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charlie-rulerofhell · 2 months ago

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Sed Proditionem || chapter 5

Insipientis In Errore Perseverare

Samuel needs to make a decision, caught between beliefs, reason and emotion. Hans faces the responsibilities of lordship and of confronting a man who cannot quite let his own former sovereignty go. Henry is faced with rumours, Žižka with fish.

{read it below or here on AO3}

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PREVIEW

Žižka ignored it. This was a mistake. One fucking big mistake. “Our hideout has been discovered,” he began, before the silence would become unbearable once more, “Henry and Samuel have barely escaped with their lives from a surprise meeting with a good friend of ours. Who is likely serving under Rosenberg's command. And here I am,” he slapped the back of his right hand, felt a small wet drop form there and picked up his enemy's carcass to throw it into the water, “spending the night going fishing with you.”

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I always knew that in the end no one was coming to save me. So I just prayed, and I keep praying, and praying and praying.

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Incline your ear, oh God, and answer me, for I am poor and destitute. The seventh time now. Samuel had spoken the words aloud at first, had fallen more silent with each repetition of the prayer until he was only moving his lips. David's cry for help calming his mind, easing his soul. He wasn't alone, he wasn't helpless, he could be forgiven, even if forgiveness wasn't something Samuel felt he deserved. She hadn't asked for forgiveness. She hadn't even shown regret.

Lend your ear, oh God, to my prayer. Heed the voice of my supplications. Samuel raised his eyes, looked over to the wall, iron and silver and gold reflecting the candlelight. On the day of my distress, I call out to you, for you will answer me. He had made certain that the window was shut tight, but there still seemed to be some stream of wind breaking through. He could not feel it on his heated skin, but he saw how it pushed the chains on the wall, made them swing. Back and forth, back and forth. Without a sound. They were all hung so neatly separated from each other that they would not touch anywhere. Shackled to their hooks, trapped in isolation, like the men that they would hold down. Like the woman who had bound them.

He had thought about her more times over the past weeks than he would have liked to admit. About the shadow on her face. About the anger and the loneliness in her dark eyes. About the way she pressed her lips together, biting down her secrets. He had thought about her in times of desperation, inspired by her braveness. Another day too late in Josef's workshop, another disappointed sigh, a shake of his head. “I like you, boy, but that's not enough, you know? I pay for you. I need to be able to rely on you.” Samuel had forced himself time and time again to pick up the hammer, to do what? As Henry did? As father had done? Here, I have freedom, she had said. A lie, but what did it matter when there was no real freedom anyway, only the run from oppression and full submission. And yet she had surrendered herself to the wrath and revenge of a powerful man like Heinrich von Rosenberg when she had confirmed his ties to Egghead and to that whole conspiracy against Žižka. Her face when she had helped them escape through the window was what Samuel remembered when he had told Josef that he would end his apprenticeship. The fear in her eyes, paired with the determination to stand up for what she believed was right.

Or so he had thought.

Show me your way, oh God, so that I may walk in the path of your truth. Samuel turned the knife in his hands, regarded it from all sides, admired how the flames kissed its plain, metal surface. He had lighted them all, every single one of the fifteen candles that she had placed on the table next to the bed, had lighted them while speaking the prayer. It had helped to ground him further. Was that why she did it too? Was she scared when she brought someone up here, had she been scared of him?

Samuel felt his mother's hand on his cheek, saw her pale, hollow cheeks filling up with a weak smile. “What a good boy you are, Samuel. Taking so much care of me. The woman who gets to be loved by you one day will be a lucky one.” The words had stung in his chest for how wrong they were. He had wanted to think about Hannah. About her hand in his and her screams as she died, about the love he had never been able to give to her or to the life that she had carried under her heart. But when he had found himself back on her grave, looking down at the dirt beneath his hands, he was certain that the body in the ground below had ink eyes instead, curls in the colour of coal, and that she had died with the name Rosenberg on her lips that he had drawn out of her, and with that fateful window between them that she had helped them escape through. For your kindness to me has been great, and you have saved my soul from the depths of the grave.

It was why he hadn't understood that she had led them right into a trap. When she had stood there under the Karolinum's chapel asking for help with tears in her eyes, he hadn't questioned it because to him it had all made sense. The guilt he had felt for the past month had been justified, the guilt, the regret, the self-loathing, the urge to beg her for forgiveness.

You, my God, are almighty, merciful and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in kindness, and true.

It was why it had hurt all the more. It was why he hadn't been able to respond on their way back to the university, when Henry had grabbed him by the arm to turn him around, to look at him in bewilderment. “Did you not realise? Did you not see that she was leading us into a trap?”

Grant me a sign of favour so that my foes will see and be ashamed.

It was why he could still not understand.

The same chair. The candlelight. The crimson colour of the bed. Only the sheets, there was no blood on there, no severed pig head, of course not, why had he even checked? The instruments on the table. A fire iron, a whip, but no rope this time, and an empty space where the knife had been. He turned it around in his hands again, brought his finger to the sharpened tip.

For you, God, have helped and comforted me.

A creaking as the door was opened, followed by a sharp gasp. Samuel looked over to her. It would have been foolish to think that he could tell this time, but he wanted to believe that there was honest surprise and fear on her face.

He bent down. Put the knife on the ground and gave it a kick so that it slid over to her with a tormented screech. She looked down at the weapon as if she had never seen it before. “What is that?”

“An offer for a fair chance. One you have not granted us.”

She didn't move, didn't even let go of the door handle yet. The desire to turn around and run. It wouldn't do her any good. “Are you hoping to ease your own conscience this way?”

“No. I am doing it because I still think that you deserve it.”

“I feel honoured.” No velvet or marble this time, only the biting roughness of a grindstone.

“You do not have to.”

“And what if I decline your offer? What if I simply leave?”

“You can try to run and hide.” Samuel barely recognised his own voice, with how cold and empty it sounded. “I will hunt you down. And I will not make this offer again.”

She nodded. Almost casually. As if they were only discussing the opening of a new trading business. “And I should just pick it up now? And we fight, just like this?”

“You can take your time.”

��What about torture?”

Samuel furrowed his brow. Surprised at the sudden emotion in his heart even if it was just confusion. “Torture?”

“You know that I'm working for Rosenberg. The very man that your friend Žižka has been trying to bring down for half a decade. And you just want to send me to my grave with all this information?”

“I have no interest in torturing you.”

“Why not?”

Because I do not want to hurt you. Because I believe you have been hurt enough. Because I recognise that fragile veil of pain that you are trying to pass off to me as an armour. “Because I think that with you it would only be a waste of time.”

“Hm,” she made. And then she crouched down to pick up the knife, weighed it in her hands for a while. Her muscles were tight but not yet tensed as if she wanted to attack. Her eyes were focused on the blade alone. Pondering, considering. She wouldn't fight him directly then. Perhaps she would throw it. It would only give her one single chance, but if she was skilled she could make it count. Or she would try to flee after all, but Samuel thought her too clever for that. Even if she had noticed that the fabric of the hose on his left thigh was a little bit tighter from the bandage he wore underneath. The pain he had been able to suppress with a potion of poppy seeds, sage and mandragora, that had been a little too strong. He would still not be able to follow her right away, but that didn't matter. He hadn't lied. He would hunt her down. No hiding place would be safe from him.

She turned. Closed the door. And then she spun around in one quick motion, raising her arm, and Samuel jumped out of the chair and stumbled to the right, to escape the trajectory of her knife. Only that she didn't throw it. Instead she raised her left hand to remove one of the chains from its hook, and then she brought it forward like a whip and hit his left cheek right below the eye.

A sharp sting that made him feel dizzy, and something wet and hot running down his face immediately. She used the moment of disorientation to fling the chain again, but this time, Samuel was quick enough to raise his arm and block the attack, grabbing the end of the chain with his hand and pulling hard. She let go before he could drag her within reach, rushed over to the table and took the fire iron with her left hand, swinging it wildly and without a second thought. Too heated, too easy to dodge, but that didn't stop her from trying it another time. She looked threatening, he had to admit that. No fear in her dark eyes, only fury, some rogue strands of her dark curls sticking to her face, fire iron and knife in hand. I have my means to defend myself, to scare them off, she had said when they had last sat here together, looking at her execution devices. Does it scare you off? No, it didn't, not in the slightest. But it made his fucking blood boil.

A stab with her knife that Samuel blocked effortlessly with his left arm, one more swing with the fire iron, and this time he had to use the dagger in his right hand, trying his best to let the impact glance off, but it still vibrated painfully in his wrist. She swung and stabbed again. Fighting almost blindly, without any skill but with the ruthlessness of a starving street mutt. Of someone who had had to fight for their own life before. My husband can rot in Hell for all I care. Samuel banished the memory of her words by finally bringing his own dagger forward, going right at her arm. The blade caught her shoulder, cutting through the scarf and the dress, deep enough to draw blood. She let out a quick, pained gasp, and her eyes opened in astonishment. Had she not expected him to fight back? Had she thought him so weak?

“You were dancing around me that whole evening,” Samuel pressed out between gritted teeth and regretted it at once. There was no room for talking. He was supposed to make it quick. “You hoped that I would go with you, you tried to earn my trust.”

“I did.” She threw the knife down now, grabbed the whip instead and tried to hit his face again.

Samuel dodged the blow a little too slowly, felt the leather hit his upper arm, but not with enough strength to harm. “Why me? The man I was with, he would have been way more interested in your services.”

“It was what Čeněk thought best, with the information that Schwarzfeld gave him.”

She stumbled backwards to flee his dagger, and Samuel didn't follow her, as his mind tried to grasp her words. “Čeněk? The priest from Kuttenberg?”

“The very one in whose church you were hiding.” The fire iron again, and it actually did hit him this time, though only his chest. He hadn't been paying attention. She could have made for his head, could have at least knocked him out with that blow, if not worse. She hadn't. “He said that you'd be easier to vex. Easier to manipulate.”

She aimed for his right side now, twice, and Samuel noticed how her eyes were fixed on his legs. She saw. Saw that he did not jump to the left to evade her blows, but back instead, even if it was the less intuitive thing to do. The briefest hint of superiority in her expression, and she swung the whip again. He was quick enough to hold it with his free hand, to take the dagger and cut the leather in two. Then the fire iron hit his leg, just where that fucker in the alleyway had sliced him open. It only hurt a little, that mandragora was doing wonders.

It did wonders to his head too, however. Sharpened his senses, slowed his reaction. So when she jumped forward with her next move, driving her shoulder into his chest like a battering ram, he wasn't quick enough, and his left leg failed to support the sidestep he took, and he fell.

Samuel didn't get any time to collect himself. One moment he felt the hard surface of the floor underneath his back, the next she was already on top of him, her small body pressing down on him with incredible strength, one knee on his chest, the other one on his barely healed wrist. Then she blocked half his sight as she raised the fire iron with both hands and let the pointed end hover right above his eye. Her muscles were shaking. Blood drenched her dress and the scarf above her shoulder, sweat pearled from her lips that she had opened to take deep breaths, but her dark eyes were burning with rage. A wolf ready to rip him apart. But the wolf hesitated.

“I thought you to be like Rahab,” Samuel pressed out, and watched the hesitation turn into confusion and then into anger again. “I was thankful for your help and hated myself for asking it from you, I prayed for your safety …”

“How should your prayers help me?”

“I would have done everything in my power to keep you from harm.”

“From whose harm?” Her voice was broken, like an old, used pitcher. The candlelight on her dark curls made her seem like the blurred depiction of a Christian saint, with how much her whole body was trembling, or perhaps it was only the mandragora that dazed his senses. “Your God's? Rosenberg's? Jan Žižka's?”

“I felt sympathy for you.”

“I never wanted your sympathy.” She lowered the iron just a bit further, and Samuel had to close his eyes. The cold tip on his lid. She could have easily pushed it down, poked his eye out, rammed it through his brain. She could have hurt him severely, could have inflicted the torture that she herself had asked him about before, he was working for Žižka after all, knew things that could benefit Rosenberg greatly. She could have. She didn't.

“You lied to me,” Samuel said, “when you called yourself free.”

“And you think you need to save me. Because you cannot understand that I chose this myself.” Her knees pressed down firmer now, the one on his chest making it hard for him to breathe, and still she grew weaker, he could feel it in the way her body trembled, her voice cracked. “That it feels liberating to see his face on every single man that comes to me. To do to them what he did to me.”

“How liberating can it be when they all wear the face of that mamzer?”

She did not respond, but the iron lifted from his skin.

Samuel opened his eyes. Saw the wetness on her cheeks and knew that it wasn't from sweat alone. “And how free are you really when you still have to sell yourself out to Rosenberg? For what?” And now he saw Málek's pleading face in front of him, that traitor begging him for forgiveness, for mercy, but it was too late for that. “For true freedom? For silver?”

“For protection,” she whispered. “But that it something that you cannot understand either.”

Lend your ear, oh God, to my prayer.

Samuel raised his left hand and grabbed her neck. She did not pull back, did not try to fight him. She only gasped, her eyes widened, then her body froze. Even her breathing seemed to stop, as if he had already snapped her spine.

On the day of my distress, I call out to you.

He should have done it right away. That chance of a fair fight had been an illusion from the start. Only cruelness, to extend her suffering further. And his own.

There is none like you, my God, among the supernal powers.

It was easy to push her off him, so small, so fragile, so motionless. The fire iron fell to the floor with a loud shattering sound. Samuel shifted his fingers to her chin, lifting her head up to the chandelier, to the roof, to the Shamayim. Then he shook the stiffness from his wrist before he put the dagger to her throat.

Show me your way, oh God, so that I may walk in the path of your truth.

A single tear ran down Mirtl's cheek.

Samuel closed his eyes, took a deep breath. Cursed from the bottom of his heart.

* * *

The surface of the lake was smooth like a glass pane, and as murky as ink. The dense forest around it, full with oaks, birches and linden trees, crawled so close to the water, that its overhanging branches obstructed most of the light that moon and stars could offer. Somewhere on the left, rocks and fallen branches formed a waterfall that sang its happy gurgling song while spouting more water down the stream and into the lake. The night birds chirped and hooted, the sounds only drowned out by the croaking of frogs everywhere. The frogs seemed to enjoy their time here the most, and how could they not, since the air was buzzing with gnats. A shitton of fucking bloodsucking gnats.

Žižka blew into the air as a particularly annoying specimen of these beasts whirred around his nose. The gnat sunk deeper and went for another attack right at his throat. He blew again. The gnat dodged with a skilful pirouette, only to come back with a feint at his ear, that turned into a devious strike against his blind, left eye. But his opponent hadn't reckoned with Žižka's excellent hearing. He ducked his head and blew for a third time.

To his left, Kubyenka reached out and caught the gnat in mid-air between his fist.

Žižka crossed his arms as he leaned back against the saddle. “Thank you for this heroic act of service,” he grumbled.

Kubyenka chuckled. “A few more of those, and we could try for fly fishing instead.”

Janosh snorted a laugh over this apparently hilarious jest.

Water splashed as a fish darted up from the bellow of the lake to grab the gnat's body. Not even close to where they had cast their hooks.

“Nothing against good fish, hey?” Janosh said way too cheerfully, and Žižka was thankful that he didn't also give him a friendly nudge to the arm together with these words.

“Or against a good talk,” Kubyenka added.

