hi! i wrote a silly little 2.9k word huaxuanlian fic, purely for the sillies -- its so unserious.
(the heavens wish for) smooth sailing
Summary:
“It’s come to our attention that Black Water Sinking Ships has been…making trouble for recent mortal trade ships,” Ling Wen announces. Xie Lian doesn’t even blink.
He looks around the room, greeted by a crowd of grim faces. Finally, he blinks, before his face is scrunching into a confused frown and he’s turning back to Ling Wen.
“And?”
Or
Xie Lian's peaceful morning with his husbands is disrupted when a last minute, 'urgent' meeting is called by the Heavens. He's less than amused when it turns out to be about his husband.
Night's clutch was ruthless and unforgiving, promising always the long restless drag of pitch-black wakefulness. His body was unable to get comfortable, unable to keep his eyes shut even with yawns so wide tears fell from them. They stained his pillow, leaving it damp and wholly unpleasant. As though he needed a reason, or to try any harder, to lose sleep.
With a sigh, Harry wasn't surprised to find himself in that state once again this evening. His reluctance to use dreamless sleep had only held firm by the sheer inability to make a halfway-decent potion himself. His ever-faithful (and surely disapproving of potion addictions) house-elf made it impossible to purchase them elsewhere, and Harry had tried one too many times to smuggle them away from Kreachers' keen eyes. He swore the elf had the nose of a bloodhound. Nothing got passed him.
On nights such as this, Harry would hazard an attempt to reach out to Ron or even Sirius if it was early enough. He couldn't simply lull to sleep with a long talk, but the comfort and warmth of their soothing voices made it a near thing. So he cast a tempus and—
Frowned when he saw a bleak 02:46.
All right, so Hermione or Remus it was. They were most likely to still be awake with their head in a tome, after all, but they were also a riskier bet. Their concern outweighed the potential for a relaxing conversation. It was always harder to admit what was happening when confronted with Hermione's nervous nail-biting and 'Oh, Harry...'s, and Remus' worried frown and soft eyes.
But with his hand halfway to the floo jar, Harry paused.
There was…one other person.
Someone who kept odder hours than Hermione, Remus, or even Harry himself. In fact, he was nearly certain this particular person never slept at all. But there was no way Harry could just floo call this late at night, right? That would be outrageous. No one but his family or friends would answer him this late and—
I do not have friends, Harry.
And they weren't friends at all, but—
But Harry was calling out, "Slytherin Manor," before he even realised it.
In the broken haze of what could no doubt only be described as the prelude to his inevitable demise and undoing, Harry felt like an idiot. The green-licking flames of floo fire were never warm or scorching, but his embarrassment lent a hand to be a mimicry of its sibling's blazing red-orange heat.
What in Merlin's name was he thinking?! People didn't just call up Voldemort! People didn't just call up the Dark Lord. Harry vaguely realised the sort of double standard he was encouraging, considering Voldemort could damn well call up whomever he wanted whenever he wanted and had done so to Harry now more times than he could count. But! That was clearly different!
Right?
Harry thought back, thinking of Voldemort's claims of checking in on his Horcrux and the shoddy attempt at hiding his desire to simply check in on Harry, that they were. And was once again reminded of that Christmas they had spent together under the guise of ministry paperwork, Voldemort's need for company (and maybe just Harry's company—but he wasn't ready to think on that quite yet) rivalling his own.
So maybe Harry wouldn't get cursed— or worse, laughed at— in the face of his attempt to reach out. Maybe Voldemort wouldn't even answer.
"Harry?"
Fuck.
"Hi," Harry started. Voldemort's head didn't appear in the flames, so Harry assumed he must have answered from a distance. Maybe he caught the call by chance? Honestly, Harry had never gotten over his surprise that he even had access to Voldemort's floo. How many people could say that?
I do not have friends, Harry.
Fine. It was a dumb question, Harry knew. But the pleased (scary) feeling in the deep of his stomach didn't lessen with the acknowledgement, even if it was for a ridiculous reason that only Voldemort would think up. Something like giving Harry open floo access because he didn't trust Harry to protect himself. As though Harry Potter, the-boy-who-lived (one title of many), would inevitably be under attack one day, and Voldemort just expected him to floo on over no big deal so the big scary Dark Lord could protect his Horcrux.
