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naopao · 7 years ago

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Too Curious By Far 3/?

Pairing: Genji/Zenyatta (eventual), background pairings Previous Chapter Summary: Zenyatta, prince of the forest, finds a dragon in need of aid. Warnings this chapter: none, light blood/wound mention

A faunyatta AU inspired by the best @russet-red! It’s not dead, I’m just so slow at updating. Thanks for sticking with it!

The king stares at all that he has and sighs. The huge keep, the nobles and knights walking the inner ward, the ancient battlements and further: the crowded, rustic homes outside the castle gates. Nothing has changed since his mother’s ascendance to the throne. Everyone has their grievances, their joys, their lives, cared for and protected within the kingdom.

He looks at the oak table beside him, the same one his ancestors had used during their lifetimes, staring at the letter upon it. The message had arrived this morning, wrapped in thin black ribbon and sealed with a sharp claw of dark wax. The handwriting is skillfully printed, cordial even, for the ominous words within.

Bastard king,

You have taken what is mine by blood. I am riding north to reclaim it. Decide how you will be subdued: diplomacy or war. Choose wisely, for there are those who remember the old ways.

There is no signature, but its sender is clear. His scouts confirm what the letter details: an army marches north. A weight settles on his chest like he has not known in years. He had thought, perhaps foolishly, that the southern king had been struck down for good. His claim is fair, but his methods are cruel, and a ruthless man cannot lead, not in peace, not until the world is reduced to ash and reborn in his image.

The king’s eyes pass over the round bundle he had not unearthed since his youth. Ten years? Fifteen? He remembers wide, blue eyes and laughter like chimes, prim and proper, yes, but easily enticed to play, smiling with tiny velveteen nubs angled at him in challenge. The same eyes shining with unshed tears as he left the sanctuary to carry on the burden of his line.

Too late, always the wrong time. Especially now, on the eve of war. Selfish, to think of his past, when he should be thinking of his people. Yet, that stubborn ember refuses to be snuffed, flaring with another, more terrifying notion: the great forest borders both kingdoms.

There is a chance, however slight, that he could contact his old friend, warn him of what may come.

Soon, maybe, but not now. Now, he sends his scouts, the leader a man who walks in the shadows as easily as a ghost, their friendship old and steadfast. He waits and hopes for better news.

But he plans for the worst.

A tiny pair of antlers pokes through the vines of the doorway. There’s a flurry of whispers in that strange, lilting tone, then two sets of eyes blink owlishly at him, obscured by the early morning sun.

Genji closes his eyes and smiles beneath the bandages as the whispering continues, wishing he had the energy to jump up and give them a scare, something to talk about to their friends. He can barely remember being so young and full of wonder.

A soft voice startles the fauns at the doorway. Its owner leads the smaller of the two in by the hand.

[ They want to say hello. I hope you do not mind. ]

The children lose their nerve inside the dwelling, gripping to Zenyatta’s robes as they near the bed. Genji sits up, grimacing slightly. The orb is powerful, but it has its limits. He must look a mess, bandaged and mostly hidden from view.

The smallest has golden hair and bright green eyes, and they stare with a hand balanced at their mouth. The other is older, with deep bronze skin and deeper eyes who cannot keep the wonder off her face.

[ This is Ganymede and Orisa. ]

Zenyatta crouches, whispering to each.

[ Hello! ] They both say out of sync, nearly yelling and bursting into a bout of giggles.

[ They aren’t afraid of me. ]

[ Should they be? ]

Genji worries his lip.

[ You should greet them in turn. ]

Zenyatta says a soft phrase, and when Genji repeats it, the giggling intensifies.

[ Was it bad? ]

[ About as good as their greeting, I think. ] Zenyatta says with gentle amusement.

Ganymede wiggles onto the cot with childish clumsiness, leaning their face to Genji’s expectantly and closing their eyes. Genji stares for a moment, then smiles. With great care, he brushes his horns to their tiny antlers, and their smile brightens the room.

“My turn!” Orisa bumps much more roughly, making Genji snort. He rubs his head, wincing as all the motion tugs at a deep wound.

“It is time to let Genji rest. Be mindful of the state of others, young ones.”

“Yes, prince.” Orisa says, straightening, taking Ganymede’s hand in her own. Zenyatta gives her a gentle pat between her antlers, and her seriousness fades into glee as they turn to leave.

[ Thank you. ] Zenyatta says as he begins to replace Genji’s wrappings. [ I admit, there are many here who are excited to see a new face. ]

[ Mostly children, I expect ]

Zenyatta hums as he wipes Genji’s arms and back with a damp cloth that smells of warm flowers.

