Archive of Our Own

It was harder than Ryoma had expected it to be.

After the war ended, after the coronation ceremonies were through-- indeed, even after Izumo chose its new archduke, it was still months before the Kings of Hoshido and Nohr once again met. There had been letters exchanged, of course, letters of state, cool and formal in the manner they addressed the topics at hand. Ryoma's desk in Shirasagi held pages upon pages of Nohrian missives, penned in Xander's immaculate hand, about convoys of repair materials, entreaties of international trade, updates on demilitarizing the border between their two lands.

But to see the man face-to-face was something else entirely, something that made Ryoma recall pages upon pages scrawled in his own hand, letters that had never been sent.

I miss you, some of them said. I miss that which we were those months ago, near the end of the war; I find myself missing your companionship. Though I have improved greatly in my practice with the sword, I miss sparring with you. More letters still, unsent, never meant to be sent: I miss you. I miss brushing the crease from your brow, I miss pressing my lips to yours when nobody else can see. I miss evenings where, on watch, we walk the castle walls beneath the moon in comfortable silence. I miss your hand in mine.

And, in the letters buried deep, deep within the files of Ryoma's desk, letters written at maudlin dusks and insomniac dawns-- do you miss me, as well?

It had been harder than he'd expected, Ryoma thought, to miss someone like this. But it had been still harder yet to see, face-to-face, and be unable to have.

"Lord Ryoma," Xander nodded politely, in something of an abbreviated bow. "I am pleased to see you have safely arrived to the peace summit."

"The same to you, Lord Xander," Ryoma answered, mirroring that single deep nod. "May we make significant progress in our negotiations this week."

That there would only be negotiations between them, now... it had not been the pleasantest thought to ever cross Ryoma's mind. But still, they managed to only acknowledge each other with stiff nods once more as they entered the antechamber of Valla Castle, glowing and resplendent now that it had a chance to recover from the reign of its mad denizen.

"Big brother!" Kamui exclaimed, springing out of her throne to greet them. "And... big brother! I'm so glad to see you. It feels like it's been forever..."

"We missed you," Corrin beamed, far less verbose but no less delighted as he hurried up beside her.

Azura smiled regally, then, from her place at the head of the table, swallowing her laughter, "It is our honor and pleasure as the leaders of Valla to welcome you to the re-institution of the annual peace talks. Please do take a seat... we are awaiting yet among the last of the representatives who plan to arrive."

Indeed, Ryoma mentally tallied. There were the three members of the Vallite royal family, in their unusual arrangement-- Kamui as the Queen Regnant, the creator of law; Corrin as the King Commander, its enforcer; Azura as the High Vizier, she who determined that which was just and unjust even between the twins.

So, too, had both Rinkah and Hayato managed to find their way here, somehow before Ryoma had-- then again, he supposed, their tribal territories were significantly closer to Valla than Castle Shirasagi. A new development in and of itself, given the Flame Tribe's predilection towards absolute isolation and the Wind Tribe's favoring absolute neutrality. Keaton, Kaden sat off to the side, the wolfskin and kitsune feeling equally out of place in a diplomatic meeting-- perhaps only present due to requests from Azura and the twins.

A young girl, certainly no older than Sakura or Elise, sat on the left side of the table-- Ryoma knew, from having seen the coronation, that this was Izumo's new leader, the Archduchess Idriane. She seemed to be speaking with-- much to Ryoma's surprise-- a gentleman he recognized vaguely from his time in Cheve. Next sat Flora, most likely representing the Ice Tribe, and Ryoma cast a faintly questioning look in Xander's direction.

Xander nodded, once-- emancipated, then, properly emancipated.

Ryoma suddenly felt very, very ignorant. He understood, now, what Xander had meant on those evenings where they'd argued, when he'd defended the actions of Nohr until at last, he sighed, "Sometimes, the wasp must sting to let you know it is being stepped on."

It seemed, in spite of all attempts at communication between their two countries, there was much yet Ryoma had not heard about changes in Nohrian policy. Changes that, now he was no longer keeping tabs on the land for war purposes, he was ill suited to notice-- and, with a bit of a sinking feeling, perhaps never would have if not for this summit. He wondered, then, if the supplies he'd traded to Nohr had succeeded in their attempt to alleviate their strained land, the dying countryside. He wondered, indeed, if he had not abandoned Cheve in the formative months following Scarlet's... passing. To think of either pained him, and pained him greatly.

It had still been wrong for Nohr to outright declare hostile intentions towards Hoshido, Ryoma assured himself. He still had some sort of moral ground here.

His thoughts were interrupted by Archduchess Celestine of Nestra sweeping in, her voluminous robes making the room seem suddenly very, very crowded, "Alors! You have my apologies for the late arrival; I am afraid I am unfamiliar with the path, as we typically hold the peace talks in Nestra..."

Even with his particular distaste for court politics, Ryoma almost groaned. Even he could recognize that as the tone of a woman who believed she had been snubbed... and that was never a good sign for negotiations.

casual || treat 

It was only when the first day of peace talks had ended that Ryoma at last found reprieve from the discussion. It had been little more than an orientation of Castle Gyges' grounds and icebreaker games, meant to introduce oneself and one's retainers, but it had still been utterly exhausting.

("When is your birthday," Xander had asked, reading the rote question from a slip of parchment plucked from a hat. He had asked, as if the year prior he hadn't nigh abducted Ryoma on what had seemed like an impromptu picnic until Ryoma realized-- oh, he'd forgotten his own birthday.)

("February thirtieth," Ryoma had answered flippantly. The confusion that had crossed Xander's face had been worth it.)

There would be, most thankfully, private dinners for this evening-- there were some among their number that did not approve of abbreviating the traditional feast into a luncheon, but by this hour of the evening, Ryoma was outright grateful for the decision. A morning of travel followed by a great deal more delicate negotiations than he'd been wholly accustomed to... as a ruler whose first seventeen official meetings had all been war councils, it had not been easy.

(Least of all, watching Xander, returned to that cold formality he'd possessed before they'd gotten to know each other, before they had become more than mere comrades, before their ill-fated dalliance in the last months of the war.)

Perhaps he'd hidden his distress more poorly than he'd believed because Corrin, ever observant, had slipped in beside him afterwards, quietly suggested, "The outdoor hot-springs are as pleasant as those in the astral fort. If you find yourself in need of a moment to refresh..."

"That sounds," Ryoma's voice was laced with relief. "That sounds like an excellent idea, Corrin... I will make sure to take advantage of it while I am here."

And, though he was certain he'd implied he would not be taking a bath quite so urgently, almost immediately after returning to his quarters, he dismissed both Kagero and Saizo to gather his bath towel (an ill-chosen but well-meaning gift from Kamui) and made haste to the quiet bathing house off the eastern wing of the castle.

It wasn't until he'd already rinsed, and dressed into his waterwear-- indeed, until he'd very nearly slipped into the water without thinking-- when he noticed that he wasn't the only person who'd managed to find their way into the baths that eve, spotting a very distinct head of blond atop an equally distinct pair of shoulders, ones that Ryoma had been acquainted with. If he but willed himself to remember hard enough, he could still recall how they'd pressed into his cheeks when he laid against them, how they flexed when he'd sparred with him, and, at times, how the flesh had given into the dig of his nails.

Ryoma wondered, briefly, if this were mere coincidence or if Corrin and Kamui hadn't had their hands in it.

(He was far, far beyond the point where he believed it could have been fate-- crown princes did not believe destiny would merely give them what they wished, and neither did kings.)

A moment, and then Ryoma became acutely aware that he had been staring... and rudely, he realized, as soon as Xander turned and acknowledged his presence, "Lord Ryoma."

"I, um, was unaware that the baths were occupied," Ryoma coughed awkwardly, beginning to inch his way towards the exit mere millimeters at a time. "I will return at a later hour. After you have finished bathing. Er... good day, Lord Xander."

