not funny. did NOT laugh. got a little stressed actually........
blood carries a weight to it, in nohr. a unique one, that cannot ever be overlooked. blood carried, blood spilt, blood offered, blood taken.
all of these are significant.
"any cruelties you might visit upon me will be deemed deserved by your allies. but i assure you that there is always more value to me alive than dead. your mercy is something i am grateful for, my lord. my king." unspoken: mine, mine, mine, the word echoing like the beat-beating of a traitor's heart. to continue to live is a gift, and he does not forget that. to be in the presence of his king is even more so.
why do men wish for vicious things? these wishes bend the statues of dead kings and gods.
living kings, though... those are not statue.
"if you say that nohr is not participating in war, then i shall honor that. do you think me bloodthirsty, king xander?"
he is.
but also: he is not.
he is a brutal necessity, a thing that thrives in wartime, a thing which had positioned itself up against garon's warmongering out of necessity. because if he is a perpetrator, he cannot become a victim.
is that not a mentality that makes some semblance of sense? nohr is something survived, not served. but he would not beg before a nation that would make him a snake and then hate him so readily for it.
is this what iago fought for?
he meets xander's eyes then. "what was going through my head? my lord, i will pledge to you my loyalty, for loyalty is all i know, but even my king does not have a right to my thoughts."
unblinking. unwavering. his lips curl up in a smile. he is not offended by xander's demands. no, in fact he finds them fascinating.
"my body, though? that is yours. my tactics, my magic. direct me, use me. but what i think of what i did under king garon, what i vow to do under you... that is my own business."
king garon.
garon.
father.
the words still sting, loathe he is to admit it. and though he may deny, there are fingerprints of his father that riddle iagos body. from the crease of his smile, to the indent of a wrinkle, within it are remnants of what his father did. perhaps not a physical touch , merely figurative , but it is harder to gaze upon statues sculpted within his youth and know of the commissioner behind them.
but is iago right ? does he hold merit in that - the truths of his fathers lineage are that of his to keep ? are retainers not allowed the sweet mercy of secrecy for their liege ? xander recalls what he has told peri and laslow in confidence. xander recalls, his expectations it would never be uttered again.
were xander to die ( to spew his blood , to rip his entrails from his own chest , for what offal remained of him to be disposed of to those wronged by him and him alone ), would he expect laslow and peri to speak candidly of those secrets on the sole merit he was deceased ?
no. no he does not.
face hardens, and shifts - an ever so slight edge of softness to otherwise unchanging features. masked uncertainty, fleeting, and yet compounded with an unspoken i see. lips open so to speak, the whites of his teeth showing, and yet they close themselves once more. he knows peri does not sing his secrets in his absence. he knows laslow does not parade his insecurities to where he has left beyond nohrian walls to.
"then your loyalty is accepted. watched closely by myself," for leo, elise and camilla may not be as gracious. but nohr had to change. xander had to, too, and so did iago. "i cannot protect you from what my siblings may cast unto you. don't ask it of me, but i will advise them of the understanding we've come to."
. . . but he still wants to ask.
xander sits down. it is late. hands open book - any book, one easy to grab, and slide the page to flatness. "then tell me," he meets iagos gaze once more. it is awkward. "did you know of my father before what he became ?"
and if he does, what does he know ? xander collects dying memories like they are rare pennies. they have no value anymore, only in sentimentality at this point, and yet it is a connection he cannot break. he loves his family. he will always love them. garon is a hole in his heart carved out with blunt cleaver and the muscle left to hang from abattoir hook.
"i would like to hear of at least one experience. just so i know."















