A country, a style or an epoch are

interesting only for the idea behind them.

Christian Dior

Epoch

Hiei's POV

"Do you like it?"

I caught myself just before touching the hem of her garment, sweet oils dripping from curling fingers. Her foot shifted in my hand – beautiful feet, tiny, pale as the moon – and I flinched in expectation, waiting for the kick that never came. She saw; of course she saw and I ducked my head, praying she didn't see the lip pulled between my teeth, cheeks dyed with shame.

Hair on my shoulder and she leaned forward, uncaring of touching me, of the skin the others hated. No, she took my hand in hers, pressed it to the thick robe, cloth blue as the sky and soft as downy feathers. I whimpered when oil stained her robe – the best apology from a throat fresh from the shearing – but she smiled a true smile and wouldn't let go, whispering a name only she and I knew.

Draping the robe across my legs, she let me continue, rubbing those slender soles, taking care with her toes, her ankles, her calves. She never complained about my hands, the rough palms, the hardiness not even the best ointments could cure. Oil dripped onto the cloth and even though she assured she would take the blame, already my mind wandered, as it always did with her. Legs the same size as mine yet made after lily petals, delicate, blue-veined:

Perfect.

Suddenly, the chill in her rooms didn't matter, the pain bandages couldn't hide. She was my world, this girl with ocean-hair and rose eyes. Staring out the window, she refused to watch me perform my duty, to treat her as what she was. I knew these things hurt her but was helpless to stop–

We both knew the consequences if I stopped.

"I heard something nice today." She said as I moved to her hands, cold pressing at my neck despite the bonds. "A merchant was playing the most beautiful music, as if the air itself were singing." She smiled when my palm pressed to hers, massaging that tiny hand. "He had a flute, one I've never seen before. It was about this big," She pulled away, measuring the size of a man's hand between us. "And was shaped like a pea pod full of holes! But it was so pretty, much better than what's played here."

She sighed when I rubbed one wrist, then the other, taking her neglected hand up. "I would love to play that flute one day but there's no one here to teach me. They would not allow it, anyway." I couldn't bear the sadness tainting her tongue, the truth of her words. Only then did I realize just how similar we were–

Neither of us would ever be free.

Snoring, fierce murmurs and the whispering of leaves. Sleep fled with their babbling, taking her with it. I silently cursed the wood – always speaking but with nothing to say – peering through drawn lashes.

Rough bark hummed at my back, luminous fruit twinkling overhead like stars. Far off, animals fed: does, chattering squirrels, shoats rooting near their mothers. Blue sap leaked from each tel trunk, slick and unyielding, promising sweetness. Iridescent fungi littered the forest floor, pinks, greens, colors without name or number nestled in the moss, peeking through dead leaves, questions on their lips. Soft light, the promise of warmth–

Just as I remembered it.

They lay scattered on the ground, lost to slumber and sounds of the night. Yusuke reclined at the base of the tree opposite mine, legs outstretched, arms cushioning his head. He'd insisted on sleeping naked after the custom of his people but Kurama refused, the two finally settling on a compromise:

Thus why the Oni Prince slept bare chested in the King's Forest, trousers rolled up to the knee, boots forgotten.

The fool lay sprawled before our supplies amid a patch of mushrooms, red, yellow and purple heads dipping to peer into his face, his gaping mouth. Snores ceasing for a blessed moment of quiet, he swatted at them before rolling over, taking up the abysmal song once more. His head slid from the roll of cloth and metal – the mail shirt he'd insisted on bringing – mumbling about the princess while clutching his sword.

The Princess.

Movement nearby and I rose, realizing too late who was missing below. I silently cursed the everlasting light of the wood, ethereal, otherworldly, yet with one inescapable drawback. There was no place to hide in the light–

No way of escaping potential enemies.

