Title: a test of strength Ship/Character: Aone Takanobu &/ Ushijima Wakatoshi Additional Characters: Washijo Tanji Fandom: Haikyuu!! Major Tags: None. Other Tags: very vague royalty au (it was less vague in my head but that specification never made it in the fic), royal bodyguards, sparring Word Count: 1204 Remix Permission:See Permissions Sheet
does it count as a birthday fic if i start writing after their birthday? unedited, as usual
***
“—And you’ll meet your bodyguard in—” Washijo is saying when Wakatoshi snaps back into focus. He stops in his tracks.
Bodyguard. “I don’t have a bodyguard,” Wakatoshi interrupts. I never have, he doesn’t say, though it is true.
Washijo pauses. “No, you have not,” he says, following Wakatoshi’s train of thought, “but you do now.”
He frowns. “I don’t need a bodyguard.” They are on good terms with all other kingdoms that could pose a threat to him personally. There are noble families—factions, rather, perhaps—that vie for power, but there are all honourable enough to challenge him or his mother and do it the proper way. Prince or not, there is no logical reason for him to need a bodyguard.
“It is custom.” That, too, is also true.
Wakatoshi turns his head to look down on Washijo. He is a rather traditional man, he thinks, though it is of no surprise. Nor is it a concern. “It is also custom to have had a bodyguard since my childhood, and yet I have made it eighteen years without one.”
“You are now of age, so that will change. Your childhood went without a specific bodyguard was because it was another of your father’s requests. He wished for you to gain independence and have something akin to a more regular childhood. Your mother had agreed, and did not feel strong enough to go back on her word after he left.”
“I see.” It is simple enough an explanation for him to understand, and thorough enough for him to not question it. Washijo knows this.
“It is rare you are so obstinate like this,” Washijo notes. “Are you that opposed to the idea?”
Wakatoshi thinks. “I like my freedom and my friends,” he decides. “Moreover, I am strong enough myself. I have no intention of being protected by someone weaker than myself.”
“You accept all challengers,” Washijo says, a slight smile on his face, quoting something Wakatoshi had once said. “Worry not. Your mother, the other advisors, and I have thoroughly vetted all the options. I assure you, we have chosen the one who will be best suited for the job.”
He hums. “When did you say I will meet him?”
“In an hour.”
Good. That is enough time. Wakatoshi punctuates the thought with a nod, then says, “Prepare our gear. I will test them myself.”
+
One hour later, Wakatoshi is led to the courtyard. Standing at the other end is an attractive, well-built man around Wakatoshi’s age. He bows upon seeing him, and Wakatoshi responds in kind, albeit shallower.
“This is Aone Takanobu,” Washijo says, gesturing to him as they approach. “And surely, you know that this is your prince, Ushijima Wakatoshi.”
Aone nods. Ushijima notices that Aone is just slightly taller than him.
“Have you been told that we are to spar?” Wakatoshi asks.
Aone nods again. A quiet individual, then. Being relatively quiet himself, he has no particular objections.
“First blood, then?”
Aone pauses. “I would prefer not to draw blood,” he says. His voice is low, yet smooth.
Wakatoshi blinks. He can hear Washijo’s slow exhale beside him. “You are to be a bodyguard. That is rather contradictory.”
He concedes the point with a nod. “I am a defender. I will do what I must, but I would prefer to avoid needless bloodshed.”
Interesting. Even so, it is not enough to convince him. He turns to Washijo. “Let us begin, then.”
Wakatoshi takes hold of his two-handed greatsword. It is a thing of beauty, with its forward-sloping crossguards and fine edges. It is, of course, heavy, but Wakatoshi duly possesses the strength to make use of its power.
He walks once more to the centre of the courtyard, watching as Aone moves to meet him. He carries a long polearm—a heavy blade mounted atop a metal pole with a spike at the back. For a self-proclaimed defender, Wakatoshi is mildly surprised he does not make use of a handheld shield.
No matter. A few paces rest between them, and Wakatoshi readies his stance.
“No,” Aone says and moves forward to close the distance. When they are within touching distance, Aone rests the polearm on his shoulder and extends a hand.
A handshake, then. This puts a smile on Wakatoshi’s face; it seems that Aone continually manages to surprise him pleasantly. He hopes their fight will not disappoint, and he says as much. He shakes the proffered hand—a strong grip, calluses on both of their hands, showing dedication and discipline—before they break apart.
