CW: Explicit language, ableist language, mentions of PTSD symptoms.
The rest of winter comes and goes like this. Even the brutal cold is weak to the encroaching warmth and soon the snow melts, grass grows, and flora flourishes. The Black Forest teems with new life but Hanjyang is reluctant to stir. The coming of spring is not enough to ease the pain of a Bliss epidemic, and the bone-deep paranoia fueled by corpses hanging from the colloquially named ‘Mother’s Hand’, a man-made gallows to replace the Hanging Tree.
There’s perhaps one person in Hanjuyang who has truly embraced the Spring. And this person is none other than the Rat, dressed in a plain cherry blossom pink robe that at first glance appears quite luxurious. Of course, it is nothing but cheap goods, exchanged for a few gold coins, but with a dazzling smile and a pink ribbon in his tumbling hair, he looks brighter in spirits than anyone in this broken city.
“What’s got you in such a good mood?” Dizzy, Rin’s usual fence, asks him as she tosses him a small tub of red rouge. She counts the coppers, biting one out of sheer habit, before stowing them away in her pocket.
“It’s spring,” Rin hums, glancing at the nearest store front window as he applies the rouge to his cheeks. “Why wouldn’t I be in a good mood?”
Dizzy raises a brow and tosses her large bag of goods over a shoulder. Despite her small stature, she’s able to carry the heavy bag without breaking a sweat. “You’re dolling yourself up for a reason. And it ain’t ‘cus of spring.” She pauses, eyeing the man from head to toe. “Say, is this a Rose thing?”
“I’m not a Rose,” Rin says flatly, moving onto his eyelid. “I got a man coming back from Reshun. I have to remind him what he’s been missing out on.”
“What poor fucker got himself tangled up in you?”
“He should consider himself lucky.” Rin puts the rouge away and turns to Dizzy, presenting his made up face.
The fence stares blankly at him for a while, before bursting into peals of laughter. “He’ll take one look at you and run back to the frontline!” she howls, slapping her knee.
Rin scowls and swivels back to the window. Sure enough, he looks like a clown. At best, someone with a severe sunburn. Not exactly the look he’s going for.
The store door opens with a tinkle of a bell and out steps Daisy, plump and rosy, with a flour-stained apron tied around her warm person. “I saw you from inside the bakery and I was wondering if you were hungry.” She pauses upon seeing Rin’s face. To her credit, she doesn’t laugh, but her smile becomes perturbed. “Oh my. Maybe I can help with that, dear.”
“Please do,” Dizzy smirks. “Otherwise, it’s a tragic waste of a nice robe.”
“Don’t you have stolen shit to peddle?” Rin snaps.
The fence drops her bag between her feet and leans against the bakery front. “This is my lunch break. Speaking of. Daisy, you got any chestnut cakes today?”
“No chestnut cakes, I’m afraid. Not this season.” Daisy pulls out a clean handkerchief and gently dabs at Rin’s dissatisfied face. “I do have a fresh batch of lemon friands, if you are interested.”
“Count me in,” Dizzy says, enthusiastically. She watches the baker fix Rin’s makeup for a time before asking, “This man of yours. He’s an imperial soldier?”
“He’s more than that,” Rin mutters, squinting as Daisy wipes the excess rouge off his eyelid. “But he was forced into the war, like everyone else here.”
“A Slummer, then?”
“You sound surprised.”
“I always thought you’d bag yourself a clueless blueblood from the High District. You know. Wait for them to die before taking over their hefty estate.”
Daisy suppresses a smile and Rin doesn’t even deign to answer the fence. Instead, he says, “My man’s a Slummer. Through and through. And I have impeccable taste. Even if I did snare a blueblood, it would have to be someone worth ten estates.” He smiles to himself, sweetly. “He would have to be worth an empire.”
Dizzy scoffs and picks up her bag. “Well, I hope he comes home with all four limbs attached. And if he doesn’t, I can give you a good deal on a wheelchair.”
