The morning had dawned bright and warm, promising longer days and heat to come. Yuuri, in his loft, had been rudely awakened by his familiar, Vicchan, a small poodle, stepping on his cheek to let him know that he was wasting daylight when he could be making food. Groaning, Yuuri had complied, heaving himself out of bed and washing in the nearby stream, and feeding himself and Vicchan.
The previous night had been exhausting, but exhilarating; he would go and check on Yuuko and the children later that day, when they had had a chance to rest. That morning, Yuuri found himself at a loose end; his stocks of all the important herbs were full, and the rarer ones which needed replacing could not be picked until the evening. He had already made sufficient amounts his cure-all potion the night before to last for several weeks, and it didn't keep longer than that anyway, so he couldn't make more of it.
Eventually, it was his puppy that decided him. Vicchan had been frisking about his feet all morning, evidently desperate to play now that the good weather had returned.
Yuuri could never resist his poodle, which he thought might be inappropriate for a witch's familiar. He had found Vicchan alone and injured in the village one evening, and had taken him in; but he had a nagging suspicion that a familiar ought to be more dignified, more imposing, less likely to lick your ankles.
Yuuri capitulated to the shining, pleading eyes, and sat down to play Vicchan's favourite game, which would also give him a chance to train his mind magic. Sitting in a cross legged position on the floor, Yuuri faced his poodle, and closed his eyes, breathing deeply and rhythmically. He focussed inward, towards his soul, looking for the bright pool at the centre of his being which was his magic. He called it towards himself, welcoming the bright flare of welcome he felt behind his closed eyes as he grasped it in his mind.
Opening his eyes, he looked up at Vicchan, whose tail was wagging so hard in anticipation that it was causing his whole body to wriggle. He sent the magic across the space between them, seeing it in his mind's eye as bright white tendrils that looped around his dog, and slowly lifted him into the air. Vicchan whined with delight, waggling his paws towards the slowly retreating ground, and Yuuri smiled. He was getting so much better at this; only a few years ago it had been all he could do to lift a leaf an inch into the air on a windy day. He allowed Vicchan to drift higher, the dog barking with overwhelming joy, until he was about six feet in the air; he then slowly began to bring him back down, testing his control. The warm summer air swirled around him, and he smiled as Vicchan drifted toward the floor.
Suddenly, a knock on the door sounded like a gunshot, shattering the moment. Yuuri lost his concentration, and Vicchan fell the remaining foot to land on the floor, looking most displeased at the turn his favourite game had taken.
Yuuri leapt up, trying frantically to compose himself, and opening the old wooden door, and Vicchan ran under the table, sulking at his fall.
Standing in front of him was a tall, powerfully built man; he was not large, but every inch of him seemed to be covered in lithe muscle. His eyes were a piercing blue, and his hair….
Yuuri gulped. His hair was the trademark silver of the Nikiforov family. This, then, could only be the Crown Prince.
On his doorstep.
The Prince smiled, and in a light, attractive voice asked "May I come in? I have a matter of some importance to discuss with you."
Viktor's heart was beating fast- this was the moment. The one in which he would find out that magic was really real, that he would find a teacher, that he would finally learn what had been his obsession since his nurse had told a fever-drenched small boy tales of unicorns and fireworks.
Yuuri wordlessly stood aside, and the man ducked into his cottage, looking utterly alien in the well known surroundings. Yuuri's mind raced. He hadn't brought the guard, that much was clear, so he wasn't about to be arrested. The Prince had smiled; he didn't seem angry. Yuuri guessed that rumours about his prowess with herbs had spread to the castle through the servants, and that the Prince had come with some embarrassing ailment which he did not want his own physician to know about; that must be it. Yuuri drew in a slow breath, closed the door, and turned around, trying to smile pleasantly as though he had not been within an inch of being caught in a fatal mistake.
The Prince seemed to be waiting for him to speak, but Yuuri's voice (and mind, and sense) seemed to have deserted him so he simply stood expectantly, staring at this ethereally beautiful apparition that stood on his worn rush mats as though they had an appointment.
The Prince, apparently sensing that Yuuri was not about to introduce himself, coughed and held out a pale, elegantly long fingered hand to shake.
"I am the Crown Prince, Viktor Nikiforov. May we sit? I wish to speak with you."
Yuuri, whose mind was still frantically trying to process what on earth could be happening, gestured silently to the nearest wooden chairs, leaving the Prince to lower his outstretched hand and instead seat himself easily at the wooden table.
The Prince watched him intently, as though trying to memorise his face.
"Do you have a name?" Viktor asked, apparently realising that Yuuri was not going to volunteer this information.
"…Yuuri. My name is Yuuri Katsuki. I am honoured, I mean I am grateful, I am most grateful for your visit, Prince Nikiforov….." Yuuri's voice faded into the silence, trailing off like a question.
The Prince waved an elegant hand, as though dismissing Yuuri's nervousness, and said "Please, call me Viktor. I have come on a matter of some delicacy, and I wish you to understand that I am not here in my capacity as Prince, but rather…." Now the Prince's voice trailed off, as though he was unsure how to pursue his enquiry.
Yuuri, finally mustering the courage to speak, said in an unsure voice "If it is a medical matter, sire, then I hope that I can help you. You need not worry, I am quite discreet."
