Taking a break from my numerous Tekken projects/ fics in progress to upload this update. Who else is madly hyped about Kunimitsu's reappearance?
Warning – This contains strong currents of past!Yoshi/Kuni.
Disclaimer – I own nothing.
The Cold at Kingan Isle
.
.
.
That evening, the clouds wove themselves together in a black mesh; snow, blinding and freezing and cruel, covered the land in arctic sheets. Even buried underground, deep below rock and cavern and creek, the air is thin and moist with the outside ice.
Raven despises the climate, even if he has bequeathed his silent fealty to the King of this snow infested wasteland. He's been placed in the back room of Yoshimitsu's personal chambers, where his injuries have been bathed and painfully bound. The blankets are weighed down with heated pads, soothing the brunt of his scabbing wounds, but the atmosphere pulsates with a merciless cool and he shivers and sweats with fever.
The darkness around him is tight and swollen, punctured by the weak flutters of candlelight. Raven had once thought he'd understood darkness, had operated only within it, and claimed to be its sole agent and ally. But here, miles beneath ground surrounded by men and woman encased in shadows of countless traditions and histories of dried blood, did he find that he had only begun to understand the inky nuances spun within the places where light did not touch.
He shifts himself, but the cuts strain with the effort and he swears, baring his teeth at the ceiling. Sleep, if any, had been fitful and light, tinged with feverish nightmares and the white face of a glaring cat.
A shape shimmers into view.
Yoshimitsu has been watching him for some time. He is prone, flea stance, on his sword. The shadows mask his body from view, and his head must be lowered, for Raven fails to spy the bloody blink of his eyes.
"How are you faring?"
No "thou" or thee." The infamous voice is quieter, drawn more together, as if its very core is pressed upon with an inconceivable gravity. Raven doesn't mind. These spare moments, where the leader of the Manji clan speaks to him with no propriety, are the most honest. And Raven always appreciated, even at the beginning, the stark and facile nature of simple intel.
"It's fine." He curls his fingers to shield the sweat on his palms. "Give me a day. Or simply a night. The depth of the wound is shallow, missing vital organs. By morning I…"
"You will not be going anywhere," It's barely a whisper. But it is strapped with such an intense finality Raven, on impulse, closes his mouth. "You will stay here until it is fully healed. You will not move. You will be serviced morning, noon and night. It will be bathed on a daily basis. You are to drink water and only eat a simple diet. You shall take any medicine I give. You are to be watched and protected."
A silence. The candlelight flickers, as if stuttered by heavy breaths.
The blade creaks as Yoshimitsu adjusts himself. Even in the half light, his very being seems to thrum with a jittering energy.
"You can't keep me here."
"I can." The grand head is still hidden from view. Raven scowls. "And you know I can."
"I'm not bound by you," Raven struggles upright; the bandage catches and unravels. Pain rips through his side, sprouting a fresh trickle of sweat, and what feels like the warm bloom of blood. He grits his teeth, the room swarming into a blur of shadow and candlelight and the man he cannot see. "I am not one your subordinates, Yoshimitsu. You cannot order me to…"
"Foolish child!" The blade is a green strip in the darkness; an armored hand pushes at the centre of his chest. He is sent hurtling back onto the bed. "You'll open your wounds."
Raven braces his arm on the bed, and glowers in Yoshimitsu's direction. The pain is still intense, but he steadies his breathing and he will not, under any circumstances, leave this situation unattended.
"You know the reason I came here," He says slowly. He's panting hard. "You know…why I gave that up. The organization." He narrows his eyes. There are times he misses his shades. Without them, emotion can feel too bare, too open and stark. "I came here of my own free will, Yoshimitsu. To be an equal."
A silence.
"Not another underdog."
The figure opposite remains still, and so far, speechless. Raven's eyelids shudder closed, and in his agonized state, his fingers fumble the bandages. They're damp with fresh blood. He grunts, turning on his side. The wall is a freezing but distracting force against his burning temples.
Another silence.
"My apologies, Raven."
For a moment, he almost sounds like a man. Raven crushes the blankets beneath his fist.
There is a metallic snap as Yoshimitsu sheaths his sword. The soft tread of his sandals on the ground, and then, a warm, wet cloth is laid on the wound. Carefully, the bandages are unpicked and removed. Raven shakes with the sensations, but doesn't resist.
"Shall I tell you a story, young one?"
Raven scoffs at the old nickname.
"I don't have much choice, do I?"
"It is a most remarkable tale."
"Indeed. I'm injured and bed bound. This hardly seems fair."