"There is no need for you to leave, Lord Ryoma," Xander sighed, turning around halfway on the bath ledge. It was unfair, Ryoma thought, it was completely unfair how gorgeous he looked with water sliding down his torso, even if he was wearing a ludicrous-looking head towel atop his forehead-- yet another of Kamui's ill-chosen gifts.

It was particularly unfair because Ryoma was still wearing his own, and he didn't look nearly half as attractive. He wasn't certain if he was outright jealous, or if the vestiges of attraction, of affection, had colored his emotions to the point where he couldn't bring himself to care about competing. Still, conflicted, "I shouldn't like for you to cease being the belle of the bath on my behalf. There is perhaps not enough room in here to hold both of our... presences."

"There is plenty of room still yet remaining in this bath," Xander gestured vaguely to the rest of the water and, indeed, there was enough room for two full grown men, and three more again. Perhaps with a teasing note in his tone, "Enough for both of us and your hair."

And there, too, was the familiarity Ryoma had yearned for in their letters, in their conversation with each other. Something that was like relief, like want, but not quite either as he slid into the bath, "Lord Xander... commenting upon my hair this early in the evening? Perhaps you've lost your touch if you're already grasping at such straws."

"No more than you have by immediately going for my looks, Ryoma," Xander released a quiet chuckle. "And I do believe you just admitted to your hair being made of straw. I must admit, I had always questioned whether it was humanly possible to grow such a large amount of hair naturally..."

"Ridiculous! Of course my hair is natural..." but even so, Ryoma ran a wet hand through it, self-conscious. He held out a lengthy portion, "You may touch it, Xander, and know the truth for yourself. Nothing this soft could be made of straw!"

Xander chuckled softly, again, beginning to reach out for the proffered lock, to card his fingers through it as he had so many other times to prove its authenticity. Paused. Froze.

The smile fell from his face, the light seeming to die in his eyes. His brow pushed itself back into the troubled crease he had scarcely recalled easing out of, "Perhaps-- perhaps it is wiser that I do not. It would be unbecoming of our... circumstances... Lord Ryoma."

"And which circumstances are those?" Ryoma bristled, and this time the injury in his voice was true.

"That we are men who were princes, once," Xander answered, his voice heavy with regret. "Princes who agreed that, for the sake of our countries, what we had between us could not be allowed to continue once we became kings. And now, King Ryoma of Hoshido, we are those same kings. Kings who... who cannot afford to lapse back into old habits. No matter how badly we wish to."

Ryoma mustered some sort of effort to remain angry, to offer some sort of combative reply, an argument for why just one week couldn't possibly hurt. But it had been difficult enough to end things with Xander the first time, difficult enough to lose the rival by whom he had measured his blade, difficult enough to forego the lengthy conversations and comfortable silence, difficult enough to fall asleep with a lonely heart at dusk and wake up in a lonely bed at dawn.

It had been difficult, and all Ryoma could muster, vaguely upset: "I know." 

Xander was quiet for a moment, something within him wounded by merely witnessing this uncharacteristic display of acquiescence. He was quiet, then, but when he at last spoke: "Perhaps, however... perhaps it would not be too strange to speak to each other with fewer formalities. As... friends, and former comrades-in-arms."

"It's unlike you to compromise so willingly," Ryoma noted.

"Is that not the purpose of this summit?" Xander raised a solitary brow. "For leaders to come to a compromise over how they will deal with each other in the year to come?"

"Heh. There is truth in that, I suppose," Ryoma shook his head, careful to avoid smacking Xander in the face with his hair. "To be able to refer to you by name, and with such a casual air as it took us months to learn last year... such a compromise is a welcome one. I am grateful for it... Xander." 

"As am I," the corner of Xander's lips twitched upwards. He seemed like he was about to say something else, but then, at last, softly settled upon, "As am I."

They fell into that companionable silence again, the steam of the hot springs creating just enough warm haze that Ryoma could imagine evenings patrolling the walls of the astral fort, could picture fingers curled in his hair and kisses stolen out of sight. They fell into something that rang bittersweet of what they had been, before, but after months where he had been starved of merely Xander's company, it seemed for all the world a wonder in and of itself.

And though it was far from the extent of desire in Ryoma's heart, he contented himself by savoring this proximity to one he loved. Fingers nudged his, briefly, underwater-- and he knew, too, Xander was doing the same.

beauty || surrender

He had almost managed to forget how very beautiful Ryoma was.

It was a thought Xander could not bring himself to voice out loud, in part because he would have to acknowledge its truth, then, and in part because he knew Ryoma would take offense to the very notion. Beauty, he would say, was reserved solely for that which was elegant, delicate. And Ryoma had always considered himself more of the "ruggedly handsome" variety-- or so he had proclaimed, quite loudly, on several occasions. Primarily drunken occasions, now that Xander thought about it.

But indeed, there could be no other word for it when Ryoma seemed soft, so very soft, in fanciful formalwear robes-- kimono, Xander recalled faintly. It wasn't often he'd seen Ryoma like this, unusually gentle-looking with such little armor, and the image never ceased to nestle itself into his heart as if a damning cupid's-arrow. Something in him ceased to echo solely of battle, then-- when he smiled at his siblings so fondly, when he so poorly hid the flicker of a smile that passed his face when gazing upon Xander.

And oh, curse how his heart beat in his chest.

It was nearly enough to distract him from how horribly negotiations were going-- nearly, but not quite enough. Archduchess Celestine was an impassioned woman to begin with, and the duress caused by the destruction of Cyrkensia had only managed to inflame her further. It seemed, no matter which reparations they attempted to offer her, neither Hoshido or Nohr would be capable of making headway.

"It was horrible enough that your father disbanded the peace talks all those years ago by attacking Lord Sumeragi in my city," the Archduchess scoffed, turning her face from Xander's offer. "And then, Lord Xander, you would ask me to forgive you for doing the same? It is through nothing short of my magnanimity that Nohrian ships have not been outright banned from Nestrian ports... nothing you can offer me would bring peace back to my people. Nothing would restore the culture that had been lost when our opera houses were destroyed, and nothing would undo how the common people suffered when their homes, too, were demolished by... by those hideous armies!"

"Our actions in Cyrkensia were indeed regrettable," Xander cringed. "I had been unaware that there was a third enemy I should have been fighting, instead of contributing to the damage by targeting Hoshido. I have agreed to assist in reconstruction, and I would pledge to Nestra the services of every man we can spare in the Nohrian militia--"

"The Nohrian militia is the very source of this... this absolute disaster," and the Archduchess seemed prepared to burst into tears. "It is my understanding that the Vallite guard of this 'silent dragon' foe attacked my city only for the purposes of turning Nohr and Hoshido against each other further! Lumber, brick, materials... these I would accept, but never the bloodied hands that destroyed Cyrkensia to begin with!"

"Please, be at ease," Ryoma, then, stood to interject, to intervene on Xander's behalf. "It is... as much my regret as it is Lord Xander's. However, if we wish to reconstruct Cyrkensia with the greatest haste--"

"I would ask you to hold away from Nestra's dealings with Nohr," the Archduchess sniffed, in a manner that would have seemed haughty if not for the tears beginning to slip from her eyes, causing her makeup to run. "I haven't forgotten the report from Cyrkensia's head of guard, how Lord Ryoma himself claimed the duty of felling three walls in an effort to gain vantage over the Nohrian army."

Ryoma winced. It was clear he had not forgotten, either.

"Perhaps," interjected Azura, comfortingly laying a hand upon Celestine's shoulder. "Perhaps we should dissemble for the rest of the afternoon, and resume discussion at dinner negotiations."

"Of course, my dear Lady Azura," the teary Archduchess patted that hand. "I cannot express how grateful I am, that you and your allies willingly took on not one, not two, but three armies in order to bring a ceasefire to Cyrkensia. Your efforts in international peace have been a comfort to all of us in Nestra... perhaps, if we could take a brief walk to discuss the peace-bringing effects of soothing music?"

