Chapter Text
she's so tall and handsome as hell
she's so bad, but she does it so well
and when we've had our very last kiss
my last request is
- WILDEST DREAMS, TAYLOR SWIFT
───────
No tale of a righteous warrior opens like this.
She must’ve been kidding—she’s no warrior, she’s only a woman. Her father has certainly done his duty in reminding her of that much, that she has no place in the world apart from being his daughter, and someday, another man’s wife, when he has no use for her. Yae is imperfect, and beyond that imperfection, she is tired, tired of fighting her father’s battles and having no use in the world. Her talent for literature has clearly proven to be of no use to the renowned general, and it has made her feel pathetic.
As Yae wades through knee-deep water, in the middle of a storm as she flees from a battle that her father had waged out of spite and restlessness that twisted his mind into a villainous state. The enemies had held her hostage, trying to use her as bait to threaten her father, but she managed to weasel out of captivity and crawled to the shore with her wrists tied to her back. She crosses a wide lake as the heavens unleash thunder and lightning upon her, striking the water but never her.
Even if she were struck by lightning and drowned, it would be a better ending than any other destined for her, at the hands of her father’s enemies or her father himself. Someday, the lake might part around her corpse and her limp body would turn into a hill.
Yae’s white dress has long been dirtied, more brown than it is any other colour. The indigo water appears as stormy as the sky because of the crystalline reflection, the colour of slate grey and melting lavender, and the colour of the nation’s trees and plants. Blood pools from her forehead and cuts threaten to bleed as the water stings them. She grunts as she drags her feet through the water, eyeing a small fisher’s shack on the other side of the lake. I need to reach there, she mumbles under her breath in a moment of immense desperation, eyes on the cusp of falling shut.
Her body is swaying with the strong winds, making it feel as though she could be blown away by the currents in an instant. She pulls her body forward, thumping each foot into the ground with as much force she can muster within this frail body of hers, praying for a miracle to have mercy upon her. Tears well in her eyes as she nears the shack, fatigue weighing heavy on her bones. “Help!” she screams at the top of her lungs, slowly waddling towards the building. She receives no response at first, her voice stolen by the breeze. “Help!” she cries again, voice wavering, but this time, the thunder muffles her plea.
Yae finds herself in front of the door of the wooden shack, her only lifeline, a couple of minutes later. She starts kicking the door with her foot, not having any other option but to do so. “Help me! Please! I’m injured and I need help!” she pleads, kicking the door repeatedly. Upon receiving no response, nor hearing any movement behind the door, a sob wretches out of her throat and she leans her forehead forward against the door, losing all strength in her body. So, this is the end, she thinks, what a pity it is that I couldn’t finish that novel of mine.
Weakened by the storm, she collapses to her knees. Her vision blurs and her breath hitches. Her heart slows in her chest, as though announcing its defeat. A moment of eternity later, the door opens in front of her and she raises her head, barely conscious. Fatigue fogs her eyes like the haze shrouding the quaint shack, and she can only make out the figure of a woman towering over her. She has her hand on the door, and her strikingly violet hair is falling gracefully over her shoulders. She says nothing at all.
“Please help me. I need somewhere to stay while I recover,” Yae pleads, lowering her head. Droplets of water start pouring from her eyes, down her cheeks, and she doesn’t know whether it’s her salty tears or the bitter, bitter rain. Her body is shivering because of the cold, and after a few more minutes, she might succumb to the haziness that has seized her. “Please. I ask for your mercy,” she begs, forsaking her pride because she knows she has no other option but to win the sympathy of the woman.
She doesn’t wonder for a second if somehow she has chanced upon someone more dangerous than the hundred men that captured her, or if she has somehow crawled straight into death’s arms herself. She wants nothing more than a refuge, just enough for her to flee further from her father before the men from his clan come out to hunt her. The woman, from this angle, appears much bigger and taller than herself, wearing armour like she’s a soldier of sorts. The rain grazes Yae’s mind, dissolving her thoughts.
