Droopy Eyes wasn't his first choice, but as far as drinking buddies went, he'd had worse.
In all fairness, the green dragon kept up with him far better than most others had been able to, easily outdrinking any of the lightweights he'd commanded back at the palace, more on par with Geun-Tae or Gramps. And although the notably numerous scattered bottle of sake strewn around the two of them had begun to take effect, easing Hak's tensions a bit, making him at least twice as lenient as usual when it came to putting up with Droopy Eyes' annoying tendencies, it also had the unfortunate effect of making the dragon at least twice as obnoxious as usual.
"Ah, Hak my boy," Jae-ha chortled as he downed another cup, clapping the disgruntled boy on the back with a force to rival Kija's super-strength arm, "are you a man made of lightning or steel? We've been here for hours and you have yet to crack a smile!" At this he reached over to grab Hak's cheeks, spreading them apart in an effort to reveal the younger boy's underutilized pearly whites.
Hak jerked his head out of grasp and grimaced, grinding his teeth together to prevent him from saying something rude, then taking another swig from the bottle he was nursing when his verbal restraint seemed about to falter.
Jae-ha- masochistic, uninhibited, thoroughly inebriated Jae-ha- didn't seem to get the message. Or if he did, he interpreted it as an an invitation rather than a warning. His leering smile grew wider.
"Hak," he mockingly sighed, shaking his head in teasing pity, "o young, stunted friend of mine, always so stoic…" he ruffled the other boy's hair and half-assedly tried to hide his amusement at the Thunder Beast's resulting growl.
Jae-ha tsk-ed in reproach. "Now Thunder Beast, there's no need for antagonism." He grinned. "I must say, you hold your liquor astonishingly well. Seven bottles in and you've still got just as much of a stick up your ass as usual!"
Another non-retort. Another swig of sake.
Yes, he'd had worse drinking buddies than Droopy Eyes, but that really wasn't saying much.
He wondered how many bottles to go before Jae-ha passed out or left with one of the pretty tavern girls that had been eyeing the two of them for the better part of the last hour. Too many, considering the green-haired man hadn't even begun slurring his words yet. Far too many, considering a tipsy Jae-ha was equivalent to any other man wasted, as far as irritatingness went. The dragon was bad enough when he was stone-cold sober.
It was going to be a long night.
"Haaaaaaaaaak," Jae-ha pouted, tugging on his sleeve in a gesture that was disturbingly reminiscent of the Princess, not too long ago- or lifetimes ago. It felt like lifetimes ago. "Won't you smile for me, Hak? I need something to carry me through the days ahead, some warm memory to hold on to…"
Hak continued to ignore him and flagged down the bartender, who appeared almost immediately, a bland smile on his face that didn't quite reach his calculating eyes. "Yes, sir?"
Hak shoved his half-finished bottle across the countertop. "Something stronger."
The bartender took in Hak's grimy appearance, from his greasy, hardly-washed hair to his shabby, frayed clothing. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped short at the silver piece suddenly shoved in his face. Hak looked bored as he waggled the coin belligerently, raising an eyebrow. "Is there a problem?"
The bland smile was back in place, and the bartender plucked the piece from his hand. "Not at all." He tilted his head forward in a cursory bow before sidling away.
He ignored Jae-ha's chuckles- the guy just seemed to find everything so damn amusing tonight- as he waited for the man to return, turning around in his stool to lean his elbows back against the counter as he lazily scanned the room. The tavern bustled around them, barmaids tittering seductively as they poured more ale for beefy men with aggressive, booming laughs, battle-hardened soldiers swapping stories of triumphs and defeats as they tore into roasted lamb and guzzled steaming stew like this might be the last meal they ever ate.
In one of the far corners, by a crackling fireplace, Zeno crooned a drunken rendition of "The Ballad of King Hiryuu" as a crowd of other revelers, Kija included, listened rapturously.
A new bottle appeared at Hak's elbow. He grunted his thanks at the bartender without bothering to look back and took a long swig, refusing to gag or sputter as the contents of the bottle slid, burning and bitter, down his throat. He didn't know what the bottle contained, but Kami, it was disgusting. Although it was, to the barmaster's credit, certainly stronger. He pushed it away in distaste. Jae-ha picked it up, sniffed it, and made a face. "Surely rum would have sufficed."
Hak barely heard him as his eyes snagged on a nearby couple, most likely man and wife, the otherwise slender woman clearly with child. She sobbed into her husband's shoulder, burying her face in the crook of his neck as he tried to solace her, firmly nestling an arm around her. He placed his free hand gently on her swollen stomach, and Hak noted that he looked near tears himself. He snatched the bottle back out of Jae-ha's hands and took another searing gulp.