[ Not so. Should an interest in new things be lost on the road to adulthood? ]

Genji ponders his words.

[ Dragons are much more reserved. There are...expectations. To act outside them is, ] Genji hesitates. [ Not tolerated. ]

Zenyatta stills, though his eyes find Genji’s. [ And did you? ]

The orb circling Genji’s head ripples, a whisper of purple polluting its glow. He should not share so much with a stranger, and a non-dragon besides. Zenyatta knows too much, he is too vulnerable in his care. He stares at the gentle amber of his eyes as the deer begins patting him down with a soft, dry cloth.

Something about Zenyatta makes him want to tell him everything.

[ I did. ] He settles, saying too much but not enough. [ Tell me, prince. How are you so at peace? The burden of your title must weigh on you. You have no attendants, certainly no one to dress you. ]

[ Are you saying I look unrefined? ] Zenyatta smiles and looks down at his robes, as simple as a commoner’s, mostly clean but wrinkled, frayed at the seams.

[ That is not what I mean. I bet you would look princely even in rags. ]

Zenyatta’s face glows with his smile, and Genji’s heart flutters.

[ I am only teasing you. ] He collects his supplies, depositing the dirty rags into a worn basket. [Though we are not so grand as dragons, I am not without responsibilities. To keep my people safe, my brother safe, to ensure the medicine and food will last through the long winters, to ward off those who mean us harm, however few and far between they are... ] Zenyatta frowns. [ Though I lack guard and servant, it allows a certain closeness to others which relieves much pressure. Less prince, more Zenyatta. My brother is not so informal, but I prefer it. ]

[ Orisa called you prince. ]

[ Traditional, for such a young one. Her sense of justice and kindness is beyond her years. How exciting, to see her grow each day. ] Zenyatta, satisfied with the state of the room, turns back to Genji. [ Her dream is to become a royal guard and protect her people. And what of you, Genji? What is it you wish for? ]

The answer sticks in his throat, ugly and unvoiced, as the vision of his brother surges through his mind: young, smiling, older, furious, with blade and mouth drawn. He closes his eyes, exhales shakily, mounting pain shortening his breath.

A warm and calloused weight settles on his hand; Zenyatta’s fingers curl around his palm, squeezing softly.

Genji, in increments, relaxes. Zenyatta does not leave as he did before, only watches him quietly, sitting on the chair next to the cot.

[ I have tired you. Please, rest. ]

He does, Zenyatta’s subtle presence enough to ease him into sleep in a matter of minutes.

Genji expects to wake alone as he had done before, as he had done countless times in his youth, even when he had his wealth of lovers. Instead, he wakes to antlers in his vision and the sounds of gentle scratching in his ears. Genji takes a moment to study Zenyatta’s downturned face, locked in concentration as he writes in an old-looking journal, amber eyes tracking along its page.

Genji tries to even his breathing, but Zenyatta smiles, continuing to write even as he speaks.

[ Good evening, Genji. ]

[ Hello, Zenyatta. ]

And Genji half-laughs, half-sighs, and asks Zenyatta what he’s writing.

The king stares at all that will be his and grins. The rolling flatlands, followers, old and new, outside the open flap of his tent, and in the distant horizon, so far that not even a speck can be seen but its presence foretold like a prophecy, his bloodline’s keep. Everyone has their own reasons to be here, to follow him to their ancestral home and into battle, but he does not care, so long as they are powerful and loyal to his cause.

“The one that can turn the tide is approaching.” His seer tells him, and the king smiles, beckoning her closer as he reclines back on the large, ornate chair that serves as his throne.

“It is time to put our plans into action.” Another voice agrees, and he glances towards the other, staring into her bright, heterochromic eyes.

They have been over the plan many times, but they discuss it once more. The king is a thorough man and does not like a single thing out of place. The northern king is old, wise with years, beloved by his people. It would take nuance to win his people to his side.

It is why he leans on his best, a seer, who knows too much, who speaks the shadow’s whispers and discovers what none should know, and his cleric, unafraid of the forbidden, willing to bypass the mundane rules of the proper to reach new intellectual heights. Powerful in their own ways, unstoppable with him. He does not hope; he acts.

It is only a matter of time.

#genyatta #genyatta fic #genji #zenyatta #faunyatta #too curious by far #sfw #violence #nao fic

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naopao · 7 years ago

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Too Curious By Far

Pairing: Genji/Zenyatta (eventual), background pairings Chapter: 1/? Summary: Zenyatta, prince of the forest, finds a dragon in need of aid. Warnings: none, light blood/wound mention

A faunyatta AU inspired by the best @russet-red! (I don’t know what I’m doing, but expect updates on a fairly consistent basis.)