When she’s on the edge of believing that even the woman will turn her away as the rest of the world has, she feels a strong pair of arms hug her shoulders, trying to stand her up. She shakes her head, shivering in her grasp from the cold. “I have no strength, miss,” she coughs, her voice strained. Instead of pulling her up, the woman tucks an arm under her knees and lifts her like a bride, caressing her gently against her body. Yae leans her head against the warmth of another body, against her chest, where she hears the soft, melodious palpitating of another voice.
You’re safe, it tells her, and her own believes it deeply.
───────
Yae doesn’t wake for another couple of hours. When she does, the first thing that greets her is the wafting scent of dried cherry blossoms and the nation’s beloved amakumo fruit. A common, aromatic perfume used in homes, but not something she would’ve expected from a shack in the middle of the woods. She watches the ceiling blankly, her mind null of thoughts. She sits up slowly, her back still sore and her head throbbing because of her cuts.
She finds herself in a double bed, under soft duvets, and on softer sheets. She feels awful for lying in such a place and dirtying it with her unkempt clothes. She makes a small sound, not remembering what led her into such a position—into a random cabin in the woods. Then, she hears a creak in front of her, and at the doorway, she remembers what happened so quickly; the woman that let her in. “I’m sorry for imposing,” she mentions hastily, lowering her head. Yae crawls out of the bed, immediately lowering her head into a respectful bow.
“You were lucky,” says the woman, nearing her slowly. “I don’t come here often, nor do I feel so generous towards certain strangers,” she explains. If Yae was cold because of her cold clothes, the words make her feel even colder, doing so much as sending a shiver run against her spine. She purses her lips, reserving a response.
“Did you escape from captivity?” the woman asks, standing much closer. She stands a considerable distance away, not because she’s wary but out of respect for her guest. It’s a wonder why she’s treating Yae so well when she’s the daughter of a prideful general who has more enemies than allies—if she were to grovel at the knees of another human, even a stranger, she would have been slain. She nods her head meekly, averting her gaze elsewhere due to not being able to maintain eye contact. On the walls, she notices a jaded katana framed with a silver sheath. Her eyebrows furrow—this woman is no ordinary person. “So you must be someone of class,” deduces the woman intelligently.
“And you are no lowlife either, I figure,” the words slip out of Yae’s lips instinctively, and she doesn’t realise how impolite they are until it’s too late to take them back. Her eyes widen in realisation and she straightens her back, a hand flying to cover her mouth in embarrassment. “I apologise—” she babbles to cover her slip-up, but the stoic woman’s face graces a smile. It happens so slowly, that it would have been almost unnoticeable if she hadn’t been standing in the soft light of a kerosene lamp.
Behind them, the wind rattles the windows with its clawed hands and the storm churns. Yae feels her face flush at the hint of the smile. “I escaped from… captivity,” she explains slowly, not knowing how better to explain her circumstances. She watches as the woman’s expression contorts into one of surprise, edging the line that could tip it over into shock before she clamps her mouth shut. Yae wonders if it’s because she doesn’t seem like the type to become a fugitive.
“You are a woman of noble birth, aren’t you?” she identifies correctly, with utmost confidence. It’s like she somehow knew, from what little hints she’d gotten, messed up and blurred in between the messy clothes, and messier hair. Yae debates whether she should be revealing such crucial information, especially to a stranger who likely possesses the ability to kill her with a swift motion of her hand. “Yae Miko,” she speaks up after a moment of pause, and Yae is certain that it isn’t because she had to think.
She tilts her head in confusion, squinting her eyes. “Why does a woman like you know my name?”
“Because I wielded my blade against your father before,” she explains calmly, her expression numb and lacking any emotion. Yae’s words catch in her throat. She takes a step backward as she observes the darkness in the eyes of the stranger, her mind relapsing into a rush. All of a sudden—she recognises familiarity in that voice, the harshness and brutality in every word, and those fearsome eyes. Raiden Ei, leader of the Shogunate Army, and one of the nation’s most fearsome warriors. Yae’s limbs seize as fear coils around her heart and she starts looking for reasons to escape.