A smattering of applause cut through the din of the room as the final note of Zeno's tune faded away. The yellow dragon bowed good-naturedly before flouncing over to Kija as a group of three men took his newly-vacated spot and began to play a lively tune, drums and tambourine and pipe. Cheers went up and the crowd began to part as Zeno tugged a frazzled Kija back up near the band and spun him around with childish abandon. His laughter spilled out of him, warm and infectious, and he waved a hand to the onlookers to join him. First a young girl joined the pair, clearly a trained dancer, twirling in effortless circles around them, then an old couple, then a group of children, until the whole left side of the tavern became a dance hall, a mesh of people cavorting around on the open floor, hooting and hollering. Strangers danced with strangers as the music grew louder, with those not dancing stomping feet or clapping along to the steady beat of the drum.
Jae-ha let out a low whistle. "Well, that's not something you see every day. Rather impressive… but unsurprising, when Ouryuu is concerned." Hak nodded his agreement.
"Look how he dances so freely, Hak! He radiates with life! Why don't you join him? Who knows when you'll get another chance?"
The formal general said nothing for a moment as he watched Zeno lift a small boy up onto his shoulders and twirl him around, both of them whooping in joy, eyes crinkled. Outwardly, Hak remained apathetic, even as inwardly he tried to prevent treacherous resentment from infiltrating his thoughts. Still, they wormed their way in unbidden. Easy to be merry when you know you won't die tomorrow. He shoved the thought aside, ashamed of his pettiness. Tomorrow would be easy for no one. He braved another sip of alcohol, closing his eyes and letting the sounds of the room swirl around. Rather than uplifted or inspired, the cacophony just made him feel… exhausted. "I'll pass."
He wanted to punch Droopy Eyes for looking so excited, he really did. So annoying. "At last he speaks!" Kami, what a mistake that was. Too late to backtrack, Hak vowed not to make it again, if Droopy Eyes was only going to take any words from him as encouragement.
Jae-ha blinked at him expectantly for a solid minute or two, then tried not to look put-out as he realized that more words from his (terrible, really dreadfully terrible) drinking buddy for the night were nonforthcoming. "A fluke then?" He rubbed his hands together in determination. "Well, the cynical might say. I, however, view it as a feat! There's hope for you yet, friend!"
Insufferable. By the gods, he was insufferable. Another swig of whatever strong substance the bartender had brewed for him, and Hak didn't taste the bitter tang quite so strongly as it slipped down his throat. The bottle was nearly empty now, and finally, he thought he could feel it starting to slosh through his veins.
"Ahh, I see the flush rising in your cheeks, my friend. The atmosphere is reaching you at last, ne?" He clapped his hands together with a sudden burst of determination. "Why don't we dance? The music is good, the women are beautiful and the night is young!" He made to get up, but seeing that he'd failed to elicit even an eye roll from the Thunder Beast, slumped back down in his stool instead.
Really, what right did Hak have to be so brooding? They were all worried about the events that would play out tomorrow. All the more reason to enjoy tonight. Wasn't that why they'd come? He cursed the black-haired boy for being so stubborn, then cursed himself for being equally so. For if he had been any less stubborn, Jae-ha would have abandoned the Thunder Beast to his moping hours ago, but after bottle after bottle of the cold shoulder… no.
Now it was personal.
Jae-ha glowered at the crowd as he sulked in his stool, the dancer girl catching his eye as she shimmied seductively to the rowdy drinking song the band was now playing. She was graceful enough, he guessed, and easy on the eyes of course, but he'd seen better. Namely, his darling Yona. He wished she was here… she would be so easy to sweep off her feet once he tugged her out onto the dance floor… he didn't care if Hak would be mad, he'd-
Wait a minute.
Heh.
He had an idea.
He giggled to himself secretly. Funnny. Everything was funnny.
He looped an arm around Hak's shoulders, a gargantuan grin plastered on his face. "You know, it is a real shame that darling Yona is back at the inn with Yun and Shin-ah, isn't it Hak? She would just love all this, wouldn't she? I really think she would."
Hak shrugged the green dragon's arm off, infuriatingly calm and collected.
Jae-ha brought his hand up to his chin to stroke his beard contemplatively. (Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew there was no beard, but he ignored that fact in an effort to commit fully to this role.)
"I'm surprised our little Princess chose not to tag along tonight, actually…" he pondered. "She's usually begging to come drink with us, isn't she Thunder Beast?" He might as well have been a fly buzzing around for all the reaction Hak showed.