"It would be my pleasure, Lady Celestine," Azura offered a shaky half-smile, then, and from there, dignitaries slowly filtered from the room until, at last, only Ryoma and Xander remained in that conference chamber.

There was a moment, then, of stiff silence. Then, Ryoma sighed, his stance drifting into something that seemed insecure-- a most peculiar look for a King of Hoshido. He rubbed his face with his hands, and then Xander, too, released a quietly pained noise, letting his elbows rest on the table, hands clasped, as he slouched and rested his forehead against his forearms.

The two kings sat there, quiet for a moment, almost certainly dwelling on the same thoughts.

"I regret," began Ryoma at last. "I regret letting my temper get the better of me in Cyrkensia."

"No more," answered Xander. "Than I regret allowing this war to escalate... it was meant to be only a rescue mission. Instead..."

"Instead, we spent close to a year trying to destroy each other," Ryoma shook his head. "And we were never even each other's true enemies. Our homelands suffered for it. Our siblings, all of them, suffered for it. Cyrkensia suffered for it... Izana died, and Izumo suffered for it."

"There was never a war wholly insular," Xander replied, and let those words ring in the hall-- vacuous, echoing.

Ryoma let those words ring in his mind for a moment before he posed his response, "We cannot undo the past... and, indeed, may have slain the only entity capable of such power this past year. Still, perhaps, if we can come to an agreement of how we may make reparations to those affected by the scope of our fighting, there may be hope for us yet."

"I do agree that, due to our... errors in diplomatic relations," Xander's eyes flickered up to meet Ryoma's, the words laden with double-meanings. "Reparations are necessary. However... I would not even know where to begin making them. The many, many hostile maneuvers of my father's reign, particularly... particularly in the last months of his life... Nohr scarcely has enough resources to support its own cities. The sheer volume of what we owe, according to Leo's calculations..."

Xander looked somehow more in pain than Ryoma had ever seen him, even when he'd been so severely wounded that he could scarcely retain balance atop his horse. And so, Ryoma, as carefully as he could, whispered, "Is the situation... bad?"

"Due to... poor decisions made during the war," Xander began, his brow creasing ever the more, thinking on leases his father had taken from their own noble houses, the complete mess that had become of the tax system under Iago's advice. "Our financial straits are worse than even the Flame Tribe's."

"The Flame Tribe, I thought, did not use currency?" Ryoma's eyebrows rose, echoing words spoken by their representative not an hour ago.

"Possessing neither trade nor currency," Xander exhaled, trying to rub away a budding headache. "Is still far better off than the tremendous amount of debt we are in."

"Is it..." Ryoma hesitated, not certain how he should go about the query, feeling horrendously guilty that Hoshido continued to enjoy an era of economic prosperity. Sumeragi and Mikoto had both been excellent rulers, and it was difficult to remember that not every country possessed such prudent leaders. Or, indeed, that not every country's prudent rulers had avoided becoming possessed.

Xander laughed miserably, "If our debt had been our gains, we could have afforded to move the entire country of Nohr twenty miles West, and rebuild it from scratch."

Ryoma opened his mouth. Closed it, thought upon it for a second, and opened it again, "That's... surely no usurer can hold you accountable for contracts signed while King Garon was unfit to make agreements?"

"Two of them," Xander at last sat back into a proper posture. "Two of them agreed to waive the interest. The noble houses of Lady Peri and Lord Silas, as it were. The rest are plotting to overthrow me for my debts as we speak."

"Then they have no sense of honor!" Ryoma cried at last, standing, slamming his fist upon the table. "You should duel them and--"

"And what?" Xander furrowed his brow. "Slay them? That would make me no better a king than... than the puppet that wore my father's visage."

"And make them acknowledge your strength as king," Ryoma finished softly, and oh, how handsomely he wore idealism.

There was little place for ideals in Nohr.

They fell into silence, then, a momentary pause. Ryoma, seeming gentler than he ever had before, quietly slipped his fingers over Xander's, a comforting movement he had not experienced since the days his mother had been alive, and his hair glistened in the sun, turning nearly straw-colored in the window filtered light. His heart wanted, and wanted so desperately, and perhaps he was seeking only a mote of comfort or familiarity or strength, but Xander did want. He wanted, but still yet recalled the warnings he'd spoken no less recently than last night. He hesitated. 

At long last, then, Xander's will weakened, and damn the agreements of princes-made-kings, damn the consequences, and, above all, damn Ryoma.

He leaned in to press their lips together, and relished how sweet it could be to surrender.

oblivion || connected

There was a part of Ryoma that inherently knew they shouldn't be doing this, that allowing themselves this closeness would only make it more difficult to separate again. That there were those among his subjects, and even more among his courtiers, that would accuse him of treating Nohr too favorably if his affections for its king were discovered. They could very well send the entire peace summit itself spiraling into a pit of irreconcilable diplomatic snafus, lose their credibility as kings and earn a reputation as hormone-blinded youths.

But Xander's lips as they kissed, slow, languid, that Tuesday morning... it was all worth the risk, he thought, worth both the risk and the uncomfortably sticky thighs, tacky with dried sweat. He pushed himself up upon as much pillow as he could find-- Xander was still a terrible pillow hog, he'd noted with a hint of amusement-- and pulled his lover closer, even the bitter-sour of unbrushed teeth a delicacy after so many months of solitude, of waking up to find his pillow too-solidly beneath his head, his bed too-empty.

At last, when they gave pause to sleepy kisses, somehow more refreshing than even a morning coffee, Xander pushed his nose in Ryoma's hair (which was certainly not straw, his fingers confirmed), inhaled, "We are meant to be at the breakfast conference before nine o'clock. What time is it?"

And oh, how Ryoma had missed this-- it was such a tremendously Xander thing to say, even after an evening of tenuous, wanting glances over foreign aid logistics and reacquainting with the nuances of each others' forms. We have a conference soon, what time is it? Ryoma almost laughed, overcome with the tremendous feeling that weighed within his chest, and tilted his face towards his side of the room, squinting in the faint light of the morn towards the pendulum clock, "A quarter past five. Had we still been at war, we would have been late to morning sparring already."

"So you say, as if you did not so often ask for 'but five minutes more' in half-wakefulness," Xander answered, nudging him teasingly. He did not move, but still, "I should take my leave... Peri will notice if I fail to exit my quarters this morning. And I have no doubts that, if they are as devoted as you claim they are, your own retainers already suspect something."

But Ryoma sighed, his hands wandering down to Xander's hips, softly soothing the faint bruises there, "There are a few hours still yet remaining before we'll have to be anywhere... stay. Perhaps we can make up for lost time."

Xander released a dry chuckle, "I'm not certain whether that was supposed to be an offer for sleep or for sex."

"Both," Ryoma replied, his words carelessly muddled, half-asleep. He always had been slow to wake, thought Xander. "Or neither. It has been many months since we were last in each others' presence... and many more since we last lay like this."

"We have never lain like this," Xander's brows knit, perplexed. "Never merely lain. There have always been battles to fight, practices to complete, training to oversee."

"Then," answered Ryoma, settling in ever the more thoroughly. "There is twice the lost time to make up for."

Xander sighed, bent awkwardly to kiss Ryoma's brow, "Perhaps, then... but a few minutes more. Not too many, but a few."

"But five minutes more," agreed Ryoma, and, ungluing one of his thighs from Xander's, most happily half-dozed into a living dream.

"We still have to bathe, and review discussion notes," Xander reminded him, though he, too, comfortably settled into fiddling with the ends of Ryoma's hair, deceptively soft.

Ryoma hummed a muffled affirmative into the crook of Xander's neck, and it felt like a kiss.

Ten minutes more, Xander secretly resolved to himself, and let the rest of the world fall away into oblivion, let everything he felt narrow down to just Ryoma's body plastered against his, Ryoma's weighty arm thrown over his waist. 

