Chapter Text
His father was dead. Langa shouldn’t be surprised—his father had been ill for several years, growing worse with each turn of the seasons—but he couldn’t mask his initial shock, despair, and his mounting fear of the future before him.
Even as his mother sobbed to his left, having collapsed against the bed, Langa felt… numb. He’d been preparing for this moment for a while, since he was fifteen, to take over the throne; he’d worked closely with his father every step of the way, studying under him diligently ever since. He already knew what he must do because his father taught him well, raised him for this, for the past five years.
King at twenty. That is what he was.
“Adam,” Langa uttered, his voice coming out thick and uneven. He cleared his throat to sound more put together, like the man his father had raised him to be. Raising his eyes to their royal advisor, he told him, “Prepare the courts for my crowning. Gather the council for the transfer of power for tomorrow evening.” He clenched his jaw before continuing, “Afterwards we will send father off on the pyre.”
“I will get started right away,” Adam returned, exiting the room and leaving the body of his father in their wake.
Langa had prepared for running a kingdom, for war, for peace, for negotiations… but left alone with his mother, he realized that his father had not prepared him for his actual death. He didn’t know how to comfort his mother as she continued grieving loudly.
It was all he could do to lay a gentle hand to her shoulder and there was something chilling about touching her skin as she shivered under the strain of tears and deep bone-wrenching gasps for air. He stared at her blankly, struck by how much nothing he felt.
Why couldn’t he feel it?
Adam placed the crown on his head, the cold metal pricking at his temple, and adoring cheers erupted amongst the onlookers. Langa lifted his chin further, depicting strength and resilience before his people. He was distantly struck with the thought that it should be his father placing the crown to his head, just as he planned if he made it that far. His 21st birthday was supposed to be his crowning.
This was too early. Oliver had told him year over year how much he’d looked forward to seeing his son crowned, wanting to live just long enough to see it.
It was that thought alone that made Langa waver before his throne, turning to look at as he approached it. He swallowed thickly and let the train of thought die and pushed forward, turning back towards the gathered crowd, letting his cloak swirl around him as he did so.
“I accept my duties,” he forced the practiced words, projecting his voice as he was taught, watching as the onlookers quieted. “I will serve you as valiantly as my father had and try live up to his name. I will put my kingdom first, put all of you first. We will have peace and prosperity for years to come.”
He hadn’t even finished what he was trying to say, what he practiced. He cut himself off as the crowd began to chant his name, growing louder as more joined in. “King Langa Hasegawa!” they cried.
Langa had only heard his name associated with prince and he was stunned by the words. He felt his world thaw slightly as it all became suddenly real. His father was dead and he was king now; he needed to live up to their praise and loyalty. These were his people and they depended on him.
How would he ever do it?
Adam stepped forward from his side and raised his hands, effortlessly quieting the crowd. He glanced at Langa with a thin smile before telling them, “Langa will now take the throne.”
They all turned their eyes back on Langa. Langa stepped back towards the golden thrown, sweeping his eyes over the people, young and old, healthy and ill, rich and poor. He needed to serve them all.
He sat onto the throne to finish the ritual and the crowd cried out, chanting his name once again.
Langa couldn’t pay attention to that, though, because directly out across the crowd and into the river, a man lit his father’s pyre, setting his lifeless body ablaze.
Finished.
The sunset behind the fire was just as orange and blinding as the burning grave, so much so that Langa had to tear his eyes from it. He gave his best smile to his people as the music began and they dispersed to enjoy the festivities.
A celebration.
The idea made Langa’s stomach churn. The people loved his father as king, but it was a celebration regardless to have Langa on the throne. This was meant to be a happy day.
“Shall I prepare your place at the head table?” Adam asked, leaning in a bit too closely as he always did.
“No,” Langa said, resisting the urge to drag a hand across his drained face. “I will go see my mother and retire for the evening. I will join tomorrow.” The celebration, after all, was three days long.
“I will distract them, my prince—ah, my king,” Adam said, correcting himself.
Langa waved it away and stood, not even casting him a glance. “I can find my way,” he said, pacing away before Adam could ask more of him. Adam could sometimes get a bit overbearing.