Žižka sighed. They had spent the whole ride talking. And it had been a good talk, a productive one, telling each other of the events in the gorge back then to put the pieces together to one complete vase that only showed a few remaining cracks. Catching up with the events of the past month. And eventually realising that it was all in vain. At least on Žižka's part, that was. Then Janosh had pointed down the land into the forest. “Good lake for fishing there,” and Kubyenka had supported the idea with an enthusiastic “Perfect, let's go!”, and for some unexplainable reason Žižka had agreed.

A wet sound as one of the hooks got tugged at, though not very deep. Even the fish just wanted some rest. At least the air had finally cooled down to a bearable temperature, so that was a relief.

“So?” Kubyenka asked in his eager, drawn-out way, and Žižka was thankful he couldn't see his face quivering with anticipation.

“So what?”

“What do you want to talk about?”

He sighed again. “Isn't silence the whole point of fishing?”

“Ah, those fish won't bite anyway.”

“That remain to be see,” Janosh argued.

“I thought we talked enough on our way already.”

“Aye, but that was mostly us talking, wasn't it? Now it's your turn, that's only fair and square.” Kubyenka pulled out his knife and wielded it around in front of Žižka's mouth as if he thought about cutting another finger's breadth of a grin into its corners, if Žižka's mood wouldn't brighten on its own. “Besides, you look like you could really need it. Your face is as sour as a bucket of spoilt milk.”

Žižka sank back into the warm leather even further, if that was possible. Let it spoil then, he thought. Let it spoil, until it stinks to Heaven! “I'm not exactly in the mood for a talk.”

“Talk is good,” Janosh proclaimed, while he let some strands of thread trail between his fingers. Weaving. Well, everyone needed something to pass the time. “Get everything off soul, like confession.”

“Not in the mood for a confession either.”

“You could at least give us a smile, you know?” Kubyenka used his free hand to comb through the grass and weeds and leaves on which they were sitting until he seemed to have found what he was looking for. “Is it not worth a smile that you can finally see our ugly mugs again? Or is it because of our ugly mugs that you're in such a bad temper?”

“It's certainly not the most pleasant thing to look at,” Žižka mumbled. “Yours even less than Janosh's, but still.”

Janosh chuckled down into his fingers and the scarf, or whatever he was trying to make.

“Don't you believe us then, is that it?” There was actual pain in Kubyenka's voice now, and it pressed into Žižka's chest like ropes being pulled tight around him, crushing his ribcage. “Are you mistrusting us?”

“No.” He put as much emphasis into this word as he could, because he meant it and wanted Kubyenka to know. “And there's nothing to believe here anyway. I know that you were fooled, just as we were.”

“Good.”

“But I did suspect you at first, and that's what concerns me.”

“Eh.” The slow, scraping sound of steel on wood, as Kubyenka began to whittle. “You showed some bad judgement, that's all. Can happen to the best of us.”

“Your betrayal made sense to me, you understand? And I did not consider it because I lost trust in you, but because I lost trust in myself.”

The frogs were croaking. Gnats whirred around their heads, danced on the smooth surface of the lake. The hooks did not move the slightest.

“It's true,” Kubyenka spoke finally, “you weren't the best leader for the last two or three years. But it wasn't easy for you either. The Devil just left you alone with all the work. With us. That's by no means an easy task.”

“But you side with Germans.” Janosh's voice was as weak as that of an old man on his deathbed, and Žižka heard his own breath tremble as he inhaled. “Why?”

Regret. That was what he knew Janosh would expect him to feel, what he himself wanted to feel, but he couldn't. The circumstances had been how they had been. He could have talked to them before making his decision, but what would that have changed? He had been alone without Hynek. Surrounded by the pack, with the woman he loved more than anything by his side, he had still felt loneliness. “There's no good or bad side to be on in this conflict. It's lands that different rulers and kings and alliances fight over, and us mercenaries standing in the middle of it all, deciding who we want to get paid by. And Wenceslas supported the Treaty of Salynas, he mandated that the Order had the right to rule over Samogitia. Who am I to question that?”

“But Poland … Why not on side of Poland?”

Janosh sounded like a child that could not understand why it was denied another piece of plum cake, and Žižka hated to break him apart even further, but he had already set the hare running, now it was time to shoot it too. “Why should I? Because of Adder? Adder is dead. Hynek is dead. And we need to find our own way. How? What do I know. I tried to search for it here and there, and now it all comes back to bite me in the arse, and you are the first ones to suffer for it. Which is why I think it was a mistake you came back.”

The frogs croaked, the gnats whirred. Kubyenka wheezed like the wind in a chimney. “What? Had you preferred it if we had Sam and Henry get their heads smashed in by Erik instead?”

“That's not what I meant. I'm grateful you found them and helped them out. But your duty is done now. You should go. Leave me alone with this.”

“There sadness in your eyes,” Janosh said as if someone had asked him for his opinion on that, even when no one had. “Janosh know because he has too.”

“This is not about how I feel, it's bare logic. When this was only about Hus, it was something we could all agree on and fight for. But Rosenberg is my affair, my battle, you have nothing to do with it.”

“Do you think,” Kubyenka started, more clear and trenchant than Žižka remembered ever having heard him speak, “that we're here with you, that we're only following you because you force us to? Because we have some long-lasting obligation towards you that we cannot ignore?”

“Yes, that is exactly what I think, because that is what Hynek built. This pack is just some huge obligation of sentimentality. And none of us can let it go.”

“Look, I love you like a brother and hate you like one at the same time, and I feel this way about Janosh and Henry and the others too, and they probably feel just the same. But that's not why we're here. We're here because we have no other place to be. We're here because this is what we need, what we need, Žižka, not you.” He stopped the whittling now, to look Žižka straight into the eye, and his stare spoke of memories shared and hopes built and destroyed. “What do you think I'd be doing if I wasn't following you along? I'd be drinking myself to death in some tavern. Janosh …”

“Was happy enough hunting down bandits,” Žižka interrupted him.

“Hunting bandits, yes,” Janosh said. “Not happy.”

“Kat?” Kubyenka continued without mercy, like some demon whose only intention was to torment him specifically. “She lost everything before, but she has found something like a home again in you, you think she wants to give that up? Henry? When I saw him again for the first time in Kuttenberg, I hardly recognised the lad, he was all empty inside. Now he is furious, yes, oh and how furious he is, he is burning on the inside, not only because of Erik. But he is alive again. We follow you because it's the only thing we can do. We follow you because we're all just completely fucked up.”

“And where do you want to follow me? Into battle with Rosenberg?” Žižka shook his head at the thought and at himself even considering it. Had he not been steadfast in his decision to go on alone just moments ago? And had the sounds of the gnats not moved over to hover above the lake now, were the trees not swaying in the softest breeze, letting in some hopeful traces of silver moon light? What a foolish thought to have. “Nah. I'm done playing his game and stumbling into his traps. And perhaps he's not even to blame for all of this. Everything started going downhill when I went to meet with the Germans. Seems like you may have a point, Janosh. Or Adder does. It was a mistake.”

“Then make right again,” Janosh said, and it sounded so simple that Žižka wanted to laugh.

“How? By going to Poland? What would Wenceslas say?”

“Would it not benefit him too,” Kubyenka pondered, “to not have the Teutonic Order claim more and more Polish and Lithuanian land right outside his doorstep? Besides, who cares what he thinks? You never agreed to his offer, you're no commander of his, no burgrave or margrave, or whatever kind of grave there is. You need to fight for what you believe in.”

“Jan Sokol went there already. I could join him.”

Rays of moonlight swept the leaves aside, danced on the lake, making it look as if some sunken treasure of silver coins and precious jewels had suddenly been carried to the surface. Further outside, something pulled down the middle one of the three hooks they had cast, so that the wood of the rod that was run deep into the ground bent and creaked. None of them even noticed.

“What about you?”

“Well, I, for one,” Kubyenka started, “am more than happy to shoot some German knights another arsehole, especially if it keeps my hands from the bottle.”

Žižka smiled as he turned around to Janosh, who even stopped with his peculiar hand weaving to return the smile by squeezing his small, dark eyes shut. “Of course Janosh come too! Everything for Adder.”

Who knows, Žižka thought as he let his gaze trail upwards, to the roof that the trees formed above them, this might be a new beginning. A battle was a good opportunity to put things into perspective, to figure out where his path would lead him next. To build new alliances, or to simply try out his strength, get his muscles and his wits working, that would help clear his head too. And with friends by his side, even better. Friends. He shook his head to himself. I know what it's like to serve in a war as a proper soldier, they don't. Godwin had told him that, back then in the church in Kuttenberg. All they know is how to fight amongst friends. How much Žižka had cursed them all for it! Now, a month that felt like an eternity later, he could see the appeal behind Godwin's words. A soldier was needed to win a battle, but to conquer life? There might be some benefits of friends there.

Now all he needed to do was to convince the others. Katherine especially. And tackle it as carefully as he possibly could.

The rumbling of cart wheels on a road somewhere behind them, accompanied by footsteps, armour that rattled, horses that neighed. Someone cursed. “Verdammte Scheiße!”

As Žižka turned, he saw the silhouette of a small group of people between the shadows of the trees, illuminated by the flickering light of lanterns. On their way up to the city. Looked like a merchant, with a few hired men perhaps he would use as his bodyguard. The light had stopped moving. A man groaned, wood creaked, another curse. Their cart had got stuck.

Žižka smiled, and the feeling was foreign but refreshing. He turned to Janosh and Kubyenka, saw that they had noticed too. Kubyenka craned his neck to get a better look at the group, Janosh grinned in a crooked way and tied the threads he had worked on to his coat. He seemed to be having the same wicked thoughts Žižka had.

“Mind to practice our Bohemian-German friendship a little? Be dishonourable one last time, for old times' sake, before we leave on our path to righteousness?”

Janosh didn't have to say a word. The excited glint in his eyes as he pushed the braid behind his left ear said it all. Kubyenka reached his arm back as far as he could, then he hurled that piece of wood into the lake where it destroyed the smooth mirror surface and sunk into the water with a loud splash like a cannonball. “Always!”

A lantern was raised and brought closer to the forest so that the light could shine through the trees into their direction. “Ist da wer?” So they had heard them. If they were lucky, the Germans might even be foolish enough to spread out into the dense undergrowth to look for where the sounds came from. This was almost too good to be true.

Žižka lifted his body from the ground, shook his stiffened limbs, relished the rush in his chest, the tingling in his fingers, the hot gust of excitement in his stomach. He brought the right hand to the handle of his mace, caressed the leather like a lover's hands, breathed a hoarse laugh out to the gnats and the birds and to the dancing silver lines of moonlight. Oh, how he had missed this. “Well then, fellas. To the task.”

* * *

They had lighted a few torches around where they were sitting in the university's garden. Katherine and Henry on one bench, Godwin and Štěpán of Tetín on the other. He watched the smoke climb up into the darkness of the Prague night sky, where bats and swallows were battling for a feast of insects. The faintest wind had come up, blowing from the north. It brought an air that smelled of all the food that had rotted away under the day's sun, but it carried something that was at least reminiscent of a cold breeze. It soothed the burning on his skin, the fire pulsing through his hip, and even through his older scars, the shot in his shoulder, the ripped out flesh in his side.

The smoke disappeared up above, and Henry let his eyes wander across the roofs of the old Rotlev's palace, a dark, shapeless mass of tiles with little white glowing spots of bird shit here and there. He thought of Erik. Of his unfathomable hatred. Of the emptiness he bore inside. And he thought of himself. The hatred he had felt. The emptiness. Perhaps Tóth had always been right. A bunch of lost orphan boys. Devoid of any purpose in life other than becoming the stronger dog.

“I still believe we should have a proper drink,” Godwin said, swirling the beer in his wooden mug.

“Not for me.”

He felt Godwin's eyes rest heavy on him. Concern perhaps, or pity. Henry didn't dare to look, didn't want to find out. “It could do you well, help with the pain, you know?”

Keep the pain, Henry thought. It was a reminder of his failure. And a promise, like the first few verses of a tale that he had not finished singing yet. “I can't. Not right now.”

“Why? Because you're still thinking about going out there to look for him? Leave it be, son.”

“I got a few good hits in,” Henry argued, unsure who exactly he tried to convince here. “And Kubyenka too, he shot the fucker right into his armpit. I know it wouldn't be a fair fight, but he wouldn't give me a fair fight either.”

“Not a fair fight?” Katherine's voice reached such a high pitch that it sounded just like the bats above them. “Do you have any idea what you look like? Erik almost cut you down like a tree! I could see your bone, Henry, you're lucky you're still in one piece!”

“You sound just like Žižka.”

“Well, sometimes Žižka can be reasonable, you know?”

Reasonable! Henry wanted to laugh. What was reasonable about letting a man like Erik go? A man that was after him like a hunting dog, always lurking somewhere in the shadows around them, ready to strike? No, the reasonable thing would have been to bring him down out there on the streets. Only that he had failed at that.

He reached out his hand to the handle of father's sword that he had placed next to him, leaning against the bench. At first, his mistake had seemed clear to him. Erik had had the upper hand with the moment of surprise. He had also not come alone, had brought four other men with him, trapping Henry and Sam between them. And he had worn full armour, that coward, while Henry had been dressed in nothing but plain, unpadded street clothes. He had never stood a chance. Only that that wasn't the entire truth. At the time he had started to fight Erik directly, two of his men had already been dead, and both of them Sam had defeated on his own. Their sword strikes had been equal too. Equally dealt, equally parried. And Erik had worn armour, yes, but he had been foolish enough to keep the visor of his helmet up, it would have been possible to just ram his sword through his brain like a skewer through beef. No, his mistake hadn't been the lacking armour or to be caught off guard. He had made his mistake the moment he had started thinking about Hans.

“Who is this Erik anyway?” The boy Štěpán reached out his hand to take the mug from Godwin's hand. “All I know about him is what he told my guardian when he came to us, but I'd assume it's all lies.”

Henry furrowed his brow as he looked over to him. “You heard so many stories about us, but not a single one about Erik?”

“Well, I heard about Žižka.” Štěpán raised the beer to his lips, releasing a hollow chuckle into the mug. “Everyone has.” He wiped the foam from his beardless mouth with the back of his hand. “I heard about his band. The pack, as people call it. It's the kind of tale that your nurse will tell you when she puts you to sleep. Or that soldiers whisper to each other around the campfire, but, well, I was never a soldier, I'm actually quite terrible at wielding a sword, so that's not the kind of company I usually seek.”

“You even knew about Sam.”

“Some things, yes. I was told things about all of you.” His hazelnut eyes started dancing around now, as if he feared Henry's stare or that of the others, and nervousness made his tongue stumble as he continued talking. “It's unavoidable when you travel from one village to the other to settle differences, administer justice. You get into contact with many people and they, well, have a lot to tell. Most of these stories were,” Štěpán cleared his throat, “departing from the truth, I reckon. But made-up rumours always leave some gaps open. It's like with those preachers on the market squares, what do you call them?”

“Barkers,” Kat replied.

“Yes, the barkers. Their stories never quite add up. Like an unfinished carpet. You can see the individual elements of the whole depiction, but they do not connect, because the thread was always intended for something else. So it's up to you as the beholder to unravel it and create the full artwork. The real one.” He looked up to the sky now too, a little bit dreamy, a little bit proud. “Some of that unravelling and re-weaving I did on my own over the years. But with many other gaps, Kubyenka and Janosh helped me fill them. You cannot imagine how much they kept talking about you!”

“Never mind what they said,” Godwin reclaimed the beer mug, taking a large sip. “I'm curious now. What did the people say? The ones you met on your travels?”

“Ah, it's all ignorant talk, they don't know any better.”