"Ah, but, Yona Dearest has been rather evasive lately, hasn't she? If I didn't know any better, I might think she was avoiding you... " at first his sly glance sideways seemingly revealed nothing, Hak supposedly as impassive as ever. But Jae-ha didn't fail to notice the almost-imperceptible whitening of the Thunder Beast's fingers as his grip tightened on the glass bottle.
Gotcha.
Heh.
He smirked to himself, then laughed an ever-so-innocent laugh as he tugged his eyes away from Hak to focus on pouring another cup of sake, tone deviously offhand as he shook his head dismissively. "Of course, that would imply something had happened between the two of you, and we both know you don't have the balls to make a move…"
He felt his face smash into the well-worn countertop rather than the blow to the back of his head. Heard the gasps and bellows from the other bar-goers rather than the crunch of his nose cracking against the wood. He lifted his head, eyes full of twisted delight as he wiped the trickling blood from under his nose and rose, rolling back his shoulders and cracking first his neck, side-to-side, then his knuckles in one efficient, no-nonsense gesture.
Yes. Finally. This was what he needed. This was what he'd come for- what they'd all come for.
Distraction.
It seemed Jae-ha's distraction would be coming in a different form than dancing and dallying tonight. Well, he was just fine with that.
More than fine. He reveled in the pain of his broken nose, in the concentration it took to counter each of Hak's relentless blows, fists flying at the speed of light. The world narrowed to Hak's fists and his own. Jab, feint, dodge. Feint, dodge, jab. Throw in a kick every once in a while for good measure.
Jea-ha smirked, smile barbed as he ducked to avoid a right-hand hook. "I always have wondered which of us would win in a fight. Without your spear and my leg, it seems we're on even ground."
Hak didn't deign to reply. Jae-ha wasn't even sure that he'd heard him, so fierce was the boy in his deluge of fury, all the pent-up anxiety and aggression finally, finally pouring out of him. Despite his precarious circumstances, the green dragon found himself laughing. Then he took a fist to the gut and the laugh sputtered out as he landed with his back on the ground ten feet away, Hak prowling towards him with single-minded predation. Dimly Jae-ha was aware that the tavern was in utter chaos around them, the two of them seeming to have provoked a fully-fledged bar brawl. Not entirely surprising. The tension had simmered in the air all night, transforming the dingy room into a powderkeg about to explode. Hak and Jae-ha had merely lit the match.
It seemed the world was going to shit a few hours ahead of schedule.
Jae-ha rolled and hopped effortlessly over Hak's head as the other boy neared, landing behind him without so much as a thunk. He made for a blow to the Thunder Beast's exposed back, but Hak whirled at the last moment and blocked Jae-ha's fist with his forearm, deflecting it. He bared his teeth, eyes hazy with a deadly combination of alcohol and adrenaline. Jae-ha stumbled backwards, granted only a second before Hak began advancing on him again with manic intent. The black-haired boy brought his left fist back. Jae-ha darted to the side and aimed a dragon-laced kick at the exposed flesh of Hak's stomach and made impact, sending the boy flying all the way across the tavern, a cry of pain escaping from Hak's lips as his back thudded against the closed entryway doors with a sickening crack.
He slid down the door into a crumpled heap on the floor, and for a moment Jae-ha thought he'd been knocked out by the force of the collision. He heaved a sigh of relief as he dusted himself off, easily fending off a stray drunken nobleman that came charging at him (rather ambitiously, Jae-ha thought; the nobleman was a rather scrawny thing). He began picking his way across the room, content to carry the unconscious Thunder Beast to their room across the street at the Inn, call it a night, and gloat in the morning, but stopped in his tracks a safe distance away from the downed boy as he began to stir.
Hak picked himself up off the ground one limb at a time, bracing himself against a table to get to his feet. Blood trickled down the side of his neck from a wound on the back of his head, and as his eyes flashed, gaze piercing into Jae-ha's own, he looked for all the world like he'd been to Hell and back.
Kami. It was a marvel he had survived the blow from Jae-ha's leg, let alone remained conscious. No wonder they called him Beast- this guy was a monster. Dark Dragon indeed.
He started towards Jae-ha again, this time painfully slowly, one hand using the tables to stay upright, the other clutching at his side, which surely housed broken ribs. But the promise of retaliation in his eyes had Jae-ha frozen firmly in place, wishing simultaneously that he'd had a little less to drink and a little more.
The sound of glass breaking all around him seemed almost ironic. Ominous. Metaphorical.
He felt a strange mixture of pity, terror, and guilt as he watched the Thunder Beast make his way towards him. Uncertain of how to handle Hak in his current state- he didn't dare strike him again for fear of any more permanent damage- he merely stood unheroically as the boy staggered over to him, grabbing onto his shirt for support but turning the gesture into a menacing grab of the collar.
