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moonsugar-and-spice · 2 years

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Chapter Two: A Terrible Mistake

(Read on AO3)

Chapter One

+++

The smell of fresh congee gusted across the deck, the rising sun bathing the Mistress of Fortune in a rosy hue.

Rizo sat atop a barrel, a bowl on his lap and Acar crouched on his wiry shoulder, swatting away a thieving swipe of the gecko cat’s sticky-toed paw.

Warm fingers of a breeze raked through Lu Da’s mohawk and the engine rumbled pleasantly beneath his boots. He leaned back against the railing as they cut through the sea, finishing his own breakfast while a crowd stooped around the jam-packed bag.

Mongkbat, or Nubs as he was known, pulled out one treasure and then another, passing them around with a mangled hand.

“Hey, Captain,” he asked, grinning over his wide shoulder, “what’re you planning to do with all these winnings?”

“Buy a better crew,” Lu Da winked.

Fang dipped a pickled egg into his congee. “Y’ever lost a game of Fame and Fortune?” he asked around a mouthful. “C’mon, be honest now.”

Lu Da shrugged and answered, “Sure, on a few occasions. Only one person’s ever beat me more than once though.”

“That right?” He raised his bowl, as if toasting to the nameless victor, or perhaps to their captain in sympathy. “You’ll have to introduce us someday, so we can buy him a drink.”

The others crowed in agreement.

“Wouldn’t recommend,” Lu Da said, plucking up a bite of congee. “She’s even thornier when she’s had a few.”

A silence swooped, and just as quick, the deck erupted in guffaws.

“She?” Fang howled, a crumb of egg tumbling from the short stripe of hair on his chin.

“You lost to a girl?” wheezed Honzen.

“More than once,” Tonqa added, “can’t forget that.”

Marik and Rizo stood by with quiet smirks, the kind that failed to go unnoticed.

“Hey, how come only a few of us know this story?” Fang groused.

“I think we can guess why.”

Lu Da raised a finger, readying to step in with a retort, when a shadow drew his gaze in the doorway up to the quarters. The air transformed again, the throng of men rising to their feet with a chorus of banter and greetings.

Hiteo shifted, eyeing them, and then stepped out at their beckoning.

“Hey kid, how’d you sleep?” asked Lu Da, not entirely sure whether to expect a response.

“I threw up,” he muttered, swiping a mess of dark hair out of his eyes and squinting against the sun's blush glancing off the ship.

Not mute then.

“Ah, well—”

“On your bed.”

Lu Da’s mouth closed to a flat line. He nodded and scrubbed his fingers over the back of his head, reigning in his annoyance.

“S’alright. We’ll get it cleaned up. Don’t worry,” he added with a light nudge, “you’ll find your sea legs before long.”

“Porridge?” Marik asked as he walked over with an extra bowl.

Half-heartedly, Hiteo accepted it and Mongkbat pulled up a crate, prompting him to sit. Hiteo startled, grimacing at the remains of his large hand.

The man once lost two fingers and part of another to a tigerdillo. It was how he got his nickname. Mongkbat had killed it to get his fingers back and kept the little bones in a pouch around his neck, along with the teeth of the very animal that had swallowed them.

Hiteo picked at the congee with the chopsticks, taking a couple small bites. His eyes climbed quietly up the bridge as he looked around, watching the dark clouds belch from the smokestacks and dissipate behind them.

“How long until we get there?” he asked at length, setting the bowl aside on the weather-worn deck and looking at Lu Da. “To my aunt and uncle’s.”

“I have a stop to make along the way, in Sao Tong. Trip there should take about a week or two, depending on weather and supply runs. Then from there, just a few more days.”

“Wonder if we’ll run into Admiral Bristles again,” mused Rizo. “That’s always fun.”

Lu Da rolled his eyes. “I daren’t get my hopes up.”

As things were, occasional run-ins with Admiral Zhao were inevitable. There had been a handful of incidents to date, but “fun” was only a word he would use ironically.

Truth was, it was the last thing they needed now. The voyage was slated to take too long already, their current course far from direct to their actual destination. Even if Zhao wasn’t privy to all aspects of his dealings with Ozai, it would be delicate enough on his return to corroborate why it took longer than expected without the hawkeyed admiral on his case.

Breakfasts were finished, Chenpo heeded orders to drive them full speed ahead, and most of the crew dispersed to their various posts and shifts.

Lu Da had just carried a bucket up from below deck when he was stopped by the distinct feeling of eyes on him. Hiteo stood there, a few paces away. Head tilted. Just staring at him, no pretense of subtlety whatsoever.

When Lu Da pointedly stared back, he didn’t look away.

Must be a family trait.

“That’s a lot of tattoos,” the boy said finally, giving him a sweeping look.

The container swung as Lu Da stepped forward. “You should see how long it takes me to paint them on every morning.”

Hiteo blinked, brow folding. “What?”

Lu Da responded with the bucket, a pickle and a bowl of congee inside, shoving it before him.

“What’s this for?” he frowned, leaning away. “I don’t want that, I already ate.”

“Your gratitude is overwhelming. But it’s not for you. I want you to take this up to the bridge and deliver it to Chenpo. He’ll be the hungry guy at the helm with half his head shaven, the rest of his luscious locks loose at his back, you can’t miss him.”

“Why do I have to do that?”

“Gonna be part of the crew for a while, you gotta work like part of the crew,” answered Lu Da. “Afterward, come back and I’ll show you down to the galley. You can start helping Shu prepare for lunch.”

“But I’m not a pirate!” His face scrunched as if the word were a bad smell. “I’m a passenger. That’s sort of like a guest, and guests don’t have to work.”

Lu Da huffed in amusement, calling over his shoulder, “You hear that, fellas? He’s a passenger.”

Laughter billowed across the deck as Lu Da bent down, hands on his knees.

“You know what us pirates sometimes like to call the passengers on their ships?” He paused for the boy to shake his head. “Hostages. Now, you can either be part of the crew, or you can be part of the objectively less swag and sexy brig lickers. Which do you think you’d rather be?”

Hiteo almost seemed to consider, then rolled his eyes down to the deck and took the bucket, dragging his feet toward the door.

“Good choice.”

Men joked and boasted. Crates scraped. Cargo thudded.

An hour later, Lu Da’s attention was drawn by Tonqa, a bronze, brick shithouse of a man, who was glancing around and then back at him. The realization dawned just before he said it.

“I think we lost one.”

“Dammit,” exhaled Lu Da, “thought I told him to come back.”

He scanned the deck as he marched toward the door, inside, up the stairs.

He heard the kid before he found him. A theatrical series of “shewng, shewng, agghh!” growing louder as he approached his quarters. Despite it all, Lu Da almost felt a softening between his brows… right up until the moment he rounded the door.

Hiteo was zigzagging around the room, snarling and brandishing a particular crossbow wildly at imaginary foes.

“Hey!” he barked, suffering a brief episode of cardiac arrest as the kid startled and nearly threw it to the floor. “Put that down!”

Crossing the room, Lu Da didn’t spare him the chance, seizing it out of his young hands.

“Geeze, I was just—”

“You don’t ever touch this. Understand? Not only is it one of a kind, you could hurt yourself or somebody else.”

“I wasn’t gonna shoot it, I was just playing.”

“Soraya’s not a toy. She’s a weapon, and she’s not for kids.”

His disgruntled pout pursed aside, but the scolding didn’t seem to put him out too much. Instead, his mesmerized gaze tracked the curves and carvings along her burnished frame, caramel-brown eyes twinkling.

“It’s really cool though,” he said. “I’ve never seen a crossbow up close before.”