My throat closed without permission, panic budding at the possibilities. I'd grown lax, lulled by the lack of attempts on the Prince's life over the last decade. Someone – no several – in Gandara wanted him dead. He and the King both; and I'd–

A new sound cut through the forest's chatter, a familiar sound – a welcome sound. Leaping down, I darted through the trees on silent feet, ears straining as the ruckus grew louder, hands finding ready homes on either sword hilt. The flowers heralded no danger yet I couldn't trust their judgment, not where Kurama was concerned. Regardless of his assumed ignorance, even he knew our lives were bound together, ever since we were children. If I died, it wouldn't matter to anyone – one less cretin to occupy the land. However, if I allowed harm to come to the Prince, my death would not come quickly.

Suzaku would see to that.

Finally, I stopped, ducking behind a knowing trunk. Brushing off the vine tapping my shoulder, I peeked around peeling bark, grip sure on my blades. Kurama sat in the middle of a sheltered glade, leaning against a tree long fallen and dead, fingers working amid moonlight and luminous plants. He held a rounded slab of wood against his abdomen, a thing I'd seen numerous times yet never outside the castle. Twin holes embellished the part at his stomach, betraying the hollow belly, the part which allowed and amplified sound. Six taut strings stretched from the body over a triangular frame, easily length of his forearm, maybe longer. The frame itself was stout, sure, each piece two inches thick, made of the best wood in Gandara. An expertly crafted lyre.

The Prince's chosen instrument.

Seemingly oblivious to my presence, he played on, song spiraling to the moon, the trees, anything that would listen. The flowers sighed at the sound, watched his fingers pluck a melody spanning countless generations, all the way back to the earth mother:

The song that weaved the world.

His eyes remained closed despite the intricate notes, though he didn't need to see, not for this.

We both knew this song by heart.

Kurama's POV

For a time, our journey was marked by monotony. Shortly after his declaration that first day, my cousin yielded the lead to me and refused to say any more about being minstrels, no matter how we pressed.

I'd never traveled far from the city gates but trusted in the childhood tales, the impossibility of the King's kin becoming lost in this forest. No established paths existed here, this realm where moss blanketed our steps, leaves sighed and flowers giggled. Trees dating before father's time watched with unblinking eyes, roots shuddering as they reclined, talking to one another in their slow, ancient tongue. Whenever I heard my name roll from those mouths, I smiled, touching the nearest trunk. If Hiei heard his name alongside mine, he ignored it. Ever watchful, his gaze remained fixed on the dark side of the wood, though he kept his hands clear of either sword. To draw a weapon here was forbidden, the sure mark of an enemy. After all, the King's Forest was the safest place in Gandara.

The trees saw to that.

Kuwabara proved a dependable companion. His curiosity knew no bounds, nor did his thirst for knowledge. He wanted to know about every plant we came across, their names, traits, what habitations they preferred most. I answered his questions with good humor, certain he could not remember them all, yet he proved me wrong. In fact, he was more than happy for me to test him in these, faltering on only a handful.

Truly, he had the best memory of any human I'd come across.

"Like this?"

The third day of our travels found us resting beside a brook, safely tucked beneath a willow's shade. Yusuke reclined among the arching roots, bare toes treading water, boots forgotten by his head. I could not see Hiei though I knew he was near, doubtlessly keeping watch despite assurances of safety.

The inquiry drew my eyes to the knight, whose back occupied the other half of the tree trunk. Much like botany, Kuwabara had taken to learning to read and write with vigor, though this segment of his education required more than a knack for learning. There was sentence structure to consider, parts of speech, grammar rules and punctuation. Many of these he knew without realizing, Gandaran being his mother tongue.

With this in mind, I began by teaching him our alphabet, writing the letters on a piece of leather parchment with a twig dipped in berry juice. Ever since, whenever the opportunity arose, he studied the characters, mouthing the sound assigned to each one. He also practiced writing them: tracing strokes in the dirt, on a fallen tree; I even caught him drawing letters in the air once.