They stood eye-to-eye a few moments, livid blue clashing with apologetic green. Jae-ha was considering just enveloping his poor, beat-up friend in his arms and bro-hugging it out when the large polished oak doors slammed open, a freezing blast of winter's wind sweeping through the tavern, a jarring enough contrast to the sweat-soaked hall that most faltered in their disorderly conduct and turned to gape at the open doorway in astonishment.
A few moments of bewildered wordlessness, the low murmur of heavy panting the only disruption to the silence. Then, a shocked whisper: "Princess Yona…"
For the Princess indeed stood in the doorway, flanked on either side by Zeno and Kija, the latter still a bit incoherent but trying his best, the former remarkably sobered. Gasps rippled through the crowd, and as if a switch had been flipped, the entire dining hall began to kneel, murmurs of "forgive us, Princess," and "apologies, Your Highness" floating up into the air.
Only Hak and Jae-ha remained standing, frozen in place, repentantly avoiding the Princess' wide-eyed gaze as she took in the blood-stained floor, the overturned chairs, the countless bits of shattered glass, and lastly, in the middle of it all, her boys.
"Hak…? Jae-ha? What happened here?!" She rushed over to them, prying Hak's death grip from Jae-ha's collar and looping his arm around her shoulder, staggering under his weight. She began to pick her way to the door, calling over her shoulder, "Jae-ha, can you walk? Let's get you two out of here-"
"Princess…" Hak croaked, "wait…"
With great effort, he disengaged from her, unwrapping her arms from his torso and hobbling over to the nearest piece of furniture left standing, a round table, and collapsing against it gratefully.
"Hak? What is it?"
One hand on his ribs again, he used the other to gesture to the whole room, a sweeping motion. "They're waiting for you."
And sure enough, every pair of eyes blinked up at the Princess expectantly, expressions of wonder and hope etched into spit-lipped countenances.
A quick intake of breath was the only inclination to the Princess' astonishment. "Me?" she murmured, almost to herself, followed by, much louder, "I mean, o- of course." She gulped, then darted a glance at Hak, who stared back at her, with utter calm, a pillar of complete faith. He bowed his head slightly, a comfort and a cue.
It was all she needed. "C-citizens of Kouka," she began tentatively, eyes still trained on Hak. "I'm sorry for interrupting your evening. I am… I'm sorry for disrupting your lives." Her gaze broke apart from his as she began surveying the room, making eye contact with all those who listened, spellbound, each and every one. "I don't know the individual circumstances that have brought you here to this room, but I know that each and every one of you has sacrificed. You've left behind family, and friends. Brothers, sisters, children, mothers, f- fathers." Her voice cracked on the word father. She inhaled deeply and stood up straighter as she released the breath, and when she spoke again, her confidence seemed to grow with every word, her address swelling with sudden strength to fill the room. "You have left behind lives to join me, for the sake of Kouka Kingdom, for the sake of our futures, and for that… I am eternally grateful."
She blinked rapidly in an effort to fend off the tears in her eyes that threatened to spill over. "Tomorrow we march on the False King, Su-Won. Us, and many more. We will join with legions led by our Generals. The Fire, Water, Earth and Wind tribes all march with us, though the False King allies himself with neighboring kingdoms, with our enemies.
"We intend to attempt to settle the matter peacefully. We believe there is a great chance that Su-Won will turn over the throne, that he truly does have Kouka's best interest at heart. We do this to end the draft that fuels the Kingdom's expansionist efforts. We do this to eliminate the soldiers patrolling the kingdom, encroaching on our territories, our livelihoods, our existences. We are the people of Kouka, and we will demand to be heard."
The cry of assent that rose up from the crowd was quickly hushed as she continued, more softly now. "However, there are no guarantees. I wish… I wish I could make things more certain. There are things I could still do, things I might have done differently... I wish I had more time." Yona's hooded gaze fixed firmly on her wringing hands for a pause thick with unspoken sentiments. Then she started suddenly, shaken from her soliloquy.
"The time is now," she called, as the infamous fire began to burn behind her eyes. "To stand, to demand, and if need be to fight. For our mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, children- our families. For a better life than this. For Kouka. For all of us."
Her words were simple, honest, without grandeur or facade. But the conviction behind them, the spirit of King Hiryuu, shone through. At first her speech was met with silence as her message settled down upon the room like a blanket, wrapped around shoulders like suits of armor.
Hak pushed himself off the table, standing on his own. "For all of us." he rumbled, and like a dam breaking, a chorus of reprisals flooded the tavern. All around people burst to their feet, exclaiming their support for Kouka, for the kingdom's true ruler. The bartender from before clambered up onto his counter, shouting, "drinks all around!" to another surge of appreciative hollering.