“Courtesy of the Clinic?” Daisy says, glancing at Dizzy with a hint of disapproval.
Instead of answering, the fence quickly ducks into the bakery, shouting to the server, “Give me a dozen lemon friands! And one loaf–no, two loaves of fruit bread!”
When the baker has finished fixing Rin’s face, she steps back and smiles satisfactorily. “You already have a fair complexion, there is no need to use much rouge. A small dab on the tip of your finger. One touch to each cheek should be enough. See?”
Rin glances at the window and his bad mood brightens in an instant. The rouge brings out a subtle colour to his cheeks and accentuates his eye, giving him a warm, welcoming visage. Habitually, he raises a hand to his scarred cheek.
Daisy gently nudges his hand away. “There is no need for that,” she says, kindly. “He loves you as you are.”
“I know,” the raven says, sincerely. “I feel itchy all over.” Rin tugs at his robe and flips his long sleeves this way and that.
“You are impatient.”
“Why aren’t they here already?”
“They would have arrived in Taecho this morning.”
“Do you think he’ll come back with his limbs attached?”
The woman rests a hand on his shoulder, settling his taut nerves. “What matters is that he is returning. And you are here to welcome him home.”
It’s been three months. Not three months ‘already’, but three godsdamned long months that dragged on for what felt like years. He’s afraid that his little lord has changed. He’s afraid that his little lord won’t look at him. He’s afraid that his little lord will look at him and see every thought and worry that he’s stewed in for these three godsdamned months.
“I’m afraid,” he blurts, and he’s not sure why he’s so moved by Daisy’s kindness. She doesn’t smirk or disparage him for admitting such a thing, so he keeps going, heart palpitating. “If he comes back…less than he was. I don’t know what to do. Because it’s…well, it’s my fault that he had to go.”
If Daisy was curious about the circumstances, she doesn’t show it. Or maybe she already knows. The Faceless Devil was in the Blue Plains during that time. “He will not return any less of himself,” she assures Rin. “He will come back changed, perhaps, as anyone would after battle. But know that it would not be your doing. You are not responsible for his choices.”
“It wasn’t really a choice,” Rin protests.
“Men have more agency than you might credit them. Trust in your beloved.”
“Gou says he’s been doing nothing but healing. Got himself a fancy new moniker–”
“So I have heard.” The baker’s amusement is evident.
“If you know, who else does? The Mother won’t brand him a traitor, will she?”
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
“Worry not, dear. The Otsukis will protect his identity.”
“Dea ktja lo atf yiefyibbvr–”
Gjlrs kgjqr tfg rboa jgwr jgbecv tlr ajea obgw, fcnfibqlcu tlw lc tfg kjgw, qiert fwygjmf. Lf raliir jcv ojiir rlifca, raeccfv ys atf revvfc joofmalbc.
“Tbe wera tjnf reoofgfv atfrf qjra wbcatr,” tfg nblmf, jr ufcaif jr rtf, almxifr tlr fjg. “P jw rbggs obg cba gfjilrlcu rbbcfg. C rtjgfv yegvfc lr ojg fjrlfg ab yfjg.”
There’s a hard lump in his throat, blocking his voice. And a heated prickling around his eye. He’d never been more envious of Small than he is in this moment, embraced by his friend’s mother who could never be his own.
His own, who is long lost to Izayoma’s maw, and whose affections had always been like a slow-acting poison.
Rin indulges. Until Dizzy exits the store with an armful of baked goods and a friand shoved into her mouth. And when they part, he does so with great reluctance.
***
Moments before the first battalion returns from Reshun, the streets of Hanjuyang are packed with the anxious and expectant. Those from all three districts crowd together like the distinction of wealth had never existed, and it’s bright, disorienting, and oddly harmonious. Otsukis rub shoulders with imperials. Slummers are jostled with bluebloods, and neither care to yield to their prejudices. With the return of their children and lovers and parents from the frontline, there is naught else on anyone’s mind.
