Suitor's Game
Notes:
-Quirks = Magic
-Characters are in their late teens
-This was written as a fairytale, and has the appropriate amounts of gore for such a genre. Reader discretion is advised.
-You can find sketches and supplementary world-building information at my friend's tumblr: with most new chapters
Chapter 1: The Pact, The Bird
If you were to ask anyone, no matter who or where they were, what the furthest place in the world was, they would all give you the same answer: Lasandu.
Lasandu mountain was as far inland as one could go, further than the black forests of Stavilar, deeper even than the rolling hills of Capcana. It shot out of the rocky wastelands like a thin black blade against the sky, towering so immensely that it could be seen for thousands upon thousands of leagues around.
Even at the best of times, it was not a kingdom known for its hospitality; the people of the lower Lasandu winelands were fierce, their faces as cold and grey as the stone upon which they lived. Many a caravan starved in the vast snow fields higher up, or else disappeared down a ravine before reaching the summit.
There were very few who had made it alive to see Lasandu city, right at the top of the mountain, where it was said that the air was pure and the land sprawled beneath you all the way to the sea, and news of Lasandu castle, sitting hunched and ancient at the highest point in the land, was even rarer still.
But now the land was bare, and almost silent. No travellers ventured there anymore.
Two summers had passed since a great plague and an even greater famine had swept over the mountain, and all the elders, the king and queen, were dead, and the princess Ochaco, last of the line of Uraraka, had taken the throne. A great many rumours swirled around between merchants and wanderers about the princess: on the coast they said that she was cursed to live with ghosts, in the valley there were tales of how she ate her helpless suitors, and the people of the forest swore that she was a witch.
These speculations, as most are, were born from truth.
If you were to ask the princess, for example, she would say with absolute certainty that she was cursed.
XXX
It was a festival day in Lasandu, and the mountain resounded with song and laughter as the princess on her palanquin was carried through the narrow streets of the city. All down the steep cobbled road, crowds parted before her, as she elegantly lifted a wide, embroidered sleeve to wave or smile from behind her veil. The bells on her crown chimed, catching the light as a western breeze blew over the high ridge and into the valley below, carrying with it the smell of candied passha fruit and firecracker smoke. All of it made her sick.
She could not focus on the crowd around her. Her head was too heavy with guilt and grief and the image of her twelve suitors lined up, ready for the slaughter. How could people bear to smile on such a day as this?
The streets around her swelled with people, talking, eating, singing. The air, already filled with smoke and sweetness, grew heavier by the rising babble, and as she advanced, she realised that she had forgotten the names of the songs that they sang. Had they always been so joyous?
And yet, as they passed a boy selling flags of the Uraraka Royal Sigil, she was wrenched from her thoughts by a different kind of song. It was barely there, masked by the sea of bodies around her, but it began to rise as she turned her ear towards it. It was mournful and slow, notes hanging in the air like a spider from its thread. Only a single voice sang it, though it was hard to call it a voice at all. It was hollow and chiming, metallic and yet soothing, a whistle echoing at the end of an empty hall. It was haunting, mesmerising, enchanting; she had to hear more.
She scanned the crowd with renewed intensity, signalling her palanquin bearers to slow as the sound grew nearer. Though her posture remained neat and formal, her eyes behind the veil darted this way and that, honing in on the source of the dolorous tune.
"Stop."
Her voice carried clear and firm to the men on whose shoulders her litter was resting. They halted in the middle of the road, and around them the sea of her subjects parted.
A bird was singing. It sat on a makeshift stage, large and ugly, finishing its song as though nothing around it had changed. It was quite the strangest thing that the princess had ever seen.
Its eyes were like glowing red coals, hidden deep in the sockets of its exposed and starkly contrasting bleached white skull. Its entire head was bone save for its eyes and its beak, which was golden. Light pooled and shimmered on the gilt protrusion, sharp and straight and so metallic that it creaked slightly with every changing note. It had a crouching poise that suggested a strange secretiveness, as though this creature the size of a tangle-tree bush wanted to compact itself into less and less space. Its covered body, unseen but for a few mangy feathers sticking out under a fur collar and a blanket woven in the style of a foreign kingdom, only made her wonder more what was unseen.
There was mystery in everything about this bird, and it made the princess' mind race with curiosity. Where had it learned such mournful tunes? Why, in such a happy crowd, did it sing them now? Perhaps all of its body was made of bone, perhaps it was a walking skeleton, perhaps it sang of its own death, and not those that plagued her mind that day…
The last unwavering note of its song faded in the air and the bird peeked bashfully at the faces of its applauding entourage. For a second its eyes connected with hers as it swept around, clacked its beak nervously, and hopped behind the curtain at the back of the stage.