And so it begins: Wakatoshi steps forward into a cut, swinging his hips to add power. Aone does not disappoint. He matches Wakatoshi’s blow without hesitation, catching the greatsword’s blade with the metal pole. Better yet, he withstands Wakatoshi’s blow without so much as a flinch; all that muscle is not for nothing, then.
He does not have time to appreciate it, however. Without wasting a second, Aone smoothly uses the polearm’s length advantage and swings its blade down towards Wakatoshi. He manages to swing his sword forward and knock it out of the way.
Wakatoshi shifts to the side, readying himself once more. As expected, they both have yet to use all their power. “That was rather offensive for a defender,” he comments, watching Aone point the polearm at him and sink into a steady stance.
“Sometimes the best defence is offensive in of itself,” Aone responds.
Wakatoshi sees no fault in that, and so the spar continues. They trade blow for blow, slowly adding more pressure to each attack as they both loosen up and grow accustomed to each other’s habits. He feels the adrenaline in his veins, pushing him forward.
Wakatoshi loses himself in the fight, tuning out all unnecessary senses and merely focusing on the now, the present. It has been a while since he has been so evenly matched.
Ah—he spots a tell. Aone occasionally readjusts his grip on the polearm. While Wakatoshi is no expert on that weapon, it is surely something to take advantage of.
And that he will; it has been difficult getting within striking range, due to the polearm’s longer reach. He will wait no longer.
As Aone’s hands shift—minutely, imperceptibly—Wakatoshi takes his chance. He swings his sword, catching the underside of the polearm’s curved blade. He forces it upwards, forces Aone off-balance.
Aone tries to make use of the spike on the end of his weapon, but Wakatoshi powers through. He bats it aside with the flat of his blade and uses that momentum to swing towards Aone’s neck, stopping just before the metal meets his skin.
He swallows, eyes lowering to watch the greatsword’s sharp edge. “I yield,” Aone says, tone unflappable.
Wakatoshi smiles. He steps back, lowering his sword as he does so. “It was a good match. I look forward to sparring you in the future.” The words surprise even himself, but they are the truth.
He turns away to maintain his sword when Washijo snorts. “Despite winning, you accept him as your bodyguard, then? I thought you wanted him to prove his strength.”
Wakatoshi meets Aone’s indecipherable gaze. He wants to spar him again, he thinks, and he wants to know him better. “He has,” he says, finally.
FILL: Team Grandstand, G
Ship/Character: Aone Takanobu &/ Ushijima Wakatoshi
Additional Characters: Washijo Tanji
Fandom: Haikyuu!!
Major Tags: None.
Other Tags: very vague royalty au (it was less vague in my head but that specification never made it in the fic), royal bodyguards, sparring
Word Count: 1204
Remix Permission: See Permissions Sheet
does it count as a birthday fic if i start writing after their birthday? unedited, as usual
***
“—And you’ll meet your bodyguard in—” Washijo is saying when Wakatoshi snaps back into focus. He stops in his tracks.
Bodyguard. “I don’t have a bodyguard,” Wakatoshi interrupts. I never have, he doesn’t say, though it is true.
Washijo pauses. “No, you have not,” he says, following Wakatoshi’s train of thought, “but you do now.”
He frowns. “I don’t need a bodyguard.” They are on good terms with all other kingdoms that could pose a threat to him personally. There are noble families—factions, rather, perhaps—that vie for power, but there are all honourable enough to challenge him or his mother and do it the proper way. Prince or not, there is no logical reason for him to need a bodyguard.
“It is custom.” That, too, is also true.
Wakatoshi turns his head to look down on Washijo. He is a rather traditional man, he thinks, though it is of no surprise. Nor is it a concern. “It is also custom to have had a bodyguard since my childhood, and yet I have made it eighteen years without one.”
“You are now of age, so that will change. Your childhood went without a specific bodyguard was because it was another of your father’s requests. He wished for you to gain independence and have something akin to a more regular childhood. Your mother had agreed, and did not feel strong enough to go back on her word after he left.”
“I see.” It is simple enough an explanation for him to understand, and thorough enough for him to not question it. Washijo knows this.
“It is rare you are so obstinate like this,” Washijo notes. “Are you that opposed to the idea?”
Wakatoshi thinks. “I like my freedom and my friends,” he decides. “Moreover, I am strong enough myself. I have no intention of being protected by someone weaker than myself.”
“You accept all challengers,” Washijo says, a slight smile on his face, quoting something Wakatoshi had once said. “Worry not. Your mother, the other advisors, and I have thoroughly vetted all the options. I assure you, we have chosen the one who will be best suited for the job.”
He hums. “When did you say I will meet him?”