Ei inches closer, lowering a cup of herbal tea on the bedside table behind Yae. She brushes against Yae’s skin, sending a chill running behind her skin. She stands stiffly as warm breath blows against her cheek and suddenly Ei is standing so close. So close, that if she were holding a weapon, it would have already pierced through her feeble, beating heart and she would’ve been writhing in the enemy’s arms. In a moment of hopelessness, Yae starts to cry, and Ei looks at her, puzzled.
She places a finger under Yae’s chin and makes her raise her head. “Don’t cry,” she says, and somehow, it sounds like an order. Their eyes bore into each other, purple into purple, and a dissolved image of each other gets lost in the mesh of colours. She stiffens and blinks in her blinding light. She coos at the sight in front of her, and Yae swallows her tears, as though fearing disobeying the command of a master that isn’t her own. “I despise your father, but I don’t despise you. You’re charming,” Ei assures her.
“Because I’m crying in your arms?” Yae retorts, narrowing her eyes. She isn’t used to complete obedience, but perhaps her new master would have to forgive her for the defiance in her eyes. Ei smirks, amused by the comment. With her free hand, she wipes Yae’s tears away with her thumb, the thunder in her eyes softening into something delicate and caring. Neither of them would understand what could have warranted such a reaction, but neither of them fight against the tension. “Should I be scared of you, Ei?” she questions, tilting her head.
Ei’s gaze falls. “No.” A moment of intent staring later, she catches herself in the act and releases the latter, stepping away whilst grumbling something under her breath. “Drink that now, and I’ll treat your wounds. Once the rain passes, you must return home,” she explains, and like the flip of a light switch, she returns to the same brutally cold demeanour that she started with.
Yae touches her cheeks, damp and warm. She sits down on the bed slowly, lifting the warm cup of herbal tea in her hands. She looks into the clear water, at her reflection looking back at her and the green colour looking yellow under the amber light of the flickering lamps. For once, despite knowing that she is sleeping in death’s bed, she drinks with no fear for the future. “How come you aren’t trying to kill me even though your men captured me?” Yae questions hesitantly, looking at Ei who’s sorting through her cupboard to search for something. Ei withholds her answer for a moment.
“Do you want to be killed, princess?” she asks, looking over her shoulder. She draws out a small wooden box out of her cupboard and closes it, later kicking the bedroom door shut. Yae flusters over the nickname and for a second, she wonders when was the last time she’d ever felt so shy. She elects to focus on her tea instead, sipping it even though it’s hot. Despite almost scalding her tongue in the process, it eases her nerves for a second. Ei stands in front of her. “Shall I take that as a yes?”
“Do you truly not hate me?”
“A straightforward answer would be boring,” Ei replies with a hum under her breath. “Let’s say I do.” Upon saying that, she proceeds to approach her guest and sits on the bed beside her, opening the wooden box to reveal a couple of cotton bandages and herbal ointments.
Yae hides her face in the steam of the tea. “I don’t think enemies offer enemies tea.”
“Enemies don’t bandage enemies’ wounds either,” Ei adds, knowing full well that she’s contradicting herself. It doesn’t look like she’s trying to hide her affection, or what little of it she managed to gather in the past minutes—or longer. What Yae will never know is that she’d been patiently waiting by the bed for the few hours that she was fast asleep, reading a book she dislikes, out of worry that the guest is too fragile to handle her fever.
“Come, look at me,” she instructs.
Yae obeys, turning on the bed to face her. At this closeness, she notices scars on Ei’s face that she hadn’t noticed before—a cut with stitches slashed across her right eye, then bruises on her skin from old battles that she won, or lost. To think some of these would have been caused by her father’s hands—Yae would never forgive her father for his attack against such an alluring stranger. “Are you a healer? I have never met anyone who’s so good at treating wounds,” she questions. She would’ve expected herself to flinch once the cotton bud grazed her wounds with the antiseptic, but Ei’s gestures are too polite.
“I’m no healer, I’m merely a soldier,” Ei corrects, holding her cheek in her palm. Yae lowers the tea against her lap, her body melting into the gentle touch of the woman she should be fearing. She would have never thought to find herself being caressed by death herself, after waltzing into her home in an attempt to flee from it. “Unlike me, however, you’re quite the warrior. A fugitive.”
