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A Castle of Silence and Bones

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014.
to care of happenstances here
(appreciate now and understand later; or was it - ?)

"One more day," Kiku says as a means of explanation, before taking a kiss and then his leave. For the first time in a year, Yao moves in the Akasaka Palace. From the West Wing to the Center Tower, the one that looks above all else. Not a grand move, but enough to get away from the smell and stench of the blood. There was a man, Kiku had said, when Yao asked one day. A bad man.

Kiku does not elaborate (he never does) and Yao does not ask (he never does). All the same, Yao thinks - for an instant - that he should have known that man. The bad man.

(You can't remember - you shouldn't remember.)

There is one more day until the birth of the new emperor, Yao knows. There are celebrations - courtiers and maids and guards and entertainers all flock to the Palace once more, giving their congratulations, whispering their condolences. The Empress smiles, does not cry; she is strong and Yao is proud of her. They have exchanged glances, once. No smiles, no words - but understanding. And perhaps he is simply deluding himself, he doesn't mind; this is a prison and he hates it so.

Which is why he's not expecting anything, has never expected anything. The war is over - Kiku tells him that Francis is gone, tells him that Arthur is gone and Gilbert is gone and Ivan is gone as well. He has told Yao that Im-Yong Soo, Xiang Gang, Taiwan, Vietnam, Tibet - all gone, all lost to ashes and the world. Yao wants to believe otherwise; wants to call it impossible.

It is impossible to kill a nation, after all. Even now - even after all these years - they are still alive, though their people have lived, haved died, have liveanddied and liveanddied. They are still alive, Yao thinks.

And all the same, there is that nagging bit of doubt. Kiku has no reason to lie to him; Yao gives him nothing, Yao is able to give him nothing. He has taken everything; there is nothing else to take. And so - Yao thinks, in these long (and lonely) moments that he has to himself - if there is no reason to lie, there is no lie. (There is no lie and they are all dead and you will be dead too - would be dead too.)

"Yao-hyung!" A voice hisses, most likely from the recesses of his mind. He ignores it, though his heart is clenching (and did he ever - really - forget?) and he thinks of children that he once had. "Yao-hyung!" the voice repeats, and a hand - a figment of his imagination, of course - reaches up, through the window of the tower. There is a knife in the hand, it slashes through the screens with a fervor and vigor that Yao remembers, that Yao remembers laughing at, loving.

A face he'd never thought to see again smiles, albeit weakly, through the window. And then, Im-Yong Soo pulls himself up, and Yao stiffens, taut and all-nerves and unwilling to move. He - Im-Yong Soo - is so close. So so soclose. And he cannot touch him, cannot feel him, because he is not real and those are the facts. The other nation stares at Yao through tired eyes, eyes that were bright, eyes that would've shone. 'So my mind has aged you as well,' Yao thinks.

"...Yao...?" Im-Yong Soo asks, his voice quivering that small bit. With trembling steps and shakier hands, the younger brother - the one that does (not) exist - goes over to shake the elder. "Y-You're Yao-hyung, right?"

"Please tell me this is some kind of sick joke, aru," Yao replies - in his own tongue, for the first time. He feels his face heating up, feels the spill of tears, right on the tip of his eyelids, ready to spill out, ready to leak over. He stifles them; this is just another test, just another mind game, just another delusion. And then Im-Yong Soo's face shifts. Switches, really. And Yao, he -

(You can't remember - you shouldn't remember.)

Blood. The man - the father, the brother, the husband, the son - was bleeding. Was screaming, was crying for help. Kiku. Kiku - Kiku - Kiku.

"You have to get away," Yao whispers, grabbing onto the illusion. It's funny, because he can feel the ripped and tattered garments underneath his fingers. "You have to get away from here, aru," he repeats, shaking Im-Yong Soo out of his reverie. The other stares at him, sees the fear, as Yao sees the anger - the hate.

"Not without you," Im-Yong Soo replies, and Yao knows - for that instant - that this is a real world, that this is a real person.

"I can't - " he starts, but he doesn't know how to end it. Leave? Go? Stay? Run away? Yao doesn't know what he can't do, but he knows why. The nation, The Empress, her child - it will be born into a world of hate and anger, of unfairness and war and distrust - the future emperor, himself, Im-Yong Soo; the others. "I can't - " Yao says again, feeling helpless, finger twisting, grasping, not wanting to let go of reality.

"You will, please," Im-Yong Soo tries, tugging on the sleeve of Yao's kimono.

And then the footsteps start.

Kiku.

Kiku.

"You have - you have to - you have to go - " Yao tries to hiss out. His own tongue feels foreign, he can't quite make out some words.

The images; that man. He was dying, dying - praying to not be killed. Praying to be killed quickly. There's nothing more - he's gone, he was one of Yao's countrymen - gone, dead, painfully so. Im-Yong Soo stands; Yao can already see him, writhing and screaming and twitching and howling on the floor. 'Save me,' he hears, from the other - from his countryman, from his brother. 'Save me,' they all say - as he sits and just watches and does nothing. Does nothing because Kiku is there, and Kiku is overpowering, overwhelming.

"Yao-hyung?" Im-Yong Soo tries, again. He is not gone, the footsteps are closer, closer. When Kiku comes, he will have one sword, two knives (one dull and the other sharp) one gun - military-issue, .38 caliber. And Im-Yong Soo will only have the knife. Will only have the balcony to inch down. Will only - will only...

"You have to - " Yao starts, again, getting up with a quiet rustle of robes. The footsteps, he hears them. They're closer - Kiku and his guns and swords and love of violence - they are all getting closer, closer. Im-Yong Soo reaches forth, tries to touch his sleeve. Yao grabs his hand, twists instinctively, and releases as soon as Im-Yong Soo lets out any sound at all. "You must - you must leave - " Yao tries, again, pulling the other to the window.

"Yao - " Im-Yong Soo starts to say, and Yao can see the other, bleeding and crying and dying, screaming his name, hissing his name.

So much blood - too much blood.

"I'm so sorry," Yao manages to say - in his own tongue. The tears have broken by the dam, dripping onto Im-Yong Soo's face. The ground is some fifty meters or so from the ground. It's night - the guards, Kiku - someone is coming, someone is always coming. Slowly, he dips forward, brushing his lips against Im-Yong Soo's forehead, like he did in the days of boats and horses.

And then he lets go - lets everything go.

x

Kiku finds Yao, two hours later, near the windowsill, with an absolutely pallid expression. The child has been born - a baby boy, healthy, albeit entirely quiet. Yao, on the other hand, is mumbling some words, looking down, looking up, and then crying some more. The scene shocks Kiku more than he'd like to admit - for while Yao has not smiled in over a year, he also has not cried for almost an equal amount of time.

Simply remained there - like a doll, like his doll.

The tears that drip down Yao's face are not like the fat droplets found on flower bushes. No - they are the streams, flowing, only to stop. Yao is muttering something, repeatedly, and Kiku notes that he has clutched the side of the window to the point where his own knuckles are white - and then stained with blood. Kiku would ask 'what-is-the-matter,' would hold Yao close - but he does not.

(It's all blood under the bridge; all blood - all under the bridge.)

"O kinodoku ni," Yao laments; I am so sorry, Kiku thinks, reaching for the other, only for Yao to repeat it - again - "O kinodoku ni."

I am so sorry.

I am so sorry.

(You can't remember - you shouldn't remember.)

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