Chapter Text
It takes Alhaitham eighteen years to find Kaveh again.
It takes nearly another twelve to hold him once more.
* * *
“He’s skipped dinner, again.”
Alhaitham’s eyes do not lift from his book. The restless tapping of the head librarian grows more frantic. Alhaitham continues reading.
“The Queen is worried that it’s going to compromise the current trade negotiations happening between the nations. And—Alhaitham. You’re not listening, are you?”
Alhaitham pointedly flips a page.
Without looking, he can hear the annoyed flick of an ear. Funny, how even in a world where Kaveh is a Prince and Tighnari a dutiful palace employee, Tighnari still finds the time to fret over their former architect. Some things never change.
“I’ve heard rumors they’re looking to appoint you his personal knight,” Tighnari goes on to say. While the bait is undeniably tempting, Alhaitham does not look away from his book. “If that is the type of promotion you’re interested in, you really should take this chance and go find him and bring him to dinner before dessert is served.”
“Sounds more like a babysitter.”
Tighnari’s groan fills the otherwise empty royal library.
He had always thought Kaveh to be a magnet for trouble, but this second life of theirs is giving the architect a run for his money. A shame Alhaitham is the only one between all of them that remembers.
“Did you check the gardens?”
“Yes. He wasn’t there.”
Flip. “And the clocktower?”
“Yes–Well, no. Why would he be there?”
Another flip. “The Prince enjoys high places. It gives him a good vantage point of the kingdom. I’ve seen him sketching up there, once or twice.”
“You seem to know a lot about his habits,” Tighnari murmurs, his ears laying flat. Then, something must shift, because one by one, his ears perk up and the tail hanging between his legs swishes. “Have you been practicing for this role all along? No shame in it. It comes with a decent pay bump.”
“You sound like you’re my competition,” says Alhaitham, deadpan.
Tighnari snorts a laugh. “Absolutely not. I would have no time for my hobbies.”
“Hm.”
Alhaitham does not have anywhere near as peaceful of a life as he did in Teyvat, but keeping tabs on the royal family and training each day certainly is preferable to orchestrating a rescue mission for his land’s Archon.
He wonders how Nahida is doing.
He wonders if the Archons are even still around.
Flip.
“Go look for him,” Tighnari implores, this time reaching to nudge the corner of Alhaitham’s book. “There’s few people the Prince listens to. For some reason, you’re on that list. I wonder if it’s because he is exhausted by your pedanticness?”
“I’m nothing of the sort.” Alhaitham snaps his book shut. He levels Tighnari with a neutral expression. “I’ll go. Next time, just say the council sent you instead of beating around the bush.”
“Was I that obvious?” Tighnari lifts his hands up, almost apologetically. “But thank you, Alhaitham. The Queen worries because she cares. And the council trusts you, after what happened last year. I don’t think it’s a small deal.”
Alhaitham stands from the table. He reaches for his sheathed sword resting on the chairs beside him, carefully locking it back into place at his hip. Sometimes, he misses his old sword more than he misses his Dendro Vision.
Kaveh will never be a ‘small deal’ to him.
After all, it’s been almost thirty years now since he had his heart broken.
* * *
Kaveh used to nap out in the yard of Alhaitham’s house. Alhaitham had warned him that someone unsavory could take advantage of his lowered guard and rob him. Back then, Alhaitham hadn’t understood what Kaveh meant when he smiled directly at the sun that Alhaitham stood in front of, hair splayed out like a halo on the grass around him, and said, “Yyou’re too suspicious of people, Alhaitham. And even if they did? Well, they can’t rob me of everything.”
Alhaitham feels similarly, now.
No matter what happens–no matter how many years pass or the monumental distance between them and their former selves–the world could never steal his memories of Kaveh from him.
* * *
“Your Majesty.”
Kaveh’s quilled pen drags harder against the parchment he’s sketching on. It’s painfully familiar.
“Alhaitham,” retorts Kaveh, tone on edge.
“Funny. This doesn’t look like the banquet hall.”
“Because it’s not,” Kaveh says, eyes narrowing as he snootily looks back to his sketch. In a way, it reminds Alhaitham of his earlier encounter with Tighnari. “Let me guess, they sent you to come find me, right? Well, as you can see, I’m very much safe.”
“An important delegate is visiting,” Alhaithan reminds, lounging against the wall.
Kaveh shifts. The setting sun does a beautiful job of framing the Prince’s lithe body. Up here, perched on the edge of the tower, he looks ethereal.
(But Alhaitham knows better.
He watched Kaveh die in his arms once before; he knows that no life is truly eternal.)
“My mom will handle it,” Kaveh says assuredly, fingers curling at the edge of his sketchbook. “I don’t like them, anyway.”
“Do you even know who it is?”
“Does it matter?”
Some days, Alhaitham thinks Kaveh has not changed. He is stubborn and allergic to overly political matters. Flattery for the sake of gaining favor hasd never been his strong suit, and now plunged into a world of pleasantries and connections, Kaveh acts just as unhappy as he had been when trying to garner popular support for his pitches.
