fire.

King Kaimon and his Queen stepped out before their people to thunderous applause, dressed in opulent robes of red satin that shined in the firelight and complemented the dark green color of their skin. Their masks, carved in the shape of a dragon's face were sparkling with metal and rich jewels, their shoulders lit with a mantle of real burning flame splayed up and out around their heads like a halo. A step behind them stood their three children dressed to match their parents, the younger twin princesses willowy and beautiful next to their mother, and beside the King stood their only son. Prince Raphael.

The King stepped forward with his arms raised, delivering an impassioned speech to the enraptured crowd. But Donatello didn't hear a single word. He had gone numb, rooted to the grass where he stood, staring in stunned silence at Raphael, who watched his father address the gathered people with pride in his eyes.

The flames surrounding Raphael's shoulders lit his face with a soft glow, reflecting off his amber colored eyes shining within his jeweled mask like starlight. The prince stood tall with a confidence that Don could feel from his place on the ground, power radiating off him like a towering wave on the sea. He almost forgot how to breath. Everything around him faded into a fog. All he could see was Raphael, all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears.

He was overwhelmed by a sudden intense feeling of familiarity, like Raphael was an old friend that he hadn't seen in far too long. Like they were connected by time itself and only distance had conspired to keep them apart. He felt a profound need to step forward in greeting, and might have foolishly done so, if the band hadn't taken that moment to begin playing again.

As the king stepped back with his wife and daughters, sitting down at the table set up for them to begin celebrating with their own food and drink, sound rushed back into Donatello's consciousness and he blinked, looking around with embarrassed heavy breaths. The crowd had begun drinking and dancing again. He felt either the strong urge to flee as fast as his feet would carry him, or the need to get himself another drink, he wasn't really sure which.

With a dazed shake of his head, Donatello turned back to where Raphael stood on the dais, unable to stop himself from taking one last look.

But he wasn't there, the prince had moved off the platform and was engaging with the crowd of people dancing below it. He watched as they gravitated toward Raphael, hands outstretched, happy to receive even the smallest touch or smile before spinning away to allow another close. They brought him food and drink, he offered a word or a laugh, Donatello was struck by how much his people genuinely adored him.

Somewhere in the periphery he was aware that he needed to keep a distance between himself and Raphael, so with reluctance he faded back into the throng, distracting himself with drinks and food and any dancing partner that would entertain him.

Soon after, the celebration reached a fever pitch and time lost all meaning. He was swept away in the rush, his senses fuzzy, his hearing muted, he could only feel, drunk on the wine and the atmosphere and the living breathing inferno of the moment. He was buzzing and numb, overcome by the beating thump of the music and the dull roar of conversation.

Occasionally he would catch a glimpse of deep emerald green skin or the flash of an amber colored eye through the thrumming sea of bodies. No matter how much he moved, no matter how many he danced with, no matter the time that passed or how low the torches burned, whenever Donatello would turn around he always found that Raphael was near. Like they were bound by a tether, pulling away only to be snapped back within each other's orbit. They never made eye contact, never spoke, he couldn't even be sure that Raphael was actually aware of him, his proximity could simply be coincidence, and Don knew that he was tempting fate with each passing second that he stayed within the celebratory mob, but still he couldn't bring himself to leave. So, he danced and drank and tried to ignore the pounding of his heart.

All around him the dancing crowd was pressing closer, their warm bodies sliding against his in an imitation of the more intimate activities that were already taking place in the shadows just beyond the torchlight. They touched him and caressed him and whispered in his ear promises of the pleasures to be had if he would only take their hands and join them. He was tempted to his breaking point, the air in the glade thick and heavy with the sharp scent of arousal, and it took all his willpower to turn them down. Not because he didn't want to, but because giving in to desire was not something he could allow himself to do, not here, not while he was so intoxicated. Not while he was so distracted.

The hours stretched away into the night, the moon having long since crested its highest point by the time Donatello began to feel the weight of the evening in the heaviness of the alcohol in his blood and the grittiness of sleep behind his eyelids. Exhaustion began to pull at his limbs, making it difficult for him to find the energy to react when his fateful luck finally ran dry.

The band began to play a soothing melody, slower and sweeter, bringing a moment of peaceful calm to the frenzied masses. He paced slowly through the middle of the throng, working his way out to find a bite, a breath, maybe a place to lay down. So dizzy was he in the atmosphere that it took a moment to notice the hand that wrapped around his wrist, tugging him gently around, pulling him flush against a wide golden plastron so much like his own.

Donatello breathed in without resistance as gentle fingers came to rest at his hip, guiding him to move with the hum of the melody. He refused to raise his eyes, choosing instead to stare at the chiseled arm that curved around his side. With a resigned, almost relieved smile he brought his hand up to rest against the solid muscle, marveling at the contrasting color of his olive toned fingers against the emerald skin that shined in the firelight.

