"It's a requirement, you need something to make up for having to deal with younger brothers." There's warmth in his teasing, emotion reflecting his smile. "A legacy passed down, I always reminded my oldest son that he had to look after his brothers, as I had been told before him."
He didn't consciously mean to bring it back around, not when Horseriver's smiles are so rare - but maybe part of his mind did, picking Rodao out of the memories. or maybe he's giving himself too much credit.
"Fives is my brother now, too," he says, feels a weird twang in his chest like a broken violin string. Ori'vod. "Not just my lieutenant." Or just his - no, that's private, even if most of the ship knows. The way it is on the inside is private, the way family and fealty and command and culture and intimacy all run together for clones. He reigns the more tumultuous feelings close. He's a sniper; he can keep on the damn target.
"I never had a little brother before. I don't think I'm good at it yet." He was big brother to Nidana, of course, but sisters are different. "I want to be clear that this is - not a condemnation, and not a demand. It's not even a request. But I am informing you, for the future, as explicitly as I can, because that seems to be generally the duty I've failed in. That when you are cruel to him, my lord, you are cruel to me."
He takes a breath, lets it out in a rough, ridiculous, sideways laugh. "And for once you've got no excuse to forget, the man literally has a label on his forehead."
There's a slight glint to Horseriver's eyes a moment, because he's been waiting to see where the circle would catch up with them. Or perhaps it had been more a net than a circle, let loose to see where it would catch.
He had been a brother; he had been a brother and a friend and a husband and a father and a king. He had listened to what was spoken and what was not and had learned when to pull forth the second to untangle the knots people made of themselves and others.
Most of the time, he no longer claims any of those roles. He's a ghost of too many remnants, bound to the dead and gone until the end when he had lost them and not gained anything but the freedom of emptiness. But Jedao had sworn an oath and he had accepted it, as himself, not in the name of another damned soul. He taken the words and claims they make on him, whether Jedao had known they were there or not.
He takes Jedao's hand between his, carefully lifting it slightly so he can lightly kiss his palm. The weight of ritual, all the heavier for Horseriver's usual economy in touch.
"It could be a request. It could even be a demand, though that would stand on a different ground. One offers a sword with trust that it will not be held to one's throat."
He doesn't know what he expected, except not this; he was incapable of expecting this. He feels raw, suddenly, overexposed and relieved in the same moment, like squeezing aloe leaves on a sunburn. He can feel the warmth of Horseriver's mouth through the glove and he wonders with a sharp twisted ache if Fives was right about him after all. It wasn't that he'd meant to be giving in so easily, so weakly. He just - like with Tris, like with Jean, he doesn't need to do any maneuvering and he barely knows what his balance is without it.
He takes a careful breath. "It might have been different if he were demoted. I need that not to happen. But that seems like. More of a him problem. And I'm angry with him too, for. Badly overstepping, for hurting you when he's..." It would be ridiculous to say there was any power imbalance that mattered, and yet, Fives had a responsibility, even if he thought his responsibility was to protecting Jedao first - and that's on Jedao -
"Weeping eyes, what a fucking mess, I know I need to do better with him, and he needs to control himself, but he was terrified for me and you are four hundred and he is thirteen and he didn't have a chance. And I love him, and I need him." Clearly, deliberately, the words feeling artificial as marbles stuffed in his mouth - "Please do not bait him again."
And then he's afraid, as soon as the words are out of him. Reflexive, inexorable cold squeezing his heart. Telling people above you things you really want is just handing them targets -
(It's different with him, he kept trying to tell Fives, or sometimes He's different with me, in ways Jedao feels in his bones but still struggles to actually understand. He squeezes Horseriver's hand tight, and pulls himself the fuck together. It's Horseriver; it's different.)
I love you, he thinks in a shaky, messy surge. He still doesn't know if it's the kind of thing he's supposed to say out loud or not.
He listens carefully, with all his senses. There are several things he could say, that he might say, later. There are certainly some questions he could ask. But, in this moment, they aren't important.
He squeezes Jedao's hand in return.
"You have my word." The promise in that is as clear and hard as diamond. It's been a long time since he's truly given anyone his word, perhaps as long as the years since his first body was broken and his words drowned.
Jedao knows him. His brittle edges and dark shadows; his capacity for careless cruelty and careful revenge. The weight to his vows, the acts of kindness he tries to hid under careful detachment, the promise of light; Jedao knows parts of him that he sometimes wishes had died completely.
He turns so he can pull Jedao closer. It's the sort of physical gesture he usually wouldn't think to make, but there are times when some things are important.
