Work Text:
The Mad King, that’s what the High Order call him.
Akaashi’s seen him only once before. Stood close to the elbow of his Master, there could barely be a generation between them; Akaashi, fine boned, willow strong and this wild haired Prince, held in front of the court, on display and stalking like a caged animal.
His grandfather had been the first to hold that title, Akaashi knows, King Bokuto had been a great and formidable ruler, but he was taken with the primal powers; quick with his temper and his vengeance but, mercifully, succeeded by three wise eyed queens, each gentle but firm in their ways.
All of whom had gone too early to the trees, age and loss weighing heavily on each and leaving behind their lineage in the barely grown fae before him. Grief curved still broadening shoulders that day and there was this aura, this glint of power, of magic unrefined and reactive behind yellow eyes and it scared the order. This late born miracle, a carbon copy of the first Mad King, given preference out of respect but nothing more.
No one expected the Home Tree to choose the runt of a long spent bloodline - there were three others, two of the High Order and another matriarch far better suited and waiting - but they were lead by tradition and that tradition dictated the first approach be the heir.
Akaashi remembers how he moved, hunched and suspicious under the scrutiny of the court, but relaxing the closer he came to the heart of the kingdom, the root of their season and source of each Autumn fae’s power, as if it alone were enough to sooth even the most feral beast and maybe it could. Hands raised, the Prince had placed his palms to the smooth bark of the Home Tree and bowed his head to its majesty and Akaashi was alone in the breath he held; tense, waiting for the sign of their new ruler.
There was a beat of silence, an exhalation as if the tree’s themselves had sighed and the Prince had glowed; tendrils of light curling up strong forearms, slipping past skin and bone to take root in the heart of their new monarch.
The Home Tree had spoken.
There was pandemonium in the hours that followed, but none looked more surprised than the yellow eyed prince; now brimming with the power of their realm and though Akaashi’s Master had called him away in disgust to retreat to the Higher Reaches, there had been a feeling of rightness in the decision that he was hard pressed to ignore.
It’s been many turns since that day and Akaashi is grown; powerful, a Master in his own right, but many seasons more from an Apprentice of his own and so he’s being sent away - back to court and to the mad king.
The Order claim that the king is untamed, unruly in his speech and his actions, though Akaashi has seen no great detriment in the kingdom at large, the senior Magi are ever restless with such a ‘primal child’ on the throne without the right instruction, the right guidance and so Akaashi goes.
But he is not permitted to stay.
Not when their eyes meet across the great pillared hall and the surge of power Akaashi feels in that moment is enough to bring him to his knees, enough to make the Prince stumble and they are both left gasping for breath and consumed by the urge to reach for the other; suddenly desperate for proximity and drowning in the knowledge of belonging, that the other half of their souls reside in the other.
Intellectually, Akaashi knows what this is. He’s read the stories, the accounts - it is their magic at it’s most primal, it’s most base - the idea that each fae’s soul is split upon creation, that out there, somewhere, is the one that will finally complete them, is outdated; largely disregarded as legend or the ravings of those old and ancient among them and far removed from the higher calling and refinement of the powers they control now. Instinctively, however, everything he’s ever learned, ever held to be true, is incinerated in that moment and all Akaashi can think of, is to fight to his feet and close the distance between himself and this other half of his immediately.
But it isn’t that simple.
Propriety should be the last thing on either of their minds, but when Akaashi finally struggles to his feet, his approach is reserved; moving through the parting crowd to stand before his King and his behaviour is mirrored in the wary prowl of Bokuto’s movements. They meet in a clearing left among the gathered courtiers and Akaashi clenches his hands into fists against the sudden tremble in his limbs. This close, the King's aura is suffocating; oozing power and barely contained energy, even in the sturdiness of his frame and, sensitive as he is, Akaashi can barely breathe.
Bokuto circles him once, twice, as if Akaashi is a puzzle he can’t unravel or, more worryingly, as if he’s prey; pinned under the all seeing sweep of his gaze and left vulnerable in the wake of his power. Akaashi stands defiant however and when Bokuto stops to face him once more, he is the picture calm at the center of the mad king’s storm.
He watches impassively as Bokuto raises a hand to rub at his chest, as if the area aches and Akaashi feels it too; a tug below his ribs that flashes understanding across his features and reaching up to touch the area over his own sore heart. Something soft and unspoken passes between them then and both are naive to the significance of the gesture as they both move to touch the other - Bokuto’s broad knuckles a breath from the pale skin of Akaashi’s cheek and his own steady palm reaches to press over the leather tunic before him and the heart beneath - but the elders gathered are not.
