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Too Curious By Far 3/?

Pairing: Genji/Zenyatta (eventual), background pairings Previous Chapter Summary: Zenyatta, prince of the forest, finds a dragon in need of aid. Warnings this chapter: none, light blood/wound mention

A faunyatta AU inspired by the best @russet-red! It’s not dead, I’m just so slow at updating. Thanks for sticking with it!

The king stares at all that he has and sighs. The huge keep, the nobles and knights walking the inner ward, the ancient battlements and further: the crowded, rustic homes outside the castle gates. Nothing has changed since his mother’s ascendance to the throne. Everyone has their grievances, their joys, their lives, cared for and protected within the kingdom.

He looks at the oak table beside him, the same one his ancestors had used during their lifetimes, staring at the letter upon it. The message had arrived this morning, wrapped in thin black ribbon and sealed with a sharp claw of dark wax. The handwriting is skillfully printed, cordial even, for the ominous words within.

Bastard king,

You have taken what is mine by blood. I am riding north to reclaim it. Decide how you will be subdued: diplomacy or war. Choose wisely, for there are those who remember the old ways.

There is no signature, but its sender is clear. His scouts confirm what the letter details: an army marches north. A weight settles on his chest like he has not known in years. He had thought, perhaps foolishly, that the southern king had been struck down for good. His claim is fair, but his methods are cruel, and a ruthless man cannot lead, not in peace, not until the world is reduced to ash and reborn in his image.

The king’s eyes pass over the round bundle he had not unearthed since his youth. Ten years? Fifteen? He remembers wide, blue eyes and laughter like chimes, prim and proper, yes, but easily enticed to play, smiling with tiny velveteen nubs angled at him in challenge. The same eyes shining with unshed tears as he left the sanctuary to carry on the burden of his line.

Too late, always the wrong time. Especially now, on the eve of war. Selfish, to think of his past, when he should be thinking of his people. Yet, that stubborn ember refuses to be snuffed, flaring with another, more terrifying notion: the great forest borders both kingdoms.

There is a chance, however slight, that he could contact his old friend, warn him of what may come.

Soon, maybe, but not now. Now, he sends his scouts, the leader a man who walks in the shadows as easily as a ghost, their friendship old and steadfast. He waits and hopes for better news.

But he plans for the worst.

A tiny pair of antlers pokes through the vines of the doorway. There’s a flurry of whispers in that strange, lilting tone, then two sets of eyes blink owlishly at him, obscured by the early morning sun.

Genji closes his eyes and smiles beneath the bandages as the whispering continues, wishing he had the energy to jump up and give them a scare, something to talk about to their friends. He can barely remember being so young and full of wonder.

A soft voice startles the fauns at the doorway. Its owner leads the smaller of the two in by the hand.

[ They want to say hello. I hope you do not mind. ]

The children lose their nerve inside the dwelling, gripping to Zenyatta’s robes as they near the bed. Genji sits up, grimacing slightly. The orb is powerful, but it has its limits. He must look a mess, bandaged and mostly hidden from view.

The smallest has golden hair and bright green eyes, and they stare with a hand balanced at their mouth. The other is older, with deep bronze skin and deeper eyes who cannot keep the wonder off her face.

[ This is Ganymede and Orisa. ]

Zenyatta crouches, whispering to each.

[ Hello! ] They both say out of sync, nearly yelling and bursting into a bout of giggles.

[ They aren’t afraid of me. ]

[ Should they be? ]

Genji worries his lip.

[ You should greet them in turn. ]

Zenyatta says a soft phrase, and when Genji repeats it, the giggling intensifies.

[ Was it bad? ]

[ About as good as their greeting, I think. ] Zenyatta says with gentle amusement.

Ganymede wiggles onto the cot with childish clumsiness, leaning their face to Genji’s expectantly and closing their eyes. Genji stares for a moment, then smiles. With great care, he brushes his horns to their tiny antlers, and their smile brightens the room.

“My turn!” Orisa bumps much more roughly, making Genji snort. He rubs his head, wincing as all the motion tugs at a deep wound.

“It is time to let Genji rest. Be mindful of the state of others, young ones.”

“Yes, prince.” Orisa says, straightening, taking Ganymede’s hand in her own. Zenyatta gives her a gentle pat between her antlers, and her seriousness fades into glee as they turn to leave.