In the end, he permitted twenty.

change || immortal

There was scarcely a moment's pause for them to steal away-- not late at night on Tuesday, when they at last hammered out their reparations towards Nestra, and not on Wednesday morning when Heiress Flora of the Ice Tribe and Chiefchild Rinkah of the Flame Tribe spent hours hashing out the horrible bad blood between the two clans of the North. It very nearly came to bloodletting, then.

"The Flame Dragon," Rinkah hissed, "Melted the Ice Dragon because the Ice Dragon was the aggressor! None of this would have happened if your tribe hadn't attacked us first and extinguished the Holy Flame!"

"The events occurred over three hundred years ago," Flora answered, an ice-cold politeness in her voice. "And it is hardly reasonable to hold a brief border conflict against us today. However, given that the dragon your tribe continues to worship commited a genocide of what was once a much, much larger tribe than it is today, and furthermore destroyed the dragon at the head of my lineage, I do not see why my people should have to share our yak herding grounds with yours."

"Because with its dying breath," Rinkah growled, looking very much prepared to clobber Flora over the head with her chair, "Your thrice-damned Ice Dragon froze over the volcanic ashes of the mountains! Nothing's grown there for generations, and nothing ever will grow there again, so we'll continue to hunt along the border if it means we'll have food!"

"What," asked Kamui, horrified and yet unable to quash her curiosity, "Is this dispute about, exactly?"

"Some hunters, allegedly from my tribe, hit a couple of yaks," Rinkah scowled. "And her people are trying to bring up charges against us! If you don't want your yaks to get hunted, then stay the hell away from our territory? Don't make the solution more complicated than it has to be."

"Your territory?" Flora looked faintly affronted. "You must be mistaken, because according to these charts I currently possess, which predate any of the vague depictions you've attempted to draw for us at this summit, that particular mountain pass has always been Ice Tribe territory."

With a sense of absolute dread, Corrin noted, "This... this wouldn't happen to be the same territory that sparked the dragon conflict three hundred years ago... would it?"

Kamui carefully compared the two maps, Rinkah's uncannily accurate hand-drawings and Flora's antique, star-charted diagrams, "Oh gods... I think it is."

The dispute turned wholly incoherent, then, as shouting rang across the room, and Xander frantically tried to scribble out the basic outline of a statement of absolute neutrality in this matter. Ryoma bit the end of his pen and tried to consider if it was prudent to take the Flame Tribe's side, given their traditional alliance with Hoshido, panicking slightly at what could possibly be the first truly political choice in foreign diplomacy of his reign.

"Please, don't let it come down to this," and Azura, with her voice as clear as glass, cut through what was rapidly escalating into an international incident. "Both of you fought beside Corrin, Kamui, and I during the Anankonian War... you were allies but months ago, healing and defending each other in turn. I am certain we can come to a peaceful solution... one where you lift each other up, where nobody loses."

"Things change," bit Rinkah. "Like ending the threat of a dragon who wants to destroy the world. Like the biggest threat becoming loss of hunting lands."

"The tale of how the Flame Dragon rained fire from the skies, and burned our villages to the ground," Flora's voice trembled. "It is already immortalized in legend. My father, Chief Kilma, has made it perfectly clear: we will not forget, and we will not yield."

"No grudge," Xander found himself speaking, standing. It was a horrible breach of negotiational protocol, and he knew it, but still a strange passion seemed to take over him then, "However horrible the cause, however long-lasting it may have been... no grudge is capable of lasting eternally. I think... I think myself and Lord Ryoma are proof of that much. The dragons of Dawn and Dusk, whose respective bloods run within our families, warred for thousands of years... only to age beyond the capability to fight, and give their lineage to the royal houses of Nohr and Hoshido that they may continue the battle in their stead..."

"Lord Xander is correct. Perhaps... we may not have always seen eye-to-eye," Ryoma stood, then, still not wholly well-adjusted to the political schemata, but aware of enough to know that he needed to offer a united front if they wished to avoid further battles. With an ill-placed note of nostalgia, "Indeed, this time two years ago, I think he may have been swinging a blade at me... but nonetheless, now I find there are very few allies that are his equal. It does not involve forgetting the history that birthed our houses, the history that has stood in Hoshidan legend for a thousand years, but rather... acknowledging it will benefit nobody to continue fighting."

"It is true," Xander nodded in Ryoma's direction, a flicker of something tender in his eyes before he was businesslike once more. "It is true that the feuds of the dragons have thus far dictated our battles, our beliefs... but the dragons now lie in either eternal slumber or death. We are the rulers of a new era, an era of men."

"A wiser era," Ryoma confirmed, almost quiet enought to be soft, and something knotted in his throat at that thought. His dalliance with Xander, he knew, was anything but wise.

The room fell into a hush at that, and they merely watched each other for a second before a subtle nod, and they took their seats.

"We can divide along this river," Rinkah at last spoke, breaking the silence as brashly as anything else she did. "North or South, take your pick."

"South. There are better grazing lands," Flora ventured, hesitant. "That far north, there is nothing for even us..."

"There's moose," Rinkah licked her lip, mouth watering just thinking about it. "Ever had a really good moose steak?"

"Er... not quite," Flora seemed vaguely startled by the idea. "Moose are edible?"

"Sure, if you can kill 'em," Rinkah snorted, as if the very concept that you couldn't eat a moose was silly. "Come over to my place sometime. My father makes one hell of a moose steak."

Tension seemed to wash out of the room, then, like mud from your skin on a rainy day. Quietly, then, Azura: "The hour of high noon will be upon us briefly... with that resolved, perhaps we should break for lunch? The chefs of Castle Gygas have prepared baskets for picknicking, that we may all enjoy the sights and sounds of Valla's true nature."

"Motion to recess?" Archduchess Celestine offered, pleased to assist the less-experenced in learning the terminology.

"Yes," Azura smiled at her faintly, "Motion to recess. I entreat anyone who wishes to join me in the courtyard gardens to do so... we shall reconvene at half past two, after we have refreshed ourselves for discussion."

And so, with far less tension than there had been when they entered the room, the representatives of the summit began to filter away. Perhaps, for the first time since the summit had begun, Archduchess Celestine seemed to look upon the two kings with something vaguely akin to approval. Archduchess Idriane, descended from the gods themselves like Izana had been, smiled upon them.

When at last certain they were alone, it was Ryoma who spoke first, wearing a smile that even he was uncertain truly teased, "I had no idea you felt that way about me, Lord Xander."

"If you speak as such, people are certain to jump to false conclusions," Xander shook his head, rubbed absently at the edge of an inkstain on the side of his hand. 

"False conclusions?" mocked Ryoma falsely.

Xander dropped his voice to a low grumble, "Completely correct conclusions, and you're well aware of it."

"I am," Ryoma agreed, and his lips turned upwards, ever-so-slightly. "And... I hope you know that I feel the same."

I do, Xander almost answered, the words on the tip of his tongue. But he could not afford to forget where they were, and what those words could have meant in an entirely different context. Instead, he settled for, "It is almost unbelievable, given our... current relations... no more than two years ago, as you said, we swung blades at each other with the intent to kill. Even now, when so short a time has passed since then... I can scarcely recall our being foes."

"You can scarcely recall it?" Ryoma chuckled. With a less-than-gentle nudge, "How upsetting, that you can't remember the clash of my blade upon yours, the electricity of Rajinto and Siegfried meeting in parry. Did I not make my attacks memorable enough for you?"

"I remember our being rivals," Xander's fingers ceased rubbing away the ink from his hand, began soothing the echo of an ache in his elbows. "And my arms undoubtedly remember how it felt to spar with no restraint, the jolt of Siegfried and Rajinto meeting as surely as the fang and claw of our ancestral dragons must have clashed. But... perhaps. Perhaps I have not truly wished to kill you, as a foe ought to... perhaps not since we clashed over our siblings at the border."

"The thrill of being able to test my blade against a warrior both opposite and equal..." Ryoma pressed his thumb into the memory of a sore at his shoulder, slowly massaged away that which did not exist. A brief, quiet laughter, "How could I genuinely claim that I wished to bring an end to that?"