The princess found herself sad to see it go, and, scanning the signboard of the little stage ("Bakugou, Kirishima and Ashido's Fantastic Fantasmin – A Mimic-Bird Like No Other") called out:
"Excuse me? Mr. Bakugou?"
"WHAT?" a roar issued from behind the curtains as a boy with outrageously spiky blond hair stomped into view "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT?"
He stood, bristling with aggression, hands in position as if to attack. His presence was immediately hostile. From the silver lion's mane wrapped around his neck to the dragon teeth hung from his ears and cloak, his overall impression was that of a hunter; his eyes like blood narrowed in unkind scrutiny.
A knight at the front of the procession motioned his hands admonishingly.
"Her Royal Highness, the Crown Princess of Lasandu, Ochaco Uraraka wishes to speak with you. You would do well to be polite."
"Thank you, sir Iida," the Uraraka interrupted "But please do not be so harsh on our guest. From your lion fur cape, I presume you are not Lasandunian, but from Abrassa On the Sea. Is that so, sir?" she asked the boy, now noticing that he glared with something strikingly similar to distaste.
"What's it to you?" he jeered "I don't have to tell you anyth-"
"Baku-bro, stop!"
There came the sound of fumbling behind the stage, and then another boy, with pointed teeth and hair of shocking red, stumbled out, followed by a girl whose skin was as pink as blossoms in summer. The former clumsily bowed at Uraraka, whilst the latter slapped Bakugou on the back of the head.
"We're sorry, your Highness, we mean you no disrespect…" she said, stepping rather obviously on Bakugou's toes. "We swear he isn't always like this."
"Oh, uh, all is forgiven." Uraraka said, more awkwardly than she had intended "I suppose that none of you owe me who you are. I was only going to ask about your wonderful bird."
"Oh, is that right?"
"Baku-bro, now isn't-"
"Shut UP, get off me!" he shouted "This chick cares more about a bird than real people. Is everyone here fucking insane? You were there this morning too, when she just let her own people commit to dying for her. We spent the last month climbing this fucking mountain and what? Our fucking bird is more important than us?"
Iida stepped forwards, a hand on his sword. Uraraka glanced at him, flicking her wrist and holding it in the air; motioning for peace. She too could feel the crowd grow restless.
"How would you like me to recognise you, Mr. Bakugou?" she said carefully "I do not even know your full name."
His hands, tensed at his sides, twitched. He stepped away from his business partners, examined the silent procession before him, and laughed. A deep, throaty howl rumbled out as his features twisted into a manic expression of mockery. The crowd stared on in uncomprehending horror as his mirth rang out, drawing to a close with the grating cough.
He spat his words out, as if they were unbearably bitter on his tongue. The revulsion in his tone was palpable.
"Of course, how could I forget? There's only one reason you'd want to know my name, isn't there?"
She paused.
"My suitors give their names to me voluntarily."
"That's an awful polite way to say that you don't give a shit about me."
"That's not what I-"
"Oh, get off your fucking high horse. I can see the way that you look down on me. Think you're all superior, huh? Don't need to care about a foreigner? Get fucked."
"What do you-"
"I'm going to join the game for your hand, and then you'll see. Then you'll fucking see, when I'm king, when I'm your equal in marriage. You can't stop me."
Knight Iida whipped around "Ocha- I mean, your Highness, this is most irregular."
She tried her best to whisper back discreetly, but her efforts were made ineffective by the jingling bells on her nodding crown.
"He's right. I don't- I don't think we can stop him."
"I'm right here, you know." Quipped Bakugou.
The heat of embarrassment flooded Uraraka's face. She thanked tradition for providing her with a veil to hide behind, and glazed as smoothly over his comment as her faltering voice would allow.
"You want to join the suitor's game?"
" 'S what I fucking said the first time."
"Uh, yes" she said, without grace "you did. If you're ready, then, I will need your name."
A flash of wariness crossed his face, almost immediately smothered with anger again.
"Katsuki Bakugou."
She leaned forwards to breathe the words in, feeling the mix of his warm breath and the ice on the air pass into her lungs. Recalling the ancient magic of the bond, feeling the strange tingling energy build behind her shoulder blades and flow smoothly down her arms, she closed her eyes. Katsuki Bakugou. The name rang in her mind. Icy needles rushed through her hands as they began to glow gold, and she held them out to the boy in front of her. The light made his face all angles, severe.
"Do you, Katsuki Bakugou, wish to take up suit for my hand in marriage?"
His eyes shifted about, relishing the shock of his audience, suspiciously observing the magic before him.
"Yes."
A wave of light pulsed from her palms, and they began to glow brighter still.
"Will you hide from the spirits of the Uraraka bloodline until the snow melts, or else die by their hands? Nowhere outside the castle walls shall there be a place that they may not find you."
"Oh, I don't plan on dying anytime soon."
The princess glowered.
