1 AM Regna Ferox Drabble or Inspired by Khan Flavia
Basilio takes Lon'qu to meet the current Khan Regnant, Flavia. Or Flavia inspiring everyone she meets just by being her.
A/N: Very rough, unedited, and vaguely ramble-y. You have been warned.
"So you're the brat everyone's been going on about. You want this babe to train with your personal warriors, Basilio? You're going soft."
The first time Lon'qu meets Khan Flavia of Regna Ferox, he barely comes up to her shoulder and he is still slumdog thin. The only muscle he has is taut and wiry, stretched over his bones like the ligaments of a gnawed chicken wing. He shivers constantly in the unfamiliar chill, even as he grits his teeth, bites his tongue, because everyone in Regna Ferox is strong and he came here because he was, had been, is still weak. It was an honor, for Khan Basilio to bring him to the Arena, where the strength of a few determined the protection of thousands, all to show Lon'qu what Basilio had saw in him and believed he could be.
Khan Flavia greets Basilio personally in good humor, only because as of last night, Basilio no longer held the throne. She smells of the celebrations and Lon'qu shies away from that acrid scent of alcohol, human sweat, and greased steel- it is a dirty smell that reminds him of bandits and men with swords he could not kill. However, Flavia's eyes are bright at five am in the morning, so whatever indulgence she consumed hardly hampered her sword work and meticulous eye for detail (in the middle of their conversation, she turns to shout down to the arena a correction to the form, something so minute, Lon'qu would have assumed she had made it up, had he not seen the staggering change himself).
He fears her, not like how he fears the women that look, move, and smell like Ke'ri (they are everywhere, when he is awake and in his dreams), but because she leers at him and threatens to break him upon her sword. Rather than desiring to flee, he can feel the hackles of his fighting spirit, full of trepidation but no less heated, rise. But Flavia who has judged him in an instant and lost interest in the next, shrugs off his intention.
Lon'qu hates being looked down upon, even when he knows he is utterly outmatched. It is this hot-headedness that leads him to speak out of place and declare he would seat Basilio on the throne in five years.
The Khan Regnant laughs, loud and ringing. It matches Basilio's belly deep chuckles even though she is half his size. The joke is just that funny to her because she throws her head back and even Basilio looks sheepish on Lon'qu's behalf (because he likes the boy and wants him to succeed but Lon'qu is not a warrior, not yet). Soon even the sparring warriors below pause and look up. Lon'qu's cheeks are burning now but he holds her stare because backing down now would make him less- he is not sure why or how he knows but, in the absence of someone to cling onto, to protect, and to give his meaningless life worth (without her), this choice will shape his resolve.
"Boy, I would ask if your wits were still about you if I did not already know this is your youthful arrogance talking. Any man or woman can promise to move the heavens and earth, but here we stand, feet still on the ground. You will find here, in Regna Ferox, words will not win you a khan's throne." Flavia says. Lon'qu remembers her words, the way she swaggers away with mock condolences for the lost throne, and how, like Basilio, she fights among her warriors. In a blur of red and gold, she is like the tigers of his homeland, tearing through her opponents like wet paper. And it was all acceleration, the way her arms snap in and out of a strike, so fast that Lon'qu holds his breath. It is as if the air itself cannot keep up with her movements and she slips in and through it, the deadly hunter in the golden fields. He wants to move like that and when he returns with Basilio to the West, he secretly adds Flavia into his mental list of targets, checkpoints, idols.
The next time they meet, two years has passed and Lon'qu has already made incredible leaps in progress. Flavia still does not trade much more than one or two sentences with him, but Lon'qu is not a general or minister, so he is not slighted. She still has that grin that tugs up her lips each time she pauses, but Lon'qu can see her eyes mean business now. Her words are all about the state of the realm and their army. Basilio has been overreaching again, she argues, and while Lon'qu will always side with the West-Khan, Flavia's chastisement does wrangle out different terms for their treaty with Plegia.
No matter her amusement (and Basilio was the same way) they watch everything with a nervous edge, almost a paranoia they could not turn off, that Lon'qu recognized similar to his own anxiety. Basilio plays it off with a magnetic charisma and Flavia seems to compensate with disarming wit and sheer intimidation yet the weight of the crown darkens their brows.
But that is not Lon'qu's world. The one time he walks in on a snarling Flavia straddling a grim-looking Basilio in the throne room, he promptly walks back out and personally wards all the servants away for the next two hours. It is not a hard job anymore. Lon'qu had shot up, gangly and awkward, to be taller than Basilio and as his shoulders fill out, he finds it easier to push people away. He is not sure if he likes this- enough years have passed where he begins to feel pangs of loneliness.
By the time Ylisse, a southern kingdom that is both infinitely blessed by divine favor and infinitely cursed by the men that received such benediction, sends her young Exalt to meet with the Khans, the next tournament has come. Lon'qu is, having not rested a single day these last five years, finally ready.
Lon'qu looks up to Flavia twice. Once, before the horn has blown, and the rest of the combatants are still taking the field. She leans over the rail, one leg across her knee, fingers digging into her calf. Basilio had told Lon'qu many times before that they would have preferred to face off themselves but the logic and tradition means the khans will roar and scream down to the arena, lending only the power of their voices. Sharp as ever, she notices his gaze and her lips curl slightly. The message was clear. Flavia would not be impressed until she saw the results. He ducks his head, steadies his beating heart, and unsheathes his blade.
When the last of her champions falls to the dust and the Arena erupts, an upset, this immigrant nobody, Basilio has the throne, he looks up again. She was no longer smiling, face tight, for she must have known by the third or perhaps second move how it would play out. But she sees him singling her out and she nods. He is breathing hard, adrenaline pumping through his body, and as he walks out of the arena, Basilio comes down to clap him on the back which means more than all the chatter and praises around him combined. Lon'qu only speaks when he spots Flavia waiting for both of them.
"I said I would. And I did, in five years." he says and now he looks down at her with this new height and new strength. But as the words leave his mouth, he realizes how much higher Basilio and Flavia still are. Five years is nothing compared to a khan's lifetime-
"You hesitate too much to use the hilt and focus nearly entirely on the blade. There is too much push behind your swings-" Flavia begins.
"Lay off, woman. Tonight is a night of celebration, for me and him, at least! The youngest champion in Feroxi history. We can dissect your moves after several kegs of mead." Basilio says, and despite his loud chuckle, the hint of defensiveness came across loud and clear. Flavia scowls, but drops her line of questions, even through Lon'qu wants to ask what she meant.
"Hmph. And you will have forgotten everything about the fight by your fifth tankard. Did you forget I can drink you under the table?"
"Is that a challenge?" And they weave through their familiar steps, Lon'qu fading into the background. He wonders if he is dismissed, when Flavia suddenly calls him out.
"Don't get complacent, Lon'qu. I'll find men and women better than you before the next tournament. Or I'll fight you myself." She uses a threatening voice despite being tempered by good will. Flavia is deadly in everything she does, even acknowledgement and he swallows hard.
"…Hmph. I know I am still inexperienced and have much to learn."
Then Flavia grins and attacks him, grabbing his head in a vicegrip and -ruffling is too soft a term for the way she rakes her hand through his hair. Lon'qu's cheeks burn as he tries and fails miserably to escape the Khan's idea of physical affection. Basilio's laughter only makes it worse.
"What a brat you are."