“Hardly,” Yae replies. “I’m no fugitive, I’m merely a woman.”
Ei’s hand pauses and she turns her gaze to look at Yae. In between them, a shared flame burns and tickles the tension in the air, threatening to make it burst. She swallows her unsaid words and averts her gaze once more, leaving Yae twice as yearning for her attention. Ei lowers her hands to clean the wounds on her arms—bruises from being thrown around roughly by the enemy men, and gashes on her arms from being tied with ropes. “I won’t apologise on behalf of my men for capturing you, because it was a part of our duty and responsibility but—I apologise about… your father. He abandoned you.”
Yae chuckles. “He didn’t abandon me. Tomorrow morning, at sunrise, a hundred men from my father’s army will come to fetch me, they’ll whisk me home and I’ll once again become the victim to his scolding. He’ll tell me about how I’m an improper girl, an improper daughter, and no man will want to marry me.”
“Men are superficial,” Ei criticises sourly, making a face.
“There is a reason I have no interest in them,” Yae says with mirth.
“Ah?” Ei raises an eyebrow, reserving her other thoughts. She avoids Yae’s looking eyes, pretending as though she’s focused on treating the wounds when anybody would know from the position of her hand on the latter’s waist to hold her down, that she is only looking for excuses. A small smile slithers onto Yae’s lips as she leans forward, tucking a strand of hair away from Ei’s eyes. “Don’t move about,” she frowns, giving her a stern warning. She finally looks up, out of necessity.
“I didn’t want your hair to get into your eye,” she bats her eyelashes, feigning innocence.
“Excuses,” Ei scoffs under her breath, shaking her head. She continues to tend to Yae’s wounds with nimble strokes and careful hands, brushing her fingertips against naked skin and heaving warm breath onto bruised collarbones. She mumbles words into the broken conversation, occasionally receiving a response when Yae is attentive enough to catch them. It continues till the tea gets cold.
Outside, the storm rages as badly as it did a few hours ago, showing no sign of mercy. Thunder grumbles and lightning rips through the sky like a dagger through joss paper. Cherry blossoms are torn off the trees and sent drifting on murky water; electrified. “What do you do out here in the forest?” Yae asks tentatively, moving slightly away once her wounds have been bandaged up. It’s a little difficult to move around like this, and she won’t have the liberty to run when she’s in this state, but it’s better than suffering from infections while she’s on her own in the wilderness. Ei packs her equipment away first, then the medicines, all in a systematic order that was pre-planned forever ago.
“I come here when I’m hiding from an enemy,” Ei states in response, blatantly honest. “Most of my time goes to protecting myself, then I don’t do much else except hope.” It takes Yae a couple of moments to understand the gravity of that revelation, but when she does, her lips part, appalled. She sits up in the bed, almost standing up too quickly, but elects against it to spare herself more injuries.
“And you realise—”
“I realise.” Ei avoids her gaze and proceeds to keep the wooden box away. She stifles a yawn against her hand and rubs her swollen eyes, likely from fatigue. “I believe we have established enough trust between us to know our lives aren’t in danger with each other. For one night, if not every.”
“For one night, if not every,” Yae murmurs, placing the ceramic cup against the bedside table. She resists a smile as an idea tickles her brain. She slides under the blanket again and picks up a fountain pen that’s sitting at the edge of the table. “Do you have a piece of paper I could borrow?” she requests surreptitiously, offering no background.
Ei nods, tossing her a notepad. “Don’t write anything strange.”
“What happened to trust?” Yae jokes, with her usual mischievous lilt returning to her voice.
“You’ve got quite the mouth there,” Ei snaps, her eyes flaring. “Do you want me to seal it shut?”
“Apologies, my lady.”
Ei rolls her eyes playfully, deciding she can’t do anything to make the latter fear her in a state like this. She returns the tea cup to the sink in the kitchen, leaving Yae to herself for a couple of moments to breathe without her presence. She realises, only when she’s gone, how much her chest had tightened in her presence and how her heart had been making a ruckus during a simple conversation. Nevertheless, she catches herself smiling wider and she starts scribbling something on the paper.
