The roaring of the bears is fading now, but his legs are burning, even as the winter winds cut through him, sharper than the shortsword in his small hand. And the wolves are close, getting closer, undeterred by weapon he'd brandished at them, untempted by the bread he'd left behind in the satchel he'd dropped--somewhere. He doesn't know where anymore. It all looks the same; just blinding white snow and dead trees. He can't even smell the sea anymore.
There's a whole pack of them after him, but he can't tell how many there are. He's been running for so long, and it's so cold. The snow is still falling, always falling, rapidly obscuring his panicked footprints, as if there was ever a chance he'd be able to follow them back home anyway. Father warned him about this, and mother, but he'd wanted... he'd just wanted...
The growls are louder now, but wolves tread softly in the snow, unlike frightened, desperate teenagers. He has no Vision, yet, only the instincts of a village boy, what's needed for life in a harsh land with a coldhearted Archon. His life has been dull, but mostly safe. He can't fight off a wolf pack by himself, especially not when they take him by surprise.
One catches him by the leg, and he screams, tumbling into the snow. The sword slips out of his hands, and he claws through the snow for it, but his hands are too stiff with cold to grasp it properly. So he leaves it, dredging up the last of his strength to kick back, as hard as he can. His blood mars the snow as he scrambles back to his feet, but he's unsteady, now. He won't make it far, if there's anything ahead of him besides endless snow anyway.
Still, he staggers to his feet, chest heaving with the pain. He backs up, shaking, but they're relentless, now. They have their prize.
They lunge again-- he stumbles back, and slips--
--falls--
--but he doesn't hit solid ground. He doesn't, really, ever land at all.
It's dark, when he comes to. But this is a darkness he's never experienced before. It's oppressive, unnatural. Humans don't belong here, he knows that much intrinsically. He can hear high-pitched, eerie laughter, and a distant ruffling, and lazy footsteps, but he can't even begin to fathom where they're coming from, let alone how near or far they are.
He's still so tired. So cold. He closes his eyes.
A glow approaches, then, along with new footsteps, more solid and steady than the ones elsewhere. They approach him, where he's... floating? Lying down? It must be lying down, because he's kicked, and not gently.
"A human? After all this time?" There's a whisper, but he can't tell where it comes from. "What's your name, boy?"
How is he supposed to answer?
"If you seek death, I won't bother to linger."
He isn't even sure if he's still breathing.
...But.
The people of Morepesok are stronger than this. An Adventurer would be stronger than this.
His father would be stronger than this.
So he cracks open his eyes to see a woman, a sword in her hand, watching him with an unfeeling expression. It takes energy he didn't know he still had, but he forces his lips to move. If he makes any sound, he can't hear it past the fog in his head. But the woman's cold eyes are still fixed on his face.
"Ajax?"
A beat. She watches him, and he'd swear the shadows behind her move, curling lazily around her.
Finally, she speaks again. "You can't survive here alone." There is nothing gentle about her tone, but he doesn't have it in himself to be offended. Not when he doesn't even know where he is.
He hears a distant, low, rumble. For a moment, he thinks it's thunder--but the way his body shudders involuntarily tells him it's nothing so familiar.
"Get up, and walk with me. If you can do that, perhaps I will aid you."
It sounds like an insurmountable request. He can still feel blood oozing from his injured leg, and his limbs are just as stiff as they were, hands scraped raw. Exhaustion and hunger have already begun to blanket him, and he hasn't even been away from home that long.
...But if he relents to that... doesn't that make him weak?
No. It can't mean that. Because weak men don't have dreams like his.
So he drags in a breath, and pushes himself up to his feet. His legs shake, but he looks at her, determined. She doesn't smile, but he wants to think there's something like approval in her eyes.
[ let me give you a good reaction before childe just bursts into tears.
anyway, what's eerie about this situation is it feels... familiar, when gu yun steps out of it and back into his own consciousness, with a slow, steady exhale. the reason it feels familiar, though, has little to do with the child running through the snow, but instead, with a memory of his own. in this place of indulgence, where he's not constantly buried in his work, it's easier to pull on old nostalgia, and staring up at that woman through childe's eyes gave him deja vu.
it's nothing he wouldn't expect out of childe, he doesn't think. it doesn't befit the easy way he carries himself in this place, but... would anyone believe you, if you told them that chang geng, the young master, was nearly torn apart by wolves?
he glances at childe, for a long moment, expression unreadable. ]
[For the sake of having an actual decent thread for a little bit, Childe can have some emotional stability. As a treat.