“We're aware of that, son, and we will not blame them for it. Nor will we blame you for telling us.”

Štěpán scratched the back of his neck, his full cheeks took on an even darker shade of orange than that which the torchlight cast. “It's unimportant, isn't it? Only rumours and false claims.”

“Sure,” Kat said with a smile, “but it might make for a nice way to pass the time.”

“I'm sure it would only bore you!”

“Come on now, son!” Godwin gave Štěpán a pat on his shoulder. “What did they say about me?”

“Well …” The boy swallowed, still avoiding their gazes like the plague. His expression was as desperate as if they had put him on the torture rack. “There is some talk about you in Uzhitz.”

“Not surprising.”

“They talk about how you once came to mass so drunk, that you, well … vomited all your stomach contents right into the chalice.”

“Ha! I wish that was only a rumour.”

“And that, because you were so wasted, you had forgotten about it only a few moments later and so, well, you drank it as if it were the Precious Blood itself.”

“Ah.” Godwin's mouth twisted from a smile into an expression of pained embarrassment. “That is a rumour. I hope.”

“They also call you,” Štěpán raised a single brow as he looked up to Godwin apologetically, “the whore of Babylon”

Henry and Kat started laughing in unison.

Godwin didn't seem to think it all that funny. “Quite the insult in light of the most recent reforms.”

“What about me?” Kat was still laughing, she even wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, and it did good, Henry considered, to see her this happy. “Have you heard anything about me?”

“Well, most people talk of you when they talk of Žižka. As his,” Štěpán looked like he needed to consider how to best put it into words, “his mistress.”

Kat opened her mouth to breath out a resentful gasp.

“Though many others believe that could never be the case,” Štěpán hurried to say. “Because they, you know, they consider you too old for his desires.”

“Too old?” The bat screech had taken hold of her voice again, and it made for a nice harmony with the actual one that bolted through the garden this very moment. “We're exactly the same age! Pah, typical. That's how people always speak of women. If we're not young and pretty, oh, what a shame for the poor man!”

“If it cheers you up,” Henry leaned over to her, with a proper smile on his lips, “I never considered you too old.”

“Thank you, Henry. Though I have to admit, it's been a few years since we first met, and by now, you see,” she sighed dramatically, “you're just not young and pretty enough for me anymore.”

“It's ridiculous anyway.” Štěpán had regained sovereignty over the beer mug somehow. The nervousness had vanished, his cheeks were still bright as poppies, but from laughter now. “Especially since others claim that you'd have been with child from half the men of Kuttenberg, age be damned.”

“What? Oh, that must be the fault of this bloody Hendl von Grolle and his mad monstrum of a mother!”

“I also heard talk about the wraith of Trosky that might have something to do with you. Since Janosh told me that no locked door has ever been safe from you.”

“Oh.” Kat's face brightened up immediately. “Now that sounds interesting! Tell me more.”

Štěpán had already opened his mouth, when Henry interrupted him by raising both his hands. “Wait, wait. Before we get into all this adulation, I'd like to hear some slander about my name first, eh? Do people talk of me?”

“Of you?” Štěpán's laugh sent a bellowing echo across the garden, from one town house to the other. “Oh yes, a lot!”

“Really? What do they say?”

Henry would never find out what they said. In front of them, the door to the arcade of the university's courtyard was opened, and Sam stepped out to them onto the beaten path that led through the garden. All ease Henry had felt before disappeared in a single heartbeat. His brother looked miserable. He was limping, the left leg of his hose was dark and wet, the wound must have started bleeding again. There was a deep cut on his face, that trailed from one ear all the way to his mouth. His eyes were empty. As if somewhere on the way back to the Karolinum, he had lost all his thoughts like coins trickling out of a ripped purse.

“You stupid, stupid lad!” Kat jumped up from her seat at once, fists pressed into her sides. “You know, we just talked about age before you arrived, but I can tell you one thing, if you were my son, I would give a damn about you being almost thirty, I would give you a hiding that you'd remember for the rest of your life!”

Sam ignored her, only dragged his body over to the bench and sank down next to Henry with the softest sigh. Not even proper exhaustion, just like the last gust of air being squeezed out of the bellows.

“Let me look at your wounds at least.”

“I'm fine.”

“Fine! Save your lies for the tax collector!”

“I took care of our problem.” Sam's green eyes looked almost as pale as milk when he bored them into her. “And that's all that needs to concern you.”

Kat returned to her place on the bench without another word. She understood.

Henry did too, to some extent at least. The feelings that his brother had harboured for that prostitute were his secret, and Henry would not ask about it. But they had been grave, that much Henry had seen in his eyes when Sam had looked at her, had spoken her name. To be betrayed like this. To be forced to a decision like this.

He wanted to reach out his hand, but Sam had his tightly folded in his lap, as if he himself was the only thing he could cling onto right now. His eyes were lowered to the ground, where they went from the path to the foot of a torch, to a root of a tree, back to the torch. Unsteady, his breathing shallow, sweat on his temples, despite the heat having long died down. “Are you drunk?”

“A little too much mandragora perhaps,” Sam whispered.

“Believe me,” Godwin added from the side, a forced smile on his face that showed how desperate he was to lift the mood again, “if Samuel was drunk, we'd all know about it by now!”

“Oh, I heard stories about that too!” Štěpán raised the mug to the air, spilling beer over his hand, it was a miracle there was even anything left in it. “Kubyenka and Janosh told me. Ah, those stories were hilarious!” He noticed the looks the others gave him, and the smile vanished, his eyes dropped down to the ground.

Then they sat in silence for a while. There were things Henry wanted to ask, but he didn't know how to. There were things he wanted to say, but he didn't know if he could. He wanted to comfort his brother. It was impossible. His thoughts trailed back to the alleyway again and again, to the gorge, to the bottom of the cliffs of Trosky. A month in Prague without returning home. Home. The word seemed foreign to him. Perhaps it always had. Have I let him down? Have I betrayed Hans the same way that woman betrayed Sam?

Loud singing in the courtyard. A group of men, students much likely, lost in their drunken stupor. It had been a bad decision, Henry thought now, to refuse that strong wine that Godwin had offered before.

The singing grew louder, moved down the hallways, into one direction, then into the opposite one, and finally towards the garden. The melody was only a cacophony of deformed sounds, but Henry still recognised it, and the slurred words became more clear the closer they got. “Panna je u oltáře, kleká si před faráře.”

“Speaking of drunk,” Godwin mumbled.

“These bastards,” Katherine hissed.

The door to the garden was pushed open, followed suit by a window on the second floor. Some professor of philosophy, Henry did not remember his name, but he remembered the spare hair on his long head, with that little grey tuft in the front. “Go to Hell, you rascals! Now I've forgotten my theorem because of you!”

Žižka, Janosh and Kubyenka all turned to each other with the giggling of little boys, their fingers raised to their lips, hushing between more snorts of laughter. Kubyenka had about a dozen belts draped around his body, and each of them was laden with weapons, swords and daggers and axes, Henry even counted four hand cannons. Janosh was dressed in multiple layers of clothing so that he looked as round as a stuffed goose, each of them made of the finest leather or silk, adorned with threads of silver and gold. Žižka wore two heavy golden chains that would overshadow even that of Jobst or of Henry's father. One of them he wore around his waist, the other he had wrapped twice around his head like a crown.

Out of the corner of his eye, Henry could see Godwin making the sign of the cross. “Lord, have mercy!”

“See?” Žižka burst out, “I told you they'd be out here!” His words were barely understandable from how heavy his tongue must be. “They're always here, talking to trees, or something.”

Janosh brought his hands together as if in prayer. “Oh, holy trees!”

“Well, that's what happens when you take children from some backwater and place them in the city.” Kubyenka stumbled forward until he had reached Stepan. Then he grabbed the mug that the boy still held in his hands. “I mean, I would not know of course, since I grew up in the city.”

“You do?” Janosh asked.

“I think you had enough!” Štěpán hissed at Kubyenka, grappling with him over the command of the mug for a brief moment, until Kubyenka finally gave up.

“In Leipzig. Kiss my arse boy. In a barn, yes, but in a city. I thought we were friends.”

Žižka shook his head so heavily in his confusion that the makeshift crown slid down into his eyes. “In a barn?”

“Like the Saviour himself. I was told that my mother lost me there.”

“She lost you?”

“You German?” Janosh asked as if that part was the most shocking revelation of Kubyenka's story.

“Only for a few years.”

Kat rose from her seat once more. This time, she didn't even put her fists onto her hips, she seemed to be too astounded for that. “What in God's name have you three been up to?”

Žižka regarded her with a look of mild wonder as if he was only now remembering that she was there too. “We went fishing.”

“Oh of course! You found all that in a lake!”

“No,” Žižka replied in all honesty. Then his right eye lit up, an unsettling contrast to his motionless left one. “But we made a plan!”

“While you were fishing,” Kat hissed, “or while you were robbing?”

“Neither. Or somewhere in between, I don't remember, and it doesn't matter.” It was almost frightening to see him this drunk. Henry couldn't recall ever having witnessed him in such a state, not after Suchdol, not even at Hans's wedding, and he had been a disaster there, from what little Henry could remember. This hadn't only been for celebratory reasons. He had tried to drown something. Anger? Guilt? Or fear perhaps, fear of what was to come? And then Žižka declared proudly what exactly it was that was to come, and Henry felt like the bench he was sitting on dropped right down to Hell underneath his arse. “We're going to Poland. Tomorrow!”

Janosh and Kubyenka both clapped their hands and cheered as if Žižka had just successfully juggled with five burning knives in front of them.

“Well, right after I slept it off, that is.” Žižka turned. The chain slipped from his head completely, became a noose around his neck. “I better start with that just now.” He fought with the golden gallows he had built for himself for a short while, then he sighed in resignation, went back to the door. “The sooner you go to bed,” he mumbled, “the earlier you wake up in the morning. Or whatever that bird would say.”

Then he was gone. Left Godwin, Sam, Kat, Štěpán and Henry all in utter disbelief, while Janosh and Kubyenka still giggled like little children. Janosh even continued humming Haleluja domine to himself giddily, as if this was the happiest night of his life. Henry almost wished that it was only the alcohol. That tomorrow morning, the two of them would be just as shaken as he was feeling right now.

“What did he just say?”

Kubyenka looked at Henry with narrowed eyes, giving his question some serious thoughts. “Uh … bird?”

“Poland?”

“Aye!” Kubyenka shouted. “Poland!”

“What the hell does he want in Poland?”

“There's war there. Germans.”

Kat sank down next to Henry as if all life had been sucked out of her. He was surprised she really landed on the bench, because Henry, for one, still felt like he was stuck with it in the frozen lake of the most inner circle of Hell. “You are serious about this? That he wants to go to war? Don't we have enough trouble here already? With Rosenberg on our tails!”

“But that's the best time to wander off to a different country, isn't it now?”

“And just run?” The bats and swallows screeched above their heads, battling over their prey. Smoke clouded the dark night sky, taking the shape of a sword, the shape of a glove, the shape of hate-filled eyes. “What about Erik?”

“Ah, Erik won't kick the bucket while you're gone!”

“Or he will!” Janosh said with a grin. “Hurray, problem solved!”

Oh, it wouldn't solve shit. Not as long as he wasn't the one to kill that bastard. His fingers tightened around soft leather and hard metal. Henry hadn't even noticed that he had grabbed father's sword again. “How does he think this works? We can't just go. We all have duties here!”

“Look, Henry.” Steel rattled as Kubyenka tried to reach for the mug again, but this time Štěpán was quick enough to hide it from him before his hand could even get close. “I know this comes as quite the surprise to you.”

Godwin huffed bitterly. “Surprise is a mild understatement.”

“But it's Žižka's decision, and if you ask me, it's for the best. Sometimes you just got to dare something. Go out there, seek an adventure. Right, lad?”

“Hm,” Štěpán made. That had to be answer enough.

“Eh well, whatever.” Kubyenka stretched himself so that the weapons around his body twinkled like the stars on a clear night. “I'm knackered too. So, see you tomorrow morning, fellas, on horseback on our way to Breslau! Or wherever that Order is hiding out. Hey, father! Where can I sleep? Ah, never mind.” He turned around, dragged his body over to the nearest door, which wasn't the one back into the Karolinum, but the one that led through the garden wall out to the streets. “I'll find me something nice.” Henry was sure he would.

He looked up to the smoke, up to the bats and swallows, up to the window where the professor for philosophy had stuck out his head before. “Žižka can be reasonable sometimes, hm?”

“You let Kubyenka drink.” Štěpán's eyes were a lot harder than ever before, making him seem almost grown-up for the first time since Henry had met him. “And this much. When he shouldn't have had anything at all.”

“How we can keep wine from him when we all drink?” Janosh shrugged his shoulders, but his smile had finally faded. “We good friends.”

“Horrible friends you are,” Štěpán responded harshly. There was something hidden in his expression below the anger that Henry would not ask him about.

The silence that followed was only broken by the crackling of the torches, and by Janosh's sigh as he finally let himself sink down to the ground. With the force and clumsiness of someone who weighed a few dozen pounds more than he normally would. “I know is hard. Is big decision. But good decision for Žižka.”

“But is it a good decision for us?” Kat asked.

“Is it even possible for us?” Henry shook his head, to the others just as much as to himself. To his own desire to throw it all away, leave for Poland with Žižka. Seek adventure, seek a purpose. Leaving Hans behind. Leaving Erik behind. “A war is no light affair. Not only because we could all die there. It's about alliances and feuds and political contracts, and my lo–” He stopped himself in the middle of the word. Lord, he had wanted to say, but that sounded so formal and strange that it made his chest ache, and then he wanted to say love, but that wasn't the problem here, it never had been. “Hans is in Rattay. I can't just leave tomorrow morning.”

“I could,” his brother said. His eyes were still wandering around restlessly, but his lids were half closed now, there was a scratch on his right one, a fatigue heavy as lead on both. “But I won't. I'm needed in Kolín. I … I am needed.”

“I'm not,” Štěpán said stubbornly. Not all that grown-up yet after all.

“What?” Godwin asked.

“I will go to Poland with Žižka.”

“Forgive me, son, but you are the last person who should go. You're the ward of Sir Ondřej of Dubá, you are not allowed to go anywhere without his explicit permission, even staying in Prague for this long must be breaching your obligations towards him. You should know that better than anyone of us.”

“But who cares?” There was defiance in his voice, a sharp spite, and suddenly he reminded Henry so much of what Hans had been like when they had met in Rattay, what he himself had been like. When the world had been so much harder, and had seemed so much simpler still. “Sir Ondřej is old, he can't stop me. And my family in Tetín couldn't give a damn about what I'm doing. I'm the sixth son, utterly disposable.”

“The law cares.”

Štěpán lowered his eyes to the ground. Understanding, but not convinced.

“Let Janosh tell you this, boy.” Janosh tried to catch Štěpán's gaze, and then he gave him the softest smile. “For some disposable one, you save our arses more time than can count, hey?”

The boy nodded, smiled back to him.

“Even for me it won't be easy to leave,” Godwin pondered now. “It will be hard to convince Master Hus of my loyalty to him and the Alma Mater when I just disappear to war for a while. He might consider me unreliable afterwards. Hm.”

Tomorrow morning, Henry thought. I would not even have time to tell Hans about it. What would he say when he finds out? When he returns to the Karolinum and sees me gone without him? He would not consider me unreliable. He would hate me.

