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“You be the one to ask, Atsushi.”
“Yeah you have a better chance than all of us.”
“C’mon Atsushi, you have the best chance here, do it for all of us.”
Atsushi walked through the lofty halls, wrapping his cloak tight around himself and his shoulders pulled in as he hunched over.
Of course the others nominated him to ask. Of course they nominated him. Why wouldn't they nominate him!? Why wouldn't they force him to be the one to face the Emperor and ask.
Atsushi whimpered, trying to rationalize his thoughts and get them in order before he came face-to-face with the Emperor. Asking him for a favor, asking him to do something because he and the others thought it was a good enough idea, he could do that.
But it was the Emperor himself that made Atsushi so flustered and wanting to run away and break down and cry in a corner of the palace. How he treated Atsushi, that was the reason he never wanted to come to the throne room or the Planning room or even the Emperor's bedroom chambers that sometimes he summoned Atsushi to.
He clenched the cloak tighter around him, before releasing it. Atsushi tried to smooth out the wrinkles, blink away the moisture that threatened to cascade down his cheeks at a moment's notice. Tried to push his flyaway hairs behind his ears, tried to make himself look presentable at least.
He couldn't do it too much though.
He wouldn't like it if he did.
Atsushi swallowed around the lump in his throat, trying to keep it clear. A clear, resonating voice would lend him some aid in this endeavor of seeking aid. Calm nerves would as well, but Atsushi wasn't asking for a miracle here. Just for a help from someone up above who could keep his palms from being so slick and his voice from cracking. That's all the requests that Atsushi had for those that lived high above the realm of mortals.
He lifted his hand, the door of the throne room looming in front of him like a harbinger of doom.
Atsushi had once heard that the previous Emperor had it painted in blues and whites, reflecting the sunlight off of the door and making it glow with what seemed to be the presence of the gods.
Now though, it was painted black and purple, colors of royalty.
Atsushi shifted, the cloak around his shoulders being of the same colors.
A soft sigh escaped him.
Even if he stood here all day, he would never be able to put off the inevitable. The others would ask him how it went, if the Emperor had approved, what they must do to get him to approve of the plans. They would just tell him to ask again and again until he actually committed the deed.
Atsushi's hand descended.
Knock-knock
Knock
Knock-knock
This was Atsushi's knock pattern.
No one else had the same. They were forbidden from using something in the same pattern, and some servants had even lost hands for accidentally using something similar.
A pause.
It stretched for forever.
It always did.
Atsushi had been taught that if he was to stand out here for longer than five minutes, then the Emperor did not want to see him, and would instead seek him out at a later date to ensure that the matter was attended to.
Atsushi used to want to hope that the Emperor would never answer and Atsushi would see him another day. That he would be able to continue putting things off for forever.
. . . . . . . .
That was before the Emperor intruded on Atsushi's personal quarters and no one dared to answer Atsushi's yell when he first saw someone in his quarters and did not recognize the Emperor. No one would come to his aid. Atsushi knew that now. And the Emperor would go wherever Atsushi was. That much was clear.
Atsushi counted the seconds, his fingers worrying the silver trim on his cloak.
He didn't want to reach three hundred. He didn't want the Emperor to pop up and find him. Atsushi wanted to just ask the questions after all the pleasantries and then quickly wrapping up the well wishes, and then beelining it to the stables so Atsushi could spend time with Byakko.
Oh, Byakko.
His pure white horse that he loved so dearly. The one thing he had from home, that he got to bring with him here. Atsushi just wanted to take him out on a ride today, just wanted to escape from the suffocating Palace and breathe in the fresh air of the pastures as he tried to forget the place that seemed to strangle him with all the formalities and fake pleasantries.
Atsushi swallowed. It was nearing two hundred seconds, he really didn't want the Emperor trying to find him and popping up in places that he didn't belong and–
“Enter.”
Oh thank goodness.