“In an hour.”
Good. That is enough time. Wakatoshi punctuates the thought with a nod, then says, “Prepare our gear. I will test them myself.”
+
One hour later, Wakatoshi is led to the courtyard. Standing at the other end is an attractive, well-built man around Wakatoshi’s age. He bows upon seeing him, and Wakatoshi responds in kind, albeit shallower.
“This is Aone Takanobu,” Washijo says, gesturing to him as they approach. “And surely, you know that this is your prince, Ushijima Wakatoshi.”
Aone nods. Ushijima notices that Aone is just slightly taller than him.
“Have you been told that we are to spar?” Wakatoshi asks.
Aone nods again. A quiet individual, then. Being relatively quiet himself, he has no particular objections.
“First blood, then?”
Aone pauses. “I would prefer not to draw blood,” he says. His voice is low, yet smooth.
Wakatoshi blinks. He can hear Washijo’s slow exhale beside him. “You are to be a bodyguard. That is rather contradictory.”
He concedes the point with a nod. “I am a defender. I will do what I must, but I would prefer to avoid needless bloodshed.”
Interesting. Even so, it is not enough to convince him. He turns to Washijo. “Let us begin, then.”
Wakatoshi takes hold of his two-handed greatsword. It is a thing of beauty, with its forward-sloping crossguards and fine edges. It is, of course, heavy, but Wakatoshi duly possesses the strength to make use of its power.
He walks once more to the centre of the courtyard, watching as Aone moves to meet him. He carries a long polearm—a heavy blade mounted atop a metal pole with a spike at the back. For a self-proclaimed defender, Wakatoshi is mildly surprised he does not make use of a handheld shield.
No matter. A few paces rest between them, and Wakatoshi readies his stance.
“No,” Aone says and moves forward to close the distance. When they are within touching distance, Aone rests the polearm on his shoulder and extends a hand.
A handshake, then. This puts a smile on Wakatoshi’s face; it seems that Aone continually manages to surprise him pleasantly. He hopes their fight will not disappoint, and he says as much. He shakes the proffered hand—a strong grip, calluses on both of their hands, showing dedication and discipline—before they break apart.
And so it begins: Wakatoshi steps forward into a cut, swinging his hips to add power. Aone does not disappoint. He matches Wakatoshi’s blow without hesitation, catching the greatsword’s blade with the metal pole. Better yet, he withstands Wakatoshi’s blow without so much as a flinch; all that muscle is not for nothing, then.
He does not have time to appreciate it, however. Without wasting a second, Aone smoothly uses the polearm’s length advantage and swings its blade down towards Wakatoshi. He manages to swing his sword forward and knock it out of the way.
Wakatoshi shifts to the side, readying himself once more. As expected, they both have yet to use all their power. “That was rather offensive for a defender,” he comments, watching Aone point the polearm at him and sink into a steady stance.
“Sometimes the best defence is offensive in of itself,” Aone responds.
Wakatoshi sees no fault in that, and so the spar continues. They trade blow for blow, slowly adding more pressure to each attack as they both loosen up and grow accustomed to each other’s habits. He feels the adrenaline in his veins, pushing him forward.
Wakatoshi loses himself in the fight, tuning out all unnecessary senses and merely focusing on the now, the present. It has been a while since he has been so evenly matched.
Ah—he spots a tell. Aone occasionally readjusts his grip on the polearm. While Wakatoshi is no expert on that weapon, it is surely something to take advantage of.
And that he will; it has been difficult getting within striking range, due to the polearm’s longer reach. He will wait no longer.
As Aone’s hands shift—minutely, imperceptibly—Wakatoshi takes his chance. He swings his sword, catching the underside of the polearm’s curved blade. He forces it upwards, forces Aone off-balance.
Aone tries to make use of the spike on the end of his weapon, but Wakatoshi powers through. He bats it aside with the flat of his blade and uses that momentum to swing towards Aone’s neck, stopping just before the metal meets his skin.
He swallows, eyes lowering to watch the greatsword’s sharp edge. “I yield,” Aone says, tone unflappable.
Wakatoshi smiles. He steps back, lowering his sword as he does so. “It was a good match. I look forward to sparring you in the future.” The words surprise even himself, but they are the truth.
He turns away to maintain his sword when Washijo snorts. “Despite winning, you accept him as your bodyguard, then? I thought you wanted him to prove his strength.”
Wakatoshi meets Aone’s indecipherable gaze. He wants to spar him again, he thinks, and he wants to know him better. “He has,” he says, finally.