Yona took that as her cue to excuse herself and her companions. Hak put one arm around her shoulders and the other around Jae-ha's and they limped over to the doorway, the Princess smiling and clasping hands with the people who reached out to her as they passed by, wanting to touch the symbol of their salvation.
Then the doors slammed shut behind them and once again it was just the hooded girl and her warriors in the cold, dark night.
xxxxx
"Hold still." The words were curt and sharp as she pressed the wine-soaked rag to the back of Hak's head, ignoring his wince of pain as it made contact with the raw, open wound. The rag quickly turned red from the blood. She set it aside and began to soak another.
Her earlier concern had faded as soon as she'd grasped the gravity of Hak's injuries and the utter stupidity of his actions. Now, as she raised her hand to hold the new rag to the gash, she felt her barely-tempered anger rise along with it, refusing to lie dormant. He hissed as the alcohol made sudden, stinging contact with his exposed flesh, but she showed no sympathy. "Hush." she said, ignoring the quaver in her voice, then began dabbing the balled-up cloth slowly along the edges of the cut none-too-gently, the wine purging it of any toxin or infection as she traced the contours of the slash with clinical, methodical precision.
The silence hung heavy, a river between them, threatening to drown her. She focused on her breathing, keeping it even, light, but couldn't iron out the hitch in her breath as she pulled the rag away to reveal the full extent of the incision, no tenuous sinew or clotting to hide how deep it ran. It gleamed pink in the dim light of the lanterns that littered the room, running vertically from the crown of his head to the nape of his neck, splitting unnaturally through his skin like a wide, crude canyon. A canyon of his own creation. He might as well have taken a knife and carved it himself. She pressed the now-bloodstained material to the tender center of the wound with more force than was necessary.
She was being cruel, and she hated herself for it, but in that moment she hated him too. Hated him for his blood and his bruises and his rage and his recklessness. Hated him because she understood him. She understood him so completely and acutely it hurt.
Panic sliced through her, an ice cold dagger to the heart, as the image of him in the center of that wide-eyed tavern flashed through her memory, rattled around in her skull- his back to her, a trickling trail of blood stark against his pale neck, the tension in his shoulders as he clung to Jae-ha like the green-haired man was the only thing keeping him from collapse.
He'd looked so much like he had that day. Even the thought of it sent a cold shiver down her spine, the over-the-edge frenzy he'd descended into as he surged towards Su-won, the desperation in his attack as he tossed Jae-ha aside like an angry predator swatting away a creature that had stepped in the path to his prey, nothing but stormclouds of hatred and fury roiling in his normally clear-sky eyes. His staggered gait, his outstretched hand, the blood that slipped down his cheek, the twin stream to the tear that slipped from his eye.
How lost he'd looked as he stood there, restrained, reaching towards the boy who had murdered the King, severed their ties, ruined their lives.
Who had been his best friend.
She remembered reaching her own hand out to his, covering his clenched fingers with her own, a tether, a reassurance that was solid and real and warm. It had been a strange sort of role reversal, that moment; for the first time she was the one tugging him out of the dark, she was the one being his anchor, his light.
That day, that moment, had changed everything. As she'd lain down her head that night, sleep had eluded her, eclipsed by an ocean of self-loathing, regret, disgust.
How many times had she missed it?
He was hurting too.
She'd known that, of course she had, known that Su-won's betrayal had stung them both. She'd just never realized how deeply.
Tonight, every time her eyes landed on him, took in his battered form, she was reminded of what she'd realized that sleepless night… that Hak's wounds ran just as deep as her own.
Shame had coursed through her like the tide, wave after wave of it, relentless, as she'd realized with sudden harrowing clarity all the ways she had failed him. All the times she had failed his pain, too caught up in thoughts of her father and her loss and her destiny and herself. Even before tragedy had befallen the both of them, she had mistreated him, enjoyed subjecting him to her every whim, taken pleasure in the power she held over him, in his bowing to her will, the reluctant but unfailing servant. What had she ever done to deserve him? Paid him the proper wages? But he wasn't just a servant. He'd never been. He'd known that, hadn't he? He was her friend.
Friend.
The silence stretched on. She broke it only after she deemed the abrasion sufficiently cleansed, rising and beckoning him towards the small washbasin that stood in the corner of their tatami-papered room. "Come."
He followed. Three buckets of clear water sat near the bowl, lugged in by Shin-ah minutes earlier at Yun's behest.