Other days, Alhaitham knows this is not Kaveh. Just as he is no longer Alhaitham. They may share the same heart, the same body, but their lives have shaped them differently. For Alhaitham, he carries the burden of a lifetime of memories. For Kaveh, is none the wiser, ignorant to the fact that in another life, he had lost his Father not at twenty-five but roughly two decades earlier. That he had lived with Alhaitham as equals for over a decade before time was cut short.
(And yet Alhaitham finds himself in love with him all the same.)
“Your Highness,” Alhaitham says, more seriously. “The Queen will worry.”
Kaveh’s expression finally falters. “Then go tell her I’m safe, in that case.”
“You already know what her response to that will be.” Alhaitham folds his arms to his chest.
Groaning, Kaveh swings his legs off his perch. His feet touch the ground and he stands, elegant and poised and every bit the Prince this land knows him to be. Kaveh had always been beautiful, in this life and their previous one, but there’s something exceptionally impossible about him as of late.
“Fine,” he grouses, dusting off his slacks. “But you’re getting an earful later if that delegate decides to run his mouth.”
“As elegant as always, My Prince,” murmurs Alhaitham, deeply amused as Kaveh makes faces over what Alhaitham assumes to be imagined scenarios in his head. “Once I am appointed your Knight, I wonder if you’ll be as prone to giving me headaches.”
“Headaches!” Kaveh barks, tossing his head back. “Really, Alhaitham, just because you’ve known me for over ten years doesn’t mean you…Wait. What?”
And there it is.
Alhaitham lifts a brow at him. “What?” he parrots.
Kaveh’s eyes squint at him suspiciously. “Did the council tell you that? That I need a personal Knight?” Without waiting, Kaveh covers his face with a hand, barely able to suppress the audible groan that fills the space between them. It’s familiar in such a heart shattering way. “And you accepted the position? I thought you hated sitting around idly.”
“It has not been formally offered to me yet, no,” says Alhaitham, unfazed. “And serving at your side would be anything less than idle.”
Kaveh is incapable of sitting still for too long. Should Alhaitham become his personal Knight, he would be expected to follow faithfully at his side on any trips to the city. A shadow, really, that ensured the Prince’s safety.
(And hadn’t that been what Alhaitham was for so long, anyway? Not much would change in practice. Just on paper.)
“Ugh.” Kaveh emphasizes the sound with a kick to the dusty ground. “I suppose if they’re shoving this down my throat, I would prefer it be you.”
“What flattery, mMy Prince,” says Alhaitham, lips twitching into a smirk despite his best efforts to stamp it down. “Is that how you speak to the delegates, too?”
Glaring once more, Kaveh brushes past him. Up this close Alhaitham can see the stirrings of a blush high on his cheeks. “Well, get on with it, then. If you’re going to be my Knight, you might as well start practicing now.”
“By doing what, exactly?” Alhaitham’s arms fall to his sides. “Are you that fatigued you need to be carried downstairs?”
“What!? Of course not!” Flustered, Kaveh looks back over his shoulder, the red color deepening. “You’re insufferable sometimes. Ugh. Just escort me downstairs and show the council you’re better fit for the role than someone like, I don’t know, Azar.”
“Understood.”
Amused, Alhaitham joins his side. He does not miss the way Kaveh subconsciously mirrors his body language or the way the Prince bites at his bottom lip in contemplation, as if wanting to say something more but choosing against it at the last second.
“Lead the way, Your Majesty.”
And so, they go.
* * *
Alhaitham’s official appointment as Kaveh’s personal knight is uneventful. Unlike the coronation of a royal, the elevation of knights and the working class are not celebrated matters.
The Queen takes Alhaitham aside and runs him through a laundry list of things he already knows by heart about Kaveh: he’s allergic to apples, he hates the texture of fruit rinds, he sometimes wakes up gasping for air at night (that may be an early sign of an underlying ailment that will need to be monitored), he burns easily in direct sunlight, and he is adamantly studying every single language that he can get resource materials on.
Of all these quirks, it is only the last that is new in this lifetime. Before, Kaveh had taken a liking to language and scriptures, but he had not mastered the over twenty that Alhaitham himself knew.
(Kaveh, too, had believed him that it was a requirement of his Darshan. Decades later, when a junior told Kaveh that was never a thing, Alhaitham had turned on his headphones for the rest of the day to drown out Kaveh’s agonized complaining about how many people he spread that white lie to.)
The only thing that changes for Alhaitham after his promotion is that he is no longer required to run drills with the castle guards. Now, he is trained by the Knight’s Captain himself every other day. When he is not able to be at Kaveh’s side, Kaveh is entrusted to the castle guards while he flits about the palace or attends official meetings or banquets with his parents.
Two weeks go by in the blink of an eye.