“None of you should go.” Henry, Godwin and Štěpán all turned their heads to Kat, and she nodded at them as if in pity. “You are given a chance here that you might never get again, Godwin. To teach at the university of Prague? Isn't that what you always wanted?”

“It's certainly an honour.”

“And Godwin is right, Štěpán, you cannot leave. You serve as the executor of Lord Dubá's law, do you not? He is the highest judge of the region, and you are meant to enforce his jurisdiction when he can't.”

“And I do it gladly, but it has grown so plain over the years,” Štěpán responded as if he was twice his age, despite looking just like the boy again that Henry had seen in him before. The shadow of his own past. “This here, this feels like it actually matters.”

“Because you think some farmers' dispute over the staking of their land doesn't matter? Or to protect peasants from having to pay so many taxes that they cannot afford their living anymore?”

“Well, I suppose …”

“And you, Henry. You have something good at home. Something you should not gamble with.”

“I could,” Henry started, and he knew well how foolish his own words sounded, and perhaps he himself had not grown all that much from that shadow of his past, “I could ask him. If he could do without me for just a little bit longer. Or maybe he'd like to come too.”

“He's the Lord of Rattay. He follows the King's orders. And as long as the King doesn't call to arms …”

Henry nodded. The only thing he could do when Kat was speaking nothing but the truth. “What about you?”

“I'll go with Žižka. Why shouldn't I? I have nothing to lose.”

“And Prague? The shelter?”

She wrapped her arms around her body. It had got cold finally, and her moss green dress didn't even cover her arms. Perhaps Janosh could spare one of his many coats. “It's just not the right time for that, I guess.”

“Still hoping for that castle, hm?”

She smiled with sadness glistening in her eyes like rain.

“You're not trapped here, you know?”

“Neither are you, Henry.”

A sudden weight on his shoulder, as Sam had fallen to the side, resting against him. His breathing was shallow but steady. Henry reached out a hand, brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. Perhaps Janosh could spare one coat more. And then Henry would bring his brother to bed, watch over him to make sure the mandragora wasn't doing any harm. Preparing some potions and compresses for him in case that it was. Like he had done with Hans last winter. Like he had done with little Hedwig just a few days before.

I'm needed in Kolín, Sam had said. I am needed.

Henry leaned down and blew a light kiss to his hair.

* * *

The heat of the last few days had brought heavy storm clouds, and everyone prayed that they also carried rain. As of now, all they did was rumble, far off in the distant north-west, that was, just about where Prague should be. The clouds also made the council room seem much darker, despite the few dozen candles in the chandeliers above and all around the room, and the lighted fireplace. Perhaps it was the darkness's fault that the scribe Johannes Ottersburg had not closed the curtains to the shitter. Or perhaps it was his general nosiness, or the indifference that came with old age.

Hans looked over to the painted deer on his right, surrounded by a group of hunters, and hoped it would succeed to escape. It might cheer up his mood if at least one of them made it out. His uncle leaned back in his chair, stretching out both his legs. He had taken the seat at the far end of the table, even though his usually designated place was right here at the head, at Hans's side. Not today. Not when he was on trial. Or at least it should have felt like he was, but he still managed to look more like the hunters on their proud, white stallions than the surrounded deer. He even had the audacity to let his gaze wander out the window and to the grey mass of clouds as if he couldn't care less, or was, in fact, already beginning to feel bored. Both Jitka to Hans's left, and Sir Bernard at the lower end of the table to his right watched him silently but with bitter judgement in their eyes.

Johannes Ottersburg didn't judge, and he wasn't silent either. He let out a long groan, then a high-pitched croak, then he farted extensively.

“These are some crude accusations,” Hanush spoke with the calmness of a devil who liked to see the world burn. “You can ask all of my men who went there with me, and they will confirm to you that Vlašim's claims are nothing but defamation.”

“But that's exactly the thing, Hanush.” Hans rested his forehead in his hand, rubbed slow circles into the skin as his skull began hurting like he had run into a wall. He might as well have. His uncle was certainly not that different to one. “I ask your men, and they tell me one thing, I ask Sir Vlašim and his people, and they tell me another. Namely that they felt threatened by you.”

“We were talking.” Hanush leaned back even further, however that was possible, and the position allowed for him to look down on Hans in a way that made Hans's anger grow all the more. “Only that not every talk is fair. Sometimes one party in a conversation just has the upper hand.”

“Which in this case was granted to you by the presence of two dozen armed men, and the usage of my name and title to demand higher dues.”

Behind him, the scribe Johannes Ottersburg groaned again, then he released some further winds onto the castle walls, as if the storm clouds weren't enough. “Shall I write that down, my Lord?”

“No need.”

“I only took this liberty,” Hanush continued, “because I knew that it would also be in your best interest. Or would it not?”

“You did not have my permission.”

“Do I need your permission for every conversation that I'm leading? Next I will require your permission when I go and take a shit!”

“You do need permission when you use my name to pressure another noble into helping you to financial gain.” Hans narrowed his eyes. Up on the wall, the deer stared terrified from one hunter to the next. “Some may even call what you did coercion.”

Hanush's eyes finally left the window, and when they moved back to Hans, they were hard as stone. “What is this supposed to be, Hans?” The word made his skin crawl. “You're not seriously buying into that peasant talk of me being a robber lord, do you now?”

“That would imply that you were a lord to begin with.”

“Careful how you speak to me, boy.”

“No, you be careful, Hanush!” He hadn't wanted to jump up from his seat, but he couldn't contain himself any longer, not when his uncle was talking to him as if he was a child. “I feel like you're forgetting your place.”

The storm blew around the Rattay castle. The logs in the fireplace crackled. Sir Bernard had his gaze lowered to his folded hands on the table. Jitka's fingers were wrapped around her golden cup, and she looked like she was grieving deeply for it to be empty already.

The curtains rustled as Johannes Ottersburg used them to pull himself up by, then he raised his hose before dragging his shaking feet back over to the table. It took a comically large amount of time for him to sit back down on his chair opposite of Sir Bernard and bring it closer to the table with awkward jumps in multiple tries. When he was finally satisfied with his position, he breathed as heavily as if he had just walked all the Pirkstein stairs to the highest tower room ten times over. His wet, round eyes looked up to Hans, and he whispered carefully: “Shall I write that down, my Lord?”

“No,” Hans replied harshly, without leaving his uncle out of sight for even the shortest moment. “You shall not.”

To his left, Jitka cleared her throat with a pointed cough as she couldn't do it with wine. “If I may, I would advise we send an envoy to bring our sincere apology to Sir Vlašim. Together with a gift and an invitation to Pirkstein to discuss the future of our alliances.”

Hans took a deep sigh, nodded. It was astounding, he thought, how Jitka's clear, rational manner that could so often infuriate him, calm him down so much at other times, whenever his emotions got the better of him. She was not much unlike Henry in this. A curse and a blessing Hans was graced with. A divine sense of humour. “That would probably be for the best.”

“The treasury doesn't fill itself, you know?” Hanush's glare was as fixed on Hans as his was on his uncle. Every emotion seemed to have left both his voice and his face. “But I see you rather prefer to give all that I collected for you back to the people it came from.”

“We acquired it unjustly. There will be other ways to gain it back.”

“Such as? Asking nicely while we sit together for wine and cake? Or perhaps the peasants can help us out, since you're always treating them so kindly!” He laughed mockingly. The deer fell back to its hind legs and let out a cry of anguish. “This is what happens when you have a woman help you with ruling. It has made you weak.”

“I agree with Jitka's suggestion because it is the sensible thing to do. Our marriage has nothing to do with it.”

“Perhaps not your marriage to her then.”

Wind whistled through the council room. From the chandeliers above wax dripped down onto the wooden table. The candles had been burning for too long, wax had filled up the pans at their feet to the brim. The deer released a bark of relief as the hunter's arrow missed it by a hair's breadth. In vain. It would be dead within an hour.

“Shall I,” Johannes Ottersburg started with a voice that shook like a willow tree, “shall I write that down, my Lord?”

“No.” Another few moments of silence, then Hans bent forward, leaning on his flat hands, not letting his uncle's gaze go for only a heartbeat. There was anger in there, disgust maybe, but more than that reverence and something like fear. “But you can draw up a letter of apology for Sir Vlašim. Bring it to me once it's done so I can sign it with my name and seal. And then I will hand it over to my uncle. I m sure he will greatly appreciate the honour of delivering it to Vlašim himself.”

Hanush did not say a word.

“Sir Bernard will attend you. For your safety. And to ensure that nothing hinders the task that I appointed you to.”

Bernard bowed his head down. “As you wish, my Lord.”

“Good,” Hans replied quickly. Not giving his uncle the opportunity to complain, even though Hanush didn't look like he wanted to speak at all, not now and not in the years to come. It was still a chance Hans couldn't take. He needed to leave this room, needed to properly feel the wind on his skin, the fresh spring air in his lungs, and he needed it as soon as possible. “I declare this meeting closed then. You are hereby dismissed.”

He didn't wait until everyone had left the room. In fact, he was the first one to storm out, not giving a fuck that it might make him look like a stubborn child. Bernard and Johannes Ottersburg wouldn't dare to condemn him for it, and in the eyes of his uncle, he would never be more than that anyway.

The first one to catch up with him once he made it outside was none of the other council members but that panting, stinking dog. Hans had barely managed to run down into the castle yard and take one single much needed breath, when Mutt jumped at him with a wagging tail from where he had been sipping out of a trough next to the castle gate.

Hans leaned down to give Mutt a few pats to the head, and the dog thanked him by rubbing his body on his legs, leaving dog hair all over his hose. Hans had never been all too fond of this animal, had always complained about his stench and his slobbering mouth and his annoying loyalty and affection, but it was just in the latter that Hans had found some sort of solidarity over the past few weeks. Besides, Mutt's very presence in Rattay was assurance that Henry would eventually return, if only once, to pick him up. Hans wasn't sure the same thing could be said about him.

Mutt let out another howl, and Hans ruffled the fur behind his ear. That poor dog missed his master dearly. A shame. It wasn't like Hans didn't miss Henry of course, how could he not have missed someone who had been ever-present in his life for more than seven years now? But when he thought about the fact that he hadn't rode out to Prague for one, almost two weeks now, it wasn't longing that filled his heart but something way more stale, and he didn't feel it because Henry lived this life without him, but because he dared to live it at all. While Hans had to stay here and deal with his uncle's wrongdoings, the dwindling savings that they were able to spare for the city guard, or with Heinrich's failing archery training.

“It was the right thing to do.” Hans hadn't noticed that Jitka had approached him, her footsteps drowned out by the rumbling of thunder in the distance, her body blending into those of the other people out here in the courtyard, his mind buried elsewhere. “Sir Hanush has been taking too much liberty recently.”

He wanted to give her a smile, as a thanks for her comfort, but it turned into a grimace of frustration. “And yet we are still too lenient with him. I should have made him crawl with this damned letter, on his knees, all the way from here to Vlašim.”

“It would certainly be a spectacle.” She lifted her face to the clouds. A few strands of brown hair had loosened from her braids, were thrown into her steel blue eyes by the wind. It was still a mystery to him, how Heinrich could look so much like him that, the older the boy got, the more people called him by his father's name, while both girls carried all the beauty of their mother. “I'm by no means an expert, but I would assume that the biggest part of this thunderstorm will pass us by.”

“Would be a pity. The farms need rain.”

“Tomorrow perhaps. Or the day after. For now, it gives you enough time to ride out.” She kept her face raised, but her eyes wandered down, found him, regarded him with interest. “Clear your head. The wind might help.”

Hans shook his head with a faint laugh. “Do you want to get rid of me?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I just have the feeling that you could need it.”

“With Adam and Lubomír watching my every step?” The two guards had followed him closely the last time he had tried to go for a ride alone. Sent by Bernard, they had claimed, to make sure nothing happened to him on his excursion. Sent by Ottersburg more likely, to keep him from disappearing to Prague again and leaving them all alone with his uncle's whims.

“I could distract them for you.”

“You?” Hans had to laugh, and this time it was an honest, heartfelt one. “What, like how you wanted to distract the abbot so that I could sneak into the Sasau monastery?”

Jitka shrugged her small shoulders as if his little taunt would mean nothing to her, but she couldn't hide the faint offence resting in her eyes. “I learned from my past mistakes.”

“And so did I. I promised Heinrich to teach him archery today, and you know how he can be when he doesn't get his way. And Hedwig wanted me to read for her, and Mirka …”

“Do not worry about the children, Hans, I can take care of them.”

“I was not aware that you feel qualified to teach archery to our son.”

“I do not, thank you for your concern.” She rolled her eyes at him, but there was a softness in her expression. “I do feel qualified, however, to assign someone who does.”

“Are you sure you don't want to get rid of me? Do you have something planned with Ottersburg that I'm not supposed to know about?”

Jitka didn't respond, and they both smiled silently at each other for a while. The wind swelled into a gentle storm. Mutt ducked his head and pressed it to Hans's legs. The clouds moved as quickly as if they were on the run, the air tasted alive and wet. Jitka was wrong, Hans thought. There would be rain soon, but not much of it.

“He will come back eventually, I am certain of that.”

Hans raised his brows at her in surprise for just a moment, then he realised that it was Jitka he was talking to. No way to hide any secrets from her. “Yes, he will. Once, to be exact, to fetch this stupid dog of his before he leaves for good.” Mutt let out a whine of protest, that Hans deliberately ignored. “As he should.” He noticed the questioning look on Jitka's face, and sighed. No way to hide anything from her, so why make any efforts. “All of this, Rattay, me, it's … It's not doing him any good. In fact, I long felt like I was slowly suffocating him with every,” he thought for a while about a word that would best contain smile, kiss, caress, embrace, then found a solution, “for every word that we spoke. This settled life is not for him, it never was.”

“I don't think many people would choose a settled life over one of adventure, if they're given the chance. Even I can understand that, and I never had a taste of that sort of freedom. And yet, most eventually leave these dreams behind.”

“Because they have to. But Henry has no expectations to fulfil. He's a peasant boy and a noble bastard. Forcing him into this life alone is like clipping his wings.”

“And forcing him into the other one is any better?”

“At least it seems to be what he desires.”

Jitka fell silent again. Behind them, Venka the cook shouted at some kitchen boy to push the barrel he was wheeling any faster, before a proper storm could set in. Mutt howled again, running in circles now as if he was chasing his own past.

“Take the dog with you, Hans,” Jitka said finally, and this time it was not only an offer, but a decision. “You're not the only one in need of a walk and some fresh forest air. I will see for that letter, and that Hanush will deliver it without wasting any more time.”

“Thank you.”

Hans didn't get to enjoy the fresh forest air. He barely managed to make it to the stables to tell Radek to saddle his horse for him. Then Mutt suddenly started howling as if a bee had stung him, and ran off. Hans followed him. Across the draw bridge and then further down to the city gate. “Mutt! Come back here, you stupid dog!”

Mutt stopped, just when he had reached the city walls, but not because of Hans's shouting. Instead he looked down the hill, to the road, on which a rider on a grey mare made his way up to Rattay, his horse reined to a slow trot, one hand pressed to his side as if his life depended on it.

Henry dismounted right at the gate with a lot of effort. Hans didn't walk over to help him, he couldn't move at all, only watched as if some saintly apparition had just emerged in Rattay. He handed the reins over to the guard next to him and exchanged a few words with him, of which Hans understood nothing, because he was still too far away, or because there was only the rushing of his own blood in his ears, the distant thunder, hammering like a heartbeat. Then he turned, greeted Mutt with a broken smile and a soft nudge with his calve, too battered to lean over or crouch down or even reach out his hands.

