Chapter 5: The Bathhouse

A/N: This chapter tackles body image. It's not for long or in detail, though.

Morning came, cold and grey as usual, and Uraraka woke up with a strange sensation of loneliness. Winter-time in the castle had always brought with it a pervading cold that lived in the stone and slithered under the skin at the slightest movement, and upon sitting up she felt the tingle of goose bumps run down her arms. She almost groaned. Another miserable day, and all she wanted was to sleep and to nurse the dreadful hangover that she had given herself. She clapped a hand against her cheek to wake herself up.

As she pulled back her curtains and light flooded the room, she saw that the fantasmin was still huddled under its fortress of blankets in the corner, eyeing her suspiciously.

She rubbed her eyes groggily, stretching as she stepped onto the rug, then headed to the closet. Yanking her nightdress over her head and pulling on her day-dress, she carefully laced up the front and slipped on her wooden-soled shoes. She made a few vague attempts at brushing her unruly hair but, finding that it was an entirely lost cause, went to make her bed.

"Did you have a good dream last night?" she asked the bird as she walked by "Is that even possible? Do birds dream?"

It twittered at her with scorn.

"Alright alright, I'll leave you alone then."

She tied up the hanging canopy at each of her four bedposts and picked up her pillow to straighten it. The weaving pattern, of fire-lilies, was beginning to wear pale where her head usually lay; she picked at it unhappily. She was going to have to make a new one.

She sighed and put it back, its pliancy in her hands reminding her of soft hair. The image of her suitor's blond head arose in her mind. She looked at the fantasmin.

"I think I dreamed of your master last night" she said "I wonder what that means."

She let her mind wander as she pulled the covers flat, imagining anew his strange expression, the way that his bones had fit in her hands. What could it mean? All of her prophesy dreams had been omens of a darker time; was this to be one too?

She had felt so warm, so contented in that instant. It almost felt unfair. To return to reality, where it was cold, where she was alone, was to leave a little hollow in her heart where that moment could have been. She shivered in the almost-empty room.

The mimic-bird clicked from its corner, as if bored. She glared at it for disturbing her musings on the prophet-dream.

"You'll be pleased to know that we're having rock bread for breakfast today" She announced sarcastically. "Come on."

Turning on her heel, she headed to the door; then stopped. At the very edge of her peripheral vision, a small detail had caught her attention. Something was amiss.

She turned back to the bed, to the other side. The pillow was dented, the sheets ruffled. As she leaned down to fix it, the smell of caramel wafted up.

How peculiar, she thought with a frown, that she had rolled over in the night. It was so very unlike her, and she was not in the habit of cleaning up the bed-space that she did not occupy. Unless…

Unless what?

She had caught herself daydreaming again, hoping for the ridiculous. Why was she thinking of the one suitor who hated her, anyway? Her subconscious, she decided, was as mysterious as it was untrustworthy, and as her stomach protested its emptiness, she hastened to get breakfast.

XXX

The hard, unappetising rock bread had to be smashed into small pieces before Uraraka could find a way to divide it between herself and the fantasmin. It was even firmer than usual, and as she put a small chunk in her mouth, she realised that she could not even chew it. She went to pump herself a bowl of water to hopefully soften it and found, upon her return, that the mimic-bird had slinked off somewhere to eat in private.

So she sat at the grand, empty table, drinking ice-cold water and sucking on the unyielding bread, and wondered what she would do with her day.

She needed money, that was for sure. And she would like to talk to Tsuyu, and she would like to have a proper meal tonight, and she would like, if it was possible, to see Midoriya as well.

She gulped the last of the freezing water and dusted off her hands, formulating a plan. Once she had rinsed her cup and plate, she left. She didn't bother to search for the fantasmin for fear that the great creature would attack her if she caught it eating, and so headed all the way through the winding halls and up the snaking stairs to her room on her own, where she picked up her cloak and yesterday's weaving before heading back down. At the end of her journey, she found the mimic-bird in the kitchen again, its empty bowl at its concealed feet.

She approached it carefully, minding not to get too near its pointed beak as she picked up the bowl to wash it. As she ran it under the water, she noticed that there was hardly a crumb left on it.

"You certainly do pack it away, don't you?" she remarked, opening up a cupboard to put the dishes away.

The bird tapped its feet impatiently.

"I'm going to sell this tapestry at the market and then bathe at the temple springs, probably look for food too. Do you want to come?"

It remained rooted to the spot, silent, watching her. She was quite fed up with its indecipherable demeanour.

"If that's a no, I'll be off then." She said, picking up the rolled-up tapestry and heading out of the door "Don't get too hungry whilst I'm gone."

As she walked through the empty courtyard, past the pathetic finko palm with its single fleshy fruit, she watched the first sun rise slowly in the clear sky. The second, smaller one would climb to its zenith for midday, and the heavens that morning were such a pale blue that they appeared almost as white as the snow on the ground. The clouds had settled far below in the valley overnight, smothering the distant forests and rivers in a hoary grey but leaving Lasandu at the top of the frozen mountain cold and windless. She hummed as she floated the lock of the side gate and snuck out into the street. Perhaps today would not be too bad after all.