"Harry," Voldemort repeated, exasperated. How many times had he called Harry's name?
Harry, still sort of distracted by his thoughts, replied, "Yes?"
"Did you call to sit here in silence, or did you have something to say?" Voldemort questioned. And really, it was a good question because Harry wasn't sure. Sometimes that's what they did, Remus or Hermione, when the questions (interrogation) ended, and they were simply left with the desire to keep Harry company. To not let him feel lonely while trapped awake and unable to rest.
"I…" Harry thought long and hard about what he would say— should say, "called to say hi." He hit his forehead with the flat of his palm and dragged it down over his face. Clearly, not long and hard enough.
There was an eerie pause, and Harry wondered if that was that. Voldemort probably silenced his floo and carried on doing… Well. Whatever it was he did at 3am, and Harry would have to suffer the embarrassment of this moment on top of his inability to sleep.
"Move," Voldemort's voice suddenly sounded much closer.
"What-" Harry started backing away, scooting on his rump and using his arms to help pull himself as the floo flames rose to an impressive height. He had the startling realisation of what was happening just seconds before Voldemort appeared through the fire.
Unsurprisingly, Voldemort didn't use the floo like any normal person. He did not arrive coughing or soot-covered or with the air of pretentious flawlessness that a wizard trained in the fine art of fire travel since birth would have. But he did arrive with an easy sort of controlled grace. Like the flames and bricks of the hearth would never dream of making his travel anything less than prompt and efficient. Or like his magic would only allow total obedience and mastery over something even as simple as floo travel— actually, that last one seemed most accurate.
Harry just knew that if he'd attempted the same, he would have wound up face down on the floor, maybe in another country. Anyway, all of these runaway thoughts were doing an outstanding job of distracting him from the fact that Voldemort was once again in his home and that Harry's response to this unexpected visit was to continue sitting on the floor in his pyjamas and look up at him in startled shock.
Voldemort kneeled on one leg and carefully examined Harry's face. Finally, he leant back and tilted his head once satisfied with his thorough appraisal. "You are not drugged," he said.
"What?" Harry asked again and spluttered out, "Why would I be drugged? Who would drug me?"
Voldemort seemed to give the question some serious thought, "You are impervious to the Imperius, and I can think of several ways someone could get you to ingest, touch, or inhale an unknown substance. As for the why and who, would you like a list?"
Harry glared and summoned his glasses—which he immediately regretted because now Voldemort's face was right there in front of him in clear, perfectly crisp quality. Being this close to him should be very illegal. Harry couldn't pinpoint when he'd started to get so jumpy around Voldemort, but it felt like a recent development in their strange…relationship.
Harry didn't think that was the right word. It was more like they were two planets that happened to share an orbit. Though that somehow seemed even worse. Maybe they were stars in the same constellation? Two bright gas giants like Castor and Pollux, mirrored but distinct.
He stumbled up onto his feet and looked down at Voldemort with his arms crossed as though the thin sleeves and his tight hold could shield him. "No. I'm good without a second opinion on who would like to kill or harm me." Although, Harry wouldn't be surprised to learn that that list was very real. "I guess I should have phrased my question different— why did you think I was drugged?"
Voldemort had that quiet amusement floating through their bond, the kind Harry couldn't spot without the liquid-like tingle that spread slowly in the very back of his mind. He gracefully stood, and Harry lamented the short life of his high ground.
"You floo called me at the notoriously potent witching hour, claiming you only wanted to 'say hi'." Voldemort's raised brows and pointed look said far too much with so little, "I have not lived this long on spite, Harry. I am reasonably distrustful of most unusual occurrences and feel it unnecessary to point out that this is highly unusual."
Harry would feel very embarrassed if he weren't hung up on the fact that, "You came over because you're a paranoid bastard and thought I was going to kill you?" He wanted to say he couldn't believe Voldemort would think that, but it would be a lie. Of course Voldemort would think that. Of course.