Along with his Rat Gang, Rin sits on the rooftop of Daisy’s bakery, too nervous to eat the almond cake she’d given them all for lunch. He leans over the parapet, neglected cake in hand, dangling as far as he can go without tumbling into the crowd below.
“Oh, Rin! Please be careful!” Small exclaims, grabbing onto the back of his robes.
But Rin doesn’t pay him any mind. He’s too busy peering up the winding road through the People’s District, seeking for a glimmer of blue.
“Leave him be,” Sparrow says, perfunctorily. “If he wishes to crack his skull, then who are we to deny him?” She’s nestled in Bucky’s arms, reading a thick tome through her thick spectacles.
“Would you like another cake, my dear?” Bucky asks, indulgently.
“No, thank you.” But Sparrow’s nullified and blushing prettily.
In the background, Rin audibly retches.
“Let him fall,” Bucky tells Small, flatly.
Bellow shoves his third almond cake into his mouth and drinks deeply from a pitcher of cold lemon tea. “I heard we almost lost,” he says, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “And if it wasn’t for some imperial idiot healing our soldiers, we woulda been desiccated.”
“Decimated.”
“Ain’t that what I said?”
Rin sits back, much to Small’s relief, and glances over his shoulder. His eye meets Bucky’s knowing gaze.
“That imperial idiot wasn’t an imperial,” he says, casting his eye back to the road. “He was probably forced to fight. So he did, but in his own way.”
“That’s right,” Small says, handing Bellow his handkerchief. “For many of us, it was either the Mother’s Hand or the war. If it were me, I’d find any way I could to help the Otsukis.”
“Me too,” Bell gruffs, and he stiffens when Small gives him a brilliant smile.
Recently, Bellow and Bucky had been initiated into the Otsukis and given their name. As Bucky predicted, Bellow was made tyro to Iris, and Bucky to the new Spymaster, and both have taken to their respective training well. And like that, the rest of the Rat Gang became the Otsuki Devils, with Nuwa’s death leaving its heavy shadow across their hearts.
“Still can’t believe you were a spy all this time,” the Bull grumbles, rubbing the handkerchief over his face haphazardly before handing it back.
Small hums a laugh. “I’m not a spy, Bell.”
“Yeah, well, you’re sure good at keeping secrets. Pulled one over me, didn’t ya?”
“I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you, I really did. But I knew you would come to us eventually.”
“Hm. That what you were then? A honeypot for the Devils?”
Small sputters and turns red. “A-A what? I couldn’t–I mean, I’m not…Bell, that’s not why I’m–”
“Relax, runt. I was joking. No way you coulda honeypotted me.”
“I’d beg to differ,” Bucky says coolly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Sparrow’s ear.
“You’re one to talk.”
As the Rat Gang continue to bicker and jest, Rin spots the first glint of blue armour rounding the bend of the road.
“They’re here!” he cries, and he’s never been more afraid in his life.
***
“I say, Jun, are you quite alright?”
The lord jolts awake in the swaying carriage, drenched in cold sweat. If not for the warm spring air drifting through the open windows, he would have thought it to be winter still.
Erie eyes his childhood friend with some scrutiny, dressed in his usual resplendent silken robe, opulently pattered with golden thread and every breadth of blue. The effect is stunning and disorienting, like peering into the every shifting sky and trying to catch a single shade.
Jun grimaces and dabs at his brow with his sleeve. As a healer, his is of simple dress: a royal blue robe with white lining, and the Healer’s insignia sewn across his heart. The comparison is like the dazzling peacock to the humble grey flycatcher.
“You were mumbling in your sleep again,” Erie continues, taking a swig from his wineskin.
On the small table between them is a generous spread of cold meats, expensive cheeses, and Northern sweet breads. Perfect fare for the travelling royal. Meanwhile, the soldiers lagging behind their procession are given hard tack and stringent cuts for their rations. As such, Jun’s appetite is non-existent, and he has nothing but an ashen taste in his mouth. He would have preferred to ride with the other Healers, but station dictates his place in the Crown Prince’s carriage.