“Rest well,” Adam called after him.
Langa hardly heard him, pacing away with thoughts racing. The guards opened the grand doors for him and they clunked shut shortly after, and he let out a soft breath as he walked swiftly through the halls, relieved to finally be alone.
He made his way to his mother’s room as he had initially planned, the guards letting him in easily. The fire was going inside, despite it being a warm day, and Langa stopped in the middle of the room to look at her in bed. She looked on the verge of death, not unlike Oliver, but this wasn’t a normal illness—this was heartbreak.
May this type of love never find him, he thought as he looked over her pallid color and her vacant eyes. He would rather marry for political strategy than to feel the pain of losing someone again, even if he still hasn’t fully felt this one.
“Mother,” he murmured softly, leaning in to sweep the hair away from her sweaty brow. “You missed my coronation.”
Something shifted in her eyes and she finally turned her attention on him, recognition sparking. “Langa,” she gasped, struggling to sit and running her clammy palm across Langa’s cheek. Her eyes flicked up at his crown, this same one father had worn for years until it had grown too heavy for him.
“You missed his pyre, too,” he told her.
She smiled wistfully; pain achingly vivid in her expression. “I’ll remember him as he was.” Her smile waned. “But I do regret not going to see you. I bet you were wonderful up there.”
“If not, I am sure Adam will tell you all about it,” Langa sighed, pressing his hands into hers.
She laughed lightly, tears watering at the edge of her eyes. “You’ll be amazing, I know it.”
“Thank you. I was taught well.”
“That you were,” she agreed, squeezing his hands back tightly. She sniffed a little and she took one hand away to push at the tears. “Oh, you don’t need to see me cry. Why don’t you go out to enjoy yourself?”
“You can cry around me, Mom,” he said quietly.
She looked at him then, her expression softening. Langa did not often call her anything other than Mother these days, but in the quiet of their grief, it felt appropriate to call her as he did as a kid. Mom.
“My sweet son,” she said, again taking her free cold hand to press his cheek solemnly. “You truly will do this kingdom well. Maybe more so than Oliver. You are much more prepared, anyway.”
“That’s a tall order to live up to.”
“I will help you,” she assured him but her hand fell away, and her gaze turned towards the fire, her eyes turning distant again. “Just give me some time.”
“Of course,” Langa agreed. He slipped from her grasp and stood, watching her liveliness disappear in front of his eyes. “I’ll send a maid in to bring you your meal.”
She scooted back to sit against her pillow. “No need to bother them with me.”
“Nothing you say will change my mind,” he told her. He strode across the room, opening it and murmured directions to one of the guards out of Mom’s earshot. Then he turned back and called, “Good night!”
“Good night, love,” she called back.
He meant to go back to his room, but he found himself pacing the halls until he found the door of his old study. It was a room he shared with his father going over strategy and politics and history. It was a place that Oliver had laughed often, passing him a goblet of wine at a young age just to chortle at the faces Langa would make. It was a place full of life and excitement.
Now, as Langa pressed into the room, he found the fire out. He couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t been greeted by the rolling warmth and his father bent over a book. Today it felt chilled and gray and dark.
Langa left the door open behind him and went to the desk closest to the window, the setting sun shining a ribbon of light on stacked books. There was even a piece of parchment with his father’s scrawl, halfway written.
He caught the blaze of the pyre in the distance and looked again at the desk, abandoned. Just then, it felt as the numb wall was crumbling, crashing and quaking. He leaned over the desk, pressing his palms and clawed fingers into the wood to try to stop the rush of emotions, but then he caught sight of his father’s writing again and he gasped. He let himself feel it—the rushing waves of horror and grief and anger.
Crying out, he swiped at the desk, throwing everything with a rattle and slam across the floor. His vision blurred after as he stilled, trembling against the now empty desk.
He breathed heavily for several moments, letting himself slowly pull back together, stitch by stitch. But then, he heard something.
It was the softest flutter of paper and binding as a stack of the things he’d thrown was placed down beside him. Langa turned his gaze on the person who had picked up his mess and frowned.