Lu Da couldn’t stop the faint tick of his mouth, pride smoothing out the coil in his bearing. “Well, she is pretty cool, I’ll admit. But just, no touching, alright?”

Hiteo grumbled assent as Lu Da mounted it safely back on the wall.

Behind him, he only caught the miffed mumbling in pieces, something that sounded dangerously close to, “...even know how to shoot it,” and, “...get beat by girls.”

Lu Da ground to a halt, turning with a look that pinned him to the spot.

“Why don’t you say that a little louder.”

“What?” Hiteo scuttled out the door. "I didn’t say anything.”

“That’s what I thought.”

The ship creaked in sync with the waves. Scrubbing a palm over the coarse stubble on his scalp and nursing his ego, he shouted after him.

“It was one girl. And Zuzhen’s a mean, pitiless, deadpan little shrew who… ah, dammit, he’s too far, he’s gone.”

+++ +++ +++

After that, Lu Da kept a sharper eye on their passenger, instructing the crew to do the same, but he couldn’t shake the visceral feeling that he had made a terrible mistake.

By late afternoon the next day, he knew that he had.

They were powering through the seas, slicing waves like a hot blade through lard, when the ship shuddered. There was a horrible grinding, the gnashing of gears, and suddenly they were losing speed.

“What the…?”

Lu Da exchanged a glance with Mongkbat and Rizo.

“Why are we slowing down?” asked the latter.

“It’s Honzen’s shift, the fuck’s he doing?”

Stalking up to the bridge, it was not Honzen he found standing at the helm. In fact, there was nobody standing at the helm.

Problem number one.

Problem number two was laid out on the floor, floundering like some overturned seal turtle, wincing and rubbing the back of his head.

“It was an accident,” Hiteo cried as Lu Da grabbed him up by the elbow, grinding his teeth to stem the flood of words threatening to pour out. “I’m just a kid.”

Honzen appeared not a second later in the door, apologetic and confused—he had heard a young cry for help and gone to check—right as Lu Da was dragging Hiteo back down to deck.

“An accident,” he parroted as he stopped, whipped the kid around to face him. “So your legs accidentally carried you to the bridge where you then accidentally tripped through the door to the helm, flipping several switches on your way down.”

Hiteo crossed his arms and scowled out at the horizon, the wind whipping dark strands of hair loose from his topknot. The ship was sailing smooth again, reclaiming lost speed.

“Maybe you can’t help being young, but I’d say it’s past time you stop being stupid.”

The boy’s gaze snapped back to him. “Maybe I will soon as you get your dudou out of that giant wad.”

Behind him erupted a string of errant, stifled snickers.

“What was that?” he challenged. “Because I could have sworn you just said, ‘Hey, Lu Da, toss me over the taffrail, I’m a useless little fartcatcher who’s ready to die at this very moment.’”

Whether spurred on by a true death wish or old-fashioned idiocy, he bit back, “My family wouldn’t like that too much, you’d be in big trouble. And anyway, you’re not my dad, you can’t boss me a—”

Lu Da took a swift and sudden stride toward him, forcing the kid to stumble ass-first onto a barrel that flanked the iron taffrail, and bent eye to eye, jutting a ringed finger.

“First, your family’s gonna know better than to start shit with me, so jot that down. Second, you’re damn right I’m not, and most importantly, you bet your ass I can, because until we get to Taichun, I’m the closest thing to one you got. And as long as you’re on my ship, in my charge, you do as I say and keep your paws where they belong. Which is…” he paused to grab his skinny wrists, slapping them down atop his lap, “right here. Got it?”

Beyond the pissheaded cheekiness flashed a fruitful glimpse of fear, a tight swallow, the narrowing of his gangly shoulders, and the boy’s gaze dropped and held fast on the mottled iron deck.

“I said, got it?”

Hiteo’s insolent pout deepened. He didn’t answer.

“You are not moving from this spot until I hear you say it.”

A wave buffeted the hull, tossing a glitter of mist over the rail.

At last, the boy grumbled, “…Yeah.”

Lu Da closed his fists around the iron rail on either side of his head, a museum of bulging muscles as he leaned closer. “Yeah, Captain.”

Another stretch of silence. Hiteo’s upper lip curled and he didn’t raise his eyes to look at him, mumbling a barely discernible yeahcap’n.

Cupping a silver-studded ear, Lu Da tipped his head and leaned closer. “I’m sorry, come again? What was that? Your old man’s a little hard of—”

“Yeah, Captain!” the kid roared in his face, features furrowing in a manner that reminded him of a disgruntled moose lion cub.

A crease played at the corner of the pirate’s mouth as he resumed his full height and gave a single nod.

“That’s better.” Lu Da scruffed the dark mop of hair to a resentful snort as the kid jerked his head away. “Just one big happy family.”

“Hey, Cap.” Rizo was working on a slice of blubbered whale jerky as he sidled up, jutting his sharp, goateed chin out to sea. “A little company.”

A small approaching Fire Navy fleet dotted the horizon. There was no arguing their speed had been well exceeding the acceptable limits; so long as they were alone, it was a risk worth taking under the circumstances, provided they slowed when nearing witnesses.

Honzen knew the drill and had surely spotted them, too, but best to be safe.

“Hey, tell him to let off the—” Lu Da cut himself short, squinting.

The crew exchanged looks and followed his line of sight.

The fleet seemed to be cutting it a little too close to their passage. A potentially honest, if careless, mistake, though one that could end badly if they didn’t gain distance. But as they continued closing in, it wasn’t so much that as the now familiar flagship veering entirely, broadsiding their own to obstruct their trajectory, that commanded Lu Da’s attention.

“No way,” huffed Marik.

“Speak of the yokai, and he does appear.”

“Shhhit,” Lu Da breathed through his teeth. The last thing they needed. “We gotta hide the kid.”

“Hide me? Why?” Hiteo asked as Lu Da glanced around, snatched the lid off the metal barrel.

“If you wanna reach your family,” he said, hoisting the kid inside and shoving his head down, “you keep still in there and don’t make a sound until I say otherwise.”

“But—”

The lid silenced him, jammed on just as the Mistress was slowing to a halt before Zhao’s ship.

The Admiral greeted them starboard, surrounded by Fire Nation soldiers, his arms crossed and wearing the smug smirk he favored like a noxious cologne.

“Pirate Captain Lu Da,” he hailed. “How ever could I have guessed? Your reputation is simply determined to go beyond its limits.”

Lu Da put a hand over his heart. “You honor me, Admiral.”

“How clumsy of me. That wasn’t a compliment.”

The edges of Zhao’s smirk curdled. Lu Da’s grin darkened, showing teeth.

“To what do I owe the displeasure of this unwelcome rendezvous?” he asked, just as something brushed against his boot.

Acar. The little menace, slinking in between legs and sniffing his way toward the barrel.

Lu Da tried, discreetly, to herd him away with his foot.

“You seem to be in quite the hurry. Going, what, 50 knots? 60?”

Lu Da felt himself start to tense and forced ease into his posture again. “A note of jealousy? I'm surprised at you.”

Zhao scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Some of us are grown men—”

“Yeah, better keep pounding your chest so nobody doubts.”

“And it would behoove you to remember who it is you represent when you sail these seas,” he warned through his teeth. “Speaking of, an interesting route on which to run into your lot, at such an hour no less. I can only imagine how busy, being the Fire Lord’s henchman and all. But, one might wonder what assignment he has you on out this way.”

He spread his arms and made a show of looking around as Fang attempted to toe a tenacious Acar away from the barrel with his boot.