Ei returns soon after, catching her scribbling something on the notepad. She tries to peer over to catch a glimpse of what she’s writing so determinedly, but Yae closes it and quickly tucks it away. “Is it something I cannot see?” she furrows her eyebrows.
“You may see it once I have left,” Yae explains, tucking into bed. Ei doesn’t fight it and relents to the instruction. She flicks off the lamp on the opposite side of the room, then extinguishes the flame on her own, resting it beside her bedside table. There is only one, small faint light over their heads, that of the buzzing fireflies that yearn for the darkness. Yae anticipates Ei to slide into the bed beside her, having seen only one in the house—but a couple of moments pass and she feels nothing beside her. “Ei?”
Then, she hears a hum from the ground. Yae sits up hastily. “Are you sleeping on the ground?”
“I had an extra mattress.”
“No! You can’t,” Yae argues, feeling bitter about this for two reasons. One, because of the guilt of having her host lie on the ground while she enjoys the luxury of a bed. Two, because of her unspeakable plans. “I won’t accept the bed if you’re lying on the ground like that—especially while it’s raining. It must be so cold,” she whines, reaching across the bed.
“I’m not as brittle as you think,” chirps the voice from down below.
“Share the bed with me, Ei. There’s more than enough space for both of us.”
Ei falls silent. Then, there is the sound of shuffling about, and the movement of blankets as they’re tossed to the ground. A silhouette moves through the darkness, slowly coming to a stand. “Are you sure? I don’t think it’s appropriate for either of us to be sleeping with a stranger,” she elaborates, and it’s truly hilarious how she’s thinking about propriety in a moment like this. Neither of them has known anything about manners in their lives—Yae, being a daughter who has rebelled against her father, and Ei, with the blood of a million soldiers, slathered on her hands. Propriety must be their mortal enemy.
“I don’t care.”
Ei, taken back by the boldness of the request, finds that she has no option but to relent after all. Albeit a little hesitant, she crawls into the bed slowly, maintaining a sufficient distance between them—as much as she can while they’re forced into such close proximity together. Yae lies back in bed with an easy smile on her face. “You know, only married couples are meant to sleep in the same bed together,” Ei tells her after a moment of silence, lying till in the bed.
They’re both lying, facing away from each other, hugging their pillows for warmth. It would seem like Ei cares a lot about olden traditions, even though she is far past the state of righteousness to call herself courteous anymore. “Wed me for one night,” Yae replies. “I wouldn’t mind.”
Thunder strikes, and if Ei says anything back, it’s covered by the ravenous sound. “Will you flee once it’s morning?” she seems to ask again, with a wistful tone. It sounds like she’s hesitant to ask, not because she’s worried about the answer, however—both of them know what it will be, deep down. Maybe it’s because neither of them want to let go of this moment—seeing each other in hindsight, tangled up with each other all night, their hearts burning with the flame of desire. Someday, when Yae leaves, memories of tonight will follow them around, and maybe that’s what Ei’s scared of—loss.
“Then I’ll become your runaway bride,” Yae jests, giving no proper response. How oddly characteristic of her, the latter thinks, because a few hours has done enough to make it feel like they’ve known each other for a few years. It would seem like that at this point—Ei’s voice a familiar sound, Yae’s hands in her hair, counting on a forever that they don’t have. Good things can’t last forever, but it’s starting to get good now and they’ll ravish in this greatness for as long as time will allow them—because once the night is over, they’ll have to let go of the possibility of everything that lingers between them right now. “Ei. Can I ask something of you? One last thing?”
Ei almost chokes on her words. “Ask.”
“Promise you’ll remember me,” Yae makes her vow.
And promise she does, committing her memories to a woman she’s met by chance.
───────
At the dawn of the new morning, Ei wakes up to an empty bed and a folded piece of paper where Yae used to lie. She runs out of her bed, eyes widened in shock as she runs to the window, searching for the woman she can’t bring herself to leave. Seated among a bed of scattered cherry blossoms, the paper awaits Ei’s attention. Unable to find her runaway bride, she picks it up and it reads:
my eternity,
when thunder and lightning clear,
blossoms will emerge.