“Henry,” Hans breathed, and apparently he wasn't too far away at all, because Henry heard him at once, raised his head and looked at him with a face that was as blank as the walls of a tomb. “You're wounded.”

“It's nothing,” Henry replied, and then he set himself into motion, limped over to Hans and made his way right past him without another word.

Like when he had fallen into the Sasau once as a child. Like when the tower of Nebakov had collapsed right on top of him. Like when Matej had set his dog and his fists onto him. Like opening his eyes and realising with a distant, pale disappointment that he was still alive.

He turned after Henry. Pathetic, but his body moved on its own. “You … You can stay here,” he said as if this hadn't been Henry's home for almost a decade. “Rest for a while.”

“There will be a lot of time to rest,” Henry replied drily without even looking at him.

“Why? When will you go back?”

“I won't.”

“But what about the others?” Hans stumbled after him, while the world had started a merry dance around him. “What happened? What the hell happened, Henry?”

“It's over.” And now, finally, Henry turned, and there was something wet on his cheek, sliding down to his chin. “It's all over.”

Only a raindrop. Above them, the heavy clouds had finally opened. Crying Heaven's tears over all the world's riches that the long draught had ruined.

#kingdom come deliverance #kcd #kcd2 spoilers #kcd fanfic #my writing #KCDsedproditionem #have i extended the upload time to 8 days to avoid esc? because i wasn't done yet? or to have the upload for ch 6 (which might just be #my own personal favourite part of this story so far (i suppose dunno haven't written it yet)) next monday right on my birthday?#who knows you decide #anyway somewhere between public shittings battles against giant gnats non-con whipping and the most chaotic rumour sharing #this chapter got out of a hand i think. honestly i had such an unexpected blast (re-)reading it. hope you have too.#also if anyone ever feels the urge to bless me with fanart for this whole story this right here - the three old men and their shenanigans -#that might be it

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pikuna · 3 months ago

Text

Yokai Heart - Chapter 5

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Fandoms: Dandadan (Anime), Dandadan (Manga)

Relationship: Ayase Momo/Takakura “Okarun” Ken

Characters: Ayase Momo, Takakura “Okarun” Ken

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Inspired by Dragonheart (Dragonheart), Youkai Takakura “Okarun” Ken, Yokarun, Shrine Maiden Momo, Protective Takakura “Okarun” Ken, BAMF Ayase Momo, Canon-Typical Violence, Action & Romance, Romantic Fluff, Interspecies Romance, Aged-Up Characters, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Feudal Japan, Historical Fantasy, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Humor

Summary

With the last of her family passing away, Momo had nothing to her name but spiritual powers no one can know about. To escape her fate as concubine to the local Shogun, she leaves her birth town and becomes a Wandering Miko. But as an untrained Shrine Maiden she had no luck fulfilling her expected duties and she refuses to entertain men for money. Surely a con act together with the Yokai she had befriended was a good alternative, right?

New rule from now on: Chapters are minimum 5k long and I don't know what will happen in them. I had to split it again, because I just let Momo and Yokarun talk and talk and I also got new ideas how to handle certain scenes. I give up on planning and predicting what will happen in the chapters. 😂

In the meantime, I got some very wonderful and amazing fanart from Eawen, depicting a scene from the first chapter, please take a look and leave some love for them!

I also commissioned and colored a cover art for Yokai Heart.

Big thanks to my beta reader Xylveon.

Ao3 Link

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It was clear that this town was more specialized in farming and the fine arts. The amount of shops that sold weapons could be counted on one hand and therefore, the prices were ridiculous. A simple small bow was almost as much as a fancier and sturdier bow she had seen in bigger cities. Momo would have been able to afford one, but that would leave her with barely any coin that they would need for further supplies. And she also wanted to, no, needed to buy some new, pretty clothes. Running around in her shrine clothes was okay during most days, but sometimes she didn't want to be recognized as a Miko at all. She had taken some of her clothes with her when she left her home, but she had to sell most of it to afford food. Maybe she could wait until they came across a town that had a better selection of armory shops.

As it was, the only coin she had spent was on a few sweet snacks during her stroll. Food always helped her when she felt frustrated. Or sad. Or angry. And it made her feeling happy even better. The prospect of a nice, free dinner kept her mood from completely plummeting. Food was just the best.

She also got something for her Yokai friend. As she didn't know what sweets he liked, she just got some simple mochi with peach flavor. During her shopping stroll he had been on her mind a lot, wondering what he would say to the wares and if he would be amused about the street gossip as much as her.

Of course she had been thinking about a name for him too. But it was harder than she had expected. Yokai names always sounded different from people's names and were tied to what they looked like or their abilities. It was not like she could just call her new friend 'Ken' or something like that.

As the sky slowly turned orange to announce the coming of the night, Momo returned to the inn. At the entrance the girl who was responsible for taking care of her room, her name was Cho, told her that she would prepare the promised bath for her now. Eager to finally enjoy some relaxing time, Momo practically ran up to her room. There was only some slight disappointment when she saw no one else when she entered, but she figured that her friend would prefer to 'snoop around', as he had called it, during the darker hours. A quick glance with her aura sight told her he was somewhere north of town. Hoping he would be back before dinner time, she put the mochi for him on the table and left a little note to let him know they were for him.

After changing into one of the Yukatas the inn provided, she was delighted to find a teal colored one with a pink wave pattern on it, she went to the bathhouse that was attached to the building. Cho was waiting for her and led Momo to a section with single bath tubs. Several different washing oils were available for Momo to choose and she thanked Cho almost as much as Emi earlier today, the young girl obviously flustered by the gratitude.

As soon as Momo was on her own, she undressed and picked one of the oils to wash herself with. That it was the peach scented one was pure coincidence. After cleansing herself thoroughly, she shuddered at the amount of dirt and mud that came out of her hair, she could finally glide into the tub with the hot water, her wary bones immediately soaking up the warmth. She sank down until the water reached her chin and she leant her head back, breathing in the steamy air. This was life. She didn't care what he would say to it, her Yokai friend definitely was good fortune. Maybe she should call him Maneki, from those lucky cat figurines. He would absolutely hate it, she thought with a snort.

While Momo relaxed in the warm water, her mind swirled around several ways she could name her new friend. Jinsoku? Hashiru? Ashi? No, all just simple words and don't flow well enough for a name. Combining those words? Maybe a good Yokai title, but still too much of a mouthful for a name. He was a Yokai that could run fast. Yokai...run...Hmmm.....Yes, that sounded good!

A knock on the door startled Momo, almost jumping out of the tub. It was Cho, who let her know that she had been in there for almost half an hour and that dinner would be prepared now. Momo thanked her and let out a small yawn. Half an hour? She must have nodded off. Quickly she climbed out of the tub to dry herself off and put her Yukata back on.

Feeling very refreshed and rejuvenated, she hummed a happy tune while she practically skipped to her room. But she came to a sudden stop just a few steps away from the door, when she felt something. A weird sensation brushing along her aura, as if someone was just glancing at her. It felt... gentle. Warm.

Closing her eyes and stretching out her own aura sight, she spotted a familiar red aura in her room. The sensation vanished and seemed to retreat back to her friend.

Huh, was this how it felt when she was looking at his aura? Did he use his own sight to make sure no one would enter the room while he was in there? Curious, but also glad that he was back, she went the last few steps and opened the door.

There he was, sitting at the table with his back to the door, just throwing one of the mochi into his maw. Given that he made no move to hide or anything, it was clear he knew it was her.

"Don't stuff yourself too much with the sweets, we will have dinner soon," she chided him like a child, but had an amused tone to her voice.

He only huffed at that, tilting his head slightly in her direction but not looking at her.

"I know my limits, don't worry about that princess."

There it was that stupid nickname for her again.

Her amusement slightly soured, she closed the door and walked, or maybe almost stomped, over to him. Stopping at his side, she put her hands on her hips and frowned at him.

"What's with that nickname?" she wanted to know. He moved his head lazily to meet her gaze, but before he could even utter a word, his eyes went wide when he took in her appearance. Not that it was much different from before. Of course she was cleaned up now and the Yukata wasn't as loose fitting as her shrine maiden robes, but it shouldn't make such a difference. Well, maybe the fact that she wore her hair down threw him off. She was told a few times that she looked a bit different when her whole hair framed her face.

The seconds stretched without him saying anything. Just staring. It made Momo squirm a bit under his eyes. Not really in an uncomfortable way, but she didn't want to think about how her cheeks slowly started to warm up. Instead she put on her best teasing grin and crossed her arms.

"What? Cat got your tongue?"

That seemed to snap him out of his stupor, as he shook his head slightly.

"A-apologies Ayase-san, I was..uhmm...." He looked away, his eyes darting around. One clawed hand tapped slightly on the table, while the other adjusted the glasses on his nose. She just now realized that they had no arms. Not that he seemed to have ears in the first place either. He finally seemed to settle on something to say and looked at her with something akin to a sheepish smile.

"You look...nice?" It was more a question than a statement. His flattery game was certainly stronger when he didn't try. Momo had to bite the inside of her cheek so she wouldn't laugh at the poor guy. It was still a cute and earnest compliment. She would let the princess nickname slide for now.

"Why, thank you Yokarun. That's sweet of you to say," she said, giving him a bright smile. When he let out a small breath of relief she had to chuckle, but then he cocked his head at her as he noticed something she said.

"Wait...Yokarun?"

Oh. She had let that one slip out by accident.

Disappointed in herself, Momo groaned. "Hells, I had a way better reveal in my head than this! Wanted to make it all exciting." With a deep sigh she walked over to the other side of the table and plopped down on the cushion, the Yokai's eyes following her every move. The way he looked at her with almost child-like wonder snuffed out any negative emotion immediately and she grinned. "I did tell you I would come up with a name for you. And I settled on Yokarun."

Despite his visible excitement over a name, he still arched an eyebrow at her. "And how did you come up with it? Because it sounds a lot like you used the word Yokai."

Now it was Momo's turn to look sheepish. "Yeah, well...because I did. It's Yokai and run combined, but you pronounce the run more like...kun."

He opened his maw. Then just closed it again. And stared.

Embarrassment colored her cheeks and she grew flustered. Yeah, she admitted that the way she came up with the name was silly, but it sounded good and that's what mattered!

"Listen, it's not easy to come up with a name for a Yokai that isn't a mouthful! Either accept it or don't!" she huffed and turned away from him.

"Ayase-san, please! I didn't mean to be disrespectful," he tried to apologize. She could hear from his almost pathetic sounding voice that he was really sorry. "It's a very...creative way to come up with a name."

There was no hint of a joke or amusement in that statement, so she graced him with a side eye. How did he manage to look like a kicked puppy with those piercing red eyes of his? With a sigh, she turned back to him and smiled. She couldn't really stay mad over something silly like this.

"So. What do you think?"

He perked up at this, before his face turned thoughtful.

"Yokarun..." He said the name very carefully and slowly, as if to test it out. He muttered it a few more times, before he nodded. "I think I like it. It's simple and it suits me." Then his eyes got this soft gaze that Momo came to really like. "Thank you very much Ayase-san. I don't know how I can repay you for this wonderful gift."

"Don't you worry about it, Yokarun~" she practically trilled his name, causing him to blush. "That's what friends are for. I'm happy I could give you a name, you deserve one."

"If you say so." He murmured those words with a bitter-sweetness that made Momo's heart ache. But before she could dwell on it for too long, he shook his head, as if to get rid of his thoughts. "Actually surprised you didn't name me anything related to peaches too." He picked one of the mochis and held it up. She grinned innocently at that.

"Aww, is the taste not to your liking?"

Yokarun snorted in fake annoyance.

"Quite the opposite. I love them. Really appreciate it." He opened his maw slightly and she could see his tongue moving around inside as if he was tasting the air. It was a bit gross, but also fascinating to watch as it wriggled around looking almost like a snake. "I just don't know if you are trying to mock me or not." The maw shut with a clack and she jolted a bit at the sound. "Peach scent? Really?" He raised an eyebrow at her and threw the mochi into his maw without looking away from her.

Shoving aside the burning question if he had actually used his tongue to smell, she put on her best faux-naif face.

"No idea what you're talking about. I just picked the first oil I could find. Pure coincidence."

The skepticism was very obvious on his face. But before he could accuse her of lying, his head shot up towards the door.

"Dinner is coming," he announced. In an instant he was up and jumped towards the balcony door, opening it and hiding outside in the shadows of the evening.

She barely had time to process what just happened as the door to her room slid open and Cho entered, together with two other girls to deliver the trays of food.

"I hope you enjoyed your bath Miko-san," Cho said with a smile as she put down her tray. Momo returned the smile with a nod.

"It was wonderful, I could have stayed there for hours."

The girl chuckled and made sure that the other two placed the trays neat and tidily on the table. Her face then scrunched a bit in confusion when she looked around.

"Has your friend not arrived yet?"

"Oh, he is just outside. A bit of a shy type," Momo assured her. Cho hummed in understanding.

"Very well, we will take our leave. Enjoy your meal." With a bow the girls left the room, Momo still waving at them.

"Did you have to phrase it like that?" Yokarun's voice came from outside. When Momo turned her head, he was just peeking inside to make sure they were gone.

"What else should I've said? 'Sorry, my friend is a Yokai and doesn't want to scare you'?" She turned around to watch him walk back inside and sit down again, eyes scanning very curiously the food before them. Momo already started to pick some of the meat and rice into a bowl for herself. She grinned towards him. "Not that there is much to be scared of."

This seemed to hurt his pride a bit, as he looked rather offended up at her. "I'm plenty scary," he mumbled.

"Not when I come in and you're munching on pink mochis like a little child," she chuckled. She watched him how he totally blew up his cheeks in anger, but then just deflated.

"Whatever," he grumbled and also started to pick some food for himself.

Yokarun's moodiness dissolved quickly as he watched how excited and happy Momo got over finally eating some proper food. They each tried different meat and vegetables from their selection, recommending what combination tasted best and sharing stories about the worst things they have ever eaten. In her opinion, Yokarun definitely won. The guy had eaten things she would never ever even considered edible.

But the friendly banter and peace was crushed by one single foolish act of Yokarun.

Momo eagerly reached for the last crab leg, when to her horror, something red wrapped around the piece of meat and snatched it away. She blinked in complete shock for a few seconds, before she lifted her eyes to watch her friend happily chew on the leg with a smug expression on his face.

"You did not just steal the last crab from me with your freaking tongue?!"

His smug expression slowly turned into a horrified one the more her anger visibly boiled and finally exploded when she almost jumped over the table to grab his collar and shake him violently.

"YOU ROTTEN TANGERINE! GIVE ME BACK MY CRAB!"

"Ayase-san!" he wailed and tried to pry her hands off him. He was able to do so without hurting her, as she had to be careful not to fall onto the dishes on the table. As soon as he was able to escape her grip, he jumped out of her reach.

"It was just one crab leg! You got plenty before!" he defended himself, but Momo had none of that. She got on her feet and immediately summed a pair of spiritual hands.

"And I was looking forward to that last one too!"

She shot the arms forward to grab him again, but he easily dodged her attacks. The muttered curses of his, one being calling her a crazy woman, were ignored by her and she chased him through the room until he had to flee through the balcony and this time he jumped up the roof of the building where she couldn't follow him. As it was, she could only stand outside on the balcony and shout after him.

"Come back you coward tuna! You owe me a crab leg!"

"Miko-san, is everything alright?"