"No, Harry. I came over because I'm a paranoid bastard and thought you were sent to distract me as an outside force readied itself for a full-on strategic attack on my manor or through your floo connection." He paused as if to let that sink in and continued, "It is what I would have done."
Crazily enough, that answer was better. And Voldemort smiled teasingly, probably feeling Harry's relief—if it wasn't already clear as day on his face—and added, "Alas. You appear to be yourself. So to what do I owe this call, Harry?"
Harry sighed, a grin fighting its way onto his face. "I really did just want to say hi, you know."
Voldemort hummed, unconvinced, "And I attend wizengamot meetings for the scintillating conversation and their prompt effectiveness at passing completely reasonable, not at all biased, bills. Do we plan to exchange blatant lies all evening?"
"Well," Harry faux pondered, "considering it's early morning, I think we can skip all that." Then he turned, walked out of the parlour, and waved a hand over his shoulder, "Come on. If you're going to be annoying, then at least have the decency to do it over tea."
The amusement pooling in the back of Harry's head was much louder now. As he set about starting the kettle— and kept one eye on Kreacher, who looked about ready to keel over at the sight of (not only Harry doing anything for himself but) Voldemort sitting one leg crossed over the other at the kitchen table— and picked out two large, proper mugs, Harry debated over what to tell Voldemort.
How did one explain restlessness to someone who didn't require rest? How did Harry go about breaching the topic of nightmares and phantom pains to the person responsible for half of them? Harry didn't think it fair to place that burden on Voldemort now. Especially with how different he was and how hard he was trying to be better. Be more.
Harry was pretty sure he didn't even hold it against Voldemort anymore. It'd be like reprimanding a puppy for something it had done over a week ago. Or, in this case, trauma dumping all the bullshit a murderous dark lord had done to him on the very same dark lord who was incredibly insane at the time of inflicting said trauma.
The kettle whistled, and Harry finished up preparing their tea the way they liked it. Harry's, with a small amount of milk, and Voldemort's, who simply preferred a spoonful of honey. Though, he rarely allowed himself the delight for some odd reason. Harry figured he thought it was some misguided show of weakness and kind of wanted to strangle that out of him.
With mugs finally placed and Harry comfortably sitting in the chair closest to the still-warm stove, Voldemort spoke. "Your thoughts are buzzing like Cornish pixies. I cannot say I personally have ever felt so… indecisive," he sipped his tea slowly. Harry wondered if all of Voldemort's careful pauses were intentional or if they all held such gravitas because it was—well, because it was Voldemort. "Harry?"
Harry tilted his head, confused, and said, "Yes?" It wasn't like he hadn't been listening. It was very rare that Harry found himself distracted from Voldemort; if he ever was, it was typically by a Voldemort-related train of thought. So that hardly counted.
Voldemort's silence transition to something thoughtful. "I tend to be singular with my curiosity of you. This results in my insistence on answers, prying them out of your mouth because I cannot pry them out of your thoughts." Harry clung to each slow spoken word with his complete focus but sorely wanted to laugh. They both knew that if Voldemort were determined enough, he'd easily be able to get anything he wanted out of Harry. "All of that to say you need not answer my questions at once, but you do need to answer them. Fortunately for you, I am a patient man."
Harry laughed, "Are you going to sit here and wait around all morning, then?"
"If I must." Voldemort looked very serious. Harry was almost flattered.
"Even if I don't tell you anything?"
Voldemort's face screamed how doubtful that was, but he replied, "Even then." Damn, Harry was definitely flattered.
After tossing his thoughts back and forth a few more times, Harry safely said, "I couldn't sleep."
Voldemort stayed silent, probably expecting Harry to continue on. He shrugged, "That's really it. I couldn't sleep." But Voldemort was far too good at waiting Harry out and simply sat across from him, quiet and intense, elbows on the table and eyes locked to Harry's own as he squirmed and eventually caved.