It was almost comical, the way the youngest of the bunch had taken control of the situation with all the assurance and authority of the world's most seasoned commander. He was the epitome of a Mama in crisis mode. "Shin-ah, fetch six buckets of water and split them between two of the rooms. Yona, you take care of Hak in this one. I'll tend to Jae-ha in the next. Zeno, Kija, you've both had a long night. Rest. You too, Shin-ah, once you've returned with the buckets." Kija had tried to argue, interjecting with protestations of his willingness and desire to assist his master, but Yun had stymied him with a glare sharp enough to put his dragon claws to shame. "Go."
Still Kija might have objected had Zeno not intervened, looping an easy arm around the white dragon's shoulders. Though his words were directed at Kija, he pinned Yona with a knowing, centuries-old look as he spoke them, ushering the dejected dragon from the room. "Come on, Mister, let's go. The Little Miss has some things she needs to take care of. She doesn't need us getting in her way! Besides, Zeno sure is sleepy!"
The room shrank as the two disappeared down the hall, grew suffocating as the other three followed in their footsteps. First Shin-ah had exited, hurrying down to the river, Ao in tow. Then, after rummaging briefly through the medical pack for the supplies he would need, Yun had shuffled a still-woozy Jae-ha from the room. The red-haired boy had lingered in the doorway, glancing between Yona and Hak for a minute, expression uncharacteristically unreadable. Finally, he'd just sighed and shook his head. "Take care of things," he said softly, then turned on his heel and was gone, tugging the door softly shut behind him. Yona wasn't sure if he had been addressing her or her charge.
Neither of them spoke as they waited for Shin-ah to return with the water. Yona busied herself with the medpack, bustling over to the bag and digging through it in search of the supplies she would need: the corked bottle of purging wine, a shallow stone bowl to pour it in, a small, wood-handled knife to sluice the yards of untailored fabric into long strips of passably thick bandage.
She forced her eyes to remain focused on the task at hand, carefully angling the knife through the material with dogged single-mindedness, but her resolved crumbled as the minutes dragged on and still Shin-ah had not returned. They strayed.
Her heart broke at the sight of him.
He sat cross-legged on the floor, leant against the foot of the bed, head tilted back, eyes closed. Lanternlight flickered off his unnaturally waxen skin, caused the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and exposed throat to shimmer. The tiniest drop of scarlet beaded on the upper ridge of his barely-split lip. Dried blood matted his hair, causing it to droop in the same manner as his slumped posture. She had never seen Hak this way before, never seen him without his shoulders squared and his spine erect. He looked like an angel twice fallen, first exiled from Heaven but then expelled from the depths of Hell. He looked broken.
He looked defeated.
"Hak," she choked, and his eyes flew open, gaze immediately snapping to hers. Though there was no alcohol-induced haze clouding his vision any longer, his eyes were murky in another kind of way, swirling with too much emotion for her to sift through from ten feet away.
There was a question in the tilt of his head, but Yona faltered under his even stare, unsure of what she'd meant to say, if she'd even meant to speak at all. She welcomed the bang of the door opening that signaled Shin-ah's return with a startled jump and a short sigh of relief, running a hand through her hair and murmuring her gratitude to the blue dragon, who hurriedly set the buckets down and took his leave once more.
She was on her feet before the door could clank closed behind him, uncorking the wine and pouring it into the stone bowl, taking care not to slosh as she picked up a handful of rags and made her way over to Hak, his eyes following her the whole way. She sat down beside him, surprised at how cold her voice sounded when she ordered him to turn.
He obliged. She set to work, letting the icy veneer settle over her like a protective coating, freezing over the butterflies that rioted in her stomach, the turbulent emotions that warred in her chest. It had been nearly two months since she had been so close to him, so… intimate. Not since her embarrassment by the lake in the hidden valley.
Or, they had thought it hidden. Then a battalion of Su-Won's men had descended on them like a swarm of ants the following morning. It was only thanks to the boys' battle prowess and Jae-ha's leg they had managed to escape, dooming the soldiers they left behind to whatever fate or creative escape attempt met those trapped in the valley as they fled. Surely some must have survived, for Su-Won somehow caught word of the battle and the declaration was issued. Wanted: the lost Princess and her Dragon Warriors in one piece. Her ex-General captor? Dead or alive. They'd challenged the declaration of course, the false allegations, and in the endless flurry of war preparation there had been no time to talk since.
There were no words to be said, anyway.
A joke. Nothing more. A harmless joke. A friendly joke.
A heartbreaking joke.
She laughed to herself. It sounded hollow. She was the joke.
Now, as they knelt by the washbasin, she willed her fingers to stop trembling, froze them through sheer force of will. Ice. She was a girl made of ice.