* * *
The problem with being a Knight is not the physical exertion of it all. No, Alhaitham never minded training back in Sumeru. A good brawl actually helped clear his mind and focus him. Center his thoughts. What he dislikes about being a Knight is that he’s always on the clock and while Kaveh’s safety is in his hands, it’s really not. He doesn’t have the power to make certain kingdom-wide decisions, and doesn't have the insight of the generals of the army. It’s maddening. Alhaitham dislikes not having knowledge at his fingertips.
He can’t make a home for Kaveh that’s safe from the cruelties of the world.
Maybe that’s the worst part.
* * *
“Stop hovering.”
Alhaitham does not, in fact, stop hovering. He stands at Kaveh’s side as Kaveh peruses the wares of the first merchant at the beginning of a crowded street at the heart of their city. Kaveh’s hair is pulled into a ponytail tothat day, and Alhaitham already can tell that he’s going to burn the nape of his neck.
(When pressed on it, Kaveh insisted he’d be fine and if Alhaitham put anything on his skin or tugged his hair out of the ribbon it was in, Kaveh would punish him. The type of punishment went unsaid. After all, empty threats were always Kaveh’s speciality.)
“I am simply keeping an eye on you,” says Alhaitham, monotone.
(Kaveh catches the glint of amusement in his eyes all the same.)
“Prince Kaveh,” gasps the vendor when they finish collecting payment from another patron. “It’s an honor! I had no idea you’d be down in the city today.”
“Last minute plans,” Kaveh explains, almost sheepishly. His smile is soft as he gestures at the little keycharms made of various types of metals. “Are any of these imported?”
“Yes,” says the vendor, beaming. “My son is in Fontaine at the moment. He and I coordinate the exchange of certain precious metals.”
Alhaitham folds his arms to his chest. “Interesting. I don’t recall you being listed as one of the permit holders to do that.”
Paling, the vendor looks away from Kaveh to stare directly at Alhaitham. His look of awe has quickly morphed into panic. Huffing, Kaveh shoves none-too-gently at Alhaitham’s arm. “Ignore him,” he says, quickly, before moving to pick up one of the brass charms. It’s sun-shaped and reflects the daylight beautifully. “This is wonderful craftsmanship. Does your son help with this part?’
“My daughter, actually,” explains the merchant, a little more warily than before as Alhaitham continues to stare at him hawkishly. “She’s an apprentice to a local blacksmith.”
“That’s wonderful!” Kaveh exclaims, nodding enthusiastically.
“Is everything wonderful today, Prince?” Alhaitham murmurs under his breath, a touch amused.
(Kaveh always does seem to be in better spirits when he’s allowed out of the castle. When he’s able to pretend to be a normal person and not the heir to one of the most powerful kingdoms in all the lands. Today, Kaveh is simply an overly curious consumer.)
“Hush you,” Kaveh says out of the corner of his mouth before he hands the charm to the vendor. “May I purchase this, please? It’d look beautiful on my keys.”
Alhaitham holds his tongue. Kaveh does not own any keys. Why would he? He is the Prince and doors open automatically for him.
“No, no,” says the merchant. “It’s on me. Please! It’s a gift in exchange for your kind words.”
Kaveh deflates. “I couldn’t possibly…”
“It’s best not to argue with him. He’ll try and threaten you with royal decrees,” says Alhaitham from the sidelines, absolutely lying.
“What?!” Kaveh barks, whipping his head to the side. “Don’t spread nonsense, Alhaitham!” Once finished admonishing his knight, Kaveh’s head whirls back to the vendor. By now, the man is overwhelmingly exasperated.
(Alhaitham can empathize.)
“If Your Highness insists on paying…” the merchant says, trailing off. When Kaveh nods again, coin is exchanged and Kaveh proudly pockets his new trinket that will most likely hang from his bedroom’s window given the aforementioned lack of keys. “Thank you again for your patronage.”
So, they continue their jaunt around the market. Each time, Kaveh insists on paying for little nicknacks that he has no practical use for. And every time, the merchants share a little about themselves and their stories with the young Prince. Alhaitham has always admired this about Kaveh, too: his ability to bond so effortlessly with anyone he crosses paths with. While the bonds are surface level, Alhaitham knows Kaveh to be the type of person, Prince or not, to offer his shirt off his back for anyone in need. Being born with a silver spoon should have knocked that out of him, but some facts are immutable between lifetimes.
As the sun wanes in the sky, Alhaitham is acutely aware of the slight flush of Kaveh’s skin. As expected, there’s the faintest of sunburns on his tanning skin and Alhaitham checks the urge to purchase a cloak for him. As it stands, he himself is dripping with sweat under his armor. Knight’s attire was not designed with the city’s heat in mind.
Toward the end of the day, Kaveh begins to shy away from purchases. The latter merchants refuse to allow the Prince to pay, and Kaveh, the bleeding heart he is, declines any gifts, explaining that he does not wish to decrease any of their profits. At a stalemate, Kaveh had wishesd them well and makesmade his way back to the palace with Alhaitham at his side, engulfed in a comfortably familiar silence.