"Fine! This has been an ongoing thing. I've been dealing with something like insomnia for a while, I guess, and usually, I call up Sirius or Ron, but after a certain hour, they're both out cold. So that leaves Hermione and Remus, who are great and kind and just so concerned, and I didn't want either of them to sit there and look so worried and disappointed and—" Harry took a deep breath to cut off his longwinded spiral. Voldemort was looking at him with a sudden understanding, and Harry could almost hear the 'Ah' like it was said aloud. "And…and I know you don't get much sleep either. So…" Harry trailed off.
Voldemort gave an understanding nod, and for a second, Harry thought he would make a small throwaway comment, something like a joke. Harry even felt the start of it bubbling through their bond, but that now familiar amusement faded into something softer. Something Harry couldn't quite put a name to. Even though their connection was always so much stronger when they were closer together.
"You are welcome to spend your evenings and early mornings with me, Harry," Voldemort quietly murmured. And his eyes were much darker in this light, the red hardly noticeable, appearing almost like a warm spiced brown. Almost like a steeped tea. "You are always welcome…and to much more than that."
And you are so much more.
What could Harry even say? How could he reply to that? Did Voldemort hear how that sounded? Did he even realise? Harry's heart felt like it had stopped beating, but also like it was beating so hard it could cause tremors to the earth. Was he shaking? Was his house shaking?
Voldemort stood, and with a quick flick of his wrist, his and Harry's mugs floated delicately away. He took Harry's chance to reply with them. "Let's adjourn to my manor and talk more there. I have documents needing some minor attention that I wish to finish, and I see no reason we cannot kill two snidgets with one stone, so to speak." Voldemort sighed before adding, "Nagini has also been rather persistently asking after you. She would enjoy your visit."
Harry's strained laughter didn't seem to phase Voldemort as he held out his hand to help Harry up. And thank Merlin for that. Harry didn't think he could move even if his life depended on it. Maybe Voldemort had cast a jelly-legs jinx while Harry was gazing into his eyes, petrified.
Harry took Voldemort's hand and at once startled at his warmth. Voldemort ran cool on a good day and downright icy normally. Harry suspected the hot drink couldn't have lingered this long and wondered if Voldemort had cast a charm on his hand after noticing Harry's slight chill. His small reluctance to leave the cosy heat radiating from the stove lessened, and he held Voldemort's hand a little tighter, a little longer than he probably should have.
Time slowed for just a moment when Voldemort appeared almost surprised by Harry's grip. His eyes caught and lingered on their held hands (and with a softness Harry really should be used to by now—maybe even come to expect); Voldemort ran a slow, exploring thumb over the back of Harry's knuckles. He traced their small peaks and valleys over and over until he finally rested his attention on Harry's ring finger. He dragged one long line down it as he released Harry from his hold.
Then without a single word, Voldemort trailed out of the kitchen, looking back only once to tilt his head and motion for Harry to follow.
And what else could Harry do but follow? Voldemort had taken with him Harry's heart, after all. Stole it right from his chest with a simple touch.
Fandom: Akatsuki no Yona (Yona of the Dawn)
Rating: General Audiences
Summary: Gu-En, Abi, and Shu-Ten had all grown so much, but no matter how much time had passed, one thing remained the same for all three of them. Zeno had never come to see them.
Hmph, well then. If that yellow doofus wouldn’t come to them, they would wait for him to join them in the skies above, or you know, they could just to go to him.
In their own separate directions, the first Hakuryuu, Ryokuryuu, and Seiryuu trudged forward in the snow, away from each other and their fourth brother, Ouryuu. They didn’t know where they would go or how long they would stay at the places they reached. All they knew was that, for better or for worse, they had just started the next part of their lives.
Gu-En could easily admit that he was a bit nervous to leave the castle. After all, a good portion of his life had been spent there. When he had begun his time as a Dragon Warrior, he had been twenty-four. Sixteen years had passed, and he was now forty. In a few years, he would joke to his son that he and his brothers were late bloomers, not leaving their home even though they were all adults. For now, though, he was content on just wandering northwest toward the mountains. He wanted to see if he could climb the mountain’s steeps with his claws rather than just walking up the paths typically used by travelers and merchants. Sure, he couldn’t scale them as fast as Shu-Ten and his leg could, but it would be a fun challenge. Plus, there was always the possibility of settling down up in the mountains.