She lowered his head into the washbowl faceup and reached for the nearest bucket, dipping a few fingers in experimentally to test the temperature. Hot, but not searing. Shin-ah must have taken so long because he had gone to the trouble of warming it. She smiled to herself and made a mental note to thank him again in the morning.
She looked to Hak, who had shut his eyes once more as he waited, his lips slightly parted, looking bizarrely serene. Yona swallowed uncomfortably. "This will be a bit warm," she murmured, then dumped the entire bucket unceremoniously over his head, filling the basin just to the brim and only taking a little satisfaction in his sputter. He cut her an accusatory glance, mouth opening to form some comment about how annoying she was, and the action was so familiar, so absent for so long that she felt her frozen heart start to thaw, but the words died in his throat when she brought her fingers to the sides of his head and began to massage his scalp, comb them through his hair, easing the dried blood out of it. His eyelids fluttered shut again, and a soft groan of contentment escaped him.
Her heart stopped. Restarted. Her fingers, having momentarily froze, resumed their task. But she was aware too aware of it now, too aware of him. The paradoxical coarseness of his fine hair, the curve of his jawline, the shallowness of his breathing, the adam's apple bobbing at his throat; the effect she- the healing, it was the healing- was having on him.
She flipped his head over so he was facedown in the water, doubling her force and pace, taking care to lift his head from the bowl every fifteen seconds or so to allow him some air. In this manner she continued washing his hair. This was much better. She much prefered it this way. Soon enough she was done, half the water in the bowl dyed red, the other half splashed across the floor.
She coughed awkwardly. "Right. That's done. So, I'll clean the spill up quickly, if you want to towel off, then we'll bandage your head and have a look at… erm, your shirt. I mean your ribs."
She was a girl made of ice and she did not blush at her slip-up, nor as he bowed slightly and said, "As you wish, Princess."
She could have sworn there was an edge to his tone, just the hint of something ironic or bitter, but he looked at her solemn as the grave as he began to pull his shirt over his head.
"Wait!"
He paused, fingers at his shirt's hemline, just a sliver of stomach exposed.
"Your head… we should bandage your head first."
"Ah. Right." He crouched down and picked up three long strips of cloth as she stepped gingerly over to him, careful not to slip on the slicked floor.
She snatched them from his grasp without fanfare, not feeling anything at the feather-light phantom brush of their fingers as she did so. No flutters in her stomach. No race in her chest. Nothing at all.
One. She wrapped the first piece around his head, oblivious to the way the damp strands of hair clung to her fingertips, not wanting to let go.
Two. As she leaned closer to secure the second strip in place, she breathed in nothing but the persistent stench of alcohol and blood, impervious to the other scents that intertwined with it: sweat, pine needles, the faintest trace of smoke, the unmistakable scent of masculinity. She didn't notice, didn't breathe any more deeply than she had mere seconds ago.
Three. There. The task was done. The chill that returned to her bones as she stepped away from him was nothing more than the winter wind trickling in through cracks in the paper-thin walls.
She wrapped her arms around herself, suppressing a shiver, as he reached for the hemline of his shirt again. She did not miss the heat that radiated from him like a furnace- it was a threat to her, to her visage of ice. Hak hesitated, fingers dancing nervously on the hemline. He shot her an anxious look, as if her were afraid of upsetting her, of stepping out of line. Now?
A crisp nod. She was no stranger to the hard planes of Hak's chest- she had seen enough of it in the past few months, as he'd labored every day shaping their motley following into, somehow, at least semi-adequate troops, that she knew every line of it as distinctly as she'd known the layout of the palace halls. Yet she still averted her eyes, waiting until the sound rustling fabric had faded away (and then another few heartbeats, for good measure) before allowing them to wander back to the injured boy's figure. In spite of herself, in spite of knowing he had taken a beating, she gasped. She couldn't help it, couldn't stop herself, couldn't think of anything beyond the black-purple-blue whorl that spiraled from his left rib to the center of his chest, spanning down to his navel.
"Hak," she breathed. It sounded like a whimper. The colors melted together until all she could see was red. The words tumbled out of her mouth as her own chest began to burn.
Because as much as she tried to convince herself otherwise, Yona had never been a girl made of ice. She had always been the one kissed by fire, standing on the blush of dawn, blazing crimson wherever she tread. That fire poured out of her now, passion in its purest form, engulfing her.
"How could you? How could you be so irresponsible? Look at you… look at you. Look what you've done to yourself. We need you in your best condition tomorrow in case things go wrong- you realize this will make a difference between the amount of lives saved and lost tomorrow, Hak! You make a difference!" She was burning, she was burning, she was in hell and she was burning.
