Major Tags: none Other Tags: light angst, pre-war Word Count: 443 Remix Permission:
i tried to go for some edo-period vibes; hope you like it ♡
***
From the lake's horizon, light peeks out slowly, colours of orange, pink and blue mixing and mystifying as the sun begins to rise. Clear crystal-blue waters reflect the sky's painting, and soon Shintarou's skin is steeped in a morning's warm yellow.
Against the ascending backdrop, he sees the Mangestu-ji temple, its form sturdy and unwavering. Inside sits a precious piece, art drawn by men who have walked this land long before him. Resting within the temple lays drawn by hand, "The wild geese returning home at Katata". Shintarou wonders if after today he will have a home to return to.
Beside him, a man sees his hesitation. With a light touch to his shoulder, Seijurou says, "Go, Shintarou. You can't stay here much longer."
"Calling a prince by his first name leads to immediate execution."
"If I am unable to be with you, then I'm already a dead man walking."
Hearing Seijurou's words makes him smile, even though his insides fill with anguish. Watching as the sun ignites the form of fire in the sky, illuminating sun rays chasing the darkness away, he wonders if there's anything he could still do before his nation is left to ruins.
Seijurou speaks again.
"Leave your country by noon. My people will come, samurai called upon by my Father, my King, into your land."
"And if I want to stay? Here, alongside you?"
"I'm sure you already know the answer."
Time ticks by.
"Shintarou," Seijurou starts, sparking Shintarou's skin in anticipation, but the words he seeks never comes. There's nothing to say, yet too much all at once, between the two men who met as boys, princes from two nations, former allies who are now at opposition. Remorse, palpable in the air, hangs itself around them like metal-chains, heavy.
Words won't end wars, and the oncoming bloodshed cannot be swept under any royal carpet. For two princes who have just turned of age, they wished they were born earlier, to be older, ready to take their thrones from the fathers; putting an end to the inevitable.
Moments trickle by, like drops of water from an imperceptibly unclosed tap. Each moment stretches on, every drop rippling tranquil waters.
They can't rewrite the ending. Soon, the vessel will overflow.
Remember me, Shintarou wants to say. His tongue feels heavy, throat stuffed with the cotton his people labour to plant, harvest and make. Remember me for who I was, and not for the decisions my father chose to make.
Their borrowed time will come to an end, but for now, they rest against each other, sitting by Lake Biwa, time slipping through their palms, looking towards an unknown tomorrow.
FILL: Team KinKage, G
Other Tags: light angst, pre-war
Word Count: 443
Remix Permission:
i tried to go for some edo-period vibes; hope you like it ♡
***
From the lake's horizon, light peeks out slowly, colours of orange, pink and blue mixing and mystifying as the sun begins to rise. Clear crystal-blue waters reflect the sky's painting, and soon Shintarou's skin is steeped in a morning's warm yellow.
Against the ascending backdrop, he sees the Mangestu-ji temple, its form sturdy and unwavering. Inside sits a precious piece, art drawn by men who have walked this land long before him. Resting within the temple lays drawn by hand, "The wild geese returning home at Katata". Shintarou wonders if after today he will have a home to return to.
Beside him, a man sees his hesitation. With a light touch to his shoulder, Seijurou says, "Go, Shintarou. You can't stay here much longer."
"Calling a prince by his first name leads to immediate execution."
"If I am unable to be with you, then I'm already a dead man walking."
Hearing Seijurou's words makes him smile, even though his insides fill with anguish. Watching as the sun ignites the form of fire in the sky, illuminating sun rays chasing the darkness away, he wonders if there's anything he could still do before his nation is left to ruins.
Seijurou speaks again.
"Leave your country by noon. My people will come, samurai called upon by my Father, my King, into your land."
"And if I want to stay? Here, alongside you?"
"I'm sure you already know the answer."
Time ticks by.
"Shintarou," Seijurou starts, sparking Shintarou's skin in anticipation, but the words he seeks never comes. There's nothing to say, yet too much all at once, between the two men who met as boys, princes from two nations, former allies who are now at opposition. Remorse, palpable in the air, hangs itself around them like metal-chains, heavy.
Words won't end wars, and the oncoming bloodshed cannot be swept under any royal carpet. For two princes who have just turned of age, they wished they were born earlier, to be older, ready to take their thrones from the fathers; putting an end to the inevitable.
Moments trickle by, like drops of water from an imperceptibly unclosed tap. Each moment stretches on, every drop rippling tranquil waters.
They can't rewrite the ending. Soon, the vessel will overflow.
Remember me, Shintarou wants to say. His tongue feels heavy, throat stuffed with the cotton his people labour to plant, harvest and make. Remember me for who I was, and not for the decisions my father chose to make.
Their borrowed time will come to an end, but for now, they rest against each other, sitting by Lake Biwa, time slipping through their palms, looking towards an unknown tomorrow.