Then, Xander stood, suddenly, "Spar with me."

"At a peace conference?" Ryoma raised his brows, momentarily surprised that it had been Xander who at last voiced what they'd both been thinking. "And you're not concerned about giving others the wrong impression? Particularly after leveraging ourselves as a united front..."

"I presume the bulk of our conegotiators will be occupied with Azura in the courtyard," and Xander had already begun making his way to the door. And, something mischevious in his smile, something less strained, "Besides... none here would begrudge us a friendly spar. Unless you fear that you are no longer able to keep up with me?"

And this, thought Ryoma, this was how he wished to immortalize Xander in his memory, his hand outstretched, something like reined-in recklessness released at last-- neither the shield by Ryoma's side nor the blade at his throat, but like this, the closest thing to childish any king could afford. The closest thing to an easy happiness a man who bore the weight of a nation could achieve.

The closest either of them could get to being free of that duty.

"I think," Ryoma responded, and took his hand with a grin of his own, "I  won't be the one who has a hard time keeping up."

"Then," as Xander cracked the door open, a challenge written in his eyes. "Prove it."

 ignorance || pleasure

All things must come to an end, as did that glorious Wednesday afternoon, its recklessness once more reined into sternly buttoned coats and further negotiations, this time detailing the logistics of a trading center upon the precipice of the Canyon Portal-- renamed, now it was known to be neither properly bottomless nor limited by its previous curse. Far lighter talk than that which they'd been discussing thus far, and the Vallite royals, at least, seemed far more at ease accepting assistance than any other.

Their afternoon discussions ran on well into the evening, then, and throughout supper. Upon their united front for negotiations, the Archduchess of Nestra seemed more accommodating in her requests for reparations, reassured of their goodwill. Azura was in the midst of introducing the newly-made Lord of Cheve to Keaton ("chieftain of the wolfskin," as she'd quite eloquently put it); the Archduchess of Izumo seemed quite pleased by how closely Chief Kaden's reciprocal philosophy matched similar Izumite traditions. Perhaps, for once, the negotiations were running smoothly.

And when such ease fell into the negotiations, and everyone at the table seemed like an ally, then...

Well. Ryoma could not resist releasing but a tendril of that selfsame afternoon recklessness, then, chancing a glance at Xander over his goblet. His eyes, soft-- from the wine, he would say, if anyone noticed enough to ask-- they looked upon the man beside him, swallowed the warmth of the subtle curve of his lip when he mentioned to Kamui that, yes, he did think her likeness stamped upon Valla's coinage was a unique addition.

"That way, all of our citizens can recognize me," she nodded solemnly, adding, "Corrin's face is on his official seal. I tried to convince Azura to place hers on all of the trade regulation scales, but she wouldn't do it."

"Whyever not?" Ryoma let the corners of his mouth twitch upwards, let his foot brush against the side of Xander's. "I hardly think your citizens would complain about  

"Perhaps," answered Xander, practical. He softly let his own boot nudge Ryoma's shoe back, a silent query. "She was concerned it would compromise the uniformity of its weight."

"Oh! I hadn't thought about that," Kamui looked surprised. It was clear she had not noticed the subtle interactions, as she steamrolled straight ahead as was her wont, "I should apologize about that, then... in the end, Azura just wanted to be fair to everybody. Excuse me, then, Xan-- um. Lord Xander, Lord Ryoma. I should, um. Go fix that."

Xander chuckled slightly, "Little Princess. After so long as your brother, I do not think anyone here will begrudge you if you omit my title."

"Nor mine," added Ryoma, something wholly affectionate in the way he tapped his heel to Xander's in return. "Though if you must excuse yourself, I don't think either of us can begrudge you that, either."

"No," agreed Xander, at last giving in to this silent game of brushes upon feet. "I don't think we will."

"Then, I'll talk to both of you later, big brothers!" something lit up in her face as she beamed at them, began to retreat to Azura's side of the table. "I hope you enjoy the food!"

"It is," mentioned Ryoma, his eyes flickering in Xander's direction. "Quite delicious, in fact. Have you tasted this beef dish yet?"

"Is that what it is?" Xander looked, for all intents and purposes, but politely obliging, turning his head to the side in a calculated movement. Beneath the table, he assured Ryoma with a small nudge of his foot, "It's quite covered with a batter of some sort. I've never seen such a dish before."

"Tempura," Ryoma answered, nodding. "More popular in Hoshido, I believe. I thought it could be some variety of fish until I tried it... but it's very enjoyable. Allow me to plate you a piece?"

"As you would like, Lord Ryoma," Xander smiled back, slight, subtle, discreetly guiding Ryoma's voluminous formalwear sleeve to avoid falling into his plate. He did not miss the faint glance of gratitude on Ryoma's face. "Perhaps, if it were seafood you initially wished for... you would allow me to return the favor?"

"If you believe I would enjoy it," and Ryoma set down the fork-- his own fork-- upon Xander's plate, left it there. The disaster that was a diplomatic placesetting could afford such, particularly once the silverware and setting traditions from not five, but eleven nationalities had been implemented. Even with all of his court training, Ryoma had no idea what purpose the Flame Tribe used any of those six slightly-ashy, half-burned sticks for.

"I think perhaps I can recall enough about your eating habits to make an adequate guess," Xander replied, as if he had not, at one point, spent weeks attempting to learn how to cook Ryoma's favorite foods. A quirk of a crease near his eyes practically joked on his behalf, and when the table settings rotated once more, clockwise (a Nestrian custom as old as time itself), Xander served him something vaguely gelatinous that had been wrapped in fish, cooked.

"I don't think I've ever tried this before," Ryoma remarked as diplomatically as possible, slightly cautious. But still, it had been Xander's fork left upon his plate, and so he took, tasted. With a mote of surprise, "It's ginger?"

"Candied ginger, set with fish roe in gelatin," Xander looked fairly pleased, even as he removed Ryoma's own fork from his mouth with something like an indirect peck. "Something I tasted once, on a diplomatic envoy to the tribes of the North. Not something you see every day, but delicious nonetheless."

"It is splendid," Ryoma agreed, trying to calculate whether or not, given the present company, it would be considered rude to serve himself seconds. Exhaled softly, decided it would be inappropriate for a King of Hoshido to show such favoritism, and merely added, "Are you enjoying the beef dish as well?"

"I am," answered Xander shortly, pressing Ryoma's fork to his lips once more. It was obvious that the dish itself had very little to do with it. With a nod in the direction of the jellied fish, quietly, below his breath: "Lady Flora has the recipe for that."

Ryoma looked upon him, then, faintly touched by how easily Xander had noticed. There was something incredibly tender about that moment, about the teasing note in Xander's eye, and Ryoma thought himself terribly, horribly at risk of kissing the King of Nohr right there, in the middle of dinner proceedings for a diplomatic council.

He was interrupted, then-- mercilessly interrupted, indeed, when Peri slipped away from the side room where the retainers took their meals, wiping teary mascara-tracks from her face. She whispered something to Xander, then, and Ryoma doubted anyone at the table missed the stricken expression on Xander's face.

"An urgent message from my brother, Lord Leo," Xander looked all-solemn as he carefully conveyed the information to Corrin, on the other side of Kamui's empty chair. "The messenger insists that a reply cannot wait."

"Indeed," Corrin's voice sounded even enough, but the furrow of his brow betrayed his concern. "There's no need to excuse yourself if that's the case..."

"You have my thanks," Xander stood, deftly nodded as he exited, Peri in tow, still vaguely sniffling as she blew her nose into a napkin.

Ryoma wished to follow, more than anything. But now, with two empty chairs between them, he found himself sucked into a conversation with Corrin, who quietly expressed his worries about the entire situation. Something that reminded him that neither of them could leave, especially not when there was a truly ridiculous amount of hubbub around Xander's leaving. Someone would have to remain and ensure that the interests of Nohr would not be threatened in the discussion to follow, and perhaps, thought Ryoma, it was somewhat ironic that only the children of Hoshidan queens could do so.