Cho had come into her room to check what the commotion was about. Luckily they had been careful in their little chase, so nothing was broken and only a few pillows had been thrown around. Not that Momo really cared about that right now.

"He took the last crab leg! Can you believe that Cho? After I went through the trouble to get him sweets !" she rambled, directing the last sentence up the roof again. The girl just blinked, utterly confused, looking from Momo to the roof and back.

"I'm sure he didn't mean to..." Cho tried to calm the situation down, but Momo huffed, crossing her arms. "Oh, he meant to. I could see it in his weaselly eyes!"

Being more amused than concerned by now, Cho chuckled. "Men can be worse than little children at times." More happy with this statement, Momo gave her a lopsided smile. "Right? No manners at all."

She let Cho guide her back inside and helped her pick up the pillows they had kicked around earlier, while the girls from before started to stack their plates on the tray. "I hope you two enjoyed your dinner, despite this little incident," Cho said when they gathered all the pillows. Momo immediately beamed at her. "Oh, it was amazing. Please send my thanks and compliments to the chef and Emi too. Haven't eaten so good in weeks and my friend swears he never had such tender pork before."

"I'm really glad to hear that. I will relay your message," Cho said with a smile. As soon as the other girls had taken care of the dinner plates, Cho gathered the table and stored it away to make space for the futons. Momo really wanted to help, but the other woman insisted that she would do it on her own. It was her job and expected from her.

When she put down the futons, Momo noticed how they were barely an arms length away from each other. Chuckling quietly to herself, she had to imagine how flustered Yokarun probably would be about this. Then she remembered that she was still angry at him for stealing her crab leg. With a pout, she looked through the selection of Nemaki to wear for bed.

As soon as Cho had prepared the futons, the girl bid her goodnight with a bow and left her alone. Momo almost expected Yokarun to jump through the window back inside, now that they were alone again, but that didn't happen. She must have scared him off very good, she thought with an amused huff. As she was changing into her nightwear, she hoped he would actually come back. He might have declared it to be his duty to stay with her until he had repaid her for sparing his life, but there was nothing that actually bound him to stay. And she knew she could be a handful. Brash and loud. She sighed deeply. They have known each other for less than a day and from what he had told her, she was the first person in a long time he had a proper conversation with. By the Kami, she really was the worst person he could have ended up with.

After changing and washing her face, there was still no sign of Yokarun. She even went outside the balcony to call out for him, but no response. Worry started to gnaw on the inside of her stomach. During the night he probably would have an easier time exploring the town, but surely he would have told her before he left, right? He obviously had no obligations to tell her. She just...would have liked to know.

Maybe she had really overdone it. Teasing him with all the peach stuff and then attacking him over something like a crab leg? It was just her way of interacting with others, but how was he supposed to know? From his point of view, she must have looked like a nasty brat. He would have all the good reasons not to come back. What a fine friend she was, she thought bitterly.

Not knowing what to do and getting tired, Momo crawled into her futon. The door to the balcony was still slightly open and she kept the light in the room on. Just in case he would come back soon. Hopefully.

------------------------------------------------

Lord Kato enjoyed an entertaining dinner with the performance of some very talented Oiran he had requested. They were the best traveling group one could hire and he always enjoyed only the most exquisite quality, being it for food, clothes or women. Alas, joining him to his private quarters was not something they offered right now. Just his rotten luck.

Now in the late evening hours, he was walking alone to his room. Out of nowhere, a prickling feeling ran over his back and he turned around. No one was in the corridor, but him. He had dismissed his guards earlier. As if anybody would dare to enter his house without permission.

Still, Lord Kato felt on edge. The words of the Miko from this morning rang through his head. He had heard many stories about wandering Miko and what they were capable of, like cursing those with misfortune who wronged them. And he had angered this particular feisty one, maybe also made a comment or two about her during dinner. But even if this was the case, he had the best priests one could get for money. They cleansed and protected his mansion, so he felt safe.

With a complacent smile he turned around again, missing the two red glowing eyes that watched him from a dark corner at the end of the corridor.

Just a few steps away from his room, Lord Kato felt another prickle, but this time he had no chance to turn around. Something rammed into his back, throwing him several feet through the air before he landed hard on the floor. With a painful groan he tried to prop himself up, but someone already grabbed him by the back of his collar and lifted him up, his feet dangling in the air.

"Well, good evening Lord Kato. So nice to finally meet you."

A horrific black maw. Red demonic eyes. White hair that flickered like fire.

Lord Kato was sure, the one who was holding him up was no man. It was an evil spirit.

Fear clogged his throat, so when he tried to plead for his life only whimpers and choked sounds came out. The spirit snorted in detestation.

"Where is that loudmouth I have heard so much about, hm?"

Its other hand wrapped itself around Kato's throat, black claws digging into the skin. He was held up even higher now, the red eyes of the spirit piercing his very soul.

"So full of arrogance and yet so fragile. It disgusts me."

In pure desperation, Kato gripped the arm of the spirit and tried to free himself from its hold. But to no avail.

"Seems like you can only act high and mighty when backed up by guards. Or around a helpless woman."

The spirit watched with sick amusement how Kato was struggling, tightening its grip around his throat.

"This town will be better off with you dead. No one needs a selfish prick who does nothing but exploit and lie."

Kato stopped to pry the hand off of him. Instead he flailed his arms around, until one of his hands managed to find its way inside his robes and fetch something out of his pocket. The spirit did not pay much attention to that and that was its mistake.

Kato slapped a talisman on the face of the spirit and it yowled in pain as electric energy ran through its body immediately. The shock made the spirit let go of Kato, who fell to the ground. Gasping for air, he didn't waste a second to scramble up and run to his room.

A tearing sound and a growl full of anger indicated that the spirit got rid of the talisman and was chasing him. But he had enough time to practically fall into his room. Turning around, he saw the spirit pouncing at him, but it never got the chance to tear its claws into him. A barrier stopped him midair, flinging him back against the wall of the corridor. Flames erupted all over its body and it howled in pain.

Relief washed over Kato when seeing how the spirit was rolling around the floor to get rid of the flames, but they did not stop tormenting it. He let out a loud laugh, walking carefully towards the barrier.

"Who is fragile now, huh? Never underestimate the resourceful Lord Kato!"

He shrieked in fear, when the spirit sprung to its feet, still engulfed in flames and glared at him with hatred. For a second he thought the spirit wanted to attack him again, but from one second to the next it was just...gone.

Kato stared at the door to his room for another moment, before he just fell back on his behind. Thank the Kami he had instructed his priests to place a ward around his room. He had to instruct them to expand it to his whole house. Whatever this spirit was, he must have drawn the ire of something powerful for such a resilient spirit to be sent after him. And it probably wouldn't rest until it got to him.

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Sleep had not really come to Momo, so when she heard noises outside on the balcony and the door slowly opening, she was immediately awake.

"Yokarun?" she whispered into the dark. The lamp she had left for him had run out, so she shuffled to quickly light another one.

"...Did I wake you up?" His voice was hesitant and she could hear him take slow steps towards her. Momo let out a breath she didn't know she had been holding. It was good to hear his voice.

"Not really, hadn't been sleeping ye- OH MY GOD!" Her relief immediately turned into shock when the light of the lamp illuminated him. His usually grey skin looked more black and his hair appeared to be singed. He winced, either at the sudden light or her shout. "Yokarun, what happened to you?"

She was on her feet in an instant and before he could even utter a word, she had grabbed his maw to inspect his face and hair more closely. The blackness of his skin definitely came from burn marks, red blisters still visible underneath despite his healing abilities. It was a familiar sight that made her feel sick from dread and fear. At least she was spared from the smelling that should have accompanied his state.

"You are all burned up!" If her voice cracked a bit from her sheer panic, she didn't care. Worry was predominant in her head. A normal human being would probably be dead with these kinds of injuries.

"Ah, it's really-," he tried to calm her with a rather meek voice, but Momo was not listening at all.

"Does it hurt? Do you need anything?"

"N-No, I'm-"

"I swear, whoever did this-"

"Momo!" Yokarun's loud voice and the fact he grabbed her wrists made Momo finally pause. She hadn't realized that anger had slowly taken over or how her hands that held his jaw had tensed up in a painful way. Now he looked at her with intense worry. "Please. Calm down." His now more quiet and soothing words allowed her to relax. Gently guiding her hands away from his face, he continued."It looks worse than it is. I will be all healed by tomorrow."

The reassurance worked. As did the small circles he absently drew over her wrists with his thumbs. She let out a shaky breath, closing her eyes and nodded. He was right. He was a Yokai who would heal and look like nothing had happened. She had no reason to worry about him dying from this.

Now that her initial panic has calmed down, something else came up: Embarrassment about her overreaction. She had been fussing over him like a child, while he didn't seem to be fazed by his injuries at all. Or at least not anymore. What must he think of her?

She dared to open her eyes and look at him. The only things she saw in his eyes were relief and a sweet smile that caused this funny feeling in her stomach again. It was certainly better than the dread she felt before. But she still didn't know how to deal with it, so she tried to ignore it and looked away.

Was he even aware he was still holding her wrists and stroking the inside of them? Not that she wanted him to stop. It was...nice. Bah, she was too tired to deal with all these emotions. She focused on something she could handle in her sleep: Being annoyed.

"Where have you been anyway? You didn't come back and just left without a word." Yes, that flippant attitude came way easier to her. Even when she felt a little bit guilty for the way he flinched and looked remorsefully downwards.

"Well...you seemed pretty angry. Thought it would be better to leave for a bit."

It seemed like he finally realized that he was still holding her hands and let go of her in an instant. Missing how his hold had grounded her and ignoring his muttered apology, she wrapped her arms around herself, still not looking at him.

"Yeah...sorry about that. I can get a bit...passionate when it comes to food." She grimaced at herself for wording this so stupidly. At least it got her a snort from him.

"That's one way to put it." There was a bit of tease in his voice that put her more at ease. She glanced towards him and noticed how he was also sneaking a look in her general direction. A chuckle escaped her when he flinched like he was caught doing something naughty. Trying to save some face, which he did not manage, his flustered state was too adorable, he cleared his throat.

"In any case, I learned my lesson. I promise that I won't steal any crab from you in the future," he said in a very matter-of-fact voice, topped with a polite bow. Still in his bowed position, he peeked up to her, looking more akin to a little boy asking for forgiveness. "I hope you won't be mad at me anymore."

Letting out a deep sigh, she smiled at him. She hadn't been mad at him for that anymore for hours, but it was still sweet of him to apologize, even though she already admitted that she had overreacted. Stepping forward, she patted his bowed head gently. Despite the obvious singe, his hair still felt cool and soft.

"Of course I'm not mad anymore. It was a silly thing anyway."

Was it just her or did the hum he made almost sound like a purr? No, it must be her tired mind.

Putting her hands on her hips now, she still needed to address something important.

"Now, would you be so kind and explain why you look like you ran through a bonfire?"

Yokarun visibly stiffened at that and only slowly straightened up again, purposefully looking anywhere but at her. She raised her eyebrow at that.

"It's...it's really nothing. You don't need to worry about it."

"Yokarun," she said in a very scolding voice. "I'm your friend, of course I worry about you. And that won't change just because you avoid the topic." When he still didn't say anything and only started to fidget with the rim of his glasses, she tried a softer tone. "You would want to know too if I came back all bandaged up, right?"

That seemed to hit a nerve, since his shoulders slumped and he let out a quiet groan. He gestured to the futons, so they could get more comfortable. Momo followed his suggestion and crawled back into her futon and cuddled into the blanket. Yokarun eyed his own futon for a moment. She knew he was considering moving it further away from hers, but in the end he just sat down and crossed his legs.

"So. Remember when I said I would snoop around a bit in town earlier today?" he opened with a question. Momo just nodded at that. "Well...I mostly investigated the mansion of this Lord Kato. Eavesdropped a bit." His expression became more grim. "The wife of one of the farmers was with him. Her husband...he is one of those who were at the peach field and hasn't woken up yet. So she asked Kato for his priests to help him. Naturally, she couldn't pay for that, so he made her an offer similar to the one he gave you."

Her eyes furrowed in anger. "Bastard...," she muttered and he nodded in agreement.

"Really despise humans like him. He could do so much to help the people of this town and still live in comfort, but his kind don't care about that." Yokarun clenched his fist. "That leech was lucky his priests were nearby, otherwise I would have snapped his neck there and then." He relaxed his hand again and shot her a quick glance. Momo didn't comment on the clear murderous intent. She couldn't fault him at all for feeling like this. There was a bit of ease in his face when he couldn't see any judgment from her, so he continued.

"When we had our...argument earlier-," Momo snorted at that and he also let out a small huff. "I didn't plan on going back, but I could sense a group of people in the mansion that weren't there before. Just wanted to make sure everything was okay. Turns out he had ordered himself a group of Oiran."

"Figures," she sighed with clear disgust and he nodded.

"At least they seemed to have class, none of them went with him."

That made her blink in surprise, before she cackled. "Hah! Not even those fancy prostitutes want to have anything to do with him." He hummed in amusement with her, before his demeanor shifted a bit. "I intended to leave, he was too heavily guarded anyway. But then I overheard him making a very crude comment...about you." His eyes flashed a bright red for a few seconds again. In anger, as she had figured out by now. "Literally saw red after that and stalked him until he was alone. Had my hand on the slithering bastard's neck and almost finished him. Got careless and he pulled out some talisman to slap on my face. Hurt like hell," he muttered and rubbed his forehead gently.

She made a sound in sympathy for him. "So, was that talisman the reason you went up in flames?"

"No, it just caused an electric shock." He started to fiddle with his glasses again. Definitely a nervous tick of his, to have something to occupy his hands. "The flames were from...from the barrier. That I jumped against."

There was a moment of stunned silence from Momo, before she sat up to grab his collar and shook him. Again. Why did he keep doing such reckless things? It would've been one thing if the barrier had just repelled him, but this one had been out to kill him. She knew them from her grandmother. They had them around their own house.

"Why would you jump against a barrier that's clearly made to ward off spirits like you?" she tried not to shout at him, having enough awareness that she would alert the other guests in the inn.

"How was I supposed to know?" he tried to defend himself. "Usually barriers like that are around the town itself and not only the private quarters of a wanna be lord!"

Yokarun had a good point. She had been surprised that he could enter the town with no problem. Most towns and villages she had come across had wards around the entrance, to keep evil spirits out. Lord Kato left the people defenseless for the sake of protecting only himself. One more thing on her list to despise him for.

With an exasperated sigh, she let go of Yokarun, causing him to fall backwards on his futon. Propping himself up with his elbows, he looked up at Momo, who still kept him in place with her glare.

"You shouldn't have gone after him in the first place. The hell did he say that made you that angry and careless?"

"Please Momo," he whined and let himself fall back on the futon again. She ignored it for now that he kept calling her by her given name. "I really don't want to repeat that."

Scrunching her face in slight disgust, Momo could only imagine what that weasel had said about her. A part of her was touched that Yokarun would get so worked up about someone badmouthing her. But not at the expense of his own well-being.

"Fine. You're still an idiot for pulling that stunt. That barrier could've killed you," she grouched and gave his knee a slight slap. He just made a very unimpressed and fake ow. "How did you get rid of the flames anyway?"

He didn't answer right away. A moment of silence stretched between them, before he said with a sheepish voice: "There was a little pond in the garden."

The situation was very serious. Absolutely. But Momo couldn't help herself and was barely able to stifle a laugh. The image of Yokarun jumping into a little pond to get rid of spiritual fire was just too amusing. Only for a moment of course. He still picked up on that and let out an unamused grunt. To the best of her abilities, she schooled her expression into something neutral and tried to look nonchalant.