"You may put any request to me that you might wish, Ser Fox. I am not bound to agree, but by my oath I will listen." He doesn't say, that's what good kings do, because in all Jedao's reactions, he doesn't read a questioning of Horseriver's kingship (he easily takes insult at people not knowing what he considers obvious truths, but things are different with Jedao), just a failing in what's come before. "When you speak, I will always listen." There's a cadence of a promise to that.
"Thank you, my lord," he says quietly, means it deeply, for all of it. Just - all of it. The promise feels more like solid ground than any planet has, and Jedao wants to curl up inside the steady strength of it. He leans easily into the embrace instead, accepts it with what grace he has as the gift it is.
"...please tell this very adorable animal to scoot over," Jedao says, patting the fox's ears, a note of playfulness already creeping in now that he's been reassured that he is allowed to do this. "He's in my spot."
His laugh is more a huff of air than anything, but warmer in it's lack of a bitter edge. He rubs the fox's head before lightly shooing it away. "Go to your family, my friend." The fox listens like the trained pet it isn't, leaping down and vanishing under the porch.
"I found the whole family here when I arrived. I took some time to make sure they were not going to start speaking to me." He's seen some strange things, even making his way around the less populated areas of the port.
Jedao loves that little huff of a not-laugh, always feels pleased and proud when he manages to prompt it. Jedao watches the fox trot away and the rearranges himself on a lower porch step so that he can rest his head in Horseriver's lap, all the tension of the conversation seeping out of him.
Horseriver absently starts stroking Jedao's hair, in much the same way as he had been petting the fox.
"There are some worlds where it must be a certain type of disturbing to go hunting, at least if you mean to eat your kill. To much like old children's tales of demon ridden beasts."
That was pretty much exactly what he hoped would happen; he sends Horseriver a soft contentment not at all unlike a mental purr.
"A certain type. But it feels less wasteful than some forms of killing. A somber feeling, maybe." He's hunted for sport, although only for the purposes of networking with superior officers who enjoyed it, and killing for meat seems better than some of the reasons he's killed (and hunted) other humans.
"I have only hunted beings who can speak during war, and, despite the tales, we never ate them. I have heard there are those who hunt animals for sport, a waste brand of sacrilege." He's mildly affront by the whole concept, even if the sacrilege is as much a joke as it is the truth.
"Demons are creatures of chaos, pure and unthinking until they learn from their hosts. Usually they will stumble into an animal before a human, though not always. It is from a human that they learn speech and thought and cruelty. A demon that went from a human to an animal - it would go mad, in a way. It certainly would not be able to speak." He tugs gently on a lock of Jedao's hair. "But that sort of fact is not needed for a good story."
He settles into the story as he goes back to running his hand through Jedao hair. "Once, long ago, there was an old sorceress who lived by the edge of the forest. She was a good woman, but for all that she was respected by those who made their homes near her, sorcerers always attract a certain amount of fear. When things go ill, when things go to well - there is a danger to having such powers.
"This woman lived well with her neighbors, for she knew them well and they knew her. They lived in peace even when things went badly, for not all trouble comes from a demon and those with sense know the dangers of killing a sorcerer outweigh what the frightened think will be gained.
"However, there was a young man in the village who was not blessed with an overabundance of sense, but who had that far too common belief that he had all that was necessary. He was courting a young woman who had all the sense he was lacking - and several other suitors far more to her liking.
"Seeing this, the young man decided to go to the old sorceress to beg a love potion from her, to turn the head of his would-be-beloved long enough that she would see the good qualities he saw so clearly in himself. The old sorceress would have no part in this, and gave him a far more truth look into events than he wanted. Angered by her refusal - and even more by the truth of her words - he struck out at her with his staff. When she fell he realized the possible danger and ran, leaving her behind.
"The young man made his way back to the village, forgetting his fear as he wove himself reassurances and illusions. Indeed, when he returned it seemed that he was in the clear. The old sorceress had been found dead but she was old and it was easy enough to believe she had simply fallen and hurt herself away from any that could have saved her. The people were far more concerned with what had happened to her demon than in the worried eyes of a young man who had been out hunting.
"As the next few days passed, it appeared that things were turning in his favor. For the young woman who had only given him a polite look before was suddenly interested in his company. There was some worry about the missing demon but as no trouble appeared, the young man started to believe that he had been true when he told himself he had been in the right, that he was taking care of a curse.
"On the third day, when the young woman asked him to come dine at her father's table, any trace of doubt he might have once carried was truly gone. He arrived at the table and while there were others of her suitors, it seemed to them all that she was truly captured by him. It was his jokes that drew the most laughs, his deeds that she was most fascinated by, his hand they suspected she would like to take.