That said, he's still clearly off his game today. Rather than the bold, easy way he might've met Gu Yun's eyes on a normal day, his face is pale and drawn, something strangely distant in his eyes. It takes a few blinks before he snaps out of it, straightening up a little.
It's fine. He was fine, by the end of it.
Quietly, but steadily--]
Fourteen. ["I've been at it for a while, and so you must have been." But that was clearly no army camp.] I was there for three months, from my perspective. Three days, to everyone else's.
[ this is the first time he's ever seen childe rattled. he's not, visibly so, maybe to the passing eye - but gu yun's no idiot, and he knows childe by now. it's all just very disconcerting - the combination of his reaction, and the sudden association with a situation all too familiar that leaves him knocked off kilter. ]
You survived it. [ is what he says, which is an admission in its own right, an acknowledgement of childe's skills. of the event as a whole. you survived it, his own personal mantra. clearly, he came out of it well enough - for as much as they seem nearly frosty in public, gu yun respects childe, and this does nothing but increase that. ]
[He did far more than survive it, really. He grew into himself there, into the man he is today. The boy that clawed his way back to the human world was not the same as the one that left it.
And it's not like he doesn't think about it. This wasn't a long-suppressed memory of trauma and pain. But it's not something he ever talks about, so having another person see it is... unsettling, to say the least.]
With guidance, yes. [Proud enough to acknowledge his own strength, but not so proud as to take all of the credit for it. Whatever his natural talent may or may not be, he worked hard to get where he is. Every scrap of power he has, he gained with his own hands.] Though I'm sure there are plenty who wish I hadn't.
[ that's one of the many, many things they have in common. there's a little bit of a crinkle in the corner of his eyes, a faint amusement, as he speaks. ] Likely so, but. Those sorts don't really matter all that much, hm?
[ because, ultimately - guess what! you survived it. gu yun gets it, actually. he knows plenty of people that wish he was dead. spite is just another reason to be stronger. to be better. to be tougher. it's certainly a part of what made gu yun gu yun today.
maybe it's just the reminiscing, or the nostalgia, or the familiarity. whatever it is, as gu yun's opening his mouth to say something more cheeky, his conversation is interrupted as the world starts to melt into the conscious of a memory. ]
[ you're nineteen years old, in the 27th year of the rule of emperor yuan he, in the middle of a classified mission from the emperor himself. freshly made the marquis of order, you've been pulled out of your black iron camp and asked instead to carry out a special mission - to find the fourth prince of the royal family, long lost after the exile of his mother, and acclimate him back to his life as royalty. form a good bond with him, the emperor had said, he'll need it, to leave the resentment of the previous generation behind.
you, personally, really hate this mission, because it feels stupid. there are a thousand other important things that need to be done, a thousand better ways to use the might of your black iron camp, but. you wouldn't defy the order of the emperor, and... you've made it work, anyhow. you spend much of your time scouting the movements of the northern border's barbarian tribes, one of great liang's biggest enemies. a little prince who can't distinguish round from flat can't be the reason you move out to this middle of nowhere hellhole; you are an expert at making the best of a bad situation.
the winters in yanhui are ice cold, and this one is no exception. the snow falls in a thick blanket on the forests that make up the border of the town. today, you've left your original post because of a report from your extremely panicked second in command, as well as a scouting missive from one of your black eagles. the barbarians are known to domesticate wolves, and there's a pack of them a bit to the north, in the forest. not only that, but it seems that the young prince is missing.
so, you go out to investigate. white horse, white cloak, you stir your horse to a run and practically melt into the snow around you, ji ping just behind. your wind slasher stays at your side, the weapon familiar and heavy, and the ice cold wind of a kicked up blizzard bites into your lungs as you narrow in on the scouted location, as the sound gets closer and closer. you hear ji ping's worried, teeth grinding, "he's only eleven or twelve, if he really falls into a wolf pack..." from behind you and pay it no mind.