A few years ago, he had heard that the lands in the mountain ranges were surprisingly fertile. If need be, Gu-En could become a farmer and live off the land there. While amusing to think about, he could use his claws as a plow since he could expand his right hand. Many farmers nowadays used animals to plow the land, but he wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to carry any animals up the mountain. On the other hand, if he did have animals, he could always eat their meat if the crops didn’t grow well. He already knew what kinds of fruits and vegetables he liked, so he would just have to learn which plants bore fruit in the mountains’ soil. Heh, look at him already imagining the life of a farmer when he hadn’t even reached the base of the mountain yet.
Abi desperately wished to be away from those who wanted to use him for nothing more than their selfish desires. His king may have wanted his power to form the Kouka kingdom, but at least it would unite the people of the land. Those men who had kidnapped him had only wanted fame and glory for themselves. Never again, he had vowed. Never again would he let anyone see his eyes if greed was all they brought. Even with those eyes that the dragon god had bestowed upon him hidden away, his sight was unmatched. Sixteen years in service of his king and kingdom had done nothing to dull his vision. If anything, his field of vision was sharper than ever, and he knew his limits and when they were about to be reached. That eighteen-year-old brat who would pass out every time he used his powers was gone, replaced by the thirty-four-year-old man with a white cloth over his eyes. It might sound a bit odd, but he was looking forward to spending the next couple of years in solitude. However, he wasn’t planning to stay alone for the rest of his life.
In the long run, he hoped to settle somewhere near a body of water, maybe a river or a waterfall. He was a bit apprehensive about living with people who weren’t his brothers though because they would probably ask about his eyes. Abi really wanted to avoid that, but it wasn’t like he could stop them from asking. Only time could tell, but for the time being, he was perfectly fine with traversing the woods. Perhaps he would meet more birds like the one at the castle all those years ago. He had been Abi’s companion for so long that he had almost named it. Gu-En joked that the only reason the bird had stayed for so long was because they could both see their surroundings so well. Abi had blushed at that even if it was a bit of a backhanded compliment.
Shu-Ten looked forward to his newfound free time as a thirty-five-year-old bachelor. He already knew that his first destination would be a tavern, maybe a brothel afterward. Who knew? Well, it definitely wouldn’t be him while he was still sober. With his brothers not by his side or at his back, life would be weird for a while, if not a bit lonely. Not that he would ever admit that aloud, mind you. For as much as he teased his brothers and griped at them to get lost, he would miss them. He was as sure about that as he was that his hair was green.
He was also pretty sure that he would be the last of the brothers to settle down somewhere. Someplace with a lot of running or jumping room sounded nice. Maybe somewhere near a merchant trade route, so he’d have easy access to food and supplies. Living in a city just didn’t sound like a life he wanted. It was too crowded and noisy–oh god, he was starting to sound like Abi–and he was more likely to be recognized as one of the Dragon Warriors. Shu-Ten knew that settling down was going to be a huge part of his future, but presently, he opted to just shove it to the back of his mind.
As the years passed, the three dragons saw and experienced so many different things they hadn’t truly understood when fighting for the kingdom. They saw new views that made them awestruck. They tasted new cuisines with flavors that seemed to be dancing on their taste buds. They felt new textures in objects that looked so strong but crumbled upon touch. They smelled new scents that seemed to stay in their noses for hours. They heard sounds that were vastly different from those on the battlefield.
Gu-En learned what it felt like to fall off the side of a mountain.
Abi discovered how hard it was to get bees to stop trying to pollinate his hair.
Shu-Ten found out how many leaps it took him to flee a girl who insisted that his hair was made out of grass.
Gu-En was able to compare how comfortable the bed at the castle was compared to the floor of a cave in the mountains, which noticeably had his hip killing him when he woke up in the morning.
Abi learned how long it took him to wash his clothes in the river and to dry them.
Shu-Ten was amazed at how many merchants let him tag a ride on the back of their wagons.