Raven senses the edges of a smile, but there is a heaviness strangling the throes of Yoshimitsu's tone so he sighs and stills. It's enough of a gesture to initiate the laying down of the first aid supplies and the creak of the chair beside the bed. Raven continues to face the wall, but Yoshimitsu knows he is listening.
"It was years ago, before my brothers and sisters and I came to dwell in the mountains. We haven't always resided here, with the blinding droves of snow and ice as our sanctuary. Our home was the forest; the dusk and damp of the undergrowth was our battle ground, and so it had been for hundreds of years.
"It was during the raid of a specifically vile organization that I happened across a young female thief. Newly skilled in Ninjitsu, she was as light fingered as the brush of a feather and just as graceful. She was a stoic thing, as solitary as locked treasure boxes and as cold and as lovely as gold."
"Poetic." Raven rocks his head into the pillow. Yoshimitsu once more reaches for the first aid and begins to cleanse his cuts.
"Hmm. During that time, then yes, I think she would have inspired poetry. But she was non-committal, a lone wolf, disinterested in the schemes and missions of the Manji. Despite her nonsocial desires, I pursued her relentlessly. Finally, I managed to persuade her to join the clan, and in doing so, I hoped that my actions had provided her with a home to placate her restless spirit. To have such a splendid and prodigious talent under my wing…I was full of pride at my own cleverness at ensnaring such a creature. And what plans I had for her…"
He pauses. The cloth, dense with blood and water, is squeezed out between the metal groves of his fists. Raven goes to turn over, but a gentle hand pushes him back into position.
"You don't have to do that." He lies fully on his side again, hissing with the sting. Yoshimitsu ignores what Raven can only guess as what he sees as a foolish comment, and continues with his story.
"She rose naturally through the ranks. In battle, she outranked even my most elite warriors. I become increasingly eager to earn her complete trust. And it wasn't until I'd appointed her as my second in command, did she finally open up and seek out my company willingly. My second in command became my sole confidante. In time she even began to share my quarters."
Yoshimitsu takes a deep, shuddering breath, and lays his hand on the middle of Raven's back. With a carefully calculated force of impact, he holds down his palm and stems the bleeding.
"Hm." Raven frowns. His sight is fuzzy and sick, but the realization cuts through him in a precise stab of clarity. "She saw you without your mask."
Barely a hair of breath, but then…
"Yes. Yes, she saw me. And I will freely admit, but only to you my friend, that I was hopelessly enamored. The revered and dignified member of the Manji…taken apart so ceaselessly by the sheer sight and intimacy of another human being. Love, as I'd come to believe over the years, or at least for one singular person, was something droll and banal. Can one imagine devoting oneself entirely to someone else and their wellbeing? To completely quell one's personal freedoms for such fleeting, fragile happiness? Foolish! And I'd seen from a distance how such absurd emotions had made fools of men. And yet, I began to understand it. Need it. Crave it."
He releases a dull, frazzled laugh. It's monotonous, husky, and too hollow for inspiring any joviality. Raven is certain Yoshimitsu's fingers are leaving visible, red imprints of his back. Once upon a time, he would have been disdainful of such a story, but that time is not now and he doubt it will ever be again.
"You loved her," Raven props himself up on his elbows, but keeps his eyes turned down and away from Yoshimitsu. "It isn't exactly a science." His brow furrows. "But indulging such emotions can have a bitter cost."
"Bitter, it was," Yoshimitsu's voice has begun to retain its ageless, unreadable darkness and the man behind the mask is once again being swallowed by the legend. "I was blinded. Blinded by pride and affection and love. I loved her too much to begin to see the signs. It was only when I chose to humour my men by waiting by the vault come the cover of night. Only then did I see why our stocks were low and the innocent were suffering more than what fate had originally planned for them."
His words creep in scores of breathy, black fury, singed with the edges of Yoshimitsu's rare but infamous temper. Raven doesn't interrupt, but keeps his mind veiled and his body still.
"For there was she, hauling away our hard earned treasures and the bounties we'd collected for the poor and helpless. For there was she, slaughtering the vows of our ancient clan and driving daggers into the heart that had bled and believed and bestowed upon her such love that she would never understand."
Yoshimitsu catches his breath, and once again, continues. The chair creaks, and from the corner of his eye, Raven spies his hands reaching up to cradle the majestic head hidden in shadow.