An abundance of discord could kill, but an abundance of harmony could blind. It was one of Mondatta’s favorite recitations when Zenyatta, well-meaning but too curious by far, caused trouble. He heard it after he had climbed the tallest, most ancient tree in the forest to see if he could spot the forest’s edge, and again when he breathed magic into the spring buds too soon, causing a flood of pollen that threatened the timelines that Mondatta and their brethren followed so meticulously.

Now, fully grown and a master in his own right, Zenyatta tempers his brash capriciousness and desire for knowledge with a veil of maturity. It is why he ignores his brother’s constant lectures and explores the borders of their lands, explaining to Mondatta the importance of knowing one’s boundaries, that not possessing an intimate knowledge of one’s home could be disastrous.

Zenyatta’s mapped nearly all of it, and the forest is a vast, living thing, one that he has studied and learned like the marks upon his brother’s face and the lines of his favorite runes, scrawled centuries ago by another, antlered master. However, unlike markings or writings, the forest is not unchanging. It grows, ebbing and flowing with the cycles of the sky and the life force of the beings that inhabited it. There is always something new to see, a sprout, a species or color. He catalogs them all, first with his eyes and then within the pages of stitched parchment, penned by hand when he has the time, but often he magics the words onto the pages with his whispers, quicker than a reed quill.

His explorations have led him to many curious places. The lair of the spider queen is one such area, only seen at a distance, the aura powerful and overwhelming. The forest is heavier there, not discordant, but a warning lies in its sensation, and Zenyatta grants it berth. Another is much less ominous, a small cottage at the edge of the northern wood, a tiny dwelling of stone and red tile. The windows are small with lacquered wood borders, and the curtains within are always drawn.

However, Zenyatta had caught a glimpse of shifting gold during his last visit, a warm, strangely familiar color, as if he had seen it somewhere long ago.

Zenyatta’s journey leads him there in the wayward fashion he goes anywhere, taken by the small details, letting the scents and sights of the forest swell around him with the same comfort that a parent’s fur lends a fawn.

He spots the telltale smoke stacks through the gaps in the leaves. The gold he saw through the window belonged to someone with long, flaxen hair, and their aura, while difficult to place, is kind, and he intends to introduce himself.

So distracted by the mysterious inhabitant, he doesn’t notice the figure doubled over until he’s nearly upon him.

Green is the first thing that strikes catches his eye. Blazing viridian scales erupt along the creature’s skin, bristling like fur. Bandages swath most of the figure, barely held in place by healing runes, some stained red, painting the dirt and grass beneath him. All but his eyes are hidden, and they burn with the same intensity as his skin, horns sprouting from his crown, furred tail whipping behind him, so much like—

Oh.

“A dragon.” Zenyatta whispers, and all at once the figure stills, the intensity of the dragon’s glare puffing Zenyatta’s fur.

Blood trails from behind the creature Zenyatta never thought he would meet; he had been dragging himself across the forest floor.

Zenyatta breathes out in a slow, even exhale, lowering his satchel to the ground. He keeps his hands raised, mind struggling to remember the words he had studied with such ferocity.

[...I am...Zenyatta.] He tries, forcing the air from his chest in a low, rumbling timbre. [I am peaceful.]

The dragon stares, unmoving, clutching the wound at his waist, blood dribbling between his fingers.

[Dangerous.] Zenyatta says as he takes a step closer, gesturing to the forest. [Creatures will smell the blood.]

Seconds pass in terse silence, the only sounds are the dragon’s labored breathing and the chirps of far off birds.

Then the dragon snorts with a derisive huff, shaking his head, though the motion makes him wince.

[Your accent is terrible.]

Zenyatta blinks. Then his smile lights up his face, all straight white teeth. He draws nearer, and the dragon bristles further, as if to intimidate him. His nostrils flare, pupils thinning to vertical slits.

[You smell like prey.] A labored breath. [What do you want?]

[To help.]

[And how do you propose to do that?]

Zenyatta kneels just out of arm’s reach; he doesn’t want to startle him when he touches one of the orbs circling his throat. It chimes and begins to glow, painting the deer’s hand in warm heat, hovering just above his palm.

[With magic.] Zenyatta smiles at the dragon’s widening eyes. [Are you afraid?]

[Hardly.] The dragon straightens, struggling to pull himself upright.

[Try not to move. You are bleeding quite heavily.]