The Prince stared at him for several seconds, surprised.
"No, no. It isn't that."
(Then what? Yuuri wondered. What is happening here?)
"I wanted to speak to you because I know you are a witch. And I want you to teach me."
The silence that followed the pronouncement billowed around the room, roaring in Yuuri's ears, whilst his stunned brain attempted to process what the Prince had just said. He realised, as he stared at the Prince's face (why was his expression hopeful?), that his life was on the line here. This must be a trap.
Yuuri's words, so hesitant until now, began falling over themselves in his terror.
"No! NO! I am not a witch, I am only a herbalist, I know that there might be some confusion as I deal in medicines, but magic is banned, magic has been banned for decades, if I were a witch I would be killed, I would be burnt, you know this your majesty, please do not accuse me of such…"
The Prince held up a hand, stopping Yuuri's panicked denial mid flow.
"You are not a witch, you say." said Viktor, in a measured tone that nonetheless held a hint of repressed excitement.
Yuuri, dumbstruck, simply nodded.
Viktor looked at Yuuri's face, carefully. He saw the terror in the dark eyes which had filled his dreams last night, he saw the utter determination to deny it until death in the rounded chin, and he realised that He realised that it was going to take something drastic to convince this stranger to give him what he wanted. And oh, how he wanted it
"Very well, I believe you." Said Viktor, carefully dropping the words into place like pebbles in a still pond, their ripples spreading precisely so.
Yuuri's face immediately lit up, and he began to stammer his thanks. Before he had got more than a few syllables out, however, Viktor stood, and Yuuri's words ceased in surprise.
Viktor's mind was whirling. He needed this to be true. Needed to know what Yuuri had to teach him. And he could think of only one way to force Yuuri to give him what he needed. He hadn't wanted to do this, hadn't wanted to give himself away, but it seemed that it would be necessary.
Walking slowly towards the small cabinet, Viktor watched Yuuri's eyes widen and his pulse beat in his temple, harder with every step that Viktor took. He crouched down, sung open the cabinet door, and reached behind the cauldron to draw out the book he had seen the night before.
Yuuri's face was ghostly pale, his hands shaking.
Viktor dropped the book on the table, the incriminating title 'Ars Magica' glinting cheerily and innocently in the sunlight streaming through the windows.
Yuuri blanched as the book hit the table with a soft thud. He stood, straightened his spine, and looked Viktor directly in the eyes. If this was his end, he would meet it with bravery.
"Are you going to have me executed?" Yuuri asked, his voice gaining quickly in surety and strength "I have saved countless lived with this book. I prevented the autumn sickness that killed so many from killing more. I kept a young woman alive last night who would surely otherwise have died, and now her three children will grow up with a mother. I did the right thing, and your uncle is wrong to ban magic, WRONG!" Yuuri's voice rose to a shout, and Vicchan hid further under the table. "I lost my whole family!" Yuuri continued, his voice rough with sincerity. "And I know you did too, because they talk about it in the village! If magic had been allowed, they would still be here, and I wouldn't be risking my life every time someone comes to me and begs me to keep their relatives from the black god before their time! And if-"
Viktor again held out a hand to stop the tirade, this time in a gesture of peace, his fingers quivering slightly with nervous excitement.
"I know," he said, his voice husky and low, "And I agree. My uncle is a misguided man who has allowed the pain of loss to harden his heart beyond the point of reason. His grief has made him unjust. But I want to learn- I want…" Viktor stood up and began pacing, his soft shoes making little noise on the rush mats, his voice becoming faster and lower as he finally divulged the plan that had begun to take shape in his mind before he had even been consciously aware of it, before he had ever seen Yuuri's cottage. "I want the return of the old days, of the glories that magic could bring, and the restoration of all we have lost. I want you, Yuuri, to teach me everything. Please. I will work hard, and I will make my uncle see sense. He won't execute me, even if he realises I am using magic, as I am his only heir. Then he will see sense, and the ban will be lifted!"
His voice rose in a ringing crescendo, and finally Viktor fell silent, his plan shared, his secret spilled. He looked at Yuuri, who still stood motionless a few feet away from him. Yuuri's face was utterly closed, his emotions unreadable, but his mind was a maelstrom.
Yuuri realised that his secret was now known, by someone who could easily have him executed for it. And yet, as he stared at Viktor's shining expression, he saw the sincerity which was written in every line of his perfectly carved face, and which shone from his crystal blue eyes. He realised that, even if he really had no choice in his answer, Viktor's plan was a good one. It stirred long abandoned hopes of a world in which he wouldn't have to do magic by night, under cover of darkness, but freely, in the daylight. A world in which he could save people without having to pretend that it was just his skill with herbs, but in which he could openly admit the forces beyond himself, the miraculous blessing which allowed him to heal.
Steadying himself with a hand against the table, Yuuri looked up into Viktor's intense stare. He knew this moment would change his life, or end it.
"Yes," Yuuri said slowly. "I will teach you."
Viktor held out his hand again, reaching across the empty air between Yuuri and himself, almost pleadingly. Yuuri reached up, and gripped his hand firmly, never breaking eye contact. In that moment, as their hands touched, both knew that a bond had been forged which would change their futures irrevocably; and neither knew whether the change would be for good or ill.