“I’d love to tell you, Hotcheeks, but I’m afraid that’s privy information.”

There was a molten crack in his mask, a flush of angry heat.

Hot Stuff. Broom Cheeks. An amalgamation of endearment terms from the allied mission with the Navy that Ozai had sent him and his first mates on. He had to admit, Fancy-tickler had been his favorite, but he thought it best to refrain at present.

Lu Da could almost swear he saw those sideburns twitch as his teeth ground together.

“Call me that again and you’ll find my fire somewhere uncomfortable.”

A chirrup to his right as Zhao blustered on, and suddenly the words were turning to jumbled noise.

The gecko cat had made it atop the barrel despite their best efforts, eagerly nosing and frisking around the edges, as if it were a game.

All eyes on the Mistress shifted. The air seemed to tighten.

Before anyone could make a casual move to thwart it, those sticky paws were stealing under the metal lid, raising it off, when just as fast, it slammed down again. Acar chitter-shrieked and leapt straight into the air, his furry tail a riot of bristles.

The sound went off like a blast.

The admiral stopped mid-sentence. Smooth as possible, Rizo slid himself onto the barrel with an affected yawn. As if the lid hadn’t just slammed shut seemingly of its own volition.

Zhao’s honey eyes narrowed. “What do you have there?”

Caught halfway with the strip of cured blubber to his mouth, Rizo glanced down and bit off a chunk, garbling around it. “Whale jerky?”

Zhao scowled. He muttered something to the soldiers, readying to drop a plank and come across, when Lu Da cut in swiftly.

“Go on posturing, Admiral, and one of these days I may just swoon. But today, I don’t have to tell you that I’m on a schedule and this is an unauthorized hold up and interrogation. If you detain us any longer, I’ll have to include it in my official report.”

The lines between the seaman’s brows deepened with a flare of his nostrils, but after a beat, Zhao took a grudging step back.

“Very well. Though perhaps we should see just how much weight the account of a glorified thug holds against a decorated Navy admiral.”

“It must chafe, huh? All that ass kissing, the promotion so close yet still so far, and meanwhile, in walks an—”

A snarl split the air with a blast of flame, sparks seething over their ducked heads.

“Get out of my sight, earth-brained sea scum.”

“That’s Privateer sea scum to you.”

Zhao fixed him with what could only be described as the bastardized cousin of a sneer, giving the signal for his helmsman to engage.

Engines roared back to life and Zhao’s ship moved aside. As they passed, his keen eyes followed, and Lu Da dipped into an elaborate gesture that vaguely resembled a bow. If a bow were paired with a rude hand gesture.

The fleet shrank against the horizon and Marik stood between Rizo and Lu Da, fists pulling his dusky knuckles pale.

“I hate the way that ashbreather looks at me,” he grumbled. “Ever since the three of us were sent on that mission. Like he’s afraid I might vomit up a bag of dicks and drop them in his lap.”

“Maybe he’s just afraid that if you propositioned him, he might accidentally say yes,” Lu Da said, earning a sound that was half breath, half laugh, ushering a measure of tension from his friend’s shoulders. “Sozin’s law may have been abolished, but old propaganda dies hard.”

Marik glanced at him. “Think he’ll say anything to Ozai?”

“Maybe your soldier’ll cover for you,” Rizo chimed in.

A corner of Lu Da’s mouth pinched downward.

“Maybe,” he muttered unconvincingly. There was no great fondness shared between Ta Ming and Zhao, either. But Ta Ming’s loyalties and bent toward honesty, if put up against a wall, may be too much to hope for.

What was that saying again? No good deed goes unpunished.

A low, resonant banging of fists on metal. “Can I come out yet?”

Lu Da heaved a sigh.

“Let’s just step it up and get this over with.”

+++ +++ +++

Hiteo stumbled out the door. Water sloshed onto the deck as he dragged a mop and a string of grumbles and gripes behind him, finally dropping the bucket with a belligerent thud.

“This is stupid.”

“That’s the spirit,” Lu Da said cheerfully.

Hiteo shot him that moose lion cub scowl.

“I shouldn’t have to work,” he groaned, plunging the tattered head of rags into the water, and began mopping next to Chenpo.

“And I shouldn’t have been suckered in by my sick, crippled, somehow still intact limb of a conscience,” said Lu Da, “but here we are.”

Shu was on the bow, singing a tawdry pub song, while Rizo and Marik sparred upwind. From the lack of cursing, it was hard to tell who was winning.

Five minutes passed, maybe six, when Hiteo stood up and leaned on the mop stick, as if he might perish at any moment.

“Can I take a break?”

“You just started.”

“Well, I,” he stammered, “I gotta use the bathroom.”

“Sure,” Lu Da replied. “Soon as you’re finished here.”

His young guest was not pleased.

“I can’t hold it,” whined Hiteo. “I gotta go real bad.”

“Right now, huh? This very second.”

“Really.”

Lu Da studied him, that spoiled, cantankerous moue, and the gears in his head started turning.

“Fine, tell you what. Gimme a jiff to get the latrine all nice and cleaned up for you, alright? Won’t take but a minute.”

Chenpo’s gaze shifted quietly.

“And it so happens, I’ve recently procured these new super soft cloths that’re all the rage, it’s like wiping with a cloud. I’ll set one out for you.”

“Umm…” Hiteo looked around, questioning whether to trust this sudden generosity, but received no indication otherwise. “Okay… Thanks.”

“No problem,” smiled Lu Da. “I mean, when you gotta go, you gotta go, right?”

“...Yeah.”

“Back in a flash.”

Popping up to his quarters, Lu Da swiped a pair of leather gloves and a sealed box from a chest he kept shoved in the corner, before taking the stairs down into the hull.

Velvet beans were a peculiar little legume. Hailed to have all kinds of benefits, from raising dopamine levels to boosting libido to neutralizing the effects of venom, which was great, if one knew how to extract them from their pods.

The unfortunate thing about them, as anyone who had ever done so without extreme care soon learned, was that these fuzzy bean pods and the vines they grew on shed hair like crazy. And these tiny hairs contained a substance that, if so much as dusted your skin, would swiftly and unequivocally mess you up.

Grown men had been driven into a frenzy trying to quell the itch they caused, which was how they also got their other name: madness beans.

Lu Da reached the latrine, pulling on the gloves and unsealing the box to gently remove one fuzzy pod. He rolled it over the soft cloth in his gloved hand, careful not to leave a mark. Just enough to ensure a generous dusting of tiny, invisible hairs.

Folding it carefully, he set it in a conspicuous spot by the latrine, replacing the sealed box in its chest, and tossing the gloves in a bucket before returning to the deck.

“All set for you, big guy,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Enjoy.”

Hiteo dropped the mop beside the bucket, and then hesitated. He side-eyed him narrowly as he shuffled past, and there was a moment when Lu Da thought the jig might be up, before he continued on his way down.

+++ +++ +++

“Aagghhh!”

Hiteo was writhing, snorting even, making sounds that were almost more animal than human and scratching furiously as his hindquarters.

Lu Da sat on the deck a short distance away, flipping lazily through the pages of his ledger. Watching the scene unfold with barely contained glee over the top of his book as Rizo walked past and up to the kid.

He stopped, cocked his head over the wriggling brat on the ground, and stroked the trimmed outline of his goatee.

“You okay there, champ?”

“Do I—” Squirming. Grunting. “—look okay?!”

“Hmm,” he said pensively, “let’s see. Cold sweats, red mottled face, unbearable ass itching. Let me guess. He tricked you into wiping with a cloth covered in madness bean hairs.”

The lines of Hiteo’s face twisted in a thunderous snarl.