A small inner voice was telling him that he needed to get away, that he was being foolish and risking everything, but as he listened to it, he found that he couldn't be bothered to care. Raphael was warm and he smelled good, like smoke and grass, and the steady rise and fall of his chest was such a calming balm to Don's frazzled mind, that all he could do was close his eyes and surrender to the sway.

Suddenly there was no denying that this moment was inevitable. Despite all his confidence in his ability to go unnoticed and the security he felt while hidden behind his mask, as soon as the prince of fire wrapped his arms around him, Don knew that every one of his choices had led straight to this and he had never been in control of it, not even for a second.

Raphael bent down to scent his neck and Don's skin tingled where his lips barely brushed against his shoulder. It was all he could do not to turn his head and lock eyes with this mysterious prince that he had spent his entire life longing to meet. He licked his lips and swallowed instead.

"I've been following ya' around all night." Raphael said against his ear with a low rumble that sent a shiver through Don's chest. "Tryin' to figure this out. Feels like I know who ya' are... but I don't, do I?"

The question was a whisper, a quiet plea. Donatello shook his head slowly and replied with a whisper of his own. "No."

"Then who are ya'?" Raphael asked as they continued to sway with the music. He shook his head. "I feel like you're as familiar to me as my own family."

Don frowned, fighting the desperate urge to tell Raphael that he thought the same, that the connection he felt between them was overwhelming in its power. But somewhere through the haze in his mind a rational thought told him it wasn't real, it wasn't true. That these feelings were fueled by the night and the excess and the pulse of the music and that they would fade. By the morning they would be gone as surely as the alcohol in their veins. So, he said nothing.

"What's your name?" Raphael whispered, leaning in close, his breath warm against Don's cheek.

Donatello almost told him. Almost said it out loud. The word jumping to the end of his tongue before he barely swallowed it back down. He gripped the warm arm beneath his fingers a little bit tighter, knowing that he was dangerously close to exposing everything, that he had to leave, had to escape from the solid comfort of Raphael's arms as quickly as he could before he ruined it all.

He shook his head and tried to pull away, but Raphael held him firmly, ducking his head down to say something again at the same moment that Don turned as he went to step back and their lips barely pressed together, the stones on his mask clicking against the jewels on Raphael's.

Everything around them seemed to freeze in place. All Don could hear was the feeble chirping calls of the few Velcafay that still enjoyed the tickling warmth of the surrounding torches and the booming thrum of his own heartbeat. He held his breath as he found his wide eyes locked in Raphael's golden gaze.

Strong fingers dug into his hip as Raphael moved against him, not actually kissing him, just moving his lips featherlight against Don's, allowing their beaks to brush together and their breaths to mix and warm the space between them.

Donatello was too weak to stop it. The magic within him hummed with pleasure, like it knew one of its own was near, and he basked in the feel of it. It was so unlike anything he had ever felt before.

"Why don't we get outta here?" Raphael whispered with a smile and Don almost melted from the heat of it. "Go somewhere quiet, where we can hear ourselves think?"

He released a dismayed breath, struggling to contain the desperate pull within him to just give in, to go with Raphael, to reveal it all and damn the consequences. But there was just a single sliver of sanity left in him that the drink had not yet consumed, and somehow it won over all else.

Trembling with great effort he pulled back, whispering an apology. "I'm sorry... I can't... I have to go."

Twisting sideways and using all his skill, he broke free of Raphael's hold, disappearing into the gathered embracing lovers surrounding them. He heard the prince yell after him, but ignored it and the eyes watching them, blocking out the sounds and smells and everything around him, gulping against the knot of despair in his chest.

The magic roared its disapproval, ringing loudly in his ears, but he firmly clamped down on it, forcing it to the back of his mind where he could ignore how nauseous it was making him feel.

Somehow, he made it back to the old granny's tent without being followed, quickly ducking in through the flap she held open for him before he could be seen. He stripped off his borrowed adornments and thanked her again around the lump in his throat.

Raphael's scent clung to his skin, Don could still feel his insistent fingers on his hip, could still see the fire in his amber eyes as they barely kissed. How had everything gone so wrong, so quickly? He was such an idiot. He knew this was a bad idea, but he showed up anyway. Maybe his priests were right... he was too naive to be out in the world, too sheltered, innocent, trusting...

Distantly he knew how he felt was only momentary, that he would wake in the morning in embarrassment over his complete lack of self-control, but that it would pass and everything would be normal again as soon as he could get back to his room at the inn and go to sleep. This was nothing more than a singular lapse in judgment and he would just need to be far more careful in the future now that he knew what not to do.

The granny turtle made him drink a cup of hot tea and eat half a loaf of fresh warm bread before she would let him leave. And if she noticed the desperate longing shining in Donatello's eyes, she was kind enough not to mention it.

~*~ EotW ~*~