“Sorry,” the stranger said with dip of his head in a light bow. “I didn’t mean to intrude but I just thought I could help.”
Langa continued to stare, dumbfounded.
“Oh,” the stranger stammered. “So dumb. Not you! Never you! Me. I shouldn’t have interrupted. Sorry, ignore me.” The man stepped back, crossing the ribbon of sunlight, and his red hair shown in the sun.
His amber eyes flicked back to Langa as he paced away, backing into the far wall and he stood straight up against it, chin raised stiffly, like a… a guard.
Come to think of it, this mystery person wore the attire of one of his guards—royal blues to signify his status amongst their personal staff with the brown tunic of one that wasn’t sent into battle. He wore armor, ready to protect, and there was a short sword at his waist. He was young, younger than Langa remembered seeing on his personal staff, but when was the last time he’d looked at any of them?
He eased off his braced arms and turned fully in the man’s direction. “Who are you?”
“Me?” the other squeaked, looking more than a little freaked out by having Langa’s eyes on him.
“Who else?”
The other bowed again quickly, as if not knowing what else to do. “Reki Kyan, at your service; 1st infantry.”
First? Those were the closest to Langa and his family. How had he not seen this person?
“How long have you been with us?”
“Three years,” Reki said, head still bowed.
“I’ve never seen you before.”
Reki’s eyes flicked up to him then and Langa was lost for words. He couldn’t have missed those shade of eyes, or hair! Reki straightened, grinning. “That means I did my job well! You aren’t supposed to notice me.” His smile slipped. “Well, until… Just pretend that never happened, okay? Go back to ignoring me.”
“I don’t ignore you,” Langa protested indignantly. “I’ve just never noticed you before.” He stepped towards him and Reki took a step back.
Reki seemed to jolt at whatever look Langa was giving him. “I am not supposed to be close to you.” He stood a little straighter. “Sorry.”
Langa was bewildered. How had he never noticed someone so unique?
He shook his head. “Whatever. I’m going.” He turned away from Reki and made his way out the door and down the hallway when he dared to look back. Reki was right behind him, a few feet back, and he stopped when Langa stopped. “You’re following me?”
Reki ruffled his hair. “Um, my job is to follow you around. I’m your personal guard.”
Langa took a step back towards him and Reki automatically moved backwards too.
“Three paces away,” Reki said, watching him warily. “At all times.”
“Yet you broke that rule to pick up my books.”
“After three years, I did pretty good,” Reki deflected. But he looked unnerved, maybe even a little scared. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” He cut himself off and breathed out. “Just don’t tell Kaoru. Or Joe. Or Adam.” Langa only recognized his advisor’s name and suddenly he wondered how much he truly didn’t notice.
“Alright,” Langa said, turning and headed back towards his room. Reki walked behind him, silent like a ghost. Not a sound. The other man was well practiced with this.
Langa stopped at his door and looked back. Reki was already pressed against the wall, looking resolutely away. “Are you going to follow me inside?”
Reki glanced at him then. “I never go inside.”
“Never?”
“Not unless you will ever need me,” Reki said. His expression turned determined. “It’s my job to protect you.”
It felt intimate, those words. Langa had never thought about his guards or staff this closely before and suddenly he wanted to know more. Who was this boy who guarded him so solemnly since they were 17? Where did he come from? Why was he here?
“Well, goodnight, I guess,” Langa said, pulling his door open. He looked back at Reki expectantly.
Reki jolted again when he noticed Langa’s eyes on him. “Goodnight!” he stammered.
Only then did Langa start through the door.
“You shouldn’t talk to me,” Reki told him before he could close the door. When Langa waited for him to elaborate, Reki went on, turning away and standing straighter, “I am meant to guard silently and unseen.”
Langa nodded, understanding duty, but he couldn’t help a smile. “And who are you to tell the king what to do?”
Reki swung towards him, eyes wide and he was tripping over his words again, “I didn’t mean—!”
Langa waved him away. “Relax, Reki. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow but you shouldn’t see me—Actually I mean—”
“Good night,” Langa said firmly, closing the door on him, smile still miraculously on his lips. He could hear the other man cursing through the door.
Huh. This was interesting.