(But each and every time, Alhaitham tookhad taken note of what had caught Kaveh’s eye: a beautiful set of earrings and a bouquet of flowers, in particular, had caused the Prince’s eyes to light up in unabashed joy. The former would have arguably looked lovely paired with the tattered feather tucked in Kaveh’s side-braid and the latter?
Well, in their previous life, Kaveh had always kept the kitchen island lively with the fresh-picked flowers on Tuesday mornings.)
* * *
The next morning, Alhaitham knocks at Kaveh’s door earlier than he prefers to be awake most days.
Kaveh answers, groggy and with bags under his eyes. He blinks away the remnants of sleep and zones in on the bundle of flowers in Alhaitham’s arms. While similar to the bouquet from the day before, these are appear freshly picked and sport a tawny cord of rope around their stems. There is nothing fanciful about them, yet they catch the morning light in a way that has Kaveh waking up awfully fast.
“...What did you do?” Kaveh asks suspiciously, gaze flicking between the flowers and his Knight’s neutral expression.
Alhaitham quirks a brow. “What makes you think I’m apologizing for something?”
Kaveh’s fingers fidget with the long sleeves of his night clothes. “Well,” he begins, pauses, then starts again. “You haven’t done something like this since we were kids, so excuse me for thinking something’s up.”
And the thing is, Kaveh is right. Something is indeed ‘up’. Ever since reconciling his memories and feelings for Kaveh and this Kaveh, Alhaitham has been tasked with the insurmountable feat of handling the situation. Put bluntly: he has no idea how to proceed.
(A lifetime ago, he had missed his chance. Now, he is was doggedly determined to at least convey his feelings, as one-sided as they may be. Even if it means meant toeing over professional lines. Even if it means meant Kaveh refusesd to speak to him for weeks. As long as Kaveh iswas safe, as long as Kaveh knows knew how precious he is was to Alhaitham, it will would be worth the effort.)
“I can take them back,” says Alhaitham, slowly turning away.
(He has no real intention of doing so, of course. These are for Kaveh.)
“Wait!”
Predictable.
Kaveh’s hand shoots out and catches on the thick material of Alhaitham’s jacket. Deep red eyes dart down to the petals of the flowers that mirror them. Alhaitham does not miss the flush that blossoms on Kaveh’s face or the nervousness that take root in the Prince.
“I’ll take them,” says Kaveh after a long pause. “Just…”
Alhaitham waits.
“Nevermind.” Kaveh holds out both hands. “Give them here.”
Alhaitham knows what lives on the tip of his tongue: Kaveh is of royal blood, and Alhaitham’s life belongs to servitude. There is no possibility for whatever fragile thing lingers lingering in the air between them. Alhaitham would not go so far as to assume Kaveh knows what it is–what to call it or how to even feel about it–but he is certain Kaveh’s upbringing has taught him that as a royal gets older, the time for friends lessens.
Alhaitham brushes by him and heads into Kaveh’s room. He thinks he might see the dropping of Kaveh’s jaw. The urge to tell him to pick it up is strong but Alhaitham holds his tongue this time, too.
“Where do you want them?” Alhaitham asks instead.
“Oh. Um.” Kaveh closes the door behind and then starts to look around his chambers.
It is not the first nor will it be the last time Alhaitham is here. After his promotion to Kaveh’s personal Knight, the frequency had increased. While potentially improper to be alone with a Prince in his bedroom, Alhaitham likes to think his position supersedes any scandalous concerns.
(And besides…who would even believe any accusations that Alhaitham, rumored to be one of the most unlikeable Knights in the kingdom, would pull anything ‘funny’ with the Prince?)
“Over there is fine. In the window.”
Right. Flowers.
Alhaitham wanders over to the windowsill and gently places the bundle of flowers just out of the path of direct sunlight. The red brightens up the otherwise drab corner. Alhaitham’s gaze eventually wanders upward, noting that the sun keychain from the day before is dangling by a string.
“Someone is going to think you’re being courted.”
Kaveh instantly sputters. He coughs into his sleeve and storms over. Alhaitham does not miss how inflamed his ears are or the immediate flapping of his hands in the air.
“Just because I have fresh flowers and a new decoration? Honestly, Alhaitham, do you even know the first thing about a royal courtship?”
Alhaitham’s smirk is lazy. His arms fold to his chest and he cocks his head to the side. “Would you care to enlighten me, My Prince?”
“Well, for starters, keychains aren’t jewelry. And yes, flowers can sometimes be gifts, but those are more often reserved for later in the process.”
“I see.”
“And usually, when it involves an heir to the throne, the process is much more formal. The two are introduced and if they seem compatible, a formal courtship begins. Usually over tea and snacks. Um, and then…” He trails off.
Alhaitham hides his growing smirk behind a hand. He masks it as a yawn.