"She stood at the end of the meal, and all waited to hear what she would say. If anyone wondered at her interest, the young man was not part of them. But they were all surprised when the young woman declared the test she wished for her suitors to pass, and that she would be ready to declare her choice by the end of the night. It was known to all that she loved animals well, especially the birds that would come to visit her every spring, but it seemed an easy test to simply hold the cage of her latest pet - and unfair that she would chose whoever the bird sang for.
"Still, each took the wicker perch in turn. They looked at the bird and it almost felt like the bird was looking back, any trick they might have thought of to induce song faded in the face of those eyes and they were quiet as it traveled from hand to hand. Finally it had gone all around the table to reach the young man sitting at her hand. He took the cage, sure that with all else that had gone right, surely this must too.
"And the bird began to sing - but instead of a simple melody, there were words in this song. Words that spoke of a foolish young man who sought to gain what he had not earned through magic, a fool who struck down a sorceress and a coward who ran from an old woman who lay dying. And in that moment, all knew the truth of it and the young man was seized and taken to the cellar to wait his proper punishment.
"As for the wondrous bird... It sat on the shoulder the sorceress granddaughter, for she had indeed chosen her path, and it was not to be married to any of those suitors."
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"Fives is my brother now, too," he says, feels a weird twang in his chest like a broken violin string. Ori'vod. "Not just my lieutenant." Or just his - no, that's private, even if most of the ship knows. The way it is on the inside is private, the way family and fealty and command and culture and intimacy all run together for clones. He reigns the more tumultuous feelings close. He's a sniper; he can keep on the damn target.
"I never had a little brother before. I don't think I'm good at it yet." He was big brother to Nidana, of course, but sisters are different. "I want to be clear that this is - not a condemnation, and not a demand. It's not even a request. But I am informing you, for the future, as explicitly as I can, because that seems to be generally the duty I've failed in. That when you are cruel to him, my lord, you are cruel to me."
He takes a breath, lets it out in a rough, ridiculous, sideways laugh. "And for once you've got no excuse to forget, the man literally has a label on his forehead."
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He had been a brother; he had been a brother and a friend and a husband and a father and a king. He had listened to what was spoken and what was not and had learned when to pull forth the second to untangle the knots people made of themselves and others.
Most of the time, he no longer claims any of those roles. He's a ghost of too many remnants, bound to the dead and gone until the end when he had lost them and not gained anything but the freedom of emptiness. But Jedao had sworn an oath and he had accepted it, as himself, not in the name of another damned soul. He taken the words and claims they make on him, whether Jedao had known they were there or not.
He takes Jedao's hand between his, carefully lifting it slightly so he can lightly kiss his palm. The weight of ritual, all the heavier for Horseriver's usual economy in touch.
"It could be a request. It could even be a demand, though that would stand on a different ground. One offers a sword with trust that it will not be held to one's throat."
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He takes a careful breath. "It might have been different if he were demoted. I need that not to happen. But that seems like. More of a him problem. And I'm angry with him too, for. Badly overstepping, for hurting you when he's..." It would be ridiculous to say there was any power imbalance that mattered, and yet, Fives had a responsibility, even if he thought his responsibility was to protecting Jedao first - and that's on Jedao -
"Weeping eyes, what a fucking mess, I know I need to do better with him, and he needs to control himself, but he was terrified for me and you are four hundred and he is thirteen and he didn't have a chance. And I love him, and I need him." Clearly, deliberately, the words feeling artificial as marbles stuffed in his mouth - "Please do not bait him again."
And then he's afraid, as soon as the words are out of him. Reflexive, inexorable cold squeezing his heart. Telling people above you things you really want is just handing them targets -
(It's different with him, he kept trying to tell Fives, or sometimes He's different with me, in ways Jedao feels in his bones but still struggles to actually understand. He squeezes Horseriver's hand tight, and pulls himself the fuck together. It's Horseriver; it's different.)
I love you, he thinks in a shaky, messy surge. He still doesn't know if it's the kind of thing he's supposed to say out loud or not.
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He squeezes Jedao's hand in return.
"You have my word." The promise in that is as clear and hard as diamond. It's been a long time since he's truly given anyone his word, perhaps as long as the years since his first body was broken and his words drowned.
Jedao knows him. His brittle edges and dark shadows; his capacity for careless cruelty and careful revenge. The weight to his vows, the acts of kindness he tries to hid under careful detachment, the promise of light; Jedao knows parts of him that he sometimes wishes had died completely.
He turns so he can pull Jedao closer. It's the sort of physical gesture he usually wouldn't think to make, but there are times when some things are important.