This time, he handed me a strip of bark begged from the willow, half-filled with etchings from a piece of burned wood snatched from last night's fire. Lines of repeating letters, scrawled in print far too small for such a big hand, all matching perfect with the guide until the final set, where he'd stopped on the first one.

"Almost." I smiled, taking the bark and dead coal. Propping the medium against one knee, I allowed him to lean closer, watching my hand. "Remember, this can be viewed as two letters combined into one: make your 'a' as you normally would," I etched out the letter with gentle strokes, conscious of the limited space. "Then, make an upward arch which ends in an oval before curving back down, forming a half-circle. The two should be flush so that a single letter is created – æ."

Kuwabara frowned at the image, rubbing the back of his neck. "And you said we'll use the 'ash' a lot?"

"Yes, it is one of the main vowels in the flower's tongue."

He sighed, squinting at the bark. "Why does this have to be so hard?"

"If it were easy, anyone could command the land at a whim. This is a gift for our people alone."

"That's true." He did his best to sound happy while taking his tools back, lips curling. "You did say this would be tricky."

"But look at the progress you've made!" I pointed to one letter in particular – ð. "I cannot tell you how long it took me to perfect eth, yet here you've done so on your first try!"

He chuckled, a true, sheepish smile flashing this time. "Thanks."

"Don't see why you have all those weird letters." Yusuke yawned from his perch, pack pressed to one side, instruments on the other. His club remained tucked in his sack, as it had since leaving the castle – my cousin knew better than to doubt the rumors of this forest.

Kuwabara turned at the comment, not put off in the least by the Oni's yawn, the hand scratching places best left unsaid. "You sound like you know it, Urameshi."

"Of course I do!" Irritation flashed and Yusuke raised his head, doing his best to appear dignified, given his compromised position. "What do you take me for?"

"We are the future rulers of our kingdoms, it is only natural we should learn the tongues of the surrounding lands." I smiled as Kuwabara turned to face me once more, wonder lighting his eyes. "Also, do not forget that Yusuke is my blood relative – the land's language is as much his as mine."

"Yeah, only Grïgna isn't stupid hard."

The knight blinked. "Grïgna?"

"The Oni tongue." I supplied, fingers falling into the water.

Kuwabara turned back to my cousin, watching clover weave into his braids, sweet flowers pressing at bare arms. "You mean that song you and Hokushin sang before the tournament?"

A snort. "That's from way back, before the dragons betrayed us and wrecked everything. I only know the Prince's part because it'd be dumb to ask something of Lugh and not know what you're saying." Here he dug in one ear, frowning at whatever his finger found and flicking it away. "Dead languages aren't my thing."

"Dead languages?"

"Are you just gonna repeat everything I say?!"

"Yusuke, be patient." Leaning back, I withdrew the lingering hand, damp fingers dripping onto the bark underfoot. "There was a time when you too were ignorant of such matters."

He didn't see fit to respond though fell silent, watching as the water lapped at his feet. I smiled at our friend, watching him resist the temptation to withdraw, a defense mechanism developed in order to survive under his Uncle's guardianship. "Like many things in this world, languages are not static – they are ever changing."

"What do you mean?"

"Imagine our tongue is a plant." I patted the trunk we leaned against, welcoming the willow's coo. "The tree before is much different now than when it first sprouted, correct?"

"Well, yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck, mail shirt shivering as he looked up. "I mean, it couldn't stay a sapling forever."

"Language works in a similar fashion: with each speaker, it grows, morphs, changes, all because no people speak exactly the same way. These small changes eventually lead to drastic shifts, though these shifts are so subtle no one notices them and the old way of speaking is eventually forgotten. The tree cannot remain a sapling any more than we can recollect the speech of our forefathers."

Kuwabara gazed at the tree trunk before turning to face me, eyes wide with wonder. "So, what about Gandaran?"

"In the beginning, our people spoke the language of the land because that is what the Mother taught us." My fingers curled against the moss, aged wood cushioning my head. "Unfortunately, once we began mingling with our neighbors, our language changed – though we can learn to understand the flowers still, they cannot understand us."