Atsushi breathed out a shaky sigh of relief, tried to wipe his sweaty palms on his pants discreetly and where the moisture wouldn't be seen. He reached his hand out and pushed the door open.
There was no latch for this door, the door to the throne room. No doorknob. The person knocking only entered at their own risk.
Unfortunately, Atsushi was always welcome.
He kept his head bowed and eyes lowered as he followed the crushed velvet carpet, tried to keep his breathing steady as he walked forward.
“Atsushi. I thought that was you at the door.” The Emperor greeted him. His tone was just shy of warm, and someone could perhaps convince themselves that the tone would imply that the Emperor was fond of Atsushi.
Atsushi knew better.
“Yes, Your Highness.” Atsushi said, coming to a stop once the stairs that led to the dais came into view. His head still bowed and not looking at the Emperor, because he was supposedly a man-turned-god and no one without permission was allowed to see him.
“Come closer.” The Emperor instructed, and Atsushi knew what to do.
He placed one foot on the bottom step of the dais and stepped up, before placing the other foot on the top of the dais, and then kneeling. Head presented and neck bared to the man-made god who had the power to destroy nations.
Atsushi felt a hand in his hair and did his best not to move or flinch when he felt it. The Emperor would have killed him long before if he had wanted to, but he didn't. He wouldn't.
“What brings you here today, Atsushi? Did you come to say hello?” The tone now held a trace of humor, and Atsushi had to hide the grimace that tried to rip its way across his face. If only it was to say hello. He could be out of here fairly quickly and just leave should the Emperor not want anything to do with him.
But no. He was here in a request and that's something he could not just do simply. There was a dance, a delicate dance that had to be walked out in order to get to the point of the request on the behalf of others.
“Yes, and I bring greetings from the rest of the Council.” Atsushi stated.
The hand in his hair paused for a second, before resuming its meandering through his shoulder-length locks.
“Oh, are they greeting me as well? They decided to use you as a speaker again?” The Emperor asked, and more amusement graced his tone. It was not kind amusement, it was a dark one, full of anger and delight in pain. Whether the anger was at the other Council members, or at Atsushi himself, he would never know.
Atsushi figured it was always aimed towards him anyways.
“Yes, Your Highness.” Atsushi confirmed. “They send their warmest regards and highest praises for the conquest of the land to the north. Should the generals not have followed your directives, they never would have won. They praise your name in the town square and in the dancing halls and–”
“Quiet.”
Atsushi's mouth shut.
He hadn't even gotten through half of the standard greeting praises.
The Emperor's hand held the back of his head now, the palm placed securely on the back swell of Atsushi's head. His fingers spanned the entirety of Atsushi's skull, and Atsushi felt the Emperor's thumb brush back and forth on the skin behind Atsushi's ear.
Atsushi carefully held himself still.
Do not move. You have not been given permission. Only when given permission are you allowed to move. The Emperor is the only one allowed to give you permission. He has not given you permission to be anything but quiet yet.
Atsushi hoped the Emperor wouldn't force him to stay in this position for the entire day. He had done it before, and Atsushi could barely walk afterwards because of the ache in his muscles.
“They sent you to ask me, hmm?”
Atsushi stayed quiet. He didn't know if it was a rhetorical question or not.
A slight nudge to the back of his head. The Emperor tapped a nail, a finger, the pointer finger. It hit Atsushi's nape of the neck and made him want to squirm away.
He had never felt so vulnerable before.
He wanted to go back home.
Home to his small village where people may make fun of his looks but he was treated all right and wasn't forced to wear stuffy clothes and didn't have to kneel to a man-made god because the Emperor wanted him to do that because he felt like it.
He wanted to go home to his small village where he would work, not sit around all day playing catch up in the library with tutors who tried to teach him things he knew but couldn't articulate.
“Atsushi.”
Atsushi refocused his brain on the Emperor.
“Why do they send you, do you think?”
Atsushi frowned at the ground. He wished he knew.