“My apologies, your Highness,” Jun mutters, pushing himself upright. His limbs continue to tremble as he tries to chase out the lingering screams of the dying from his mind. “I have not been sleeping well as of late.”
“When have you ever?” the Crown Prince retorts. “If it isn’t your studies then it’s bad dreams. I daresay the only sleep you’ll ever get in this lifetime is when you’re dead.”
“Are we close to Hanjuyang?”
“Nothing but fields and cow shit out there. We may yet see the night before we see Hanjuyang.”
Jun nods and settles back with a sigh, sheer exhaustion overwhelming any sense of excitement he may have of returning home. He pulls out his gold coin and rubs his thumb over the polished side, every bump and groove as familiar to him as his beloved’s face. Soon, his anxious heart settles.
“Anyway, as I was saying before you dozed off on me–” Erie says, leaning languidly against the carriage wall. “–General Kuang Yan has reported a successful taking of the Kortua Pass. It seems as though our ostensible defeat weren’t for naught.”
“Ostensible?” Jun furrows his brows. “In what sense were the deaths of our men ostensible, your Highness?”
Erie waves his friend’s concern away. “Yes, yes. Your persistent protest against death during wartime is ever baffling and duly noted. I mean to say, Jun, before you so readily took offence, is that our defeat was predetermined by our great General. We have long sought Kortua Pass for its arterial significance to the rebellion. Cut off their main supply route to the West and victory is ensured.”
“For what reason would the General coordinate our defeat?”
“If you were paying any attention to Hak’s droll lectures, Reshun neighbours Vas Eshar.”
Jun lets out a soft ‘ah’ when he realises the prince’s meaning.
Erie continues to explain, nonetheless. “The rebels were already spread thin in their holding of Vas Eshar, let alone the pass. Our assault diverted rebel forces away from Kortua, leaving it vulnerable to attack. A simple but effective tactic.”
“We were a rather expensive distraction.”
“Precisely.”
But the lord is not so convinced. “And you believe this? That our defeat was a victory in guise?” Jun huffs a mirthless laugh and shakes his head. “The General knows well how to appease the palace.”
The prince stiffens and his tone becomes cold. Clipped. “Need I remind you that not only am I the palace, but also the very empire you so easily scorn.”
“…My apologies, your Highness. I lack sleep and thus, good sense.”
“Evidently.”
“If it is as the General reports, then we should celebrate upon our return. Perhaps, a reward for the families of those sacrificed in our great victory?”
Even if the lord’s words were thinly veiled barbs, Erie grins and tosses Jun the wineskin. “A fantastic idea! This is why you are to be my Governor. Always thinking of the people, you are. No wonder they love you.”
“‘They’, your Highness?”
“Your father tells me the lowborn are quite taken to your lofty ideals. Keep them hooked and sated, and quash any thoughts of rebellion. It’s ingenious. I wish the Empress would take heed of your actions.”
Jun blinks at his friend, surprised.
Erie catches his expression and chuckles. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. Think I agree with all the executions? It’s all so morbid and depressing. But the Empress is determined to wipe out the rats. I’ve never seen her so enraged.”
“How would you handle the insurgency, your Highness?” Jun asks, curiously. He takes a small sip from the wineskin and returns it.
“I think men respond better to coin than fear. If I were Emperor, I would offer a generous bounty for every rebel pate brought to my feet.”
“Without proof of their alliance?”
“Obviously, I would require proof.”
“Such as?”
“Such as. Testimonies. Incriminating letters. Ah. And the like.” Erie waves his hand impatiently, clearly unable to respond sincerely.
Jun presses his lips together. “Pate or hanging. I see no difference.”
Erie rolls his eyes. “Why must you be so contrary, Jun? I am simply offering a far less violent solution and yet you see the need to nitpick.”