"What were you thinking? How could you- what were you thinking? You could have died. Before you even reached the battlefield. How do you expect to fight tomorrow? How do you expect to protect anyone? How do you expect to protect me? You made a promise. You made a promise to my father, my father the King, you swore to him- you swore you would protect me- you swore- you… you…" She was burning, she was burning; she was a flame fizzling out.
"You could have died," she whispered, and the words destroyed her, snuffed her fire out so there was nothing left but ashes on her tongue.
"Princess." He reached for her hand, trembling fingers slipping between his own. "I'm here." I'm alright. I'm alive. I'm sorry.
She let their interlocked fingers dangle in the air between them for one second, then two, one more, another, the feeling of his calloused palm against hers a tangible reassurance. But as he opened his mouth to say something, she hurriedly pulled away with a huffed intake of breath. She reached for the bandages, all business. "You can't die, Hak. I told you that you're the only one who has to stay by my side."
He lifted his arms so she could wrap the linen strips around his torso, which she did with gentle but deftly detached precision. She rambled as she wound the fabric around, determinedly distracting herself from the assault to her senses that his nearness indomitably entailed. "I know your side must hurt, but if I can wrap these without you keeling over in pain, I don't think any of your bones are broken, and there's not much to be done for the bruising. If you were bleeding, we'd wash and disinfect, but… it's miraculous, really. Just like how miraculously poor your judgement was tonight."
She shook her head slightly, chastising herself for the derailment. "That's beside the point. The bandages will prevent you from touching the bruises. Leave them alone, no poking or prodding. Other than that, I'm not sure that they do much of anything, but I don't know what else to do for you. Maybe if I'm wrong about the bones and one really is broken, these will help keep it in place. I'm sorry that this is all I can do for you. I'll go get Yun to have a look. I'm no medic." Her awkward laugh was pure relief as she tucked in the last tail of fabric and turned to flee. She managed one step before Hak's hand enveloped her own, tugging her back to him.
His eyes smoldered with disarming intensity as he said, "You're not a medic."
Annoyance bubbled in her chest. "I know, I just said that. I'm sorry, I did the best I c-"
He cut her off. "You're not a medic, you're a Princess. You're the rightful heir to the throne and heart of the kingdom of Kouka. You are the daughter of the Late King Il-" surprised tears sprung into her eyes at the mention of his name- "and I made a promise to your father that I would stay by your side. That I would not let you down. Tonight I failed him. And I failed you." He sunk to the ground on his knees, head bent. "I am ashamed, and I am sorry. Please... forgive me."
Words caught in her throat at the show of such irrevocable repentance, of his unwavering loyalty. After a brief silence she knelt down beside him. His head remained bowed.
What had she done to deserve such a person?
His regret was evident, his apology wholehearted. So he'd picked the wrong night to have a little too much to drink. He was forgiven for being frightened. The apology he graced her with now was more than Su-won would ever offer her, and his crimes were so incontestably worse than Hak's slip-up that they rendered the mistake obsolete.
"I don't want to lose you."
She cast all facades away and let her walls come crumbling down as she quietly confessed what had really been eating away at her heart all night.
His eyes found hers in confused disbelief, as if he wasn't sure he'd heard her correctly. With shy fingers, she took his face into her hands. "More than anyone… more than anything, Hak, I need to know that I won't- that you'll be- please…" helplessness swam in her irises. "Please, let me know that you'll be alri-"
The kiss was brief; just long enough for their hearts to beat together for one count. Two. Three.
There was no avoidance in his gaze as he pulled back, just the unmistakable flicker of something, an emotion she couldn't pin down. She tried to rally her wits and salvage her pride, managing to lean away with a poise and quiet strength she hadn't believed herself capable of mustering. "I don't really think this is the time for a joke, Hak."
The flicker grew stronger. "It's not a joke." A sharp intake of breath- his or her own? She couldn't be sure. The world had fallen out of focus. "It's a promise."
His arms wrapped around her like two bandages: one for her wounds, one for her worries. She let her eyelids flutter shut as he whispered into her hair, "I promise."
She fell asleep like that, cocooned in his warmth, head against his chest, repeating the two words in her mind, ingraining them in her memory. They echoed the steady ba-dump of his heart.
I promise. I promise. I promise.
xxxxx
A/N: Sorry for the wait and thank you for all the lovely reviews from the bottom of my heart. Aki no Ryu, Lyrha971, Meetrie, SwaggyStyles, Switchlolly007, Rockin' angels, bookgirl18- you make my heart happy. :)
I hope the chapter is okay- it was an absolute bear to write, and I lost a section of it and had to rewrite, which was a bit discouraging to say the least. Finally got it all hammered out though, and now there's only one kiss to go- stay tuned for the conclusion, and thank you again for reading.
Much love,
Rosie :)