"So, you just took a little bath and that's it? Your clothes don't look wet at all."

Unbeknownst to her, Yokarun rolled his eyes, before he lifted his head enough to look at her disgruntled.

"Of course I made sure I was dry before coming back. Wouldn't want to get anything wet in here."

"So considerate of you," she snorted and rubbed over the spot she had slapped him a minute ago, receiving an appreciating hum from him when he lay down again. "Well, at least the lord won't have a restful sleep tonight. Small victories." Yokarun didn't seem to share the sentiment, as he let out an irritated huff. It was funny how he defaulted more to making noises than words when upset.

They fell into a more comfortable silence, with Momo absently continuing her gentle administration of his knee. The realization how attached she already had become to him, even after just a day, settled in and it was scary. There had been no plans on her end to make friends on her journey, but then he just...happened. She hadn't thought about it when she had offered him friendship instead of his servitude. It had just felt right in the moment. Worry gnawed at her insides again. People usually didn't stay for long with her. And given his tendencies to just throw himself into danger didn't help to ease her worries.

"Promise me..." Her voice was not more than a whisper, one that he probably barely heard with the way he raised his head again and looked at her questioningly. She took in a deep breath and tried it again. "Promise me you won't do something so reckless again."

She could see his brows slightly furrow at that request, contemplating it.

"Don't know if I can when it concerns you," he finally answered, while sitting up again. Momo rolled her eyes.

"Yokarun, I'm serious."

"So am I."

His words were not loud, but firm. She knew he meant it wholeheartedly and it made her feel fuzzy inside, but also unnerved. How can he say stuff like this with such conviction? Why would he risk his life just for her over nothing more than the words of an idiot, as insulting as they were?

They stared each other down, neither of them wanting to back down. But it was late in the night. Momo was tired and this was fruitless, so she finally groaned and threw her hands up in the air.

"Uurgh, whatever. Way too late to argue with your stubborn ass," she grumbled, earning her a chuckle from him. He probably thought he had won this. Which he was dead wrong about. "Let's just sleep, you need to recover."

With that, she turned around to put out the light of the lamp and then immediately dove back under the blanket of her futon with a relaxed sigh. There was barely any light coming in from the balcony door, but she could still see in the corner of her eyes the frame of Yokarun just..sitting there.

"Don't you wanna lay down?" she asked him with a raised eyebrow, not that he could see it.

"I'm fine like this." Something moved. She guessed it was him waving her off.

"Does it hurt when something touches your skin?" She doubted it. Otherwise he would have had issues with wearing clothes.

"...No?" he hesitantly answered.

"Then what's keeping you from enjoying your futon?" Why was he so difficult about such a damn simple thing? She could hear him inhale, but she was not having any of that. Not at this hour. "Yokarun. Into. The. Futon. I will stuff you in there myself, if I have to. Get comfy!"

It was the weirdest and most harmless sounding threat Yokarun had ever received, but he still followed her demand ere she made good on it. When was the last time he had even slept under a fluffy blanket like this? He honestly couldn't remember. The futon was big enough so he didn't have to fold himself. The coziness enveloped him. It was wasted on him. He was just a Yokai. Someone else should get to sleep all warm and bundled up. Not him. The dirty forest floor was just good enough-

"Yokarun?" Momo's whisper cut through his wall of spiraling thoughts. He hummed to let her know that he had heard her and turned his face to her. His night vision was just enough to see that she was turned in her futon towards him. "Can...Can I hold your hand?" Her voice sounded so meek. So hesitant. Quite the opposite of what he had come to know from her so far. He wasn't quite able to make out her expression.

"...Why?" It honestly baffled him why she would want that. His hands were gnarly, even when not marred with burns. By the Kami those burns still hurt so much, he was glad he could keep it together. When he saw how Momo had reacted to him looking like this, he couldn't bear to make her even more worried. He could endure pain. Especially when she was around to distract him.

"Because!" He could hear the pout in her voice. He also could perfectly picture a pout on her face and he really shouldn't think about how cute it was. "Can I have your hand or not?" There was a rustling and her hand appeared between the two futons.

Even when he didn't understand, how could he deny her such a simple request? He also pulled his hand from under the cover, brushing her hand just slightly with his knuckles. To give her a chance to change her mind. But she didn't hesitate a moment to clasp her hand around his and give it a squeeze. He could feel his heart dance at her touch.

While he had held her wrists previously, this was different. Deliberate. Intimate.

Her hand felt so warm in his, her spiritual energy buzzing off her fingers. And he greedily absorbed everything she unknowingly gave to him. Her energy and warmth. He felt no pain at all anymore.

"Thank you," she breathed out, sounding so relieved. He should be thanking her, not the other way around. For the kindness she had shown him. For making him feel cared for. For giving him a name.

"Of course." There had been a hundred different things he could have said, but this was all he could muster. Apparently it was enough, as she made a happy noise and snuggled into her futon, pulling his hand more towards her. Not that he minded it at all.

"Goodnight Yokarun," she murmured sleepily.

"Goodnight Momo," he whispered back. One last hum from her and soon he could only her even breathing. His own eyes became heavier with the seconds and soon he drifted off to sleep as well.

#DanDaDan #DanDaDan fanfic #Momokarun #momo ayase #okarun #ken takakura #Yokarun #My writing #Yeah #still no con scheme #I make a careful prediction that they should start with it next chapter #Unless more fluff gets in the way #lol #At least Yokarun has his name now!#And as background info #he was totally close to tears when he found those mochis Momo left for him. xP #Yokai Heart

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themisselizabethjones · 27 days ago

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Wow, another solid episode. This show is going from strength to strength. It needs more viewers: quick someone put on that crown and make people watch!

(Just kidding.Maybe.)

The star of the night was definitely Bluey. A good, honest performance that built on my love for Connor which started last week. The inside of his head was definitely at an interesting place. So he wants most is: validation of his truth; respected in his field again; Pedro’s friendship back; and Charlie and Lysa’s admiration. (Epecially, it seems, Lysa’s)

The bit with Evil!Vikram was telling. Connor likes him and wants to trust him but is sensible enough to know that Vik is shady as hell. Interesting.

Vikram was in full Manic Pixie Dream Librarian mode tonight. It was a nice change from more serious Vik of last week. That's why that plot twist was so good, and took me a minute to work through. We know Vik is capable of doing anything to get back to Anya, so it was absolutely possible he'd take the crown for himself. And didn't he think he was just so clever.

Although I must admit I wanted to see Evil!Vik wreck shit. Not going to lie.

Lysa's wins Most Adorable this evening. From going full Scully with her new electronic toy to quoting one of my favorite movies OF ALL TIME, she won my nerdy little heart tonight. She needs to have a movie night with them now, I need to know what Vik would think of Ghostbusters.

Charlie kicking ass will never get old. Loved the lore drop about stuttering as a child. I loved seeing her finally snapping at Vik and in return he giving her some damn respect and calling her Guardian. She's still incredibly hot even in a Bigfoot costume, it's completely unfair.

Charlysa: To be completely fair I wasn't feeling it tonight. Maybe because they didn't have that much alone time?

Chakram: Halleluah, we’re two for two. She called him Vikram to his face for (I’m fairly certain) the first time. They had a little bit of the “mom and dad” vibe at one point.

The Connor/Lysa part if me that refuses to die: points at whole episode and stares meaningfully at me.

Bring on next week.

#the librarians the next chapter #and the con con #the librarians the next chapter spoilers #connor green #bluey robinson #vikram chamberlain #charlie cornwall #lysa pascal #stealth charkram #she called him Vikram to his face!!!#chekov’s foreshadowing #charkram

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petalkitshadow · 3 months ago

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Holy moly thank you everyone for 400 followers!

#talk #next chapter is in progress #I’m tabling at a con in two months though so I’ve been busy prepping

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heffawhump · 1 year ago

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Still messing with the makeup but hey ✌🏻

#delicious in dungeon #chilchuck #dungeon meshi #cosplay #I didn’t have all of my stuff with me #and I have time until the con I’m going to #oh and if you’re reading this #I’m working on the next chapter of Like Vines #love you guys

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howlgrowlsnarl · 2 years ago

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One Week Away!

https://www.nextchaptercon.com/

View On WordPress

#Books #C Derick Miller #Dallas #Dalton #Georgia #Gonzo Journals #Next Chapter Con #Texas

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dontcallmecarrie · 11 months ago

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me in undergrad during and after Finals Week, my beloathed nemesis: questionable life choices feat. semiregular cram sessions at the library, dubious sleep schedules, the occasional migraine, and post-exam jitters that got dozens of chapters written

me now: do you really want to run on less than six hours of sleep tomorrow? lol no

#pro of having work: no longer freaking out over student loans and other bills bc I'm A Functional Adult(TM) now #con of being Some Semblance Of A Responsible Adult: trying to cram hobbies into a full-time job and classes and a roughly hour-long commute #the next chapter of TMWSTW is roughly 1k long rn despite my best efforts

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pikuna · 4 months ago

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Yokai Heart - Chapter 3

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Fandoms: Dandadan (Anime), Dandadan (Manga)

Relationship: Ayase Momo/Takakura “Okarun” Ken

Characters: Ayase Momo, Takakura “Okarun” Ken

Summary

With the last of her family passing away, Momo had nothing to her name but spiritual powers no one can know about.

To escape her fate as concubine to the local Shogun, she leaves her birth town and becomes a Wandering Miko.

But as an untrained Shrine Maiden she had no luck fulfilling her expected duties and she refuses to entertain men for money.

Surely a con act together with the Yokai she had sealed a pact with was a good alternative, right?

This chapter is very conversation heavy, but those two have a lot to talk about and getting to know each other!

Thanks to my Beta @xylveon700 as always. ❤️

Ao3 Link

Previous Chapter | Start | Next Chapter

Treating your own wound with just one hand was more tricky than Momo had anticipated. Granted, the Yokai had offered her his help, but she refused it. She was an adult, she could take care of herself. But after having to endure his pleading eyes, she relented and allowed him to help her cut the bandages with his sharp claws. And that was all!

While wrapping her arm, she kept glancing over to him. He had sat down across from her, their knees almost touching in the small space of the cave, and just watched her patiently. The longer she could feel no threat from him, the more relaxed she became. Absently she wondered if she had seen an illustration of his kind before. Somehow those red eyes, the hair and maw looked...familiar? She just couldn't put a finger on it, so she shoved it into the back of her mind.

"You're a stubborn one," he said amused when she finally tied the bandage with one hand and her teeth.

"Thanks for noticing," she chirped in a fake sweet voice, before she got her medical supply ready again. "Give me your right hand," she demanded.

"What for?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, but still held the requested hand towards her, which she immediately grabbed. "Because I stabbed you. That must...hurt?" Her sentence had started out annoyed, but as soon as she took a look at his hand she stopped. Instead of a fresh stab wound, she only found a scar across his palm.

"Ah. That won't be a problem," he said. Too confused about this, she missed the softness in his eyes and voice. "Appreciate the concern tho."

"How?" she mumbled, staring at his palm she still held in hers as if she waited for it to give her an answer. Absently she noticed how his fingers were more like claws and were tinted black. "I'm sure I pierced through your hand when it was still a claw and I saw it bleeding when you turned back."

"You did and really hurt," he halfheartedly whined, but Momo just glared at him, so he tried to appease her with an attempt at an answer. "We Yokai are more resilient than you humans."

"I know that." she huffed and tapped her sword that was attached to her thin belt. "But this is a blessed sword. I know that Yokai have better healing abilities, but weapons like this should stop you from healing so fast."

"Good point." He looked at his hand and flexed it in her hold experimentally, talking more to himself than her. "Haven't been attacked by a blessed weapon until this day, so I don't know. Also usually don't get scars. Might be that the dragon's curse has something to do with it."

"Dragon's curse?"

His eyes met hers and he nodded. "Turning into a dragon is not one of my...natural abilities."

The Yokai didn't elaborate at first, but Momo's curiosity was piqued. She let go of his hand and leant back against the wall of the cave and made him understand, with a little wave of her hand, that she would like for him to continue. He heeded her unspoken request with a sigh as he settled back on his side.

"It started to happen every full moon for a year now. Unfortunately, I have no memory of how it happened." She quirked an eyebrow at that, but he ignored it. "I visited the area where I first came into existence. Next thing I knew was that I was not...myself anymore. When the dragon takes over, I'm not in control. No amount of fighting it got me free. This was the first time I turned back before the curse allowed it."

"I know of people getting cursed by evil spirits, but never that a Yokai itself got cursed," she murmured, hand on her chin in a musing gesture. Then she gave him a side eye. "You sure you don't just lie through those big teeth of yours?"

"I swear on the favorite pincushion of my grandmother," he said in an absolutely deadpan voice, having one hand on his heart and holding up the other.

Was...was he making a joke? Momo certainly could see the mirth glinting in his eyes and she couldn't help herself but to chuckle.

"You are a funny one, huh?"

"Thanks for noticing," he said with a purr, mimicking her earlier fake sweet sentence.

Momo was torn between being infuriated about this Yokai not taking this more seriously and being...amused.

"Okay, okay. Let's say I believe that you are the victim of a curse and that you conveniently cannot remember how you got it-" he hummed affirmative "-what was that attack about? Why the peach field?"

"What can I say?" he just shrugged. "I like peaches."

On the outside Momo just looked unimpressed at him, her slight shake the only indicator of what was going on inside. It was so hard for her to suppress a laugh. A lot of boys had tried to woo her with phrases regarding peaches and her. And this poor guy probably did the cheesiest of them all. It was hilarious, but also endearing, since he did it unintentionally.

With her just staring at him, he let out a sigh.

"Look Miko-san. It's not like I can just stroll to the market and buy some. The lord who owns these fields is a cruel bastard, so I don't feel bad for stealing some of his."

"And what about the farmers? There was no need to rampage as a dragon when you know you would turn during the full moon."

"I...might have forgotten about...that," he said sheepishly. Momo just stared at him for a moment.

"Haaah?" She leapt forward, grabbing him by the collar and shaking him in anger. "How in the hells can you forget something like that?"

He just let her shake him and leant his head away from her, trying to look nonchalant while doing so.

"They were about to harvest the peaches. Not much time to steal, too focused on that," he tried to explain himself with a whine. She gave him another good shake before she let go of him and huffed.

"And people complain that I only ever think with my stomach."

As if on command, her stomach started to growl like a wild beast. Embarrassed by her body's betrayal, she turned away from the Yokai. Looked like whatever little effect the stale bread had from earlier had vanished after the exhausting fight.

An amused hum came from him. She was about to bark at him, but she noticed that his eyes were glowing. So were the stripes on his face and hair. Ghostly flames emitted from the collar and tail end of his robe.

Momo tensed, feeling his previously calm aura flaring up, her hand ready to pull out her blade. Was he about to attack her? But he still looked relaxed, despite his glowing eyes, and she could feel only...concern?

"Wait a moment," he said, before he was...just gone. A gust of wind inside the cave was the only indicator that he didn't just disappear, but moved very quickly.

Where in the hells was he going? And was that speed one of his own abilities? She remembered the dragon was also able to zoom around very fast. Probably not as fast due to the larger body.