[ Thank you. ] Zenyatta says as he begins to replace Genji’s wrappings. [ I admit, there are many here who are excited to see a new face. ]

[ Mostly children, I expect ]

Zenyatta hums as he wipes Genji’s arms and back with a damp cloth that smells of warm flowers.

[ Not so. Should an interest in new things be lost on the road to adulthood? ]

Genji ponders his words.

[ Dragons are much more reserved. There are...expectations. To act outside them is, ] Genji hesitates. [ Not tolerated. ]

Zenyatta stills, though his eyes find Genji’s. [ And did you? ]

The orb circling Genji’s head ripples, a whisper of purple polluting its glow. He should not share so much with a stranger, and a non-dragon besides. Zenyatta knows too much, he is too vulnerable in his care. He stares at the gentle amber of his eyes as the deer begins patting him down with a soft, dry cloth.

Something about Zenyatta makes him want to tell him everything.

[ I did. ] He settles, saying too much but not enough. [ Tell me, prince. How are you so at peace? The burden of your title must weigh on you. You have no attendants, certainly no one to dress you. ]

[ Are you saying I look unrefined? ] Zenyatta smiles and looks down at his robes, as simple as a commoner’s, mostly clean but wrinkled, frayed at the seams.

[ That is not what I mean. I bet you would look princely even in rags. ]

Zenyatta’s face glows with his smile, and Genji’s heart flutters.

[ I am only teasing you. ] He collects his supplies, depositing the dirty rags into a worn basket. [Though we are not so grand as dragons, I am not without responsibilities. To keep my people safe, my brother safe, to ensure the medicine and food will last through the long winters, to ward off those who mean us harm, however few and far between they are... ] Zenyatta frowns. [ Though I lack guard and servant, it allows a certain closeness to others which relieves much pressure. Less prince, more Zenyatta. My brother is not so informal, but I prefer it. ]

[ Orisa called you prince. ]

[ Traditional, for such a young one. Her sense of justice and kindness is beyond her years. How exciting, to see her grow each day. ] Zenyatta, satisfied with the state of the room, turns back to Genji. [ Her dream is to become a royal guard and protect her people. And what of you, Genji? What is it you wish for? ]

The answer sticks in his throat, ugly and unvoiced, as the vision of his brother surges through his mind: young, smiling, older, furious, with blade and mouth drawn. He closes his eyes, exhales shakily, mounting pain shortening his breath.

A warm and calloused weight settles on his hand; Zenyatta’s fingers curl around his palm, squeezing softly.

Genji, in increments, relaxes. Zenyatta does not leave as he did before, only watches him quietly, sitting on the chair next to the cot.

[ I have tired you. Please, rest. ]

He does, Zenyatta’s subtle presence enough to ease him into sleep in a matter of minutes.

Genji expects to wake alone as he had done before, as he had done countless times in his youth, even when he had his wealth of lovers. Instead, he wakes to antlers in his vision and the sounds of gentle scratching in his ears. Genji takes a moment to study Zenyatta’s downturned face, locked in concentration as he writes in an old-looking journal, amber eyes tracking along its page.

Genji tries to even his breathing, but Zenyatta smiles, continuing to write even as he speaks.

[ Good evening, Genji. ]

[ Hello, Zenyatta. ]

And Genji half-laughs, half-sighs, and asks Zenyatta what he’s writing.

The king stares at all that will be his and grins. The rolling flatlands, followers, old and new, outside the open flap of his tent, and in the distant horizon, so far that not even a speck can be seen but its presence foretold like a prophecy, his bloodline’s keep. Everyone has their own reasons to be here, to follow him to their ancestral home and into battle, but he does not care, so long as they are powerful and loyal to his cause.

“The one that can turn the tide is approaching.” His seer tells him, and the king smiles, beckoning her closer as he reclines back on the large, ornate chair that serves as his throne.

“It is time to put our plans into action.” Another voice agrees, and he glances towards the other, staring into her bright, heterochromic eyes.

They have been over the plan many times, but they discuss it once more. The king is a thorough man and does not like a single thing out of place. The northern king is old, wise with years, beloved by his people. It would take nuance to win his people to his side.

It is why he leans on his best, a seer, who knows too much, who speaks the shadow’s whispers and discovers what none should know, and his cleric, unafraid of the forbidden, willing to bypass the mundane rules of the proper to reach new intellectual heights. Powerful in their own ways, unstoppable with him. He does not hope; he acts.

It is only a matter of time.

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