“Hey! This isn’t boring!” Kaveh complains, holding the side of his head. “I haven’t really bothered to brush up on it. There’s just been so much happening around the kingdom that romance is the last thing on my mind lately.”
“Lately,” Alhaitham echoes. “So it’s been on your mind often before now?”
Flushing, Kaveh’s fingers tangle in his hair. He clearly is growing frustrated. Alhaitham’s always found that charming about him, too. How readily he wears his emotions on his sleeves, for better or worse. While Kaveh could be accused of being many things–intelligent, witty, skilled, chronically wearing rose-colored glasses, too trusting, naive–dishonest or disingenuous would never make that list.
“What’s with the interrogation?” Kaveh complains. Now, he mirrors Alhaitham’s body language, petulantly folding his arms across his own chest.
“Simply curious, My Prince,” says Alhaitham, tone bordering teasing. “Is there something I should be aware of?”
“Why!”
“Why what?”
Kaveh meets his gaze head-on. It’s beautiful. Something nostalgic tugs tightly in Alhaitham’s chest. The last few days have been far more memorable than many of the last several years. As Kaveh’s personal Knight, he has finally been afforded more time at his friend’s side. He’s…missed Kaveh.
“Why do you need to know if there’s some sort of courtship going on or not?” Kaveh clarifies, narrowing his eyes. “Are you planning to tell my parents?”
“Of course not.” Alhaitham shrugs and steps around Kaveh back toward the window. He glances out the glass, stirring up audible confusion from Kaveh who drifts to his side and gawks out the window as well. From this close, Alhaitham can feel the natural heat radiating off Kaveh. That, too, he misses.
(Lazy days on the divan, sketching and reading. Working on expeditions together in the desert heat and sharing the same cramped tent when the chill of the night took over.)
“What are you doing?” Kaveh asks him as he continues inspecting the windowframe.
“Checking to see if there’s any overgrown vines.”
“What?”
He can’t resist. “That are being used by your secret suitor. Obviously.”
“Alhaitham!” Kaveh squawks.
“Is that his name? Huh. What a coincidence.” Alhaitham’s smirk betrays the utter fondness he feels. He knows it’s always dangerous playing with matters of the heart when so much has changed, but riling up Kaveh universally always gets the better of him.
“It’s not a coincidence,” Kaveh says, grinding his teeth, “because there is no suitor. Stop messing around and teasing me.”
“As you wish.”
Kaveh rolls his eyes at the latent sarcasm. His groan is loud and long as he steps away from the window and saunters across his bedroom towards a little room on the right. He calls over his shoulder, “I’m going to bathe and get ready for the day. Go be insufferable somewhere else. I’m sure there are no imminent threats in my bathtub.”
“Shall I confirm that?”
“Leave!”
Alhaitham’s chuckle is short but tender as he makes his leave.
(He’ll save the earrings for later. He’s certain Kaveh would have a meltdown over that, too.)
* * *
He had tried, at the very beginning. To keep his distance. Kaveh would never be the same, and that was something Alhaitham had to accept. He could not fall in love for a second time.
He had been admittedly colder than he ever wanted to be. Aloof. Strictly professional. It had driven Kaveh insane, unable to reach out to a person he thought was, despite their upbringings, a worthy friend. Alhaitham told himself it was for the best.
Yet, when they were children, playing board games or walking in the gardens, Alhaitham’s heart had skipped a beat. When they bickered over coffee or discussed other delegates in their adulthood, Alhaitham’s armor freshly polished as Kaveh teased him about how he looked so stuffy, he had felt it. That impossible-to-avoid connection.
He was a fool to ever think he wouldn’t be bound to Kaveh for the rest of their lifetimes.
* * *
“Again?”
Alhaitham has been at his new post for three weeks now, and this is the second report he’s received from the Captain of the Knights about a failed assassination attempt. Most are discovered well before they manifest into any actual threats on the royal family. Still, as Kaveh’s personal Knight, he is now kept apprised of all attempts as ineffective or miniscule as they may be.
“Yeah,” says Captain Cyno as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “This one got sloppy and someone overheard him at the tavern.”
“Tch.” Another drunkard thinking he could outsmart the best Knights in the land. Laughable, really.
“Tighnari told me about it,” Cyno says as he lowers his hand. “This one our men didn’t catch.”
“Kaveh is revered by his people,” Alhatiham points out. “I’m not surprised someone came to the royal guard with the information.”
“The reward for tips certainly helps,” Cyno says and then shakes his head. “Still, this is just the tip of the iceberg, as it were. Something nefarious is happening in the shadows.” A beat. “Do you get it? A tip of an iceberg is a common idiom in–”
Alhaitham dismissively waves his hand. He shrugs past his Captain and makes a move to leave the training grounds before the sun can set much further. Usually, as of late, he’s been sharing his meals with Kaveh when Kaveh hasn’t been otherwise occupied with political affairs. He’d hate to be tardy and make Kaveh wait.