“I do not mean to ‘nitpick’. I was merely saying that your solution is not dissimilar to Her Majesty’s–”
“Ever since our first assault on Reshun you’ve been in such a dreary mood. What has gotten into you?”
Jun clenches his jaw in mounting frustration. “Perhaps, your Highness, I find it inappropriate to wine and dine while our brethren die on the frontlines.”
The prince blinks and straightens up, cheeks flushed in nascent anger. “It’s not my fault you decided to rough it out on the frontlines. I got you a place in Tactical, remember? But you insisted on becoming a Healer–”
“I know my choice. I do not blame you for it.”
“Then why–”
“I saw them die, Erie,” Jun says, quietly. He glances out the window. In the sliver between the thick velvet curtains, he sees the golden afternoon sun melting over the lush green landscape. Blossom trees line the road, scattering fragrant petals over their procession. “And those whose deaths I couldn’t witness, died alone and unseen. Can you imagine what that must be like? To have nothing but the vultures to accompany you into the underworld. How lonely it must be.”
Erie stares blindly at the wineskin in his hands, for once without humour. “It is simply the nature of war, Jun. They must die for others to live.”
“I killed someone. A new experience for me. And one I shall not forget anytime soon.”
The prince looks stricken for a moment, before quickly donning on a mask of false bravado. “Who hasn’t killed in wartime? Botan, that bastard, has killed scores of men at Ustos. In fact, he was commended by your brother. You should learn from that giant oaf. Does he philosophise after doing his duty? I should think not – and he is far better for it. You would be too.”
“These are not idle musings. And my dreams are not merely nightmares. I am sure I am being haunted by the one I murdered and by those I have failed. Forced to revisit the moment of their deaths in an endless loop. I fear they wish me mad or at the end of a rope–”
Erie grabs Jun’s hand and shoves the wineskin into his palm. His icy blue glare is rending. Threatening. “Ruminate no more on this. You would drive yourself mad.”
“A rather lenient punishment–”
“That is an order.”
The lord stares at Erie glumly, before taking a big swig of wine. The strong liquor takes the edge of his angst, until he feels himself and his thoughts drifting, no longer moored to the past.
“I know not whether you believe the machismo you fervently display, your Highness. Or if you truly do care for your people.”
“I should have your pate for sedition,” Erie huffs, tossing a piece of bread at his friend. The latter lets it bounce off his forehead. “Really, Jun. One would think you were a devil in disguise.”
“And what if I were?” Jun challenges.
“Then I would know you were lying, because Fifth Lord Hwan Jun would never have the audacity to commit treason. For all your talk, you yet remain a Hwan and there is no escaping blood.” The Crown Prince laughs at Jun’s gloomy expression. “Come now. Did I criticise your pacifism? I find it truly inspiring. It is time our imperial capital had itself a Governor with vision.”
“Yes, my father has long lost sight of anything beyond his nose.”
Erie huffs wryly. “He has not responded to your letters?”
“Zev acknowledged my reports. Apparently, my father is busy attending to his ministerial duties.”
“Blood you may be, Hwan Sun has all but disowned you. Will he be at your inauguration tomorrow?”
Jun half-shrugs. A careless gesture he’d adopted from a certain rat. “If he does, it would be as a minister of the Mother’s court.”
“What did you do to warrant such a response?” Erie gapes as a scandalous thought strikes him. “Did you father a bastard? You dog, Jun!”
Jun’s eyes flinch wide in mortification. “Absolutely not. I do not–in any case, not with a woman. I–I could never–your Highness–!”
“Not with a woman? Don’t tell me it was because of that Rat!” Erie curls his upper lip in disdain.
“No, not at all,” Jun says, quickly. “It was my doing. I criticised my father’s governance and you know well how he dislikes being challenged.”
“Well, Hwan Sun has grovelled his way to the Empress’ feet. Now you can govern Hanjuyang how you see fit.”
“I admit, I do not find myself prepared for the role.”
“If you’re not prepared, then no-one will ever be.”
“I do not mean logistically.”