“I’m gonna… get him… for this.”

Rizo only donned a languid smile.

“Careful, if I were you. That’s a war you’re not gonna win.”

+++ +++ +++

They arrived in Qinyeong two evenings later, just in time, an hour before the sun would descend to sleep.

Lu Da gave strict instructions for Hiteo to stay onboard with the crew while a couple of them went ashore to stock up on provisions and fresh water.

Shadows were stretching long and thin over the port’s curve of land. Lu Da approached a booth occupied by a man with peppering hair, his mouth set in a sullen line. He did not want to be here, that much was certain.

That made two of them.

Three booths later, Lu Da was slapping the final coin down on the weathered wooden stand, bagging up the last of the supplies, when out of the corner of his eye Marik glanced over his shoulder.

“I thought the kid was supposed to be staying on the ship.”

“He was,” Lu Da said, casting him a brief look.

“Ah.” His quartermaster smiled wryly, blue eyes creasing. “Child-rearing is going well, I see.”

Shouldering the bag, Lu Da turned to him slow. “What do you mean?”

Marik didn’t need to answer.

The shriek that pierced the air from the other side of the market did it for him.

Lu Da didn’t know what was happening, only that one second, he caught sight of the miniature hellion poking about a weedy rock pile and the next, the neighboring vendor’s monkey was flying into a tizzy with the screams of its holder, who clambered to cower atop a stool.

Bowls teetered and crashed as the monkey zipped around the stall, overturning a cart of moonpeaches as onlookers gasped and edged away, alarmed and confused.

Lu Da clenched his fists—so much for not leaving a trail—stalking toward the scene, all hope of discretion abandoned.

That mischievous glimmer was jarring—a mirror, taking him back in time. It shattered just as quick as Hiteo tensed, snapped upright, skittering back from Lu Da’s approach.

“No, Dad, please! Don’t hit me!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, and Lu Da could feel the growing heat of eyes on him like tiny, searing brands.

A fresh spike of dread-laced wrath quickened his step. The pirate’s ringed fingers closed around his skinny arm.

“I thought I told you to stay on the ship,” he seethed.

Hiteo sulked silently.

The woman had begun reaming them out from upon her perch, trying to calm her anxious monkey, and Lu Da’s cut-off apologies only seemed to rile her more.

“That boy caused this mess, spooking my poor Koko with a snake. He ought to be apologizing, too.”

Lu Da’s skin tightened. He lifted one boot off the ground, checking under him and then around the stall. No snake that he could see. But he wasn’t given the chance to ask.

“And you,” she spat, stabbing a finger at Lu Da. “You ought to keep a better eye if you can’t be bothered to teach your son basic respect. Though judging by appearances…” Her eyes raked a path up the tattoos mapping his exposed skin—arms, neck, face—to his piercings and the boorish strip of dark hair running down his head. “I should hardly expect otherwise.”

A raw lick of anger lashed through him. He resisted the urge to clapback with some smartassery and instead leveled Hiteo with a look that dared him to challenge him again.

“You heard the nice lady. Apologize. Son.”

Hiteo frowned at his feet and managed something that might have passed for an apology from a half-dead skunk fish.

Setting the cart right, Marik started salvaging whatever moonpeaches hadn’t split open or been bruised beyond recognition as Lu Da shoved the lightest of the bags into the kid’s chest.

“Carry this and get your ass back up to the ship. Now.”

This time, he did as he was told.

Lu Da set about helping clean up the damage until the vendor squawked that they leave well enough alone and get lost.

The little menace avoided him the rest of the evening. Fine and dandy by him. Hiteo took his dinner alone and went to bed quietly. Mellowed, it seemed, by the healthy dose of fear Lu Da had imbibed him with.

Good.

Troubles were shaken off with music and drinks and several rounds of Hazard late into the night, until finally Lu Da dragged himself to bed.

It took a while for him to find sleep. And once he did, his dreams were disjointed and strange.

Vestiges of voices. Echoes of faces. Some close enough to touch, others lost to time or place.

An endless hall full of doors he didn’t want to open. Searching, searching for an exit. The floor, shifting sand beneath his feet and he was swallowed whole, shackles rising up to receive him like the arms of a lover.

The tight embrace of a noose falling pliant, cool and smooth and caressing. Slithering around his neck, up to his face.

A gentle hiss at his ear. A feather-light tickle on his cheek.

Lu Da’s eyes snapped open to bright sunlight. His entire body went rigid, sleep’s fog dispelled on a sharp inhale.

He had just enough time to register the rope of brownish-yellow scales, the forked tongue skimming his nose and tasting his fear, before the breath tore back out of him in a high-pitched scream.

He threw himself back with such force he tumbled ass over head off the bed and onto the floor. In the corner of his eye, a small shadow darted back behind the folding screen, and Lu Da uttered a string of profanities so colorful it could be tossed into the air and called a rainbow.

Oh. Oh, he is so dead.

Scuttling back for good measure, he dragged himself up and recoiled again, skewered by those beady black eyes.

Lu Da pressed himself flat to the wall, along with intrusive thoughts whispering admiration for the prank’s execution, and slid his way across the room. One eye on the serpent, the other on the crouching silhouette.

So when the boy attempted a break for it, Lu Da lunged and seized him by a fistful of tunic, reeling him up against the wall, nostrils flared.

“Listen here, you little slank,” he snapped, cutting himself off.

Deep breath, deep breath, watch your tongue, stay c—

“Keep this up and I will grind your bones to make cement outta your spleen milk, and then pour it into your ears until you like it.”

Footsteps thundered, then a voice rushed, “What’s the matter, what’s going on?”

He braced himself to see Marik in the doorway, Fang’s and Mongkbat’s heads popping in behind him.

Lu Da cut a look back at Hiteo that was half warning, half pleading, and all ire as a wicked light flashed in his eyes. The young face arranged into a picture of boyish innocence right before he twisted back to answer Marik.

“The captain just told me he was going to crush up my bones—”

“No, he’s—”

“And milk my spleen—”

“He’s lying, kids are liars—”

“To make cement and pour it in my ears.”

Marik leaned on the doorframe, crossing his arms and raising one brow to Lu Da, who silently seethed as Hiteo honed his act.

“You won’t let him do that to me, will you?”

Before anyone could respond, there was a soft hiss.

Gazes swerved to the captain’s bed. The coil of blotchy golden-brown peered up at them, tongue darting as it slithered between the ruin of blankets.

Marik cocked his head. “Why is there a snake on your pillow?”

He glanced first at Lu Da then, pointedly, to the boy beside him, whose blameless façade fractured under the knowing scrutiny.

“Hiteo.” The kid tensed as Marik brandished his dad voice. “Good timing. I’ve just been informed that the latrine needs cleaning.”

“W-what? But I don’t know how t—!”

“Don’t worry. Tonqa drew the short straw, he’ll show you.”

His mouth worked, then in a huff, the boy sulked out the door, shoving past Fang and Mongkbat, who had returned with a rod and a sack, all sniveling grins as they approached the reptile.

“Never thought I’d hear the infamous Lu Da scream like a twelve-year-old girl,” Nubs said under his breath.

“Knowledge of which you will kindly take to your graves.”

Marik came to stand beside Lu Da with a smirk. “Nothing to make you realize how much of an asshole you are like a miniature version of yourself walking around and fucking with you daily.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome to parenthood.”

“Entirely sure you can’t claim this one, Captain?” Fang called out.

Mongkbat chuckled. Lu Da blew out a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.