"Then – what about the song from the tournament? And Grïgna?"

"The song's from The Old Way." Yusuke said, frowning at the brook. "Grïgna's something completely different."

"The Old Way?"

"From before, when Oni and Dragons spoke the same tongue."

Kuwabara jumped at the cool voice though I smiled, chuckling as the knight scrambled to his feet. Hiei leaned against the trunk's far end, arms crossed, chin tucked. Wrapped as he was in black, it was no wonder the Kuwabara didn't see his approach, soft soles and moss cloaking his steps. "H-how long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to see you make a fool of yourself."

To dissuade further dispute, I stood, turning to my companion. "Did you see anything of merit?"

Arms falling to his side, he fixed his gaze on my chin, unwilling as ever to look me in the eye. "The river is close, half a day's walk."

"We're nearing the edge of the forest, then."

Hiei nodded, following the water's path. "There is a village on the other side, bordering another stretch of wood." He cut his eyes back to me. "We should avoid it."

"Hold on a sec!" Yusuke rolled upright, legs crossing tailor-style against the roots. "That's the last thing we need to do!"

He raised a thin brow, not bothering to mask his condescension. "Surely you remember our mission?"

"Yeah? Rescue the Princess and take her home."

Hiei made no comment on his mocking tone. "Did you forget all of that is a secret?"

"Nope, got an idea though." Yusuke grinned, gripping both ankles and leaning forward. "Since we're all here, guess I'll tell ya about my plan."

The three of us shared a look. The words 'Yusuke' and 'plan' did not go together in any way, shape or form. "Oh?"

"Relax, fox boy – this will make our journey so much easier!" He pulled the drums and piped bag between us, fangs glistening. "Did you bring what I asked?"

"We're this far from the castle and you ask now?" Hiei snorted, sarcasm dripping from his lips.

"Hey, I'm fine with doing this by myself. I don't need your help." My cousin sniffed, trying and failing to put on an unaffected air. "Just thought it might be fun."

"You mean this?"

Kuwabara knelt by his pack, a wooden instrument sheltered against blue biceps. Pear-shaped and sporting a long neck, it carried a peculiar aroma, as most old things do. Five strings stretched down the throat and across a flat stomach, ending at the simple fret board made of ironwood. The rest of the instrument was birthed from mahogany, one of the many woods which gained beauty with age. Finely carved tuning knobs; a bow sporting an insignia, a tiger battling a griffin–

The Kuwabara family crest.

"What the heck is that?"

"Surely you've seen a fiddle before?" I offered, noting Kuwabara's wilting pride.

"Of course I have! Just can't see him with it." He scoffed, lips curling in challenge. "Don't you have to be smart to play something like that?"

An amused sound from Hiei and the human's cheeks flared. "What'd you say?!"

"You heard me!"

"Yusuke, that instrument belonged to his father." Surely he saw what his insults were doing; Kuwabara's clenched jaw, his trembling hands.

"Pfft, that doesn't mean anything. My old man made these pipes and he can't play 'em for crap." He nudged the coated bag with one foot, cushioning his head with his hands. "Just because your Boban

can do something doesn't mean you can."

Boban. I couldn't help but smile at the Oni term. Daddy; not father or a more mature derivative – daddy. Such was all Yusuke would call my Uncle when they visited Gandara, back before sickness confined him to his own castle. King Raizen always corrected him before officials, pulling his hair while growling the proper address, yet Yusuke was just as stubborn as he. The closest he could get the boy to acknowledging him in a proper light was 'old man' which, among rams, was not a slight. However, someone referring to their father as anything less than Boban was an insult to my cousin–

Perhaps he believed all fathers and sons were close.

Of course, Kuwabara didn't know the word or its significance. "W-what do you know?! My dad taught me how to play before he–!"

He cut himself off though I heard what he did not say. If the late Lord Kuwabara did indeed teach his son, it would have been when our companion was very young:

Before illness took him from this world.