“Ah. Scared, are you?”
“Are you not? One day, you will be the Father. The Emperor of Four Territories and the Unknown Lands. Surely such a responsibility is daunting, no matter how prepared you may be.”
Erie tilts his head thoughtfully, swiping the wineskin out of Jun’s idling hand. “The Empress will retain her throne for decades to come. I do not concern myself with anything past the morrow.”
“Well. As it were, my inauguration is on the morrow.”
“Hah. Of course. Then I understand your fretting. But you have Mira and Teacher Hak at your side. And I am, of course, always at your disposal. Between the four of us, Hanjuyang will be under capable governance.”
“You would assist me?”
“Gladly. We are brothers since birth, are we not? Anyway, I’d have cause to lodge at Hwan Estate henceforth for Lady Yujin’s spring soirees. They are infamously debaucherous.”
Jun smiles faintly at Erie, though his heart remains unsettled.
Hours pass like this, sharing chatter and wine as they travel through the Chunsan countryside. And then, just as the sky turns blood red with the waning afternoon, Mira rides up to the carriage and knocks on the roof.
Jun pulls the curtains aside and his maidservant bows her head in greeting. “Your Highness. Young master. We have passed through the Southern gate–”
“Mira, I would borrow your horse,” Jun says without pause, swinging the carriage door open.
“Yes, young master.”
In seconds, Jun gallops ahead with Mira’s horse as Mira takes her young master’s seat in the carriage. The prince glances at her, dismayed, and offers her the wineskin.
“Do you think he’s ready, Mira?” Erie asks.
“There are times, your Highness, when I must keep my thoughts to myself.”
***
A horse breaks away from the procession and gallops ahead as though chased by demons. Its rider hunched low and intent, blue robe flying out behind like a pair of wings. Even those waiting at the roadside can only catch a single detail: blazing golden eyes, brighter than the midday sun.
“Little lord!”
A single cry is all it takes to slow the galloping steed to a trot. A small figure leaps off a nearby roof, a blur of cherry blossom pink robes and raven hair and pale limbs reaching out for the shocked rider.
“Rinnie!”
Jun stands in his stirrups, arms reaching out for the falling body. When they collide, the horse neighs and rears back in agitation – but it is well-trained, and quickly regains its composure.
“Are you mad?” The little lord pants in shock, forced back into his saddle from the weight of his precious cargo. Said cargo wraps his arms around his lover and laughs breathlessly, black hair tousled and cheeks as pink as his robes.
“Three months and that’s all you gotta say to me?” Rin yanks Jun close and smashes their mouths together. He’s hungry, desperate, and yearning, and the little lord is no less intense in his response. Three months had been an eon, and though they may be changed in absence, their affections have only intensified.
When they finally part, the rest of the battalion has caught up to them, and the crowd swarms the road to welcome their soldiers home. Jun rides them out of the chaos to a quiet spot by Hanjuyang River. He dismounts and ties the reins to a tree, before holding his arms out for his lover.
Rin gladly obliges. He grins and falls into the lord’s strong, expectant arms, and they tangle together beneath the blossoming tree, with soft grass to cushion their twining bodies and the gentle susurration of leaves to mask their sweet words.
“I’m home,” Jun murmurs against his love’s swollen lips.
“Don’t ever leave me again,” Rin pleads, and it comes out as a whimper but he doesn’t care. His little lord is finally home.
Aww ;-; they’re so cute
HI I MISSED YOU THANKS FOR THE CHAPTER <33
DONBURIIII MISSED YOU TOO <3 Thank you for reading ^3^ I hope you’ve been doing good xox
finally reunited… but for how long?
MUAHAHAHAHAHAH >:D
I’ve missed you!!! I’ve missed Rinnie! I’ve missed our little lord!!! Mwah!!! bearhug
Aww Blu!! I’ve missed you too <3 I hope you’ve been doing well ^_^ *bighugs*
We’re doing okay. Chugging along, same stuff, different day! <3