+++

Chapter Three

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throwaway-yandere · 6 months

Text

𝑫𝒐𝒍𝒄𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒊𝒍 𝑵𝒖𝒐𝒗𝒐 (Yandere!Dainsleif/Reader)

a/n: I love Dainsleif with every fiber of my being, do you guys know that? Anyways, just like all Dain-fics, this one has illustrations (I hope they give Fairytale book vibes). I’d like to thank @meimeimeirin cuz this was an idea we were laughing abt at 4am and somehow I made something out of it HAHA.

Unreliable Synopsis: “Fairytale worlds follow fairytale laws. There’s always a protagonist burdened with impossible tasks who will experience the rule of three, witness transformations, find talking animals, and learn the power of kept promises. So, before you embark on your journey, "princess" (Y/n), have you heard of the Ugly Duckling’s tale?”

CW: light yandere themes, fairytale!au just for the hell of it. HURT/NO COMFORT. Late/Advanced happy birthday, Dainsleif.

"The destined knight is late," the great dragon clicked his tongue. One would expect that an inferior creature such as an ugly duckling would quake and shrink while perched on the Dragon King's hand. But their expression was nothing short of serene. There is a veneer of calm that the great Dragon Ongri did not overlook.

The "duckling" had the eyes of an old gentleman with worldly disinterests.

He was longing for death.

𝕺nce upon a time, there was an ugly duckling who was abandoned by both their siblings and mother. Oftentimes, he was pecked by his peers, sneered into thinking his big head and scarred face. were both a reason for his survival and misery all the same. The ugly duckling thought himself unloveable no matter where he went. The small waters he was born in had no room for miscreation, and when he traveled to an elderly's house elsewhere, the chickens thought him useless and undesirable. Normally, the story would've been a happier bedtime story if he had gone to meet the Royal birds and begged for them to end his life. Maybe then, he would've realized that he had not been a duck but a swan all along. But alas, our poor ugly "duckling" found his feet at the hands of the great Dragon King- Ongri's mercy.

"Will you kill me?" The ugly duckling asked calmly. "You need to release your anger, and I can be but one of many casualties."

"I am not a creature of impulse."

The divine dragon scowled. "After Bars' and Fein' deaths, the concept that this realm dubs as Time and Moments is now under my jurisdiction. I've no use for wasted breaths."

As it happens, the dragon was in a troubling situation. There is an immediate need for a substitute. Sensing the urgency of fate's call, Ongri unleashed an ancient incantation. Feathers singed into flesh, wings clipped into arms, and in a burst of radiant light, the "ugly duckling" was reborn as a human knight. His body had scar-like spots from the Divine Dragon infusing him with magic, albeit the metamorphosis was far from flawless. Even as a human, he was imperfect. Mysterious dark blue "burn lines" traced his neck and arms. With the new human's eyes still closed, the dragon spoke to him, the last for a long time: "Forget your past and this whole affair." He commanded. "Go, find and protect your princess."

It mattered not if this was the last breath Ongri would tell him, besides…

When a god applies a curse, it takes effect at a higher level of reality than the person themselves.

“(Y/n)…”

“It’s me, Dainsleif… Can you… still remember my voice?”

“…”

“I… understand that once a person reaches this stage of the curse, their senses get muted. The remnants of those who once dwelled here must have been the catalyst of your ailments worsening..”

“… I’m sorry. I am incredibly sorry that I found you at such a later time. It did not occur to me that you would be here in the Chasm.”

“In our next fairy tale, I’ll—”

“No… I cannot subject you to any more empty promises… But know this:”

“I will keep you safe from now on.”

“So, do not leave my side ever again.”

And the new knight opened his eyes.

Memories of the dragon vanished from his mind. He was now a being of larger flesh and bones without recollections of his past. Should another human take his shoes, they would know that it was a fresh awakening. His first breath tasted like rich champagnes. Golden. Even the sun shone in such resplendent light that made the world seemingly revolve around him.

His legs wobbled. Sliding onto the grassy area, he caught a sight of his hair. Blonde. Like hay— they were golden threads silkily strewn about. He soon noticed that the rest of his complexion was a light pinkish-hued color, as did the hands that prevented his head from taking a serious fall.

The reborn “ugly duckling” may have forgotten why, but he felt alienated from his own body. And he has the Divine Dragon to thank for his new vessel and plain armor.

“Help! Someone, HELP!!!”

His ears perked up. It was a scream with a fervor of a “damsel in distress”. Vent clamor as she may with her whole throat, nothing would come out of it.

But fate will not allow this untimely demise. Quick on his new feet, the new knight dashed towards the sound. No cavalry— just a single determined mind. After running for some time, the unnamed knight did not come across any souls.

That is, until he found the young maiden he was “fated” to save. She was on the ground, clinging into her wrist as though she burned her hand. In the ground laid an iron sword, begging to be drawn.

At the sight of the wild animal bearing down on her with frightening speed, the “knight” took her weapon and charged towards the scene, raising it in front of the menacing beast. He gazed at the bear that towered over him, displaying its slobbery maw and long, pointed claws. The untamed creature snarled and dropped to strike.

Perhaps the Divine Dragon saw his noble pursuits, perhaps he was naturally gifted in combat, but the bear was unable to rake the man’s body. Miraculous it was that not a single nasty laceration was left on his person. He lacked the strength to take it down in one fell swoop, but the speed he had made up for it. Like swans that swerved through the wind and flow of water, he dodged all its attacks. With a few strikes from his blade, the bear falls...

He breathed out, shaking in his boots though he tried not to show it. Straightening his body, he met the maiden’s gaze. His blue eyes met hers in a piercing gaze, nearly taunting her as his new opponent. The young lady exhaled a deep sigh of relief.

“T-Thank… you…”

Subconsciously, he circled the shoulder that recklessly swung the sword around. The new “knight” tilted his head. For what? He wished to ask, but words did not come out.

“For saving me, of course.”

The maiden gracefully stood. Her garments had lost some of their value due to the soil and dirt, but she herself was not affected in the same way. She exuded a fierceness that suggested anyone who ventured to hurt her would be receiving more than they bargained for. Instead of tucking her hair to the back, she pulled them forward, hiding her ears.

“Do allow me to introduce myself, kind knight.” She cleared her throat softly. “You may call me Princess (F/n), daughter of King Regan and current crown princess— heir to the throne upon the late Prince Pierre’s demise. May I know your name?”

…

… Silence…

The princess tilted her head.

"... Does my savior have a name?"

"... Name?"

The young man paused.

He couldn't remember his name. In actuality, he had absolutely no memory of anything. His mind was a bottomless pit with little to no air. With wide eyes, his hand moved slowly to around his neck. The act of conjuring up his supposed name left him terrified for reasons unbeknownst to him.

Does he… not have a name?

“... You must be joking.” The princess deadpanned. “How can one not have a name? Were you not baptized under the Divine Dragon’s light?”

She sounded incredibly upset by this fact. Whatever she ranted on about, it must be a human tradition.

“Do you not know how important names are—” The princess sighed, “Never mind. I shall assume you are one of those orphaned folks. Besides, if what you say is true, bestowing you a new name is a power much more potent.”

“I… want a name.” The man spoke up rather shyly, voice almost inaudbile.

"I know, I know… Huh, I usually take names rather than gifting them," the princess chuckled. She seemed wholly aware of his dilemma. "Hmm… Let me see…"

She examined his features closely. He was dressed in the traditional knightly fashion, albeit slightly altered. The holy kingdom's knights, of course, never donned masks—especially not half of one. He was strange, but there was an innocent genuineness about him. The blonde man doesn't have a polished appearance. He looked like a lost duckling.