Zenyatta shifts his hand forward, and the orb follows the motion, a slow, dream-like toss that breaches the space between them. The orb’s warmth extends, a ghostly hand that meets the dragon’s skin with a burst of memory: Genji in his youth, playing in the koi pond, the fish nibbling at his fingertips. He blinks, memory fading while peacefulness lingers, warm like slipping beneath the covers for another hour’s sleep. Each breath is easier, less painful, and though the deeper hurts don’t disappear, they soften.

When he finally looks up, the strange creature, hooved and tawny-skinned, is staring at him with russet eyes, a wan smile tugging his lips.

[It is an interesting feeling, is it not?] Zenyatta says.

The dragon frowns, but his anger subsides like his pain, slow but sure.

[I have not felt magic like this before.]

Zenyatta smiles wider, eyes thinning in his mirth.

[So you have experienced other magic. Wonderful!] Zenyatta shifts forward. [What should I call you?]

The dragon stammers, mouth shifting beneath the bandages.

[Genji.] He says with a single dip of his head.

Zenyatta leans close, and suddenly Genji’s vision fills with a bright smile. He didn’t notice his spattering of freckles and faded scars until now.

[Well met, Genji. Let me show you how my people greet each other.] He hesitates, pursing his lip in thought. [Your antlers...may I?]

Genji swallows, hoping the bandages cover the myriad of emotions that flash across his face. He nods, staring up at Zenyatta expectantly.

[Get on with it.]

The last of his words die as Zenyatta cups Genji’s face, his palms surprisingly rough, the pads of his fingers littered with callouses. He stiffens; Zenyatta is close enough that the warmth of his breath ghosts over his lips. Then their antlers connect, soft and firm.

Suddenly, the contact is gone, and Zenyatta is already gently maneuvering Genji’s arm over his shoulder.

[The texture of your antlers is quite different! It is nice.] Zenyatta says brightly. [I know it is soon, but we must try to move. My home is far from here.]

Zenyatta counts down aloud, but stands before he reaches the final number. Genji is jostled from his reverie with newfound aches, but the orb keeps his mind cushioned and dull.

His antlers had been velvet soft, almost ticklish in their smoothness.

[What if I do not wish to go with you?] He mumbles.

[Have you somewhere better to be?]

Genji stares back the way he had come. It would be dark in a few hours. The forest is strange, claustrophobic compared to the empty expanse of sky. He did not know what monsters lurked. Perhaps it did not matter, but still the ember in his chest burns.

He cannot leave the earthly realm so soon.

Genji tries to walk on his own at first, but Zenyatta was right: their trip is a long one, slow and painful with the state of his body. The fading light makes each step more treacherous. Not once does Zenyatta complain; he only points out the trees, asks Genji if he’s ever tasted buckwheat honey or seen sakura in bloom, each word in stilted, pleasant dragon’s tongue.

He wants to ask Zenyatta how he even knows the language, why he isn’t terrified. Dragons were ancient enemies of the valley, even though the war between sky and land is long past. Even the woman who pulled him from the bramble had only a moment of fear before dragging him, slowly but surely, to her cottage, bandaged him while speaking softly in common.

Genji couldn’t understand her, didn’t want to understand her.

He ran.

His strange companion seems oblivious to it all, slowly quieting as they lose light. Colors begin to blur, each step dull and dream-like. He would be on the ground without Zenyatta’s shoulders, a constant, reassuring weight, even as he begins to tremble.

[Genji. Gen—

Greens and browns smear across his vision, a wave of vertigo twisting his feet. Darkness.

Mondatta is never surprised to find Zenyatta has gotten into trouble. He wanders too far, is too curious, though he dutifully performs his kata and meditation with a precision Mondatta wishes he could critique. That he can do so much and still find time to stir discord in such a peaceful place never fails to give him headaches.

So when the northernmost scouts bolt into the forest proper and alert Mondatta that the prince is not only worse for wear but carrying an outsider, he whispers a terse prayer and steps into the twilight dusk of the clearing.

He meets Zenyatta near the border of their village. A scout hovers at his side, but Zenyatta will not take her aid, and his brother’s stubbornness summons an irritation that only his own sibling can rile.

“Zenyatta—”

“Brother, prepare a bed. He is bleeding out.”

Mondatta bites his tongue when he sees the fear in the prince’s eyes. Within seconds he is in front of him, taking some of the weight of the heavily bandaged stranger, shorter than them both but heavy like a corpse.

He will lecture Zenyatta later. Now, he will help.

#genyatta #genyatta fic #genji #zenyatta #faunyatta #overwatch #too curious by far #sfw #blood #nao fic

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