“One more thing, Alhaitham,” Cyno says.
Alhaitham pauses.
“A suitor from Inazuma will be here starting tomorrow for two weeks.”
Something ugly tangles deep in Alhaitham’s gut. “Is that so?”
“They requested that the Princes are given some time alone to test the waters of a possible connection.”
“That’s not happening.”
Cyno hums in agreement. “Yes, that’s what I told them. Even as important as these types of affairs can be, we can’t trust anyone. Not with the upsurge of assassination attempts on the royal family. They understood, more or less. I assured the Queen that you’d be at the Prince’s side. …Well, at least in the room. I don’t think he’d appreciate you sitting at a table meant for two.”
Alhaitham can picture it: Kaveh and this nameless noble sharing tea and biscuits while Alhaitham looms over them. Or, he sits between them, playing babysitter and Knight in the same breath. Should this royal have any ill intentions, well, Alhaitham certainly wouldn’t mourn the loss of any limbs he may reflexively chop off.
“I’ll be there,” is all Alhaitham says.
“Great!”
Again, Alhaitham makes an effort to leave.
“One more thing.”
“You said that already,” says Alhaitham but he stops all the same, his hand lingering on the handle to the door that’ll lead him back into the palace. “Be quick. I’m already late for dinner.”
“Has the Prince mentioned any headaches to you?”
Alhaitham’s hand falls to his side. “Headaches?” He glances over his shoulder back at the Captain.
No, as far as he knows. Kaveh has not mentioned any sort of ailment. For the most part, Kaveh is not shy about loudly bemoaning whatever malady has stricken him. His last cold nearly ended with Alhaitham resigning from his position as a Knight as a whole. (An exaggeration, of course, but a sick Kaveh in this lifetime and the last was never fun.)
“He hasn’t? Huh. He asked Tighnari about some herbs for it.” Cyno looks to the sky, lost in thought. Alhaitham’s gaze wanders up to the clouds, purple and pinks high in the sky. “Maybe it’s nothing.”
“I’ll ask him.”
“If he hasn’t told you already, what good will asking him do?”
“You’d be surprised.”
Sometimes, Kaveh needs a little nudge. In this life he’s still stubborn, but he does seem to benefit from more confidence. Alhaitham suspects that not having your magnum opus so deeply compromised and being saddled with endless debt can do that to a person.
Alhaitham resolves that he’ll ask Kaveh tomorrow. There’s no reason to ruin dinner over things that won’t actually have any real impact on their lives.
* * *
Except they do.
On paper, this suitor sounds to be a perfect match for Prince Kaveh. An enjoyer of arts and aesthetics, soft spoken and idealistic, and the youngest of three brothers. While not destined for the throne of his own empire, the proposed union between Sumeru and Inazuma would yield endless benefits for the people. Notoriously difficult to sign any trade agreements with, this marriage would open up a part of the world that had otherwise been inaccessible to Sumeru.
Alhaitham’s mood sours significantly. The earrings burn a hole in the suit of armor he puts on as he readies himself for delivering the young monarch.
He does not expect to run into Kaveh on the way to the royal gates. He had been told by Cyno that the royal family, Kaveh included, would be escorted by the Captain himself as tradition begets. So, to find Kaveh wandering the palace halls with his hair pinned up in pearls and gold pins, wearing a crisp suit and his eyes lined with kohl? It’s suspect.
“Prince.”
Kaveh nearly jumps out of his skin. Color drains from his face that even makeup does a poor job of masking. “Alhaitham,” he echoes.
“Where’s Cyno?”
“The Captain is briefing my parents last minute on something unrelated,” Kaveh explains and awkwardly folds his arms to his chest to try and mimic Alhaitham’s posture. The suit must be overly tight because he can barely lift his arms. “What are you doing?”
“My job.” Which, today, is not following Kaveh around like a ghost but instead lurking in the shadows. “So no one is keeping an eye on you.”
“I’m not an infant,” Kaveh snaps.
It’s the first time in years Kaveh has sounded genuinely angry. Alhaitham falters. His arms lower from his chest and he looks anywhere that isn’t the indignation living on Kaveh’s face.
“I know,” says Alhaitham. And then adds, softer, “I apologize.”
Kaveh hesitates. Alhaitham can hear the aborted noise he makes in immediate response. His actual reply comes an awkward ten seconds later. “It’s fine, Alhaitham. I’m just–on edge, I suppose. I wasn’t expecting someone so soon, you know?”
He knows Kaveh isn’t talking about their chance encounter. The earrings burn even hotter.
Alhaitham’s eyes gravitate towards Kaveh’s ears. Shamelessly, he digs into his pockets, beyond the links of metal, and retrieves a small pouch. He considers putting it back where it belongs but ends up offering it up in the palm of his hand.
“What’s this?” Kaveh’s confusion is justified, of course. Except for the flowers, the last gift Alhaitham gave him was when they were children and is conveniently missing from Kaveh’s hairstyle today.