It was rude to stare at the peculiar blue wounds on his face far too long so the princess’ eyes trailed above his hair.

"Leaf…" She pointed upward. "Leaf."

The knight blinked.

What a peculiar sounding name.

"Understood." He nodded and bowed politely. "I shall now be referred to as Leaf."

"No, I meant—" The princess cut herself off and chuckled. "Oh, well. I meant the leaf on one's head. But certainly the name Leaf does suit you fine."

“Do place your iron sword away, Leaf.” She added, cringing. “It is unbecoming of a knight to point a sword to their princess.”

“May… May I ask as to why you were attacked by a bear?”

“Quite bold of you to inquire a royal about a recent assassination attempt,” she humored him with a smile. He safely assumed she would not enact punishment for his assertiveness. “If you must satiate your curiosity, it is exactly that. An assassination attempt. They believed since my brother had fallen so easily, I myself must be an easy game since I adore wandering around the forest.”

“And they seem to be right,” Leaf muttered, wittily referring to the incident prior that arranged this fated meeting.

“Oh?” She scoffed, her polite smile remaining intact. “You’ve quite the tongue. Are you from the valleys?”

“I do not know.”

She squinted.

“Hmm, I see.” The princess exhaled and shook her head disapprovingly. “Then I am to presume that I should also use my wits to cleverly weave a background for you much like your name, Leaf?”

“You wish for me to serve you, that I can tell, and for that to happen I would need your equal assistance,” Leaf spoke solemnly. “I do not recall anything of my past, but you can always make one for me.”

Leaf knelt in front of her. Silence ensued.

“You are deadly calm for a man who wished his history be erased…” The princess muttered.

Leaf was a strange man indeed. He was perceptive, yet he spoke like fate’s pawn. That is to say, the princess noticed he only ever says the truth. His countenance conveyed little desire to adopt rebellious ideologies. To be honest, there was nothing in those contrivedly starry eyes. It was bare. A false sky.

It almost made the princess worry for his lack of self-preservation had she not been the same. Lies were always at her hands’ disposal, and she greatly hoped it was not what her heart would contain in her last pages. She didn’t wish for a life of deceit. The princess's survival solely comes from her ability to “doublespeak”.

“I see your promise. You are made of self-mettle. Although your blunt tongue may mar your fortunes sooner before you could gaze upon His Majesty, I wish to prescribe you with new duties.”

She took a deep breath.

“This directive shall not be withdrawn in the name of the Divine Dragon. Leaf, a young knight from the Valley of Gaciea who will shortly be appointed retainer to the Royal Highness, Princess (F/n), kneels before me. Until the end of time, he shall be my sword, and I will be his master. Will you keep your word and uphold the oath— the promise?”

“I will.”

Not a moment did he hesitate. Not for a second did he think there was more to life than this. It was nearly bitter. His life sounded so simple to her tongue.

But it was a contract nonetheless.

A promise that must be fulfilled.

“I find myself stirred in restless days without you my by side. You haunted me so diligently this past 500 or so years.”

“Humor me, won’t you… my b-beloved?”

“Why have you hid away from me? Why did I have to find you in this state? Furred and mute. Didn’t you take a breath to think about how much your pain would mean a greater weight for me? Have you not a second thought about how much it pains me to see you like this— bearing the fangs of the abyss and the claws of the cursed…?”

“The only sigh of relief I can release is that at least in this new sky, Ongri— no, he calls himself Zhongli these days— would get between us no more.”

“This new fairy tale… For how long do you expect me to keep this promise, (Y/n)? How many more stories must we get through for us to reach a happy ending?”

“Please… I’m begging you… Say something!!!”

“…”

“… Speak… Please… Anything…”

“Tell me about our past rendezvous. Seduce me with your musings. Anything… can't you try, just for this special day?”

“Please… don’t turn your mask away from me…”

“Do you find time to flow as quick as the waters by the stream? I am inclined to believe this sentiment. I find it astonishing that we’ve spent eleven or so moonshines joined at a hip. Time ages us but we are none the wiser.”

Leaf grunted, heaving Princess (F/n)’s inventory as she spoke. He didn’t seem distressed by the weight and his princess appeared not at all troubled as well. At least, that what it seemed on the surface. Royals must make their superiority known. Leaf knew (F/n) wanted to also carry some of the bags, but he refused.

There were several notions Leaf refused that noon. When (F/n) entertained the thought of going out as herself and by herself, he disapproved with haste. Leaf had to know where she’s going, who she was going with, what she’s going to wear— just about everything. His voice alone overwhelmed the princess enough that you’d mistake him for the king. The knight practically ordered what she would wear and what route she’d have to take if she wished to see the ongoing festival.

Being herself was a safety hazard and being alone by herself was a death wish.

To his eyes, at least. He had always been a twinge too overprotective.

It was a hectic morning with a picture-perfect, almost cliche scene of bustling streets and frolicking kids on a medieval setting. While children would swerve around adults' legs to avoid getting tagged, adults walked slowly to hear each gossip. One kid had nearly hit the princess herself, but Leaf would not allow it.

Leaf pulled (F/n) away by putting an arm over her waist. The smell of her sweet perfume surprised him. Her smell reminded him of the forest. For the knight who professed to guard her innocence, her warm body lightly pressed against his was a fleeting but almost immoral moment. He set her down slowly, gasping quietly. The princess chose not to draw attention to the troubled expression on her most reliable retainer.

It was better not to acknowledge his growing romantic interests.

To her, he is only a sword.

Even if he is a friend, at the end of the day, he’s only a weapon to be used.

The princess quickly pulled the cape down further to hide her face— mostly her ears. For reasons unknown to him, she seemed to find that part of herself worthy of great insecurity.

He cleared his throat, face dusted in a pink hue.

“You say that time affects you, but you haven’t aged a day.”

The princess laughed.

“Finally, a compliment from a man as stoic as you? Oh, what a day to rejoice!”

Leaf shook his head with a small smile.

“I had given you one on several occasions.”

“That may be true, but random bouts of flattery from you are scarce.” The princess hummed. “I vaguely recall how getting anything out of you was like trying to get a frozen little duckling to quack. Who am I? Your mother duck?”

The smirk on his face was quick, but (F/n) definitely saw it.

Several staff once questioned Leaf’s ability to speak. Many, including (F/n)’s father, were convinced he was mute. Everyone in the castle knew of the princess’s peculiar tastes and thought Leaf’s recruitment was a mere byproduct. His masked appearance and strange scars added more fuel to those rumors. When Leaf defended (F/n) from another assassination attempt in front of the king and inquired about her condition, King Regan nearly toppled from where he stood.

After being bombarded with questions, Leaf merely said he refrained from speaking since he saw no use if he wasn't talking to the princess herself. (F/n) still finds it absurd that she has to give orders for him to talk to other people.

For Leaf, it was simple: he just didn’t see the point of forming other interpersonal relationships.

(F/n) was the only one that mattered in his eyes.

Only her.

Only she is worthy to serve and protect.

“You truly are like a little duckling following his mother’s tail,” Princess (F/n) sighed. “But you have vastly improved in our time together. That, I can commend.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” Leaf laughed softly, mocking her tone in his signature subtle way. “Oh, what a day to rejoice.”

She playfully gave him an elbow nudge. “Do not copy me, Leaf.”

“My apologies.”

Princess (F/n) was meandering around because the harvest festival was drawing closer. With her own eyes, the princess intended to see how her people were faring. Rarely did she change into a more "common" outfit and styled her hair with simplicity. Though, if you were to ask Leaf, seeing her in her most simple clothes made her far more youthful than the garbs and crown that wrinkles her smile to a frown.