"Like I said, doesn't mean anything." My cousin dug in his ear, not bothering to look at the knight. "My old man sucks with women and I can't keep 'em off me! Just because he was great at something doesn't mean you–"

"Bah, I'll show you!"

Kuwabara brandished his bow, whipping the butt of the instrument to his chin and taking up a stance. Before Yusuke could utter another word, the bow flowed across the strings, birthing a sweet, pure sound. A flurry of notes followed, a song known only to the player. Kuwabara shut his eyes to the tune, fingers flying, foot tracking the beat in place of a drum. The willow hummed from one song to the next, branches slowly waving; the blades of grass clapped their hands.

When he'd finished, Kuwabara took a deep breath, wiping sweat from his brow. "What do you think of that?"

Yusuke blinked, doubtlessly processing what we'd just witnessed. Then, he grinned, gums peeking above his teeth. "I think we've got a deal!"

We watched on as he tuned the instrument for my cousin, showing how this particular fiddle could either be played with a bow or plucked like a sitar. The latter method gave an equally enjoyable sound, similar to that of a harp.

"Which reminds me." Yusuke turned, glancing at our packs. "Did you bring the goods?"

Hiei rolled his eyes but I chuckled, opening the leather bag. My cousin showed no surprise at the lyre though Kuwabara stared at the dark wood, the elegant arms stretching to rest against my shoulder.

"Whoa," He breathed, leaning closer to examine centuries-old engravings, the silver strings winding from top to bottom. "This is yours?"

"Yes, though first it belonged to my grandfather, a gift of the forest." Biting back a smile, I traced the flowering patterns, wood grains worn smooth from use. "Father never took to it."

Kuwabara swallowed, resisting the urge to touch the strings. "Can, can you play it for me sometime?"

"Of course." My lips curled of their own accord, immediately putting him at-ease. "Though I'm sure you'll hear it more often that you'd like, if Yusuke has his way."

And he would. Without question.

"You too, hot pants." My cousin quipped, chin jerking. "You're not getting out of this one!"

A nearly inaudible huff and Hiei's hand rose, dragging out a pouch tied around his neck. From this he produced a wooden object shaped like a hatchet head, points stretching from wrist to fingertip. Opposite the rounded base, a narrow mouthpiece wide jutted out. Several holes lined the front while two rested on the back, safely hidden in his palm.

I knew this instrument well though Kuwabara appeared puzzled, as did my cousin. "What is that?"

"An ocarina."

Yusuke squinted at the instrument, drawing closer to sniff the wood, yet he knew better than to touch it.

"A type of flute," I offered, watching him count the ten visible holes. "Native to the eastern lands."

"Huh!" He licked his lips, seemingly impressed. "How did you get your hands on something like that?"

I smiled as Hiei looked away, fingers closing around the ocarina. "A merchant visited the capital several years ago and played in the street to pass the time. Hiei became fond of the instrument so Father asked if the merchant knew how to craft one and, if so, would he teach him how to play? Of course, the man agreed and father rewarded him for his efforts."

The tale appeased my cousin and he leaned back, glancing up at Hiei. "You any good?"

Hiei snorted, though that seemed answer enough.

"Well, we need to start practicing." Yusuke rose, patting the dirt from his plaid. "The princess isn't going to find herself!"

"You really think this is going to work?"

"Of course!" Yusuke shouldered his pipes, toeing the drums safely behind him. "After all, what brings people together better than music?"

A/N: Hello and welcome back, hope everyone is safe and well! Sorry this chapter has taken so long to write – Yusuke was impossible for over a month!

Thank you once again for those who have favorited, followed and reviewed, and to those who just read. I appreciate all of you; thank you so much for picking up The Whipping Boy.

So, we have a weird dream, language talk, and our medieval boy band is officially underway! Will being minstrels help them find the princess or just bring unwanted attention? And can everyone get along long enough to actually play? Find out next time! Please leave your thoughts in a review!

Boban – Daddy