“It’s for you.” Obviously.
Kaveh rolls his eyes but he accepts the little satchel all the same. Curiously, he thumbs it open and then falls eerily quiet.
(It may be a misstep. It may be too much. It may be misconstrued or construed so correctly that Kaveh feels the need to formally reject him before accepting the hand of another man who can provide their nation with so much more than earnest love.
He lost Kaveh once before. He can’t stand to lose him again. Not without at least trying.)
“These are…” Kaveh gulps. “When did you get them? I didn’t see you…”
“I went back the next day,” Alhaitham says as if that’s really the heart of the matter. “They’re yours.” A beat. “You don’t look yourself today. Put those on and I’m sure your nerves will go away.”
Kaveh’s fingers ghost over the spot on his ear where the feather usually is safely tucked away. “Um.” A pause, his fingers curl tighter over the golden earrings that boast beautiful green and red dangling gems. “Thank you. For this. I’ll…” He shakes his head and then hurriedly begins to clasp the earrings on, one at a time. With his hair pinned up, they glisten beautifully in even the midday light funneled in through the stained glass windows.
“We should head to the meeting,” says Alhaitham instead of all the other things he never knew how to put into words a lifetime ago.
“Yes. We should.”
So, they go.
* * *
Alhaitham can tell Kaveh has no personal interest in this suitor. Alhaitham knows that Kaveh is a bleeding heart, a romantic, and would much prefer to fall in love slowly and on his own time. He wouldn’t ever wish to be wed to someone he does not care deeply for.
(But this Kaveh carries the burden of royalty. This Kaveh has a mother he would do almost anything to please. A mother who is gentle with her words and warm with her arms as she pulls him into an embrace and whispers fondly into his shoulder, “I’m so proud of you, son.”)
So Alhaitham can only watch as Kaveh wears a poorly-fitted mask at dinners. How Kaveh stiffly takes the hand of this other Prince and they dance at the small reception dinner. Alhaitham can only watch.
He has never inserted himself into Kaveh’s matters beyond what is strictly necessary. They have been equals. He respects Kaveh’s choices, even if the reasoning puzzles him from time to time. He will not interfere with this, either.
(Even if he is learning that a heart can break a second time.)
* * *
“This is so frustrating!”
Kaveh is pacing around his room, hands tugging at his hair. The braids he had meticulously done earlier that morning begin to come undone and Alhaitham’s fingers twitch with the strange urge to fix them. He hasn’t really done that for awhile.
“I can see that,” deadpans Alhaitham, unhelpfully, from the wall he’s leaned against near the door to Kaveh’s chambers.
“Everywhere we go, someone has something to say! Eyes on us, just gawking, at all times!”
“Would you prefer that you were left alone?”
His gut churns.
“Huh? Oh, not like that,” Kaveh breathes out hurriedly in one breath, tense shoulders dropping into something pitiful. “You know very well that wasn’t what I meant.”
Sometimes, it’s fun to tease and prod the Prince, even after all this time. This is not one of those times.
“Right.” Alhaitham’s eyes drift to the ceiling. “He leaves in a week. Think you can handle it?”
“Of course I can.”
Kaveh puffs out his chest. It’s very reminiscent of a bird, proud, and Alhaitham’s eyes twinkle with a fondness he suspects doesn’t read obviously. If it had, perhaps Kaveh would have learned a lifetime ago that Alhaitahm loved him more than anything in the world.
And then it’s gone. Kaveh’s hand slides from his hair to his head, cradling the side of it.
Alhaitham frowns. “Another headache?”
“...forgot to take the herbs,” says Kaveh in a rush.
Alhaitham doesn’t believe him.
“Finish getting ready. I’ll go fetch another batch from Tighnari.”
It’s the excuse they both so desperately need.
Kaveh does not try to stop him.
(Why would he? It is not his place, as royal prince, to entertain the whims and yearning of a knight trusted with his life. They are not just Kaveh and Alhaitham here. Not anymore.)
* * *
The castle is too big. Alhaitham has always thought this. There are too many places to lose Kaveh, too many corridors filled with stuff that has no purpose or memory affixed to it. The palace houses many, but few would dare call it a home.
For Alhaitham, a home is a small house built for two on Treasures Street, with the trees shrouding it at different parts of the day, Kaveh’s quill scratching against parchment and Alhaitham’s dusty books cluttering the tabletops.
A home that was taken far too early from the both of them.
* * *
“Prince.”
This has grown to be more of an issue than even Alhaitham expected it to. By the end of the Prince’s visits, Kaveh has taken to spending most of his free-time curled up in his bed, fingers pawing at his own face in a poor attempt to ease the tension behind his eyes. Headaches. He’s been having so many headaches. The fact that Kaveh is admitting to them speaks volumes to their intensity.
“Go away,” mumbles Kaveh from under the sheets.
“This is not normal,” Alhaitham chides, uncaring for speaking properly to his Prince. Not now. Not with Kaveh. “We need to bring you to the infirmary.”