"Do you?"
"I s'pose I do."
There came a sudden and blinding flash of white that filled the square, followed by a thundering clap. After a few seconds of furious blinking to regain her eyesight, Uraraka felt the magic in her fingers fizzle away into nothingness. The pact had been sealed.
"You have until the official festivities end to hide."
Bakugou lost no time with the formalities, immediately turning smugly to his business partners with a self-satisfied smirk. They were both agape with shock, struck dumb for a moment before they surged back to life.
"Bro, what are you doing?" floundered the redhead "How- how are you gonna- What-"
"Babe, this is totally not in the plan." The girl chided "What are we going to do now?"
He looked between his pleading partners and the princess on her palanquin. Bringing his hand to his chin, he stood rubbing his jaw in thought, and then, having made up his mind, addressed Uraraka:
"Take care of my bird for me, will you? I don't exactly trust this lot with my most precious asset."
"Dude, you can't just-"
"I will take the bird." interrupted the princess "for I cannot deny a dying man his last wish."
Bakugou looked back at her, a hint of amusement playing across his face.
"Dying?" he said "I'm not dying, I'm being fuckin' killed. In three days' time, I'll be at your side, or else dead."
And with that, he disappeared behind the curtain. There was the sound of stomping footsteps leading away, and then the bird skipped out, clacking its beak inquisitively at the two of its owners still on stage.
Knight Iida motioned at the palanquin bearers, and they knelt. The animal tentatively stepped off the stage, encouraged by the motioning of Kirishima and Ashido, and onto the lowered litter to nestle beside the princess. She found herself unnerved by how large it was by her side, nearly bigger than her as she sat down.
The girl with pink skin watched anxiously as the bird settled itself, leaning closely as it chirped and swivelled its feet. Her eyes, black as coals save for irises of vivid yellow, were easy to follow as they flitted about.
"Uhm, your highness, if I may…" she said, hesitantly "A fantasmin is not an easy bird to take care of. Perhaps we should, you know, give you some advice?"
She fidgeted with the sleeves of her Capcana-woven top as Uraraka deliberated. With a gentle smile, she looked between Iida and the two worried bird-handlers.
"Why don't you join the procession? You can tell me what you need to when this is over."
They quickly clambered down and to the back of the cavalcade, sticking noticeably out from behind a neatly arranged band of lute players. Iida returned to the head of the consecution, looked carefully to see that everything was in order, and then signalled to start their march again. With a strange lurch, the gay music of the festival returned, and the oppressive notion that they were soon to reach the square popped into Uraraka's mind.
She was finding it even harder to focus now that the strange and enormous creature was crammed on her palanquin. Whenever she turned to look at it, she found its deep red eyes already on her, subtly clicking its beak as if in disapproval. From its fur-lined covering the smell of spices and citrus rose in the cold air, reminding her of how hungry she was. She was almost beginning to regret having agreed to take it on, and yet the image of the angry youth, so rightfully disgusted by her, so willing to die for change, flashed with contrition in her mind.
On and on the march crawled, until the path beneath them melded into the smooth black stone of Lasandu City Square, and the fanfare petered out, and a hush spread amongst the people as their eyes turned expectantly to the princess. She gazed out at their faces, so young, so full of vigour and yet rigid with uneasy hope. What could she give them? They were all so young; she was only so young. Everyone in her accursed kingdom was a child.
She took a deep breath in, and then out. The fantasmin sharing her cushions snapped its beak in short, quick succession derisively. Laughter? She held back her hurt and the urge to retort and rolled, less than gracefully, into her speech.
"People of Lasandu" she began "we gather here today to celebrate the festival of the Earth Mother. As the Sky Father returns to his slumber and winter comes to an end, we celebrate new life and the coming of spring. In three days' time the snow will melt and the Earth Mother will awaken, bringing with her the promise of fresh beginnings and respite from the winter's cold.
"For many of us, this prospect may seem daunting. The great plague has left us without our parents or our king and queen to guide us through these troublesome times, and winter's hardships are still fresh in our minds. We are all fatherless and motherless now.
"And yet this is why, now more than ever, we must help our fellow man and work together to restore our kingdom to the glory that we know it can hold. Tonight, as the royal ghosts hunt my twelve-"
The fantasmin at her side erupted into squawks and flaps, flailing wildly in indignation for its forgotten master.
"Thirteen" Uraraka corrected hastily "suitors, the power to choose your own future is in your hands. If there is a candidate that you wish to see upon the throne as king, you must do all that you can to hide him. I pray that once the Earth Mother returns, I may finally be your queen, and that we may rewrite the magic of our land to make life fairer for all.
"With this prayer in mind, I now declare the official festivities over."
A subdued applause rang out for the end of the speech, and then nothing.