Xander did not return to dinner that evening.

Concerning, in and of itself-- if the hosts had not been Xander's own siblings, such behavior could be have been considered an outright snub, a declaration that his country's private affairs outweighed the importance of their international relationships. But none, then, none could begrudge him the excuse when even the leaders of the summit were not offended, and most found it only faintly concerning. Just concerning enough to begin questioning whether Nohr was capable of upholding their bargains.

Ryoma took the turns in the directions of Xander's quarters, then, once the rest of the party removed themselves to bed, debating all the while if it was worth revealing himself to Xander's retainers. Ultimately yes, he decided, and raised a hand to knock upon that door, twice, firmly.

It was to his great surprise that Xander himself opened the door, his cravat partially undone and sleeves stained irreparably with ink. Solemn, then, and formal, "Lord Ryoma."

"Xander," Ryoma would not stand for any pretense, not now, not when the man he loved looked as much of a wreck as he'd ever seen him. "Are you--"

"If you intend to address me as such," Xander sighed, his posture still stiff, but exhaustion seeping into his voice. "I implore you to come in."

"I... yes, of course," Ryoma acquiesced, for how could he not? Not when Xander, sturdy, obstinate Xander, seemed as if he'd topple over if he met any sort of resistance at all.

Ryoma carefully shut the door behind himself.

"Peri and Nyx," Xander began. "Have been dispatched with the appropriate reply. Niles and Beruka ran themselves ragged to get here as quickly as possible. Corrin graciously gave them quarters elsewhere in the castle. The issue... should not interfere with negotiations, come morning."

"But," Ryoma countered. "It seems to have... quite severely... impacted you. Are you all right, Xander?"

"It is not I you should be asking about," Xander exhaled, practically collapsing onto the loveseat of the quarters' sitting room. "Debtors laid an embargo upon Castle Krakenburg yesterday. No self-respecting merchant in Nohr will be willing to accept payment on the credit of the Royal Family, nor deal in Nohr's printed currency... and indeed, many of the black market salesmen as well. We cannot pay our servants. No merchant is even willing to sell food to us. The Royal House of Nohr is losing its credibility, Ryoma, and with it the power of its regency."

"What?" Ryoma looked positively baffled by this, never having even heard of such a thing in Hoshido. "They cannot possibly do such a thing! The noble courts will--"

"Our debtors make up the noble court," Xander made a noise of frustration. "If nothing is done... we run the risk of a civil war. I cannot afford to pretend that our situation is any better than it truly is any longer. Leo's letter, though... it did offer us one solution."

"Which solution?" sighed Ryoma, sitting beside him to run a thumb over that troubled crease in his brow.

"We could," Xander replied, gently brushing away a hand that did little to help him. "We could liquidize. Sell off our forts, our land... the generations of treasures kept in the castle itself. Camilla's jewelry. Leo's library. Elise's... Elise's horse stables. Even. Even Bölverk and Siegfried."

"No. No," Ryoma insisted, alarmed, clasping Xander's hand. "That would be giving up the history of your country, the very proclamations upon which it was built. Your siblings, too... were mine in this situation, I do not know if I could bear to sell the estate in such a manner. There must be a better way. There has to be."

"Like what?" Xander laughed, humorless, bitter. "Theft?"

Ryoma tried to wrap his mind around the situation, for a moment. Tried to put in place every lesson of kingdom management he'd ever sat through. Tried to think of what he would do if it were Sakura who had to sell her jewels, the last worldly remnants of both her birth mother and Queen Mikoto. What he would do if it were Takumi's library, the place where he had carefully nurtured his military genius, that was on the line. What solution he might come up with if Hinoka was forced to sell her pegasus, if he himself might have to give up the Rajinto.

Nothing came to mind.

But then, with a stroke of brilliance, he realized that he was not Xander. And that there was something that he could do right now that would fix... perhaps not everything, but enough.

Ryoma blurted out, "Marry me."

"What?" Xander recoiled, yanking his hand away from Ryoma's.

"Marry me," Ryoma repeated, warmly clasping Xander's other hand between both of his own. "Xander... I care for you too deeply to watch you suffer like this. After the sale of our spoils from the war, Hoshido's treasury has grown more ample than it's ever been. I cannot promise there is enough to cover Garon's debts, but surely our reputation should at least purchase you the time to... gather taxes, perhaps, or mount a mining expedition. For too many years has the Land of the Dawn ignored the plight of its neighbors in the dusk, all due to a war between dragons that passed an era ago. And... as a man, one who cares for you very deeply on a personal level..."

"Ryoma," and Xander, something within him wholly moved by the gesture, lifted his other hand to cover one of Ryoma's. He swallowed something that rose in his throat, something that threatened to topple over into tears. He held them back, but breathed, "I love you."

"Is that," Ryoma squeezed Xander's hand, in part to steady the trembling of his own. "Is that a yes?"

"You must know," Xander sighed. "That nothing would please me more. But I cannot... however much I wish it otherwise."

"I. I see," Ryoma bit down the visceral urge to demand answers, to shout until someone offered him an explanation. Instead, more diplomatically, "Perhaps, if you explained your reasoning, I could persuade you otherwise?"

"I dearly hope you succeed," Xander smiled with a bitter sort of humor. "But we cannot ignore the truth-- the Nohrian people and Hoshidan people each have their own nationalism. They recall the ages of blood feuds, of Nohrian outlaws raiding Hoshidan trade convoys, of Hoshidan ninjas assassinating Nohrian merchants. My father's propaganda, tales of how the Hoshidans cursed the land of the dusk dragons to suffer and die. Your own father's death at the hands of soldiers of Nohr. Were we to combine our countries, there would be dissent everywhere. Revolt. In the end, I would merely be dragging you down beside me, into civil war. I care for you too much to condemn your country to such a fate."

"I cannot let you suffer alone. Am I meant to sit on my hands and merely watch as your rule is overthrown-- not by weaponry, but by finance of all things?" Ryoma argued, "If we could keep our countries separate, keep our rules separate... separate somehow."

"Were I capable of it, I would be willing to wager that you left Lady Hinoka in charge for the duration of this summit," Xander ventured.

"Indeed," replied Ryoma, curiously. "As High General, the rule would naturally fall to her while I am unavailable, albeit under heavy advisory from both Sakura and Takumi. But... you cannot mean to suggest that we make such an arrangement permanent, can you?"

"No more," Xander shook his head. "Than I could ever suggest to leave Leo in charge at Castle Krakenburg while I abandon my people. You understand, then, that it is an impossibility for either our countries to combine, or to maintain a separate rule. It would seem like a vote of no confidence in our people, as if we were incompetent rulers who could see no out but to abandon them."

"Then," Ryoma deflated, running a thumb softly over Xander's wrist one last time before releasing it. "What will you do?"

"Camilla volunteered her jewelry first," Xander sat back, leaned against the chair, exhausted. "Comprised of everything father ever gave any of our mothers. Then, the tapestries and wall moulds, and some of our less essential fortresses. Leo recommended we invest a portion of the proceeds in something with a stable growth. Mining, perhaps. He suggested that the library should go next... he believes it will be the quickest to auction off, given the rarity of several tomes therein, which will prevent the bulk of our debts from accruing further interest."

"I was under the impression," began Ryoma, feeling faintly, oddly guilty for his own successes, wholly heartbroken for a loss that was not his own. "I thought your brother adored books, nearly as much as my own does. He... volunteers them quite readily."

"Leo," sighed Xander. "Is trying to be pragmatic. Perhaps at far too young an age. Elise, who owns several thoroughbreds, is already carefully breeding them so she can sell the yearlings once our funds from the library have run out. She has... turned to selling flowers, in the meantime. Like a member of the peasantry. It is honest work, though, and... at the very least, she seems to enjoy it. Perhaps, at the end, if we can find someone who wishes to collect weapons that they cannot use--"

"You cannot be serious about selling Siegfried?" Ryoma interrupted, his own brows drawing together. "The weapon was made only for a true King of Nohr, no less than the Rajinto can only be wielded by the heir of Hoshido! The claw of the Dusk Dragon, forged as an equal and opposite force towards the fang of the Dawn Dragon..."