if he dies here, then he dies here. you think, at first. indifferent. you'll explain it to the emperor. you want to wipe out the wolf pack, lest the barbarians choose to use it as a weapon. as your horses crest a hill, there's a sudden, shrill howl. you realize what's happening and bark - ] Ji Ping! [ as you look up and spot them - three massive male wolves, fur shiny, teeth bared, signaling their arrival before they leap down to engage you two in battle. immediately, you grab the reins of the horse and pull - your steed kicks up its front hooves and attacks the wolves, a war horse in the guise of a civilian, just like you. behind you, your second in command grabs two iron horse stirrups and clangs them together as loudly as possible - the sound of iron on iron is loud enough to be heard for miles, and the wolves jump back.
ji ping hisses, "zixi, do we kill them?" and you almost laugh, speaking back out of the corner of your mouth. ] What? What are you saying? We're just two weak scholars passing by.
[ then, not a second later, you raise the volume of your voice, and suddenly, you're a little coward scholar, terrified: ] Gege, don't be afraid! Don't we have powder? We can use that to drive off the wolves! Hold on a little longer, I'll find someone to help!
[ you can feel shen yi's exhaustion behind you, and resist the urge to snicker, as he does as sneakily ordered, tossing a bag of medicinal powder in the air and cracking it in half with a horse whip. the pungent stench of medicine fills the air in a second, mixing in with the ice and snow, and the wolves scream and scatter backwards. their masters seem to realize they can't cause problems; there's a sharp whistle from somewhere in the trees, and you allow yourself that moment to smirk, as the barbarians and their filthy wolves are forced to retreat.
but, as they're gone, they leave behind a scene - a mess of medicinal powder, blood, and a tiny figure, curled up in a ball in the center of it.
you're moving before you think about it, urging your horse forward, and hop down from the side of it to crouch before the figure, then lift him into your arms. he's tiny, covered in blood from head to toe - his left arm is broken, hanging limply at his side, and his right is clutching a knife so tightly his knuckles are white.
slowly, you reach forward, and start to try and unwind his fingers from the grip, and the fourth prince's eyes snap open. you've - you've never seen anything quite like it in your life. his gaze is like a flint, fierce, staring directly into yours with no fear, a spark unextinguished. at twelve years old, this boy stares at you like he's won a thousand wars.
you bark for your wineskin before you've even thought about it. ji ping throws the skin and you catch it, commanding the boy to open his mouth and pouring the liquor in. you know from experience how it warms the body when you're frozen, and the boy's obedient, drinking until you pull it away.
by now, ji ping's come over. the boy's barely injured, besides his hand. he asks from beside you, though, confused - "why's there so much blood?"
you... you know why. ] It's the wolves blood. [ not his. not this tiny little thing, this fierce, tiny little fighter who stares at you almost as wolf like as the creatures that surround him.
you lift your hands, and undo the clasp that holds your cloak at your neck, then wrap it around the fourth prince, as you stand and go to mount your horse, barely jostling him in the process. as you get settled with the boy in your lap, your ears pick up on a soft sound - the fourth prince finally drops the knife on his own, and his hand settles instead, in the front of your robes.
you look down at him, at the wolf's blood staining your cloak. at the little fourth prince, who finally closes his eyes, and presses his cheek against your chest.
So trusting of me. you think, quietly. You don't even know me yet.
something in your heart moves.
So light. you think, to yourself, and instinctively, you loosen your own grip. just in case you'd hurt him, just in case your touch is too strong, for his tiny bones, for his tiny body. careful. caring.
he's so small.
you turn back to yanhui town, ji ping at your heels, to seek medical care for the fourth prince, and his hand never drops from the front of your robes. ]
[Me closing my eyes as I remember this took place on fucking Wednesday
But he doesn't burst into tears immediately over this memory, thank god. It's too close to home, especially with his own past dragged to the surface like this only moments ago. Instead, for a long moment, he just looks--stunned, really, is the word for it.
Well. This is why he tries not to make assumptions, isn't it? If great lakes have their depths, then strong people are like oceans.]
[ gu yun's quiet, too, as the world returns to normal. it's not a bad memory, necessarily, but the nostalgia sticks, tugging at the end of his consciousness - especially after seeing childe's memory just minutes before. such a strange similarity, a strange coincidence.