XXX

Uraraka walked through the bustling streets completely undisturbed. Nobody knew what the princess looked like behind her veil, and no one could suspect that someone in clothes as shabby as hers was royalty. As her footing became less steep, and the snow more pulpy underfoot, her path curved off to the great market, where she sat herself down amidst the hundreds of stalls on the icy paving and began to shout about the weaving that she had for sale. Here she did not mind the cold as much, as there was a strange unity between the children of the marketplace. None of them wanted to be in the outdoors, each only wanted to sell and to have the whereabouts to feed themselves. They smiled at each other when a tired merchant left or a new chancer came along. They were all playing the same game.

By around the second hour that she had been sat there, somebody finally stopped to inspect her wares. It was Yuga Aoyama, the upholsterer, with his usual flamboyant garb and angled smile.

"It's nice to see you again, mon chérie," he said with a twirl of his flaxen hair "what is it that you're selling today?"

She unfurled the tapestry, rolling the rich purple pattern across her lap. Aoyama examined it closely.

"But it's absolument fabuleux!" he exclaimed finally with a flourish "Just thinking of the things that I could do with this fabric, it's merveilleux!"

"Uh… Merveilleux enough for three silver pieces?" she ventured shyly in return.

He picked up the tapestry and ran his thumb over the warp and weft of the pattern.

"Three pieces of silver it is."

He handed her the money, and she thanked him before getting up and heading to the east of town, to the water temple with the hot springs where she knew that Asui was currently a priestess. There she paid a bronze cullet as an entrance fee, gave a passing greeting to Asui at the altar, picked up a towel, and headed to the female baths.

The baths were not too busy for a weekday, and with her clothes placed safely in a basket she found a free spot to wash her hair without difficulty. The water, warm and soapy, felt like an embrace. She shed her layer of winter's sweat, of dirt and grime, became clean once more.

The heat of the bath melted into her bones, and for the first time in weeks she truly escaped the cold. She sank further and further into the steaming water, feeling her skin grow soft, imagining that she was slowly dissolving into a state of peaceful nothingness.

When had she started to wish for oblivion? She had certainly not had the instinct as a child. When she had laughed on the mountainside, no responsibilities, watched the valley below rush away, when her parents were still there; of course she had wanted to feel then. The world had seemed so warm and gentle, had given her so much to feel and taste and see. She sank her head beneath the waterline, feeling the bubbles of her breath curl away from her, climbing to the surface. Emptiness. Was it when she had carved into the rimed earth, hands worn by the spade, to bury the greying corpses of her parents? When she had slid the knife across her goat's pure white throat, watched its glossy eyes cloud with fear and the inimitable haze of death?

She did not come up to breathe. The heartbeat beneath her sternum echoed slowly underwater. She was warm. And yet her lungs screamed, and a pressure was building behind her ears and in the very back of her jaw. Her chest twitched. No, she thought, she would not return yet; she could stay a little longer.

A hand wrapped firmly around her shoulder, pulling her up to the surface. She gasped at the pressure change, gulping for air. Her eyes blinked open, to lock onto the hand on her naked shoulder. A pink hand.

"Oh." Said Ashido, confusion and surprise flitting through her night-dark eyes "It's you. Everything alright?"

Uraraka stared, still choking for breath. She never quite knew where to look in a bathhouse.

"I- um, sorry, I really don't know what came over me. I'm sorry for causing such a fuss."

Ashido released her grip and sat herself down next to her. She squinted in the steam, scrutinising the princess, who was already bracing for the awkwardness of the upcoming conversation.

"How comes you're here?" she asked. It was a simple enough question. Uraraka could feel she had stopped short. How comes you're here in the public baths, she had meant to ask, how comes you're bathing with the commoners?

"Tsuyu's a priestess at the main temple, and I like seeing her at work. This is a good way to donate to the temple funds." She lied.

She couldn't tell whether Ashido believed her or not. She fiddled absent-mindedly with her sodden hair as the pink girl sized her up.

"You didn't bring the fantasmin with you, did you?"

"Uh, no."

Ashido breathed a sigh of relief. Then caught herself.

"You are keeping it with you right? Feeding it?"

"Yes, just like you told me."

"Are you sure?"

"Quite certain."

"Okay, but are you, like, sure? Beca-"

"I'm sure!" exclaimed Uraraka "Why won't you just believe me?"

The water rippled as Ashido leaned back.

"Just makin' sure." She mumbled "My friend's life's on the line for you. It's worryin'." She tugged at the straggling yellow horns that curled out of her pink hair. "Guess you wouldn't get it."

Uraraka watched her, a knot of shame squirming in her stomach.