“Madame, would you be interested in buying your lover here a brooch?”

Both of them stilled as a merchant called out. The undercover royal pointed to herself.

“Yes, yes, of course I’m talking to you, gorgeous!” The merchant grinned. He had silver hair that slightly covered one of his blue eyes. “Do you want matching rings instead? We’re selling for fifty percent off!”

Leaf’s gaze was stern. Despite his reservations, he knew the merchant as Alfstan, another young knight who hailed from a family of vendors. Two moonshines ago, Leaf was (forcefully) placed on training duty and had the fortune of mentoring this aspiring knight.

Mind you— nothing was particularly dubious of his wares. Leaf just simply despised having another man brazenly take your attention away. He did not find their previous exchanges pleasant. Not when Alfstan often joked about replacing his position one day.

What hubris.

While he busied himself glaring at the poor man, the princess awkwardly laughed and dismissively waved a hand. “Oh, no, he and I— we are not—”

“Haha, I know, I was just pulling your leg, Your Highness.” Alfstan grinned, giving Leaf a quick nod. “Morning, Sir Leaf! Were you showing the princess around?”

“Shhh! Be quiet!” (F/n)'s eyes widened.

He protectively wrapped an arm around (F/n) again, this time far more confidently.

“Yes.” Leaf spoke, voice as solid as his resolve.

“Mind if I tag along?”

His stare sharpened. “I would very much mind, now return to your stall.”

The princess shook her head, poorly judging her retainer’s possessive words as acts of protection. Instead, she dwelled on their attire. “Drats, was our disguise that fragile?”

Alfstan assessed her from top to bottom, which made Leaf even more tense. “Eh, you’re really gorgeous that no cloak can hide your beauty, Your Highness.”

“I have to agree,” Leaf said stiffly, clearing his throat. “Perhaps I should hide her in a hay sack. WIthout your prying eyes.”

(F/n) raised an eyebrow. “And what? And be suspected of kidnapping me instead?”

Leaf shrugged. “Does that sound like an offense I would commit?”

Alfstan rolled his eyes. “Well, obviously. Besides, the only way you wouldn’t get caught is if you hid her in something as small as a teapot.”

And he would be right. But it will take eons to prove those suspicions as truth.

“Going back to your wares, Sir Alfstan,” (F/n) digressed. “These iron-framed tassels, are they made by your hand?”

Alfstan's respect for the princess grew.

“Yes, how did you come up with that conclusion? Most passersby believed I had ‘em commissioned from the East.”

(F/n) smiled crookedly. Leaf caught a glimpse of discomfort, but it was gone in a bat of an eye.

“I… I admire your skill with molding iron.” To the untrained ear, (F/n) sounded flustered and embarrassed. To Leaf, he was certain that she was unsure of herself. “It is commendable, how you smith your very own weapons, that is. I know many of our soldiers come to you when their blades are chipped.”

“You’ve heard of my skills?!” Alfstan beamed proudly. “Really?!”

The princess nodded. “Y-Yes…”

It was odd. Despite her high praise, her wariness remained. She looked at the blonde man. “He had also made your new Ulfberht sword too, right? It certainly pierces much better than his old one.”

Leaf didn’t bother with a reply, Alfstan made it for him.

“Yes, Your Highness. I thought it would make for a thoughtful birthday present!”

“Speaking of presents…” The princess gazed down, analyzing the items he sold once more. “What do you recommend as a gift for someone important?”

If Alfstan was elated by her earlier compliments, he could practically jump over the moon at her newest proposition.

“Oh? OH?!?”

Leaf gave (F/n) a strict yet gentle glare.

“Your Highness…”

“I still won’t let it slide!” (F/n) huffed. “I couldn’t possibly be satisfied with just new sets of armor. Alfstan, by my order, suggest a pleasant gift for the stubborn knight beside me.”

“On it!”

Without delay, the two bent down to select the ideal accessory for the man who vehemently refused. Alfstan was the only one touching the gems and (F/n) refrained from doing so. Tiny flecks of gold and iron infused the tassels, but she feared she would handle the stones carelessly.

Leaf palmed his face with one hand as the two chattered. Still, despite Leaf’s disapproving looks, he finds (F/n)’s enthusiasm to make him happy a wonderful notion in itself. To think that (F/n) would continue to insist on a present for a birthday that had since passed… She was more stubborn than he was.

“So troublesome…” He muttered with a soft smile. “I see no point in this, Princess (F/n). Serving you is a miracle enough itself—”

“Halt! Speak no more, Sir Leaf!” (F/n) exclaimed. “There! That one, Alfstan— that gem resembles his eyes, does it not?!”

“You have great tastes, Princess (F/n)!” Alfstan nodded eagerly like a motivated student. “That does look like his shade of blue— and so quick to find it among the pile, too! Are you sure you’re not some sort of custodian of natural treasures?”

Princess (F/n)’s awkward and stifled laughter can be heard again.

“What? Haha, what nonsense.” She shook her head. “Everyone calls me Princess (F/n), any other name would surely sound terrifying and mismatched.”

A nonanswer, but that made the conversation more humorous.

“Here you go!”

Alfstan reached his hand out with the tassel. (F/n) stared at him, silent and unsure. He blinked and snapped his fingers.

“Oh, right, you need a box— my deepest apologies, I was too caught up in the moment!”

The princess sighed in relief.

Leaf crossed his arms. “You’re doing well for your first time setting up a stall, Alfstan.”

“This isn’t my first and you know it, Sir!”

(F/n) laughed.

The merchant wrapped the gift she brought with care. The hush looms large around them as the merchant boastfully goes about his business, his tone comforting to her ears. The Princess walks over to the gift box once the merchant has finished. She can't help but smile because she can feel the tassel inside.

“Not exactly a surprise since Sir Leaf is here, but the packaging adds some charm, right?” Alfstan asked.

The princess couldn’t hold back a smile as she looked at the knight behind her.

“I think most of the charm comes from the person who’ll receive it,” (F/n) chuckled.

“Don’t you think so, Leaf?”

She wouldn’t know. And she’d never know a lot of things.

She never got the chance to ask her most precious knight if he liked that gift.

And she never will. No matter how many days, months, years, centuries— eons Leaf would wait, he would never hear the princess ask that same question again after this.

It would not matter if he was a judge, a prince, a knight, or a mere animal— it did not matter how many sweet new styles he would take. In the end, his arms will always be empty. Everything was pre-ordained. Dying in his arms, whether it’s slow and painful or mercilessly quick— will remain as the last line. He will always hold on to your corpse, warmth draining.

This was your fate, (F/n)— no, (Y/n) (L/n).

This was just the first of many branches of the Irminsul. The first of its many reiterations, possibilities, or better yet, alternate tales or "universal resets".

Princess "(F/n)" coughed, wetting the side of her lips.

"I haven't been able to p-personally attach that tassel on your s-sword, b-but… but I can spare you enough seconds to fly away…"

"Don't make haste!" Leaf gritted his teeth as he applied some pressure down her stomach. "This is not your decision to make!"

She didn't reply to his desperation, but she silently disagreed.

In her palm was the tassel, out of its box. The blue threads darkened with the taints of her blood. The metallic scent was nauseating. It weaved in a disorganized fashion around her fingers.

What a beautiful and tragic loom of fate, to love someone you were bound to hold with ruin.

It would’ve hurt less if it weren’t in his colors too.

"This marks the worst day of my life," the “princess” smiled, tucking the stray hair behind Leaf's face. "And even if given the opportunity, I wouldn't dare c-change not even a minute detail about it."

As if she— as if you— have the power to change destiny.