... ]
Chang Geng. [ his highness the fourth prince. ] My ward.
[It's a complicated thing to have seen. The boy isn't much younger than he was, when his life changed--Gu Yun too, he knows, was fighting even earlier than that. He feels no pity for this boy he doesn't know, especially when he'd had that sort of expression. The sort that made it clear he didn't need any. Respect, perhaps, but it's too strong a word for a child. But something skewing close to that. Acknowledgment, maybe, of a strength that needs only to be honed.
Still, that stirring of the heart... he can't say he wouldn't understand that.]
What is he like now? [There'd be a different expression on Gu Yun's face if the boy hadn't survived, surely.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
2/2 aggressively headcanons
The roaring of the bears is fading now, but his legs are burning, even as the winter winds cut through him, sharper than the shortsword in his small hand. And the wolves are close, getting closer, undeterred by weapon he'd brandished at them, untempted by the bread he'd left behind in the satchel he'd dropped--somewhere. He doesn't know where anymore. It all looks the same; just blinding white snow and dead trees. He can't even smell the sea anymore.
There's a whole pack of them after him, but he can't tell how many there are. He's been running for so long, and it's so cold. The snow is still falling, always falling, rapidly obscuring his panicked footprints, as if there was ever a chance he'd be able to follow them back home anyway. Father warned him about this, and mother, but he'd wanted... he'd just wanted...
The growls are louder now, but wolves tread softly in the snow, unlike frightened, desperate teenagers. He has no Vision, yet, only the instincts of a village boy, what's needed for life in a harsh land with a coldhearted Archon. His life has been dull, but mostly safe. He can't fight off a wolf pack by himself, especially not when they take him by surprise.
One catches him by the leg, and he screams, tumbling into the snow. The sword slips out of his hands, and he claws through the snow for it, but his hands are too stiff with cold to grasp it properly. So he leaves it, dredging up the last of his strength to kick back, as hard as he can. His blood mars the snow as he scrambles back to his feet, but he's unsteady, now. He won't make it far, if there's anything ahead of him besides endless snow anyway.
Still, he staggers to his feet, chest heaving with the pain. He backs up, shaking, but they're relentless, now. They have their prize.
They lunge again-- he stumbles back, and slips--
--falls--
--but he doesn't hit solid ground. He doesn't, really, ever land at all.
It's dark, when he comes to. But this is a darkness he's never experienced before. It's oppressive, unnatural. Humans don't belong here, he knows that much intrinsically. He can hear high-pitched, eerie laughter, and a distant ruffling, and lazy footsteps, but he can't even begin to fathom where they're coming from, let alone how near or far they are.
He's still so tired. So cold. He closes his eyes.
A glow approaches, then, along with new footsteps, more solid and steady than the ones elsewhere. They approach him, where he's... floating? Lying down? It must be lying down, because he's kicked, and not gently.
"A human? After all this time?" There's a whisper, but he can't tell where it comes from. "What's your name, boy?"
How is he supposed to answer?
"If you seek death, I won't bother to linger."
He isn't even sure if he's still breathing.
...But.
The people of Morepesok are stronger than this. An Adventurer would be stronger than this.
His father would be stronger than this.
So he cracks open his eyes to see a woman, a sword in her hand, watching him with an unfeeling expression. It takes energy he didn't know he still had, but he forces his lips to move. If he makes any sound, he can't hear it past the fog in his head. But the woman's cold eyes are still fixed on his face.
"Ajax?"
A beat. She watches him, and he'd swear the shadows behind her move, curling lazily around her.
Finally, she speaks again. "You can't survive here alone." There is nothing gentle about her tone, but he doesn't have it in himself to be offended. Not when he doesn't even know where he is.
He hears a distant, low, rumble. For a moment, he thinks it's thunder--but the way his body shudders involuntarily tells him it's nothing so familiar.
"Get up, and walk with me. If you can do that, perhaps I will aid you."
It sounds like an insurmountable request. He can still feel blood oozing from his injured leg, and his limbs are just as stiff as they were, hands scraped raw. Exhaustion and hunger have already begun to blanket him, and he hasn't even been away from home that long.
...But if he relents to that... doesn't that make him weak?
No. It can't mean that. Because weak men don't have dreams like his.
