forum The Captive Prince (o/o) closed

Started August 12, 2019 by Deleted user

tune

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"If I am not around while you whittle, you will have ample time to plot by yourself. And you will be able to manipulate this room however you like. Knitting needles may not be sharp, but I do not doubt your ability to fashion a stake of some sort that will do the job quite nicely." He turned to the fire, intending to stoke the flames higher, but then Johan asked his second question and he got stuck considering. "You have always been 'prince' to me, Johannan. I suppose I forget that you are not one anymore."

“I like to hear you still have faith in my competence.” Johan pulled the corner of his lip into a sneer, always the opposite side of his scar. He rolled his head to the side to watch Fiori tend to the fire. He was right: Johan would continue to plot, especially when he was given the chance to be alone. And when he wasn’t alone the most interesting activity was to pester his ‘master’—however irritating—with questions. “If you call me ‘prince’ even if I am not one, then what do you call the crown prince?”

Fiori huffed out a quiet laugh. "And here I was, thinking you did not like a single part of me." The fire had died some during Eirlys' visit and he struggled to coax it back into the roaring thing it had been before. He hadn't dealt with fire much back home and having Johan off to the side needling him didn't help his concentration. "I call him prince too, sometimes. Because we are here." He shrugged. "Or his name. He is my friend, Johannan. He is not… distant to me."

Johan wrinkled his nose. “I don’t. Why would I have a reason to like any part of you?” He gathered a handful of his shirt into his fists, fluctuating anger. “You weren’t supposed to befriend him. You were supposed to beat him, and break him.” His fervor was starkly interrupted by a cry of protest from his ribs. “You both ruined my life,” he added for good measure, and tossed a glare towards the fireplace.

Fi hummed softly, only wandering over to the side of the bed so he could push Johannan's arms back down to his sides and keep him from hurting himself. There was a frown on his lips, the kind that darkened his whole face. He wasn't angry, exactly, but it upset him. Hearing what Johan thought of him hurt in a way it just hadn't with Leviticus. "Calm down," he murmured. He couldn't think of a response so he just repeated himself, gently pinning Johan until he laid still. "Calm down, you will hurt yourself."

Johan refused to make eye contact with Fiori. Instead he stared off to the side while he gradually acquiesced into stillness. It hurt too much to keep fighting physically. He had already let himself confide in this Usigen more than he wanted, but it was hard not to when Fiori was among the few offering kindness to him. Still, it didn’t negate the fact he was the enemy. “I swear to Ialdir when I get my strength back I won’t let you hold me down like this.”

Fi held him for a few more seconds, just to be sure, and then he was hoovering again, watching Johan through worried green eyes. He was suddenly very afraid of what might happen, not to him but to Johan. He'd tear himself to pieces if Fiori ever took his eyes off him. In that way, he was like Cadmus had been. Self-destructive. Wild. But Cadmus got better and now…

He tore his eyes away from Johan, swallowing weakly. "Of course. You will be strong soon, Johannan, and I will not have to touch you ever again if you do not wish it."

Johan knitted his eyebrows together at Fiori’s words, and the edge of his lips he had control over drooped as much as the side affected by his scar. The Fiori before him now contradicted everything he knew of the Usigen prince he met on the battlefield. Among the differences, most irritating of all was how Johan regretted insults he threw at Fiori. Only slight remorse, but he couldn’t shake the little feeling nestled in his gut. “I…I will never understand you.”

Fi hummed, dipping his head in a tired nod. "No, but you do not try very hard at it, do you?" He tried to make the words joking but they fell flat. He'd known this would be thankless work and he was okay with that, really he was. Getting to help Leviticus was all the motivation he needed. But… something about it needled at him. Johan left him feeling off, feeling the way he had out in the hallway with tears swimming in his eyes. "Who here would."

“I would say Prince Leviticus, but he is the one who cut my hair.” Johan rolled his head on the pillow to stare straight ahead. Any emotion other than a loose frown gradually dissipated from his face. Pestering Fiori wasn’t fun anymore; he was so dispassionate now. “Or perhaps he might. I just don’t understand why you would think about what I desire. As in why wait to put me in a collar after fighting with me about it? You won.”

"Leviticus is kind to me, but… he does not have the time to try. He is so busy these days with more important things than I and I am busy with you." He shrugged, eyes wandering across the room. His room. All the things he'd never touched that somehow belonged to him. "And as for why I think about you… I suppose it is because I respect you. Because you are fierce and proud and… you have done bad, I know this, but you do not deserve to be collared like a dog. You are special—were special. It would not be honorable to disrespect that."

“I suppose that makes a little bit of sense.” Johan shut his eyes for a moment. He was special, but not anymore— at least not in the eyes of his own kingdom. Fiori’s compliments stung more than any insult. How could an enemy believe he deserved respect when his own family didn’t? But with his injuries, there was nothing he could do about it now. “In that case, my jaw is getting stiff. The salve for it is in the small bathroom connected to my quarters,” he murmured.

Fi was just glad he could come up with the words to explain it. He'd been twisting the truth a bit, of course, because he was sure Johan didn't want to hear that Fiori wanted to take care of him, but it still sounded good.. Sounded right. He snapped himself out of his thoughts when Johan requested salve, leaving quickly and returning just as fast with it cupped in his hands like something precious. "Where do I apply it?"

“I was going to…“ he trailed off, wondering if this little bit of pride was worth trumping convenience. “Nevermind. Just—lightly—massage it into and around the visible scar.” He’d never had anyone apply the salve to his jaw, with the exception of Eirlys when she first instructed him how to use it, of course. “Careful the bruises.”

"When have I been anything but careful with you," he murmured, setting the lid over on the bedside table. The salve was green and smelled vaguely of mint, and when he gathered some of it up onto his fingers it was thick. They used something similar to help scarring at home, though Fi rarely got his hands on it after he'd healed. He tilted Johan's chin up gently and then set to work, as careful as ever to keep from hurting him. Everything about this was familiar except for the prince. If he closed his eyes he could pretend he was home again, helping in the infirmary the way he liked to after sparring.

Johan didn’t answer that. Instead, feeling the little hairs on the back of his neck stand up when Fiori tilted his chin, he shut his eyes. Even with his sight submerged into darkness, the sensation was so foreign. Even the most calloused soldier’s hands in Widonia felt more delicate than Fiori’s palm, and yet Fiori was more gentle than Eirlys. Promptly dispelling any thoughts that implied the contact felt vaguely pleasant, Johan wrinkled up his nose and refused to let himself relax.

It felt greedy to look at Johan when he was vulnerable like this, so Fiori didn't let himself. All his attention was on the scar. Only the scar. Not on his cheekbones or the way his lashes fluttered as he closed his eyes, but on the ugly mess of skin he'd left behind on a battlefield a million years ago. How long had it taken for Johan to heal? His hand lingered on the corner of his lip. How many stitches had it taken to put him back together?

And then Johan was scrunching up his face and there were more important things to think about. He tapped the corner of the prince's jaw, touch feathery and light. "Relax," he murmured. "You will not stop hurting if you hold yourself so stiffly."