Before either can make contact, a wall of air slams between them with enough force to push distance between them and Akaashi’s stomach fills with dread the moment a hand catches his upper arm, halting his desperate bid to dash back to the King’s side. He meets his Masters furious gaze with wide eyed confusion, with hurt; why would he intervene?
“The Order will not stand for this- this savagery, Keiji. Come away!”
Muddled as he is from the emotional whiplash, Akaashi’s mind is sharp; of course. True soul bonds were said to empower the fae that found each other, rebalance their souls so neither would be at a deficit and that could mean anything from increasing their life spans, to making each other infinitely more powerful. Akaashi gasps at the realisation and the thought is echoed in the eyes of his Master; Bokuto finding a bond mate - especially one as powerful as himself - would make him unstoppable in the eyes of the High Order, rocking the very foundations they had built the Order on.
He has only moments to decide; the instincts of fight or flight battling his control and take over, but the decision is made for him when Bokuto howls and throws himself against the magic keeping them apart. The impact echoes through the hall and the king is fire eyed and furious; an avatar of rage - glowing and incandescent - as he physically claws at the currents, pulling apart their refinement with the purest form of magic at his disposal.
Akaashi’s choice is there in the straining lines of his kings arms, in the primal light in yellow eyes that swears he will tear this and any kingdom to the ground to reduce the distance between them. Their eyes meet once more and Akaashi knows exactly why Bokuto was chosen by the Home Tree and why the difficulty of his decision is no difficulty at all.
His power builds as he turns to his Master once more, but the elders did not maintain their positions out of simple respect and he is still young, for all his strength. The air is snatched from Akaashi’s lungs at the same moment that the king is brought to his knees; half the royal guard and several Magi wrestling him into place “For your own safety, your Majesty!”.
Akaashi gasps for breath, for power, but he’s locked out of his own mind and falling; caught up in his Master’s arms, but reaching desperately for his king, even as magic gathers and they are gone in a swirl of Autumn leaves.
Distance, he finds, is agony.
A bond recognised, but not completed, is a clawing ache, an insatiable want and he understands now, the insanity described in many of the old writings; if this continues, his mind surely won’t last.
He’s confined to his chambers in the High Reaches, losing count of the cycles in his weakness and Akaashi wonders, does his king suffer so? He slips in and out of restless sleeps, senseless pacing and every visit from his Master only inspires fury; far departed from his usual demeanor and earns scolding words “We will talk when you are feeling more like yourself, Keiji..” and Akaashi wonders if that being even exists any more?
Cut off from the world outside, from his powers and, more importantly, the other half of himself, he is lost to his mind and the infinite replay of Bokuto’s agonised expression as he was whisked away from his sight.
Unbeknown to Akaashi, reports of the king’s disappearance have the kingdom below in an uproar - missing for days they say - gone completely without a trace, magical or otherwise.
It’s several cycles more before he wakes to the powerful waft of feathered wings and the silhouette of the largest owl he’s ever seen; landing on the sill of the open window and he watches, breathless as that shape morphs into exactly the one from his dreams.
“..Your Majesty? How--”
Akaashi’s sitting up in bed, gathering the covers close as he fights the grogginess and weakness he feels and the state must be mutual, because Bokuto is across the room in long strides, but soon collapses beside the bed in shaken limbed exhaustion.
“Finally-- I’ve found you!”
Or maybe it’s relief.
Proximity, they find, is like sinking into warm water after a day of trials, or a sip of cool water while traversing the hot plains, it’s the balm that soothes Akaashi’s tired mind and the knife the cuts the bow string of Bokuto’s taught frame and has them reaching out and shivering at the simple touch of their hands. Fingers threaded together, Akaashi drags his tired king up beside him and they slump against each other; foreheads pressed flush, knees brushing and words lost in the din of their heartbeats.
Bokuto explains himself. How the ache had him half mad; lashing out and confused. How the courtiers and Magi had done their best to placate him, redirecting his demands and his anger and how, in a fit of desperation, he’d fled to the Home Tree in his distress. The maidens that maintained the kingdoms heart had always been kind to him and Bokuto had found refuge there; curled among the roots and lulled to dreams by their songs and the warm beat of life around him.