So he drags in a breath, and pushes himself up to his feet. His legs shake, but he looks at her, determined. She doesn't smile, but he wants to think there's something like approval in her eyes.
"Come with me."]
no subject
anyway, what's eerie about this situation is it feels... familiar, when gu yun steps out of it and back into his own consciousness, with a slow, steady exhale. the reason it feels familiar, though, has little to do with the child running through the snow, but instead, with a memory of his own. in this place of indulgence, where he's not constantly buried in his work, it's easier to pull on old nostalgia, and staring up at that woman through childe's eyes gave him deja vu.
it's nothing he wouldn't expect out of childe, he doesn't think. it doesn't befit the easy way he carries himself in this place, but... would anyone believe you, if you told them that chang geng, the young master, was nearly torn apart by wolves?
he glances at childe, for a long moment, expression unreadable. ]
How old were you?
no subject
That said, he's still clearly off his game today. Rather than the bold, easy way he might've met Gu Yun's eyes on a normal day, his face is pale and drawn, something strangely distant in his eyes. It takes a few blinks before he snaps out of it, straightening up a little.
It's fine. He was fine, by the end of it.
Quietly, but steadily--]
Fourteen. ["I've been at it for a while, and so you must have been." But that was clearly no army camp.] I was there for three months, from my perspective. Three days, to everyone else's.
no subject
You survived it. [ is what he says, which is an admission in its own right, an acknowledgement of childe's skills. of the event as a whole. you survived it, his own personal mantra. clearly, he came out of it well enough - for as much as they seem nearly frosty in public, gu yun respects childe, and this does nothing but increase that. ]
no subject
And it's not like he doesn't think about it. This wasn't a long-suppressed memory of trauma and pain. But it's not something he ever talks about, so having another person see it is... unsettling, to say the least.]
With guidance, yes. [Proud enough to acknowledge his own strength, but not so proud as to take all of the credit for it. Whatever his natural talent may or may not be, he worked hard to get where he is. Every scrap of power he has, he gained with his own hands.] Though I'm sure there are plenty who wish I hadn't.
no subject
[ because, ultimately - guess what! you survived it. gu yun gets it, actually. he knows plenty of people that wish he was dead. spite is just another reason to be stronger. to be better. to be tougher. it's certainly a part of what made gu yun gu yun today.
maybe it's just the reminiscing, or the nostalgia, or the familiarity. whatever it is, as gu yun's opening his mouth to say something more cheeky, his conversation is interrupted as the world starts to melt into the conscious of a memory. ]
[ you're nineteen years old, in the 27th year of the rule of emperor yuan he, in the middle of a classified mission from the emperor himself. freshly made the marquis of order, you've been pulled out of your black iron camp and asked instead to carry out a special mission - to find the fourth prince of the royal family, long lost after the exile of his mother, and acclimate him back to his life as royalty. form a good bond with him, the emperor had said, he'll need it, to leave the resentment of the previous generation behind.
you, personally, really hate this mission, because it feels stupid. there are a thousand other important things that need to be done, a thousand better ways to use the might of your black iron camp, but. you wouldn't defy the order of the emperor, and... you've made it work, anyhow. you spend much of your time scouting the movements of the northern border's barbarian tribes, one of great liang's biggest enemies. a little prince who can't distinguish round from flat can't be the reason you move out to this middle of nowhere hellhole; you are an expert at making the best of a bad situation.
the winters in yanhui are ice cold, and this one is no exception. the snow falls in a thick blanket on the forests that make up the border of the town. today, you've left your original post because of a report from your extremely panicked second in command, as well as a scouting missive from one of your black eagles. the barbarians are known to domesticate wolves, and there's a pack of them a bit to the north, in the forest. not only that, but it seems that the young prince is missing.
so, you go out to investigate. white horse, white cloak, you stir your horse to a run and practically melt into the snow around you, ji ping just behind. your wind slasher stays at your side, the weapon familiar and heavy, and the ice cold wind of a kicked up blizzard bites into your lungs as you narrow in on the scouted location, as the sound gets closer and closer. you hear ji ping's worried, teeth grinding, "he's only eleven or twelve, if he really falls into a wolf pack..." from behind you and pay it no mind.