“I do not know, Your Highness.”
“You don't?”
The Emperor's voice sounded amused.
The Emperor's hand moved, gripping Atsushi’s hair and pulling it taut, forcing him to lift his head. Tears lined his eyes, but he kept his eyes firmly on the floor. Looking upon the Emperor without allowance would be equivalent to death.
“Look at me.”
Permission granted, Atsushi looked up into chilled purple eyes.
The Emperor regarded him with a cool expression, no sign of the humor from before anywhere on his face. He looked almost bored.
That was before a smile broke his façade, an upturning of the lips and a slight squint of the eyes. It didn't look right, it looked like someone had simply painted the expression on instead of feeling it truly.
“Would you like me to tell you why they keep sending you?” The Emperor asked.
“If the Emperor would like to tell me, I would be eager to learn.” Atsushi said through gritted teeth. He was tired of not knowing. He was tired of everyone playing him for a fool.
“It's because you, are my favorite.”
The Emperor finally released his hair, and Atsushi let his head fall back to its original position. With his hair hiding his face, not even the Emperor would see the tears starting to run down to meet the floor.
He hated being a fool. He wanted to know the truth, not be treated like a puppet on its strings, or a child that simply didn't know better.
. . . . . .
Atsushi wanted to go to the stables and go for a ride on Byakko right now. But he couldn't leave until the Emperor gave him permission.
The hand returned in his hair, gently playing with the strands that he had gripped so harshly just a few seconds ago.
“Tell me Atsushi, what did they want you to ask of me this time?”
The Emperor sounded bored again.
Thank the gods. Oh thank the gods, he could leave once giving his missive. It was up to the Emperor to tell the rest of the Council whether or not he would put it into effect or not.
“They wish to build a school for the orphans.”
The Emperor's hand paused in its movements.
“A school?”
“A science school.” Atsushi explained further, before shutting up. He has done what is needed of him. He would say no more. He had given his message.
“Ah, I see. I will let them know my decision at a later date. Possibly tomorrow.”
Atsushi waited.
Please. I've done well, haven't I? I've been enduring. I haven't lashed out since that first day. I haven't tried to escape. I haven't tried to leave the palace grounds. Please.
“You may leave.”
The Emperor's hand left his head and his hair.
Oh thank Kami. Oh thank Kami.
Atsushi would cry once he was in a meadow. Instead, he stood, brushing his cloak lightly to ensure that there were no obvious wrinkles. He kept his head bowed. He took one step off the dais backwards. Two steps, back on solid ground.
Atsushi swept into a low bow, his hand on his heart, eyes closed.
“Thank you for seeing me today, oh merciful and powerful Emperor. May the gods ever bless your virtues and extend your glories for forever.”
A careful turn, calculated to ensure that his cloak didn't snap, and he walked back to where he knew where the door was.
“And Atsushi?”
Fucking dammit all.
Atsushi’s eyes flicked up to stare at the door that was so close but so far. A gateway that promised a safe haven beyond it, but he could not cross it yet.
“Yes? Your Highness?”
“Be sure to splash your face with cold water before you meet with anyone. Your eyes are red.”
Of course they are! You are the meanest, cruelest, rudest–
“Yes, Your Highness.” Atsushi said outwardly, voice as calm as the top of the lake back home in a day without a breeze.
“That is all. Be off with you.”
Atsushi could not take the measured and slow steps quick enough to get out of the throne room.
Finally having escaped it and gone down the hall at a speedier pace allowed outside in the hallways, he placed a hand on his chest, feeling his racing heartbeat and could feel his eyes start to get wet again.
Why does he always make me feel so damn inadequate!? Is it a game to him? Is it funny? No one is laughing!
But Atsushi could say this to no one but Byakko, could not even write it down.
Lest the Emperor peek in his journal.
He had done it once, he would do it again.