"Siegfried," Xander looked more troubled than ever. "And Bölverk. But not the Brynhildr... if it comes down to that, I cannot deprive Leo of the last book he will ever own."

"Xander," Ryoma looked him in the eye. "I swear, it shall not come down to that... even if I must sell my own belongings..."

"What belongings do you own that are not, too, owned by the state?" spoken perhaps more defensively than necessary. Then, softening, "The best you can do for me is to continue honoring our trade agreements. The revenue from the tariffs should be enough to keep our debtors at bay. Enough, at least, to prevent another embargo. Enough to prevent another vote of no confidence in Nohrian currency."

Ryoma sighed, pressed a soft kiss to the side of Xander's face, "It will be done."

"Then, I thank you," a soft smile, weary but genuine, graced Xander's features. "The letter I dispatched gave Leo the temporary regency to begin planning the sale of jewels, but nothing else-- nothing more, at least, until I return. If either of your sisters have a taste for Nohrian gemstones..."

"I will be certain to let them know," Ryoma answered, gently brushing Xander's hair from his face. "You seem tired... I should leave you to rest."

"Then," answered Xander, leaning softly into the touch. "I will see you tomorrow morning, Lord Ryoma."

"Very well," Ryoma stood to leave, and then, just before he slipped through the door, "And... goodnight, Xander."

He closed the door behind him, then, strode thoughtfully towards his own quarters. Paused. Knocked upon the door of the room shared by his retainers.

"Lord Ryoma," Saizo opened the door. The lamps were lit, within, and Kagero stood from where she'd been reading. "Did you require something of us?"

"It would be our honor to assist you," Kagero added, behind him.

"Saizo," Ryoma began. "I will need you to deliver a message to Castle Shirasagi, come morning. Merely be prepared to travel."

"I am always," Saizo scowled, "Prepared to travel. I will leave now, that your message may arrive sooner."

"Only that, if either of my sisters wish to purchase any jewelry," Ryoma responded. "I have it from a reliable source that several suitable pieces will be on auction in Krakenburg shortly."

"It will be done," Saizo nodded, and then vanished in that unnerving way of his.

Kagero turned to her liege then, something about her eyes seeming as if they searched him for answers, "Lord Ryoma... I am equally as prepared as Saizo, if you require something of me."

"I... yes," Ryoma glanced at her oddly. "Kagero... I would like you to go to Krakenburg."

"Of course. On what errand, milord?" Kagero, ever-professional, looked fully prepared to accomplish anything from assassination to espionage.

"Find the details of this auction, and attend in my place," Ryoma replied. And, perhaps in an irrational fit of romanticism: "If a ring once owned by a woman named Katerina goes on sale... purchase it on my behalf, as anonymously as possible. Price is no object."

"It will be done," Kagero nodded, a half-smile playing on her lips.

And then she, too, vanished.

youth || stardust

"Archduchess Idriane asked me to marry her today," Xander began, sighed up at the stars of Valla's skies. He seemed to roll the words in his mouth, silently, testing them for taste before he at last spoke, "I said no."

"Would it upset you," Ryoma replied, scarcely an exhale, shifting the arm he had splayed over Xander's bare shoulders. He thought, briefly, on a ring that was most certainly some sort of impulse purchase, and of the silent intent that was attached to it. Started again, "Would it upset you if I told you that I am glad you did?"

"It would not," admitted Xander, an ungloved hand gliding over an ungloved hand. "Particularly given... that which we've done with each other. On tonight, and on many other nights past."

"Which part?" Ryoma chuckled, softly nosing Xander's ear. "The kissing? The sex? The stars?"

"All of it," answered Xander, capable yet of post-coital carelessness. "Or none. The sneaking off. The conversation. The new moon."

"All of it," Ryoma decided, sighed, pressed his face into Xander's neck. "Why did she ask you to marry her? Surely she knows that you are nearing twice her age."

"Thirty is not twice her age," Xander sounded mildly disgruntled, indignant at the idea he was getting to be old. "She claimed to be seventeen this winter."

"Twice her age, minus two, then," Ryoma chuckled back, scarcely six months Xander's senior himself. "Though if you care to split hairs over a mere two years, then I must wonder how seriously you considered the proposal."

"Perhaps it is not so much to a man who is already thirty-one," Xander teased, shook his head. More seriously, "If you must know, I did not consider it at all... she is not only far, far too young for me, but if I could not say yes to a man whom I am in love with, how could I even consider agreeing to someone who is nearly a stranger?"

Ryoma was quiet for a moment, then, "I do not consider you a man with mercantile leanings, but perhaps... if she were better able than I to offer you financial aid... And Izumo, after all, has never been quite as at-odds with Nohr as Hoshido has been..."

"Do not speak so foolishly," Xander gazed upon Ryoma, knit his troubled brow. "As a consequence of Izana's... less-than-frugal celebrations, their treasury is not what it once was. I am, too, certain that the proposal was purely for political reasons... perhaps, she may think, a husband might make her seem more mature, someone more acceptable to the Izumite courts. A wholly mistaken thought, particularly when maturity is not so easily accrued as a marriage."

"Perhaps," agreed Ryoma. "Perhaps that is true. After all, Heir-Chief Hayato is married, and he seems no more mature to me than when we first met. Still... your seventeen years of extra wisdom cannot be the only reason for your rejection."

Xander sighed, gave in, pulled Ryoma in for a brief kiss, "I suppose I must admit... I am perhaps less willing to wed for politics than a king should be. Or, perhaps, I only wish to marry for love more than a king ought to."

"If you are guilty of it," Ryoma answered, quiet, like a whisper. He pressed his lips to Xander's again, "Then I am guilty of it sevenfold."

They lay there, then, gazing upon the stars, or each other in the starlight, secrets safe within the dark. Kissed, perhaps, once or twice-- slowly, lazier than usual.

Then, Ryoma: "Vermilion of Cheve spoke to me today."

"Did he propose to you as well?" Xander snorted, almost a joke. But he did not discount the possibility entirely.

"In a sense," Ryoma pushed his hair back from his face. "Scarlet... had been in charge of a coalition of orphans, in Cheve. A group of youths that took care of each other, so that not one among them would be forced to live on the streets. She was... apparently very aware that her rebellion stood a chance of failure. Or, perhaps... perhaps she knew that she would die, that fateful day we departed for Valla."

Xander pursed his lips, about to say something. Squeezed the arm around Ryoma's waist just slightly tighter. Spoke, "She was an incredibly honorable woman."

"She was," and Ryoma was silent for a moment. Then, "She left a will. They found it but recently... there was an orphaned boy she had been training. Her protegé, perhaps, one of the children who needed some extra help, a closer eye kept on him. His name is Shiro, and he is nine. She willed his custody to me."

"Nine... that's quite young to be alone in the world," Xander looked at Ryoma, hesitated. Thoughtfully, "What did you say?"

"I said I would sleep on it, and return with an answer in the morning," Ryoma admitted, exhaled. "I am thinking of agreeing. What would you counsel me with?"

"As a king?" questioned Xander. "Or as a friend?"

"Both," Ryoma shrugged, unsure. "Or neither. Counsel me... merely as Xander. A king, my friend, my ally... and my lover, all within the same man."

Xander was silent, for a moment, "Perhaps... meet with him first. See for yourself whether he wishes to become your ward, whether he requires assistance, as Scarlet wrote. There is no better guide than your own eyes, and adopting a child is no small matter. Particularly as, if neither you nor your siblings have children by blood... there is every likelihood he may one day be king of Hoshido."

"Ah," Ryoma looked taken aback, even if marginally so. "I admit, I hadn't thought of that. Indeed, if I were unable to produce an heir..."