if he dies here, then he dies here. you think, at first. indifferent. you'll explain it to the emperor. you want to wipe out the wolf pack, lest the barbarians choose to use it as a weapon. as your horses crest a hill, there's a sudden, shrill howl. you realize what's happening and bark - ] Ji Ping! [ as you look up and spot them - three massive male wolves, fur shiny, teeth bared, signaling their arrival before they leap down to engage you two in battle. immediately, you grab the reins of the horse and pull - your steed kicks up its front hooves and attacks the wolves, a war horse in the guise of a civilian, just like you. behind you, your second in command grabs two iron horse stirrups and clangs them together as loudly as possible - the sound of iron on iron is loud enough to be heard for miles, and the wolves jump back.
ji ping hisses, "zixi, do we kill them?" and you almost laugh, speaking back out of the corner of your mouth. ] What? What are you saying? We're just two weak scholars passing by.
[ then, not a second later, you raise the volume of your voice, and suddenly, you're a little coward scholar, terrified: ] Gege, don't be afraid! Don't we have powder? We can use that to drive off the wolves! Hold on a little longer, I'll find someone to help!
[ you can feel shen yi's exhaustion behind you, and resist the urge to snicker, as he does as sneakily ordered, tossing a bag of medicinal powder in the air and cracking it in half with a horse whip. the pungent stench of medicine fills the air in a second, mixing in with the ice and snow, and the wolves scream and scatter backwards. their masters seem to realize they can't cause problems; there's a sharp whistle from somewhere in the trees, and you allow yourself that moment to smirk, as the barbarians and their filthy wolves are forced to retreat.
but, as they're gone, they leave behind a scene - a mess of medicinal powder, blood, and a tiny figure, curled up in a ball in the center of it.
you're moving before you think about it, urging your horse forward, and hop down from the side of it to crouch before the figure, then lift him into your arms. he's tiny, covered in blood from head to toe - his left arm is broken, hanging limply at his side, and his right is clutching a knife so tightly his knuckles are white.
slowly, you reach forward, and start to try and unwind his fingers from the grip, and the fourth prince's eyes snap open. you've - you've never seen anything quite like it in your life. his gaze is like a flint, fierce, staring directly into yours with no fear, a spark unextinguished. at twelve years old, this boy stares at you like he's won a thousand wars.
you bark for your wineskin before you've even thought about it. ji ping throws the skin and you catch it, commanding the boy to open his mouth and pouring the liquor in. you know from experience how it warms the body when you're frozen, and the boy's obedient, drinking until you pull it away.
by now, ji ping's come over. the boy's barely injured, besides his hand. he asks from beside you, though, confused - "why's there so much blood?"
you... you know why. ] It's the wolves blood. [ not his. not this tiny little thing, this fierce, tiny little fighter who stares at you almost as wolf like as the creatures that surround him.
you lift your hands, and undo the clasp that holds your cloak at your neck, then wrap it around the fourth prince, as you stand and go to mount your horse, barely jostling him in the process. as you get settled with the boy in your lap, your ears pick up on a soft sound - the fourth prince finally drops the knife on his own, and his hand settles instead, in the front of your robes.
you look down at him, at the wolf's blood staining your cloak. at the little fourth prince, who finally closes his eyes, and presses his cheek against your chest.
So trusting of me. you think, quietly. You don't even know me yet.
something in your heart moves.
So light. you think, to yourself, and instinctively, you loosen your own grip. just in case you'd hurt him, just in case your touch is too strong, for his tiny bones, for his tiny body. careful. caring.
he's so small.
you turn back to yanhui town, ji ping at your heels, to seek medical care for the fourth prince, and his hand never drops from the front of your robes. ]
no subject
But he doesn't burst into tears immediately over this memory, thank god. It's too close to home, especially with his own past dragged to the surface like this only moments ago. Instead, for a long moment, he just looks--stunned, really, is the word for it.
Well. This is why he tries not to make assumptions, isn't it? If great lakes have their depths, then strong people are like oceans.]
What's his name?
no subject
... ]
Chang Geng. [ his highness the fourth prince. ] My ward.
no subject
Still, that stirring of the heart... he can't say he wouldn't understand that.]
What is he like now? [There'd be a different expression on Gu Yun's face if the boy hadn't survived, surely.]