Gu-En had decided to stay in the mountains in the end since the height made him feel close to his king.
Abi had been around nature for so long that he was able to identify the differences between the songs of birds, the trails of snakes, and much to his disgust, the defecations of wild boar.
Shu-Ten had been taught how to weave straw sandals to make some quick ling.
Gu-En had come across a village in a small valley of the mountains already farming their own crops. At the time, winter had long gone, and the snow already started to melt. He was led to the village by its inhabitants when he agreed to help them. Chunks of stone that had been separated from the walls of the valley due to snow freezing into ice had come tumbling down into the village and houses had been crushed. Families were still inside the debris of their homes, trapped. The villagers didn’t have enough manpower to carry all the bits and pieces of broken houses by themselves, so they were trying to reach out to others for help. Although a bit apprehensive about showing his hand to others, Gu-En wanted to help save the people trapped. His hand swelled and his fingers elongated, and he quickly started flinging chunks of the houses away. What he couldn’t throw was lifted, and another person was able to quickly get those who were trapped out. He was able to help free them in record time. After everyone was rescued, the villagers stood before him. They asked him to stay, and he agreed. They treated him like a hero, a neighbor, and a friend.
A year and a few months later, he married a woman who occasionally chided him about making sure not to poke holes through the laundry. She taught him much about working the lands in the back of the village where the fields for crops were. More than just plowing, Gu-En learned how to tell when certain vegetables were ready to be harvested. The one he became most knowledgeable about was potatoes, which he may or may not have called “ugly ass earth turds” when he first found out he would have to clean off the soil on them because they grew underground. A few weeks shy of three years since he left the castle, Gu-En and his wife had their first child, a boy with white hair and a right hand that matched his father’s. The village questioned the father and son’s hands, and Gu-En finally told them that he was a Dragon Warrior. Despite his requests, they never did quite manage to treat him like an equal again. The day his son was born was the day the village started to called him Lord Gu-En or Lord Hakuryuu.
Abi started to learn the less common roads used by travelers.
Shu-Ten had sniffed exotic spices from another country in a market and couldn’t smell anything until he woke up the next morning.
Lord Hakuryuu learned the local lullabies to sing his son to sleep, and he told him the occasional story about the Dragon Warriors at the castle, none of the warzones.
Abi had saved a town in the Water Tribe from bandits by telling the village’s leader how long they had until an attack hit them. He went on his way about an hour after giving the warning. There was a festival in the Fire Tribe’s territory he wanted to see. Apparently, it was to honor the spirits of the dead. The food at the festival had been delicious. Despite the popular belief, the Fire Tribe’s tastes tended to be more sweet and savory rather than spicy. Half a year later, Abi had returned to that village he had saved and spent a few weeks in the forest near it. His want for social interactions that were more than a brief hello and the exchanging of ling had finally made itself known. After his time of observing the village and its people from a distance, Abi decided to ask the village leader and elders if he could stay with them. They agreed almost instantly as they realized that he was the man who they owed their thanks to for warning them of the bandits.
At first, Abi stayed in the home of an elder, but with the help of the other villagers, a house was eventually built for him. He married three years after joining the village to a woman older than him by eleven months. She was a ninth generation seamstress, a trade he knew absolutely nothing about. Abi tried to help her, but more often than not, he would make mistakes. His mother-in-law once said that he did the worst darning she had ever seen. His wife’s family was different from what he had expected, to say the least. They encouraged the men to take care of the home while the females would bring home the money and food. His wife waved it off when he brought it up, saying how her family liked to shake up traditional ideas. Almost a year later, they had a daughter with beautiful blue hair and red markings underneath eyes that shined like gold, just like her father’s. Seeing the Seiryuu’s eyes on his daughter made Abi’s stomach clench. He confided in his wife that he didn’t want to have another child if the power of the dragon god would be passed on to them. She agreed, mentioning that she wasn’t sure her body could take another birth. Many people in the village had heard stories of the Dragon Warriors from the occasional stranger passing through town. Nothing really changed between Abi and the village, excluding the times when someone would call him Seiryuu and when his mother-in-law would crack a joke about his eyes being useless to the family business.