She just hoped he would actually come back. So far he seemed to be very obedient for whatever reason and didn't seem to harbor any ill intentions towards her. Mulling over his story, Momo wondered what she should do about him. She was glad that she didn't kill him, as he was just a victim of a curse. But he seemed to be careless, his hunt for peaches almost costing several people their lives. Should she help him get rid of the curse? If it truly was coming from a dragon, then it was a powerful one, something that couldn't be exorcised so easily. Not that she was an expert in the first place. And they barely had any information about the nature of the curse. Could you even exorcise something out of a Yokai without exorcising itself too?

Lost in her thoughts, she didn't hear the sound of him running back and got startled when he suddenly stopped at the entrance of the cave in a little cloud of dust he kicked up. The Yokai entered with a chuckle at her clearly alarmed state and held...a peach towards her. Now that Momo looked closer, he had a few dozen of them in his arms. She looked from the fruit in his hand to his face with a frown.

"You can't be serious."

He just raised an eyebrow at her. "Why not? You seem hungry." As she kept just frowning at him, he sighed and sat down on his side. "There are plenty of trees on the field. They won't miss a few fruits."

"I am not eating stolen food!" she insisted and turned her head away. Since she was so stubborn, he gave up and just shrugged.

"Suit yourself."

Momo could hear a krack noise and when she looked at him from the corner of her eyes, she could see how he had opened his maw and just threw the previously offered peach into the black abyss. Certainly not how the inside of a mouth should look like. She kept watching him with morbid curiosity closing his maw. There was no movement from it, only his cheeks indicated that he was somehow chewing.

A deep, appreciative and satisfied hum came from him. Apparently the peach must’ve tasted very good. Momo wondered how good actually.

Her stomach grumbled again. One of his closed eyes opened to look at her.

"W-what about the previous nights?" she tried to distract from the fact that she was starving. "Several hunters went out to get you and that was before the full moon."

"Wasn't me," the Yokai raised his hands in defense, the fruits all stored in his lap. "Those were Kamaitachi. Had to keep those little scoundrels from stealing all the good fruits and hurting the humans."

Kamaitachi would actually explain the cuts the hunters would turn up with. And those little Yokai were also known for being quite fast. He probably protected the hunters from a worse fate than just cuts. His aura was calm as usual, his enjoyment of the fruit palpable.

An even louder and now painful growl of her stomach. His eyes and aura both oozed with concern.

"...You said the lord who owned these fields is a bastard?" Momo asked him with a small voice.

"Treats the farmers like cattle and likes to invite the more beautiful wives and daughters from his workers to his estate." Her stomach churned for a different reason. The Yokai tried it again to offer her a fruit. "If it helps to ease your conscience even more, just see it as your payment for saving the farmers. I'm certainly grateful you stopped me Miko-san."

That was the last bit convincing she needed. Not that he had to do much, her hunger was about to consume any morality she had tried to uphold until this moment. She practically snatched the fruit out of his claws and bit into it immediately. It was delicious! So sweet and the morning dew still clung to its skin, making it even more juicy. Her delight must have been visible on her face, as he chuckled and held several more fruits to her that she took from him. The smug expression in his eyes frustrated her a bit.

"As you should. But you don't own these peaches," she groused and bit into the fruit again. She continued talking, while chewing, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Also, stop calling me Miko-san, I have a name!"

"Well, what is the fair lady's name then?" he asked with a mocking half bow to her, before he threw another peach into his maw. She absolutely picked up on that sarcastic tone towards her bad table manners. An eyebrow twitched in irritation, but then her grin became mischievous.

"Ayase. Ayase Momo." She emphasized her given name.

At first the Yokai just nodded. But when the realization of the meaning of her name hit him, his eyes went wide and he started coughing. Momo tried to hide a snicker behind her hand. She had hoped for a reaction like that.

"M-Momo you say?" he wheezed after he was able to catch his breath, thumbing his chest to get the wrongly swallowed fruit pieces out. She could feel how flustered his aura became. Absently she wondered why it was so easy for her to read his emotions like this. Normally she had to concentrate to even get an inkling how a person was truly feeling. But that was a mystery for later. For now she enjoyed his ruffled state.

"You heard right," she said again in her fake sweet voice. "Don't worry about your comment. Heard worse from guys trying to win me over."

Yep, he absolutely was hacking even more now.

"I-I was not-" he stammered, but was not able to finish the sentence, as she barely could keep her cackling down. He flashed her an angry look, his cheeks clearly a darker shade now. She resisted the urge to point this out to him. Instead, she mercifully let him finish his coughing fit, before she spoke again.

"In any case, it's still Ayase-san for you. We're not that close, so no need to drop the formalities."

"Apologies, Ayase-san," he grumbled, lacing her name with as much sarcasm as he could muster in that moment. Now that he had calmed down again, his attention went to the last peach in his hand, apparently contemplating.

But Momo could see that past his apparently relaxed facade, his aura was still swirling in embarrassment. Again she wondered why it was so easy for her to read him. Was it because he was a Yokai? They were known to have a higher intensity of emotions.

Suddenly he sighed in exasperation.

"Enough with that."

His eyes met her gaze, glowing again in that intense red. Before Momo could ask what he meant, she felt a mental shove that was so strong that her body was jerking back. Her aura sense was pressed back into her own mental space with a force she had never experienced before.

"What the hell did you do?" she gasped in confusion.

"Kicking you out. No idea how a human is able to touch aura like you do, but I let you snoop around, so you could see I'm no threat." His eyes narrowed when she tried to feel his aura again and instead was met with a mental wall around it. "But you're being rude and I would like my privacy back."

"I am not rude!" she said coarsely. He snorted at that comment, before his eyes darted away from her.

"Disrobing me would have been less rude than what you did," he grumbled rather quietly, his cheeks gaining a darker tint again.

"What?" Now it was Momo's turn to flush. Why the hells would he say something like that? He was clearly uncomfortable, so it was not a joke. "W-what do you mean by that?"

Clearly not wanting to answer the question directly, he huffed through his nose and deflected: "How would you feel if someone would come barging into your mind and read you like an open book?"

She would be furious, that was for sure. And...she understood his comparison now, which made her feel hot from embarrassment. Like a child that got caught with their hand in the cookie jar, she tried to shove the blame away from herself.

"Then why didn't you stop me in the first place?" she growled.

"Like I said, to prove to you that I'm not an enemy. And because you humans are usually not able to interact with aura like that. Took me by surprise."

Momo scoffed at that, in her opinion, very weak argument. Riled up by her flurry of emotions, anger and shame, she stood up and glared at him.

"So it's all my fault or what? I had no idea what I was doing!"

Apparently fed up with her bratty behavior, as he also stood up and yes, he was definitely towering over her when not slouching. Not that she was intimidated in the slightest.

"That was quite obvious by the way you acted like an elephant in a tea shop, stomping around in my mind like you owned the place!" he growled back at her.

She couldn't help herself but smirk. Apologizing or admitting that she did something wrong was not her strong suit. Fighting and squabbling? That was a better problem solver for her.

"Don't give me that tone, mister. Or I'll show you what these hands truly can do!"

On command, two spectral hands formed from her back when she went into a fighting stance. He mirrored her, his battle ready gaze sending a rather pleasant shiver down her spine. But before either of them made their first move, his eyes changed to curious and his pose relaxed again.

"How do you do that anyway?"

"Pardon?" she asked, partly confused what he meant and partly because she was disappointed he didn't seem to want to fight.

"Being able to touch auras like you do and creating such tangible limbs from spiritual energy." He poked on one of her spectral hands and gave her an amused side eye. "You sure you're not some kind of spirit yourself?"

"Of course not!" she gasped, not truly offended, but baffled at that ridiculous assumption. "I'm just an ordinary human."

"Nothing is ordinary about you princess," he chuckled. "Especially not these powers of yours."

There was a moment of silence in which both processed how the Yokai had addressed Momo.

"What did you just call me?" she seethed, her eyes full of a fire that made him shrink back down. He did the smart thing and took a few steps towards the entrance, ready to bolt should she decide to strangle him, and just completely ignored her question.

"Just saying, you know about my little dilemma, so I guess it would be only fair if you tell me your little secret." He gave her spectral hands a wary look. "I've seen powerful priests before, but not something like this."

At first Momo didn't want to let it slide that he had called her princess. She was no dainty little damsel for Kami's sake! But she dissolved her spectral hands and gave him a pass. Called it even with her earlier intrusion in his mind. Yes, that sounded just fair.

"Honestly, I have no idea," she answered his question and walked right past him. Outside she turned around to face him again, actively blocking his way to escape. "My grandmother always said that I was blessed by the Kamis and that I am chosen for some grand purpose that I have no fucking clue about," she continued her explanation and waved her hand around, annoyance clear in the gesture and her voice.

"Language Ayase-san," he chuckled, apparently back to being relaxed upon seeing her casual attitude.

With a wide grin on her face she poked his chest. "You don't get to tell me anything."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he said amused and raising his hands in mock surrender. Momo hummed at that in satisfaction. She had to admit, it was nice that he seemed to know when to actually fight her and when to just go along with her antics.

"But yes, that's all I know. I try not to make a big show of my abilities, or some shogun could get the idea to use me, especially the aura reading thing. They would want me to interrogate enemies and allies alike, just to gain the upper hand. Ruthless bastards."

She stopped herself there. Well, if she wasn't the biggest hypocrite in the world. Acting like she had some superior morality and then just went ahead and invaded his mind for her own curiosity. There really hadn't been any reason for her to keep looking after she had made sure he wasn't lying to her. While she was not so good with apologies, he deserved one. As much as she disliked admitting it, she had been rather rude to him, even when he got her something to eat. Calling her princess was not a fair exchange for her trespassing.

She let out a breathless laugh, devoid of any real humor.

"And yet, I just did that to you without thinking. Which...I'm very sorry about," she mumbled, fidgeting with a strand of her hair. Apologizing was the right thing to do. Yet it made her sound so...weak. And that was what she hated about it.

The apology and especially her rather...meek attitude took the Yokai by surprise. Visibly fumbling with what to do, he gave her shoulder an uncertain, but gentle pat.

"It's alright Ayase-san. You didn't know it any better." When she looked at him, with those beautiful eyes that shone with such raw emotions, he quickly retreated his hand and cleared his throat. "Humans probably would never notice if you would touch their aura. We Yokai are just more sensitive to that and only get near each other's aura when we have permission." He paused for a moment holding his massive maw chin thoughtfully. "Which I actually did in a way."

"Huh?" Momo couldn't remember at any point when he gave her explicit permission to do anything like that, unless he counted on nottelling her off in the first place?

"Remember when you pulled my aura out of the dragon's one? That was more than clear consent from me for you to touch my aura. So if anyone is at fault, it is me."

Momo had to snort at that. It certainly was a way to look at the situation. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"If you want to believe that," he just shrugged and turned away from her. But then he tilted his head slightly back to look at her with one eye. "Does that work?"

The hopeful tone in his voice did it for Momo and she let out a laugh. It was really sweet of him to try and cheer her up. She was glad that he didn't seem to hold her trespassing really against her.

"Maybe. We should just agree we both were at fault with this whole thing."

"A very wise and diplomatic decision," he hummed in agreement, a twinkle in his eyes. "Your smartness rivals your beauty."

It surely was meant as a simple compliment. But Momo couldn't help herself and blush a little at the way he was looking at her while saying this. He probably wasn't even aware how...flirty he sounded. Which was very endearing.

And so easy to tease.

She walked past him back into the cave and winked at him in a coquettish way.

"Careful there, I might get the idea you're actually trying to court me."

As hoped, he immediately started to sputter and stare at her in shock. "I-I wasn't...I'm not..." Only when she couldn't hold herself back anymore and started to cackle uncontrollably, he realized that she was just messing with him. He slouched, his cheek visibly flushing and grumbled under his breath: "Not funny..."

"On the contrary, very funny," she grinned at him, before she knelt down in front of her basket and packed her previously used medical supplies back in it. He just stood in the cave entrance and watched her.

"Soooo, what's the plan for the mighty Yokai huntress?"

Momo snorted. She could hear he was trying to get back at her by giving her that mocking title. Which absolutely failed. At least it was better than him calling her princess again.

"For now? Going back to the village. I want to make sure that the farmers that you attacked-" she pointed an accusing finger at him, but grinned. "-are all okay."

"'m sure they're fine. Didn't get any of them," he mumbled, but still looked guilty to the side. Which made her in turn feel a bit guilty, so she quickly changed the topic.

"And what about you? Do you plan on getting rid of that curse?"

The deep sigh coming from him told her enough. It probably had been on his mind from the moment on since he got cursed, but no success in getting rid of it.

"I would have no idea where to start with that. As you said yourself, cursed Yokai are not very common," he confirmed her thoughts. He then walked up towards her. "And I have a duty for now." Without giving her the time to question what he meant, he picked up the basket and hoisted it on his shoulders.

"Woha, what do you think you're doing?" she asked, disgruntled at him just picking up her belongings like that.

"Carrying your gear, isn't that obvious?" was his only answer, before he went ahead and left the cave.

"Wha-? Hey, wait up!" Momo shouted and scrambled quickly to her feet to follow him. As soon as she caught up with him, she grabbed his arm to stop him in his track. "Why would you carry my stuff? Are you planning on sticking around?"

Tilting his head slightly, he looked at her as if she was not understanding something very simple.

"You beat me in a fight and had all the rights to kill me. But you didn't, so I owe my life to you. Until I can repay this debt, I will follow you around and be of service to you."

"The hells? I did not spare your life so you can become my servant!" Momo's grip on him tightened. She was upset and confused about this. Was it some kind of Yokai thing? "I just wanted to know what your deal was and now that I know that you are just a victim of a curse, I see no reason to kill you. You are your own man...Yokai. I don't accept this!"

Visibly perplexed at her outrage, he just blinked at her, before he let out an amused huff.

"You're really something else Ayase-san. Most humans would be delighted to have a Yokai servant."

"Well, I'm not like most humans," she countered, making him chuckle.

"So very true." He then gently freed his arm from her grip. "It still won't change a thing. I want to get the chance to repay your kindness, one way or the other."

They stared at each other for a solid minute, none of them backing down or even blinking. Momo chewed her bottom lip in frustration. She didn't like the idea of him feeling obligated to do whatever she would tell him. Not that she would ever ask anything he wouldn't want to. But he seemed so earnest with this stupid notion to repay her. And to be honest, she started to like his company from the conversation they had this morning. She didn't want him to be her servant. But maybe....

"I will accept this under one condition," she finally relented and raised her finger.

"Ohh?" He inclined his head in curiosity.

"You will not be my servant or anything like that. You can come with me...as my friend."

With those words she held her hand towards him. This was the most stunned she had seen him so far, his eyes wide and darting between her face and the offered hand.

"...as a friend?" he asked hesitantly, as if he would withdraw the offer if he was too assertive. It was cute and a little bit sad to see that this offer of friendship seemed to almost...scare him? So she gave him her brightest smile.

"Sure, you're alright. You take me seriously and it's fun talking to you."

She had to hold back a giggle when his eyes started to almost sparkle in wonder at her words.

"It's especially fun to tease you," she added with a cheeky grin.

All the wonder vanished from his eyes and he looked deadpanned at her.

"Awww, don't be like that. I promise I won't tease you...much," she giggled, causing him to sigh in defeat. But from the way he eagerly took her hand in his, she knew he didn't really mind it.

"If that's the only way you will let me follow you...Alright, we can be friends."

#DanDaDan #dandadan fanfic #momo ayase #Okarun #Yokarun #Momokarun #After all this talking #Yokarun still doesn't have his name. 😂#Next chapter we will see how their con act came to be #My Writing #Yokai Heart

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