"You may put any request to me that you might wish, Ser Fox. I am not bound to agree, but by my oath I will listen." He doesn't say, that's what good kings do, because in all Jedao's reactions, he doesn't read a questioning of Horseriver's kingship (he easily takes insult at people not knowing what he considers obvious truths, but things are different with Jedao), just a failing in what's come before. "When you speak, I will always listen." There's a cadence of a promise to that.
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"...please tell this very adorable animal to scoot over," Jedao says, patting the fox's ears, a note of playfulness already creeping in now that he's been reassured that he is allowed to do this. "He's in my spot."
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"I found the whole family here when I arrived. I took some time to make sure they were not going to start speaking to me." He's seen some strange things, even making his way around the less populated areas of the port.
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"A wise precaution," he agrees.
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"There are some worlds where it must be a certain type of disturbing to go hunting, at least if you mean to eat your kill. To much like old children's tales of demon ridden beasts."
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"A certain type. But it feels less wasteful than some forms of killing. A somber feeling, maybe." He's hunted for sport, although only for the purposes of networking with superior officers who enjoyed it, and killing for meat seems better than some of the reasons he's killed (and hunted) other humans.
"Tell me one of the tales," he asks.
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"Demons are creatures of chaos, pure and unthinking until they learn from their hosts. Usually they will stumble into an animal before a human, though not always. It is from a human that they learn speech and thought and cruelty. A demon that went from a human to an animal - it would go mad, in a way. It certainly would not be able to speak." He tugs gently on a lock of Jedao's hair. "But that sort of fact is not needed for a good story."
He settles into the story as he goes back to running his hand through Jedao hair. "Once, long ago, there was an old sorceress who lived by the edge of the forest. She was a good woman, but for all that she was respected by those who made their homes near her, sorcerers always attract a certain amount of fear. When things go ill, when things go to well - there is a danger to having such powers.
"This woman lived well with her neighbors, for she knew them well and they knew her. They lived in peace even when things went badly, for not all trouble comes from a demon and those with sense know the dangers of killing a sorcerer outweigh what the frightened think will be gained.
"However, there was a young man in the village who was not blessed with an overabundance of sense, but who had that far too common belief that he had all that was necessary. He was courting a young woman who had all the sense he was lacking - and several other suitors far more to her liking.
"Seeing this, the young man decided to go to the old sorceress to beg a love potion from her, to turn the head of his would-be-beloved long enough that she would see the good qualities he saw so clearly in himself. The old sorceress would have no part in this, and gave him a far more truth look into events than he wanted. Angered by her refusal - and even more by the truth of her words - he struck out at her with his staff. When she fell he realized the possible danger and ran, leaving her behind.
"The young man made his way back to the village, forgetting his fear as he wove himself reassurances and illusions. Indeed, when he returned it seemed that he was in the clear. The old sorceress had been found dead but she was old and it was easy enough to believe she had simply fallen and hurt herself away from any that could have saved her. The people were far more concerned with what had happened to her demon than in the worried eyes of a young man who had been out hunting.
"As the next few days passed, it appeared that things were turning in his favor. For the young woman who had only given him a polite look before was suddenly interested in his company. There was some worry about the missing demon but as no trouble appeared, the young man started to believe that he had been true when he told himself he had been in the right, that he was taking care of a curse.
"On the third day, when the young woman asked him to come dine at her father's table, any trace of doubt he might have once carried was truly gone. He arrived at the table and while there were others of her suitors, it seemed to them all that she was truly captured by him. It was his jokes that drew the most laughs, his deeds that she was most fascinated by, his hand they suspected she would like to take.
"She stood at the end of the meal, and all waited to hear what she would say. If anyone wondered at her interest, the young man was not part of them. But they were all surprised when the young woman declared the test she wished for her suitors to pass, and that she would be ready to declare her choice by the end of the night. It was known to all that she loved animals well, especially the birds that would come to visit her every spring, but it seemed an easy test to simply hold the cage of her latest pet - and unfair that she would chose whoever the bird sang for.
"Still, each took the wicker perch in turn. They looked at the bird and it almost felt like the bird was looking back, any trick they might have thought of to induce song faded in the face of those eyes and they were quiet as it traveled from hand to hand. Finally it had gone all around the table to reach the young man sitting at her hand. He took the cage, sure that with all else that had gone right, surely this must too.
"And the bird began to sing - but instead of a simple melody, there were words in this song. Words that spoke of a foolish young man who sought to gain what he had not earned through magic, a fool who struck down a sorceress and a coward who ran from an old woman who lay dying. And in that moment, all knew the truth of it and the young man was seized and taken to the cellar to wait his proper punishment.
"As for the wondrous bird... It sat on the shoulder the sorceress granddaughter, for she had indeed chosen her path, and it was not to be married to any of those suitors."