~~~~~~~~~~
Fyodor watched Atsushi speed out into the palace grounds on the back of his demon of a horse, heading towards the meadow that the boy seemed to favor. It made sense, they had found Atsushi and his demon-horse, Byakko, in a small backwater village. He would be most comfortable outside and in nature.
But because of that, Fyodor simply could not allow him outside as much. Who knows what kinds of influences could be trying to persuade Atsushi?
“You were rather mean today. His poor head probably hurts.”
Fyodor didn't react to Nikolai's taunt, too enamoured with the sight that Atsushi made on his horse as he urged the devil incarnate to go faster and hop over a brook.
“He will learn to endure.” He said simply.
“And if he doesn't?” Nikolai asked, leaning out another window to watch as well.
Fyodor spotted another one of Atsushi's guards following at close pace behind the boy, hidden in the shadows like always, and always retelling everything back to Fyodor at the end of the day, before Fyodor would do his nightly routines.
“Then we have a perfectly good tower, filled with the necessities that a prince needs. I see no reason why we shouldn't use it in such a case.”
In fact Fyodor would much prefer that option. He would rather not have Atsushi wandering about, playing pretend with the council and being their messenger.
The council was going to have to be dealt with. Of that, Fyodor was certain.
His son was not a messenger pigeon.
Nikolai glanced at him briefly, before a loud cackle resonated from his body and he twirled away.
While the man was dressed in jester's clothes, no one would think that he was Fyodor's trusted spy captain. A simple clown, that is all they would see and no more. All they would want to see.
Without Nikolai, Fyodor would never have known about his son.
In truth, when his betrothed had run off after their wedding night, Fyodor had felt no love lost. He was busy running a kingdom of all things, he couldn't be bothered with a significant other that required time, affection, care, money. It was all too much, and Fyodor had grander sights.
And then Nikolai sent word about eighteen years later as he was doing his yearly traverse about the countryside.
A peasant that had lived in one of the backwater villages had recently died, and the son was doing his due diligence to try and take care of travelers.
His dear betrothed must have hidden Atsushi away for all those eighteen years, afraid of what Fyodor would do to him.
What a fool that they had been.
Fyodor wanted nothing but the best for Atsushi.
Fyodor wanted nothing but to love and cherish his boy for all of eternity. He wanted nothing more than to keep him from harm for all of his days. He wanted nothing more than to keep him by his side for eternity.
Unfortunately, the issue with turning time back so Fyodor could get the entire experience of being a father was still a. . . . Work in progress. Still underway, and with interesting results.
The conquest in the North that his son had praised him on was a test on such time-based magic. It had gone rather well, but the results weren't as satisfactory as Fyodor wanted them to be. The tests didn't make the subjects move back in time as much as Fyodor wanted them to be.
Yes, turning his son back into a baby, or toddler, was a want, a need of his, but it was also a good battle strategy.
If his enemies physically couldn't pick up the sword and could only cry, then why not use that to his advantage to conquer the world?
Fyodor could ensure earlier on, while Atsushi was growing up under his roof, under his care, that nothing would happen to his son. Why would it? He had conquered the world, and no one would dare oppose him with the power he had at his fingertips.
He would ensure that no one would ever hurt his son again.
In fact, if he got it right, Atsushi would never have to grow up again.
A forever immortal prince that stood beside a forever immortal Emperor as they ruled a forever immortal empire.
It had such a lovely ring to it.
Of course, Fyodor would have to find a way to ensure that Atsushi's memories didn't reappear after every single turnback, but that was fine. He was more than ready to take on that task and watch over his son as he never got to do before.
Ah, it seemed Atsushi finally reached the meadow.
Fyodor turned from the window, deciding it was time to pay the Council a visit for treating his son like a messenger pigeon.
After that?
Ah, the day would perhaps be over.
He could watch Atsushi sleep.
A smile crept across Fyodor's face and he heard Nikolai giggle. He dismissed the clown-spy and continued walking.
He could barely count the hours until he was reunited with his son.