"I'm… sorry." She said "I didn't consider that. I should have."

"You're the one who was luring in the poor bastard." Shot the pink girl in reply.

"I didn't ask him to join the suitor's game!"

Her hands, raised in exasperation, upset the water's still surface, sending droplets flying everywhere. She looked around, suddenly conscious that people could be listening, but found the pools to be empty. Empty, of course, save for Ashido.

"Sure," resumed the pink girl. "Fine, cool, that's true. But why create a death trap like that then? It's sadistic. Having the spirits eat them? Why would you-?"

"You think I made the suitor's game?" Uraraka burst "That I would like for my only suitors, the people I would have to share my life with, to be nut-cases blinded by greed or insanity- or- or the things that they said they would do to me? I don't want to be handed to some stranger as a prize for a children's game! You wouldn't, would you?"

Ashido flicked a bubble on the water's surface, seemingly unperturbed. Her eyes narrowed.

"Listen; I'd like that to be true, honest I would, but I'm just a bit confused by the magic. If the suitor's game is enforced by pact spirits, and you're not the one controlling them…"

She trailed off, turning to look at Uraraka, and finding her gaze held. Go on, thought the princess, finish that thought; think of what the children of Lasandu live through, think of what I live with. Go on, say the words.

Ashido's eyes widened, realisation dawning upon her.

"It's a curse"

Barely a whisper, the words disappeared in the steam of the baths.

"That's… that's insane."

Uraraka nodded sagely, mute.

"How, I mean, who…?"

"The adult-killing plague was the wrath of a scorned mage. But the spirits, the suitor's game… that's ancient magic, who knows where from. Perhaps an old spell hidden deep in the annals, only invoked in times of famine, some sort of mechanism to ensure the continuation of the royal line." She listed indifferently "It probably wouldn't have been a problem if I were born a man; then I could have been king without this fuss of being promised to a stranger. In any case" she stretched "One day I woke up with my dead mother at my door, and she told me that I was to be married, and that was that."

She used one hand to hold up her hair and the other to reach for a towel as she stepped out of the bath. Ashido followed hastily, splashing water as she went.

"Look, I'm sorry," she said "but is there really no way around it? Couldn't you just choose one suitor and keep him safe in the castle for the festival period?"

"I would, if there were any that weren't rotten." Replied Uraraka, squeezing the water out of her hair "The first one to die, lord Mineta, was known to be filthy. I would be lying if I said I'd prefer to marry him than to see him dead."

Ashido paused.

"I get that. I know it must be hard. But what about this Izuku character that I keep hearing about? Momo said you're sweet on him."

Izuku. Her heart fluttered painfully as his image filled her mind. He had the most gorgeous green eyes and a spatter of freckles like starlight on the snow, hands warm like fresh-baked bread and a voice that made her stomach somersault. On seeing him a heat would rise to her face and a gentle anticipation would tingle in her chest. She was sweet on him, and she was sure he knew.

"I think I am. Was?" she stumbled "I don't know. I'm sure he would marry me if I asked him to, but it wouldn't be fair. He'd do it out of friendship or sacrifice rather than love. Besides" she added bitterly "Shoto likes him"

Ashido's ears pricked.

"Shoto? The boy with the scar?"

"Yes."

"So men are free to love men in Lasandu?" she probed.

"Well, yes; I don't see why they wouldn't."

She rubbed her chin in thought, savouring the new information.

"Interesting."

"And why is that?" asked Uraraka defensively.

"Nothing important, as of yet." She said, wrapping herself in her towel and picking up her basket of clothes. "Anyway, I'm glad I talked to you; learned a lot that I wouldn't have otherwise. I get that this marriage thing ain't your fault, but look out for Katsuki, will you? I'm sure that he'd never hurt you."

And with that, she gave a little wave and walked away through the steam. Uraraka watched her go as she finished drying herself off, then fetched her own clothes. The girl certainly was strange, she thought, but perhaps not as malicious as she had initially assumed.

She paused as she caught her uneven reflection in an old mirror, pulling curiously at her own flesh, observing the way that it was taught here or soft there. Casting her mind back to Ashido, she couldn't help but compare the girl's smooth pink curves to the way that her own bones poked out from under the skin, the brightness of Ashido's blossom-stained tan compared to her own tired pallor. She had been beautiful before the plague, she thought bitterly, she had been the perfect size to hug and to hold. Her memories of that now-distant time were tinged with jealousy.

She breathed deeply in, and then out, reminding herself to be grateful.

She was not starving now as she had been during the worst of the winter; she had at least regained the fullness of her wide cheeks, and she could no longer trace her ribs along her sides. She was no longer a walking skeleton. Her cold hands travelled to cup a breast or pinch a thigh, and the girl in the mirror seemed to smile. She was alright. She was alive.

A/N: hello. Yes. Been a while. Thank you for your reviews! Tune in next chapter for A FIGHT, Momo's dream, and the return of deku.