You're not a descender.

You're just a pawn.

That's when Leaf realized how fragile life ultimately was. With the curse undoing itself, he recalled and reflected on his animal days. He understood the Divine Dragon's intense frustration over a lowly duckling's will to perish. The curse of becoming human meant knowing the greed men had, but also the beauty of their kindness.

His small bird heart was not meant for this much sorrow. His life was meant to be simple. To learn that he was not a duck, but a swan.

How was he supposed to cope that the woman he had sworn to protect was not human, but a fae?

Everyone in the kingdom knew that the king would sooner disclaim his paternity than allow the crown princess (F/n) to truly lead— but they never had any real reason to support the king for this. The princess’s words were always more kind and ponderous than that of her supposed father’s. They thought him mad. They thought him deplorable. They thought him old and senile.

But he would not be king if he were not sharp.

Why, oh why, would the princess make great efforts to constantly hide her ears? Why would the princess utter roundabout ways in speaking her “own” name? Most of all, why would the princess fear the touch of iron?

There was a simple answer: she was not the princess, but a liar.

And yet, Leaf was the sole person who did not care, for he thought himself as the worst sinner or “quack” in comparison.

The kingdom won't learn the full truth for some time after this, but the fae made a bargain with the real princess. The real princess would elope with a farm boy and, in return, the fae would take her name. The trade was not malevolent. The two women were secret friends since childhood and neither wished the other harm.

But the townsfolks had little patience. They would sooner throw pebbles and stones than kneel for a false princess.

The moral of the story, like most Brothers Grimm’s fairy tales, was simple: virtue will be rewarded, iniquity will be punished. The storytellers do not care beyond that, no matter how dark it sounds to the children who will hear it. The fae lied, therefore the kingdom shall rightfully punish her.

They better thank the dragon they oh-so admire that the court fae did not think themselves evil. They better sleep soundly, knowing that they have slaughtered a well-intentioned guardian.

For he will not and never will.

Not even with a change of title, name, and universe. Whether the land he walked on was called Gaciea, Fodlan, Belobog, the Continental, or Teyvat— what the world steals from him, he promised to take back.

There the two were, back to where it started. The same forest and patch of land where the bear had attacked her. Fate had a funny way of telling tales. Leaf can only scoff at how unimaginative it could be, sometimes.

Why couldn’t fate think of more comfortable deathbeds for the one he loved?

"You cannot allow this! I cannot allow this!" The knight gritted his teeth. "You will not die— you cannot die. You and I have a promise… You cannot break that one promise!!!”

“(F/n)” grinned.

The look in her eyes disturbed him.

She knew. It is finished. She knew that it was the last page of the book. Just living in these immortalized pages for the fae was well worth the want she had wanted.

“Consummatum est.”

Consummatum est….

Leaf gasped shakily.

“Did my life… even have meaning to you as well?”

Her expression was enough to tell him the words “who knows?” She surely did not. Her mind was buzzing and her thoughts were fizzling out. No one knows anymore. Maybe the Divine Dragon would but he would not accept any offering or prayers for these two heretics.

This is fine… He’ll forget his tears soon, surely…

He’s only a sword at her side… She never asked him to be anything more…

He should be okay, once she’s gone…

She grinned, lifelessly tracing her thumb across his cheeks. The curse is undone. The loom of fate was slowly disintegrating. Soon enough, he shall return to his original form. That of an animal. That of an ugly duckling. That of a swan who will forget his human memories.

It is finished.

On the book’s final page, there is only ever a fae’s corpse and an elegant bird watching over them. With its wings clipped back, curiously watching the light leave their eyes, he will return to the nearby riverbanks and forget what had happened. As retribution for stealing another’s identity, there will be no one left to remember who she truly was.

And that was all there was to it.

With the fae banished, the Kingdom of Gaciea lived happily ever after. THE END.

Dainsleif closed the book and lovingly looked at the “person” beside him in bed. He stroked the “person”’s light brown hair— its color reminiscent of the bear he had slain in his first life. It’s a shame he had to reunite with you in this condition. But it’s not like he would stop loving you. He doesn’t care if you’re a fae, a sinner—

Or a hilichurl.

He scooted closer beside you.

"So, does the story ring any bells, my beloved?"

Zhongli, upon recalling what happened and the curse he had inflicted on both of you to fulfill some children’s fairy tale, sought the “ugly duckling” and the “false princess”. Retired as he is, he cannot undo the fate you must play nor terminate his contract with Celestia. For consolation, he merely offered the Khaenri’ahn a teapot. Unlike the Chasm, the teapot was forever peaceful and serene. The brightness of lumenstone ores was not as comforting as the adeptal light that peeks through the drapes. This is your current place of residence. Whether you liked it or not.

"To think Nicole would entail the story of our past life." He laughed softly. "And these names... Hah... Are those the best she could conjure up to bypass possible erasure…? I suppose I should still thank her for her best efforts. I can see how challenging it would be to document our story, given how we lived through so many resets."

There’s a slice of cake paired with wooden utensils on the nightstand. If your mind had not deteriorated, you might’ve assumed they were gifts from the aforementioned Nicole and the Geo Archon. Unfortunately, forming a coherent thought required a mental fortitude akin to iron. You currently do not have such willpower.

“Alfstan— no… Halfdan was right. There will come a time that he’d protect you from harm and not I…” Dainsleif mumbled defeatedly, his eyes burning with tears he couldn’t let out. Far too tired to dwell on it. “He must’ve forgotten his old jests in his previous life because as far as he’s concerned, he’s simply doing his duty as a Black Serpent Knight…”

He pecked your forehead, closing his eyes.

"Did you remember, my beloved? Vacation may not have any business being in my vocabulary but it is my birthday today…" Dainsleif leaned his forehead against the cold stone that covered your face. "I know you— do not feel guilty over your lack of gifts. It is not as if I bothered to count my age since the cataclysm. I didn't want to celebrate this occasion for the past five centuries. Not when you weren't at my side..."

The blonde man turned his gaze to the floor.

How many times will he have to “reincarnate” just to see a happy ending for the both of you?

"Happy birthday… to me…" He sang weakly. "Happy birthday to me…"

The man— the former sentimental judge— the former tyrant prince— the former "ugly duckling"— and now the current bough keeper, observer of fate in this new fairy tale, trembled…

“Happy birthday, happy birthday…”

… And sobbed.

You, in your ungreedy husk of a body, tilted your head in innocence. Pain coursed through every nerve now that the Abyss Order’s cleansing equipment broke. The man before you was no different from the shadows you fought and hid from that would terrorize the dark and cold places in the Chasm you’ve instinctively called home. But somewhere deep down, you carried a complex weight that hilichurls wouldn’t normally have.

That weight was a human emotion dubbed as "pity."

You pitied the shadow that loomed and embraced you.

And your lone reluctant arm that wrapped around him was enough to make him fully break down.

His throat constricted as he cried into your inhuman shoulders. Your scent was like that of a wet duckling, and he preferred that over the blood that disgraced your form several "fairy tales" ago. Dainsleif caressed the golden band on his finger. It was the most important ring between the two that Pari Zurvan found him clutching whilst unconscious in the wilderness.

At the very least, you were safe.

And you being alive today was a good enough present for him.

You tilted your head down, feeling his warmth one last time while Dainsleif took a deep breath, singing with more air than a proper tune.

Though it was barely discernible, he could just about make out the words you muttered a phrase from the old language of Khaenri'ah. Or at least, he deluded himself that that was the case. In his catatonic mind, you spoke the words:

Happy birthday, my beloved.

"H-Happy birthday to me…"

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