His dreams had been of high branches, of Akaashi; of the thread between them, gold and warm like the power from the Home Tree, the power that runs through them all and of the echo of pain across the distance between them.
Few knew of Bokuto’s power to transform; learned from the feral tribes that pass through their lands with each turn, but it was at the roots of the tree that he finally found the focus to maintain his other form for such a flight. For days he followed the thread he could feel and the kingdom let him pass; there are no barriers for a true king, not even the powers of the Magi, the wards on this room, that can keep him away and Akaashi’s pulse flutters in his throat at the mere thought.
“..And I made it, all the way here for you and..I don’t even know your name..” Bokuto’s expression is sheepish and trembling, so unsure in the wake of his own words, as if he’s struggling to even believe them himself and Akaashi can only think that such uncertainty should never exist in those eyes.
“--Keiji, Akaashi Keiji, my king..”
It’s said with the beginnings of a smile and Bokuto’s expression lights up, gaze gone wondering at what he sees enough to have Akaashi dropping his own eyes away, embarrassed.
“...Keiji… s’beautiful, like you..”
Akaashi feels heat touch his cheeks at the tone and it’s followed, finally, by the brush of Bokuto’s knuckles across the colour there, fingers unfurling to cup his cheek and unconsciously he responds; hand now free to complete the press over Bokuto’s heart and looking up into yellow eyes, it’s like falling all over again.
Their mouths draw closer as the moments tick by, but it’s halted by the gentle pressure of Bokuto’s thumb against his lips; stopping the contact before it can happen and Akaashi blinks, as if waking from a dream and tilts his head in question.
“I-If we do this, you’re stuck with me, you know that right? Bokuto Koutarou-- the Mad King… an’ the maidens told me, no one’s gonna be happy about that-- Well, none of the Order Magi, I mean I’ll be happy! B-but, uh will you?”
Akaashi watches the play of emotions across his face as Bokuto speaks, taking in in the ups and downs of his thoughts, the way his eyes light up and how his tone pitches low and quiet toward the end of his speech. He replays all he knows as fact about Bokuto in his mind, what he’s witnessed in their encounters and how he feels now, cradled by strong hands as he is and his heart swells. It would be impossible for them to stay away from each other - they’ve experienced that agony already - and yet, here is his king, asking him, giving Akaashi an out..
His expression turns soft and Akaashi reaches up to tangle their fingers once more; removing the barrier of Bokuto’s thumb and leaning in to brush a chaste kiss against his tan cheek instead of his lips.
“..I would very much like to know you, Bokuto Koutarou, if you would allow me that honour.”
It’s murmured against Bokuto’s skin, close to a finely pointed ear and Akaashi can feel the shiver it prompts; feels the returned kiss to his own cheek and the flex of his bones as he’s caught up in laughter and his king’s powerful embrace.
Proximity, for now, is enough and as dawn approaches and their words die away, Akaashi slips from the window sill to the branches beneath it; safe under the guidance of Bokuto’s steady hands and the protection of his power and reaches for his own for the first time in what feels like a lifetime. They take flight together across the kingdom, wheeling in the sun warmed currents and arrive at the Home Tree, late in the cycle of the day, to a complete uproar in the court.
There are talks to be had and proclamations to be made, but Akaashi has a plan - no part of which involves the cowing or taming of his king, much to the Order’s disgust - and he finds that, as the royal consort and first advisor to the king, he now holds enough sway to begin. Bokuto has more allies than he ever realised and the revelation of their bond, is cause for much celebration throughout the kingdom; summoning a resurgence in the old ways and practices and the joy it brings the king, is worth every scathing discussion and heated talk Akaashi fields from those opposed.
With the right support and someone to guard his back, Bokuto is a natural ruler; full of confidence, he is charismatic and powerful and Akaashi is the whetstone that gives his king the keen edge he’s been missing. Autumn comes to it’s power in a way that has not been seen since before the first Mad King and under the hard work and strategy, their relationship grows into something Akaashi is warmed by and that they both find solace in.
Perhaps soon - many cycles after the first - their chaste touches will lead to the kiss that binds them forever and the thought of finally calling the fire he sees in Bokuto his own, fills Akaashi with heady anticipation. He has seen his king for everything he is - everything the elders would destroy in their pursuit of the kingdom - and would not change a single inch of him.