A silent heave took over as the crowd looked around in anticipation. There was a fever rising in the air. Something had to happen. The musicians fiddled apprehensively, their instruments held ready to play and yet not daring to break the tension held taught by their baited breaths.
Maybe this was it, they thought as Iida signalled to start the march away and the lute players began to count-in their next piece, maybe no one was going to die today.
An ear-piercing, shattering, gurgling scream ripped through the silence.
The sound, though muffled by the crowd, lingered on the wind; wet, somewhat tearful, a spluttering shriek that died far, far too slowly. The soft pops and snaps of tearing flesh grew louder as people cleared the area, yelling and running and spreading blood in their footsteps as the confusion unfolded.
Silence once more. A clearing had formed around the mangled body of a purple-haired boy, blood pooling on the frosted flagstones. He lacerated head to broken, bleeding toe. His skin bore the deep rips of tearing talons, and in places was bitten away, right down through his fleshy pink muscle and into the bone. He lay there, a mess of mauled flesh and oozing red, the glazed eyes in his barely human face staring lifelessly into the sky. The first suitor had been found.
The crowd stared at the butchered corpse. They looked at the gold and purple weave of his nobleman's coat, and then back at their friends, and erupted.
Uraraka knew from the way that their mouths moved and their hands waved that they were cheering. She knew that they were laughing and singing and talking about how stupid it was to hide only in a crowd, and joking and placing bets on who was going to go next, but she couldn't hear any of it. All the sound and colour around her had slowed to a dim, monotonous buzz of grey. Her surroundings blurred into one, her senses flooding with emptiness and yet excruciatingly honing in. She felt nothing; she felt everything. Somewhere at the back of her consciousness a bell chimed, and before her, beside the body of her dead suitor, appeared the spirit of her mother.
She was pale and silver, pearly and translucent, barely there at all. Her ghostly form flickered as the white drapes of her funeral shroud rustled in the wind, slowly staining scarlet. Her mouth, a slash of red, a bleeding gash, was vicious; her hands like claws outstretched. Glistening red cruor spilled from between her sharp, snowy teeth as she whispered:
"Ochaco…"
"Ochaco?"
Iida's voice snapped her back to reality.
"Is everything all right?"
"Oh, uh, yes-" she shook her head a little to dispel the fuzziness behind her eyes, turning away from the red pools at the edge of her vision "yes, sorry. Let's get back to the castle."
And so they did. With all the pomp and grandeur that the princess and her slightly out of breath musicians could muster, the parade began to march merrily back up the steep mountain slope. People ran at the sides of the convoy, skipping and chasing it as it snaked towards the castle. They were young and curious, of the same generation as the princess or even smaller, and took great amusement in breaking the composure of the much-maligned musicians or catching Uraraka's attention with whistles or shouted jokes. They were boisterous but not malicious, the natural consequence of two years without the heavy hands of watchful adults nearby. As they passed the ruined sentry-tower that served as the procession's halfway point, a group of boys in peasant's straw coats organised themselves on the right-hand side of Uraraka, whilst their female friends grouped together on the left. After much conspiratorial laughter between themselves, the boys broke into cheerful song:
"Make your bed for broad, dear lady,
Make your bed for broad and wide.
There shall lie a low-born suitor,
And you shall be his lonely bride."
The girls sang back the response verse, each adding their own theatrical flair. Some swooned like the princesses of traditional tale, whilst others were cold and harsh, adding throaty laughs at the ends of their lines. This part, it dawned upon Uraraka, was an impression of her.
"Lover dear, my bed is narrow,
Narrow so it shall remain.
Never will I wed a stranger,
Take my hand or die in vain."
She felt her heart sink. At her side, the fantasmin experimentally chirped along to the mocking tune, picking up on the melody of the refrain as the two groups joined together to sing the final stanza.
"Curses on you, blithesome lady,
Curses on your woesome head.
Let it be, my love, here commanded,
I do wish to see you dead."
Uraraka knew that there was no hatred in their words. She knew that they did not really fear her, that they looked down on her, that they thought her too detached from their sufferings to have any of her own. The image of her first suitor's corpse flashed behind her eyelids every time she blinked, and from behind the protection of her veil she bit her lip, the tears that pooled in her eyes threatening to run further.
Even as they entered the castle gates and left the crowds behind, the fantasmin continued to whistle that nagging song, reminding her of that poor disfigured boy, reminding her of what she had done. She wished, seeing her reflection in its long golden beak, for silence.
Author's Comments:
This is going to be a VERY long fic in the making, as it is a re-write of a French fairytale and has been SIGNIFICANTLY re-worked.
I am posting the first three chapters now to see what kind of interest I can garner, and if all goes well I will update every two weeks.
There is going to be magic, romance and death all in good measure! If you happen to twig the twist before it happens, you're allowed to subtly hint at it in the comments, be my guest.