Shu-Ten taught himself how to catch fish with his right foot, a skill that blew the minds of the locals in a coastal town.
Lord Hakuryuu spent years bonding with his son who had eventually grown into his teens.
Seiryuu learned how to braid hair at his daughter's insistence.
Shu-Ten had been able to rank all of the taverns in the Earth, Wind, Water, Sky, and Fire Tribes’ capitals. The Wind Tribe had the best by far, and Shu-Ten knew that he was being completely biased. Over his travels across the kingdom, he felt his brothers settle and felt like it was his turn to follow suit. He had come across a few towns in the Earth Tribe’s territory, but they weren’t really good for anything past getting drunk and having a good time. That being said, it was in one of those boozed up towns that he had met the lady who kept him on his toes. He met her in the least glamorous way he could think of. Not even two steps into the closest tavern to the village’s entrance and his shoes had been puked on by a drunk that was barely able to stay on her feet. She had enough wits still with her to realize what she had done though. In the next second, she turned around and screamed to the barkeep that his first three drinks were on her. He spent the early stages of the evening getting as equally hammered as her, and in the dead of night, they somehow managed to stumble their way to an inn. The next morning greeted them with splitting headaches and naked bodies. He grumbled to her to not slam the door on her way out. He was surprised him when she responded by kicking him off the bed and pulling up the sheets as she rolled over. Later in the day when she woke back up, it was to an empty room that had been paid for. The rest of Shu-Ten’s time in that village was full of run-ins with that girl that they eventually just started seeking each other out. Days turned to weeks which then rolled into months. Having had enough of doing nothing but partying, and even though he knew his sudden departure might shock the girl, Shu-Ten said his goodbyes to her. Once more she shocked him by demanding he take her with him. He agreed easily enough. They traveled for days until they reached the Wind Tribe.
He and his companion opted to stay in a village in the southern Wind Tribe territory where the land was flat and sunrises and sets seemed to spread out toward the edges of forever. There were no mountains or forests to obscure the view, just Shu-Ten and her, the village, and endless skies begging to be flown through. He was soon able to get a job at the village’s vineyard as a grunt in the warehouses. The pay was good, and every so often, he was gifted a bottle of alcohol from the distillery. On one of their many nights of undrunken passion, Shu-Ten and his lady were able to conceive a child. It ended up being a girl, and like his brothers, his secret of being a Dragon Warrior had been exposed. Everyone in the village had heard of him and his brothers’ conquests with King Hiryuu, and while they were starstruck for a bit, they didn’t start worshipping him. As long as pulled his weight at the vineyard, the villagers really couldn’t have cared less if he was a normal human, a Dragon Warrior, or the dragon god itself.
Of course, the three Dragon Warriors’ experiences weren’t the only things that had changed. Their appearances, though still similar to their younger selves, were aged. Hair colors lost their sheen and became limp. Their values shifted from the good of the nation to the good of their families. Backs became hunched, and memories became a little hazy every now and again. After all, twenty-four years had passed since they disappeared from the castle. Gu-En, Abi, and Shu-Ten had all grown so much from back then, but no matter how much time had passed, one thing remained the same for all three of them. Zeno had never come to see them.
“Zeno, you idiot. Even though I said to come, you made me wait too long.”
“When we meet again, Zeno, you’re going to learn how much of a bad idea it was to make your brothers wait so long for you.”
“Listen up, all of you, if a blond-haired guy ever comes by the village to see me, punch him and tell him that’s for making me wait too long!”
Hmph, well then. If that yellow doofus wouldn’t come to them, they would wait for him to join them in the skies above, or you know, they could just go to him.
[Feedback is greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading!]
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Characters: Harry Potter, Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Additional Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Truce, Insomnia, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor
Series: Part 3 of (the world) its quiet turning
Summary:
Sometimes it wasn't anxieties that kept Harry awake. Sometimes it was just the evening's chill and the promise of dreams turning sour. Tonight, tossing and turning lost its appeal slower than he'd expected, and with the late hour, who could possibly be awake to keep Harry company?