"It is certainly a possibility to weigh into account," Xander agreed. Then, hesitantly, as if the idea had just occurred to him: "I hope I have not been too presumptuous in such a suggestion."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ryoma frowned. "What is there to have presumed?"

"That you are not," Xander began, pursing his lips. At last giving up on speaking tastefully, "That you do not plan to take any other lovers in my absence. Or that you have not already. Such would have been perfectly reasonable, given the conditions of our... agreement."

"No," and Ryoma but held him closer. "I have not. I can barely fathom... have you?"

"None," Xander shook his head. "Much to the displeasure of the court."

Ryoma did not ask, but kissed, softly, below the starlight, "Perhaps, then... we should make up for the time we will lose, in the months to come."

"I almost can't tell if that's an offer for more sex or more conversation," Xander chuckled, dry.

"The sex, the conversation," Ryoma smiled, swallowing that laugh with a kiss. "The kissing. The new moon. The stars. All of it."

"Very well," replied Xander, tenderly entwining his fingers in Ryoma's hair. "All of it."

They made love again on that balcony, there beneath the night sky, sword-roughened hands upon hips, frown-creased lips turning into soft, bittersweet smiles. They were lost to the world, and the world to them, and so, too, they did not see.

They did not see the figure below, slow, peaceful, waddling silently along that pathway, privy to the faint noises above.

"Ah," sighed the Archduchess of Nestra, her soft slippers padding quietly below on her evening stroll. She mused for a moment, then shook her head, chuckled: "To be young again."

Only she and the stars bore witness to this secret and, in the age-old tradition of Nestrian diplomats, she swore to her forebears to keep it between them.

humanity || memories

But the peace summit, like all things, had to someday come to an end-- however much a dream it seemed to be. The Vallite leaders saw them off with an elaborate breakfast banquet that morning, helped them travel to the surface world. The Archduchesses each had a retinue waiting, Idriane in her chariot and Celestine in her carriage. From there, the members of the summit began to peel away, eager to return back to their kingdoms, their tribes.

At last, then, only Ryoma and Xander remained, the former afraid to say goodbye; the latter afraid that they would be unable to manage it.

Xander inhaled. Opened his mouth, "I suppose here is where we part ways."

"For now," Ryoma acknowledged, looking upon him softly, sadly. He reached out, took Xander's hands in his own-- one each. Hoping it did not emerge as a question, "We will see each other again?"

"We will," Xander replied, more confidently than he felt. "We will see each other again. And until then... I will hold this week and every other week we spent together among my fondest memories."

"And I," Ryoma's eyes flickered momentarily to where their hands were joined. "I will do the same. I admit, Xander... I admit that I did not think it would be so difficult to leave you a second time."

"It will be less difficult than the first," Xander attempted to assure him, though he, too did not let go, but squeezed softly. "Now... now that we know."

"Now that we know that, even for our countries' sake, we cannot quit each other?" Ryoma smiled wryly, bitterly. "No, Xander. Knowing that I could have you like this, what we could be were we not kings... you cannot genuinely think it will be less difficult."

"It will be less difficult," Xander insisted, even as he tightened his grip further. "For the next time we meet, there will be no need to feign indifference to each other. I will not have to refrain, the next time I see you. It is the most any king can hope for."

"We are kings," agreed Ryoma, but challenged, "But are we not human, as well? Are we not given to the right to want, the right to err, the right to love?"

"We are, indeed, given those rights," Xander's eyes softened, injured. "But in some cases, for the good of our countries... we must refrain from exercising them."

There was something incredibly sad, there, that struck Ryoma's heart, and he breathed, "I would not deny the line to which I was born, nor insult your own bloodline, and say I wish that we were but ordinary men. But, perhaps... there is a part of me that wishes we could have been but princes eternally."

"I should not have," Xander exhaled, running a tender thumb over the backs of Ryoma's knuckles. "We should not have broken our agreement... to live separate lives once we took our thrones. It seems we made far wiser princes than we do kings."

"Do you regret it?" Ryoma asked in what might have been a challenge, were it not so softly said.

"Nothing," answered Xander, and his brows furrowed as if it physically pained him to remove his hands from Ryoma's. "Except that this week could not last forever."

"If I were a man allowed to jump to conclusions," and Ryoma's fingers clenched, subconscious, as Xander's slipped out from between them. "I would say that sounds like you're asking me to marry you."

"If I were a man allowed to design such conclusions," Xander replied, pausing just before their fingertips separated, "I would say that you assume correctly."

Ryoma swallowed the lump in his throat that rose from that, reminded himself that samurai did not cry, and kings did not cry, and neither did samurai-kings of Hoshido cry. He tightened his fingertips around Xander's, once, slowly, and then released them. He could afford to be merely human no longer; he would have to be a king.

An inhale, a straightened posture, "I trust I will see you at next year's peace summit, Lord Xander?"

Xander fell back into his own military-strict posture, tucked his hands into his back, "Indeed, Lord Ryoma. It is my hope that it shall be as great a success as this year's has been."

They bid each other farewell, then, Xander departing on horseback, flanked by Niles and Beruka on their returning journey, and Saizo appearing from nothing but thin air as he made the move to accompany Ryoma back.

Irrationally, Ryoma thought on the letters he kept, unsent, buried in his desk. Began to compose another one in his mind. It has been but five minutes since our hands parted, he began. I miss you already.

And, perhaps, when he arrived home... he might even send it.

epilogue

It was easier than Ryoma had expected it to be.

Nothing, he knew, could be wholly easy when you were a King of Hoshido, when you became part of the delicate balance of both international and national court dealings, but the year passed, and it passed more brilliantly than he could have ever hoped. He had adopted Scarlet's ward, Shiro, the young Chevrois who, at the age of nine, had developed such talent in the naginata that he briefly wondered if he were not Hinoka all over again. He had, in the interest of "bolstering trade," reduced tariffs on Nohrian and Vallite products alike, a move that he considered quite a sneaky way of assisting those he cared for.

The trading center at the edge of the Canyon Portal was well into its development, land on both sides of the precipice carefully sold to Valla. The seedlings of a city began to sprout in the wake of commerce, particularly for unusual Vallite goods, never before seen. With Hoshidan lumber and Nohrian stone, and manpower from both lands, Cyrkensia began to heal, bits and pieces at a time, and if a Hoshidan-style teahouse sprung its way in, or a Nohrian-variety public bath, then none could complain. The Archduchess of Nestra, at last, declared her capitol capable of hosting yet another peace summit.

And Ryoma had written. Dozens of letters, secreted into official scrolls, at last sent:

I miss you, some of them would say, and how wonderful it was to know that Xander had read those words, had known his feelings, had written back in immaculate cursive, I miss you as well. And more letters still-- I look forward to the next time we meet; I look forward to burying my hands in your hair. I have improved in the sword, I look forward to sparring.

(Even, once, memorably: Elise is pleased to hear that Hinoka will be purchasing Buttercup; she is her favorite foal. We are all very aware how excellently Hinoka cares for her horses, and send her our gratitude. And then, Leo wishes that you convey his gratitude to Takumi, for purchasing our library completely intact. He will be upset if he discovers that I told you, but he is weeping too much to write.)

And so, when they met for the International Peace Summit that year-- now, solidly, in the second year of era sapiens, the era of wisdom, having done away with draconic numbering altogether-- Ryoma did not waste time with formalities, could not afford to when he would have but a week. He pulled the King of Nohr into a linen closet not fifteen minutes after their arrival, and there they stayed for long enough to make them very nearly late.

If their cheeks, their lips were flushed, if their hands would brush each other's every now and then as they followed the tour of the grounds... 

"There will be consequences if we get caught," Xander murmured in his ear, soft, as he leaned over a banister to observe yet another Nestrian opera-house, recently reconstructed.

"But yet, you aren't scolding me," Ryoma whispered back, the edge of a challenge in his voice.

(And oh, thought Ryoma, how he had missed this.)