"My rage, Raven. It knew no bounds. I was vindicated, all my benevolence clouded by a new passion; hatred. I dragged her out in front of the clan. She'd been silent, and for one brief euphoric moment, I thought she was contrite. That her heart was heavy for breaking mine. But she was quiet because she didn't care. She mocked me, mocked my feelings and my naivety and my failings, in front of the members that I loved as my own family. Humiliated, I turned her out. Forbade her return on pain of death. Her banishment was infinite but my reasoning was unjust. She hadn't murdered any fellow clan member, nor threatened any innocents. She deserved expulsion, for she was a scoundrel and betrayer, but not with the added gravity of a death sentence. But my anger and heartbreak was my only counsel, and I its avid listener."
"A year passed. She made a name for herself as a most excellent bounty hunter and hired thief, but never did she stray back to our leafy dwelling or challenge me to a duel while I rode my horse amongst the trees. This should have annulled my anxieties, but inside I was stewing. Nothing would have pleased me more than gaining an excuse to face her once again, to carve into her the humiliations and heartbreaks I had been forced to endure. And I can tell from your silence, Raven…"
He utters another frustrated gaff of laughter, but Raven remains motionless, noting the first tearing twinges of desperation in the leader's tone.
"…that you perceive these emotions as foolhardy, and yes they were. I was a selfish creature, a slave to my passions, as I always have been to some extent. I didn't have the calming waters of your wisdom to rein in my madness. For maybe if I did have your grounding presence, I wouldn't have done what I did next."
A fresh bandage is laid across the cooling heat of Raven's wounds. His body sags in relief. Yoshimitsu's touch is deft, feather light, as he softly binds it.
"It was then that I came across some information regarding an aging relative of hers. He was a blacksmith; an esteemed collector of swords and instruments of battle. He'd rambled to his granddaughter about finally being able to analyze my weapon, which was a cursed relic and so was impossible to duplicate. These desires were nothing more than the fading fever dreams of an elderly man. They bore no weight. But my pride was too great, my anger too rife with smugness that I could finally, finally hold her accountable for something, that she had slipped back into my power, even just by an inch. Triumphant, I sent out my scouts to silence such a "threat to our existence," as I'd hailed it to my clan. If there were any that doubted me, they did not say. It was only later, when my men arrived back with blood on their hands, awaiting praise and glory, did my sobriety return in a freezing gush. I had knowingly given the order for the murder of a helpless, harmless old man."
His words fall to a whisper.
"And yes. I had her again. I'd killed her only living relative, the man who'd raised her, and the only person she'd ever loved and admired. That night, she found him. And that night, she flung herself on the clan with all the gracelessness of a blind beast. Her skills were frightening, her appetite for carnage and retribution dwarfing any vague feeling she'd kept from me in the past. She took my men down in their hundreds. She was a lady of war, beautiful and terrifying and mine. "
The tape on the bandage snaps. It relays, striking the wound, and Raven swears, the muscles in his shoulders craning and clenching. Yoshimitsu's palm floors into Raven's back with a sudden, acute speed, and the rebound of the mattress almost jolts Raven's senses. But Yoshimitsu's voice is quiet once again, humbled with memory, and a weariness that suddenly speaks of surprising age.
"We fought. I knocked away her mask and scarred her so deeply, that she, like me, was fated to hide behind porcelain and metal and wood. I defeated her until there was but a hint of breath lining her lips. I didn't grant her the mercy of death. Instead, with an insulting pity, I banished her. All our passions, so raw and fierce and brutal, dissipated between us on that day. Our disappointments, our hates, our regrets, thickened the air between us in a mutual lock. The forest floor was smeared with her blood. As she left, I found no longer any solace in the nature that had witnessed my downfall. Instead, I insisted on the bleak, isolated plains of our Manji valleys. The cold tore through me and froze the crushing modesty of her pains into my chest. I looked out upon the icy plains and it made me remember the clear grey of her eyes."
His wounds are freshly dressed, the gauze well supported and the heated pads set in place. As Yoshimitsu draws back his hands, his fingers brush the bumps of Raven's knuckles.
"It chills me now, friend. Even with the passing of decades, the anchor of memory refuses to sink." The timbres of his voice begins to shrivel and fail, seeming to choke on the words.
At that, Raven swivels himself around fully, ignoring the petrifying pang of his battle injuries. The amber flecked gloom finally calms, settling into soft lines, and he can finally see.
Yoshimitsu's mask has been placed by the chair. The Manji leader's fingers conceal his face from view, but black hair, as dark as the night sky itself, frame his neck and fall over his hands.
And the mask is but a hindrance, for the man known as Yoshimitsu sobs and shakes in silent, stricken tears, his shoulders slumped with the freezing press of memory and the cold of Kingan Isle. Raven observes in the dim, indistinct cushion of candlelight, and when the head rises, he doesn't look away.