“I’m not going.”
“What if something is wrong?”
(What if I lose you again?)
Kaveh peeks out from the edge of the sheets. “It’s just stress, Alhaitham. It’ll pass. If they’re still… happening, once the Prince leaves. Well. I’ll take your advice. But until then? Please, my friend…”
Kaveh knows exactly where his buttons are and how to press them. How to mash them until he gets the outcome he most desires. And it’s not even vindicate or manipulative–they just know each other so well. Even with the gap in their societal standing, even without a torn-up thesis with both their names dripping in ink.
“Fine.”
Alhaitham doesn’t like it, but he reminds himself that Kaveh is, above all else, royalty, and that Alhaitham must obey. Still, should Kaveh begin to pass out from the headaches? Well, that would mean his duty as Kaveh’s personal guard would supercede his friend’s stubbornness.
They don’t talk much after that.
Alhaitham reads and Kaveh naps off the headache.
(It almost feels like a city far, far away. A land that does not exist in this world.)
* * *
Alhaitham had expected a lot of things to happen as the foreign Prince and his men pulled away in their carriages. Two weeks had passed achingly slow but now, the threat is over. Kaveh is successfully uncourted and nothing will immediately change. There is still time. Kaveh is still able to breathe, to live, to fly.
Alhaitham expected the Knights to pester him for details. For Kaveh’s advisors to pick his brain about the encounters Alhaitham was there to shadow.
(The conversations he had to witness with his heart that only ever beat for Kaveh. The risk that someone else would light-up Kaveh’s world and make him smile in a way Alhaitham hasn’t seen in so very long.)
So, needless to reiterate, Alhaitham anticipated a lot of possibilities.
Kaveh slapping him never made the list.
* * *
“What were you thinking?”
Alhaitham is tired. His limbs are sore from having rode on horseback for over an hour trying to find Kaveh. His heart is weary and his mind on fire. For the last several hours, all he could think was: it’s over, it’s happening again, Kaveh is lost.
When he finds Kaveh sitting by the waterside, feet dipped into the stream, Alhaitham’s worst fears disappear into a whisper in the back of his mind.
It’s, unfortunately, still loud enough.
“Oh, Alhaitham.” Kaveh looks over his shoulder with guilt. “That’s… I suppose I should have been clearer with the guards where I was–”
“Without anyone?” Alhaitham feels his blood pressure spiking, his words cutting, his tone sharpening. “Do you realize how foolish that is? Are you aware of just how many attempts at your life there are weekly?” His words feel all garbled together, ineloquent and raw. He doesn’t sound like himself. Maybe that’s what love does to people.
Kaveh blinks at him. Then frowns, looking to the water. “I’m fine, Alhaitham.”
“You are a fool,” says Alhaitham, harsher than even that time in the library where Kaveh tore up their joint project and set a fire to their normalcy.
He crosses the small distance between them–
And then wraps his arms around Kaveh, dropping to his knees.
“Thank Celestia you’re okay,” Alhaitham breathes out, his soul torn to shreds from the last weeks, years, lifetimes, “Kaveh.”
Kaveh stills in his arms. It feels oddly fitting that the first time he offers Kaveh’s name without a title is when Alhaitham is at his weakest. It feels fair in a way that Alhaitham wishes Kaveh could appreciate.
“I can’t lose you again,” says Alhaitham, unthinking, burying his face down into the crook of his Prince’s shoulder. Into Kaveh’s shoulder.
Kaveh is alive. Kaveh is here. That is all that matters.
It was supposed to fix things. It shatters them instead.
Kaveh wrenches himself away. Alhaitham’s arms fall to the side and Kaveh’s eyes are filled with an unknown emotion. Swirling, conflicted, angry. Kaveh heaves out a strangled noise and then, rather than smiling or embracing his friend, he snaps:
“I’m not the one you actually care about.”
Silence.
What?
Wait.
Alhaitham recounts the last few hours as quickly as he can:
A rumor that someone had kidnapped the Prince. Alhaitham shirking off orders from Cyno to personally go out and search for Kaveh. Finding Kaveh here, in the woods, by himself and unharmed. The pure agony Alhaitham had felt at the thought of his oldest friend in pain, tortured, lost. Being unable to tell him how he felt, as selfish as it was, for a second lifetime. And now? And now, after Alhaitham had finally dared to cross the line, to utter his given name without care for the rules he was breaking, Kaveh had recoiled and accused him of–
Alhaitham stiffens.
“What are you talking about?” he asks.
Kaveh hurriedly stands. He dusts off his clothes and says, with icy precision, “You can stop pretending we’re the same, you know.”
The world slows, fuzzy and out of focus.
When had he slipped? When had Alhaitham given any indication that he remembered the brightest architect of their time? Had he subconsciously been dropping hints this entire time? Had he been blind to his own pining and actions?
–when had Kaveh remembered?
“Figured as much,” exhales Kaveh. And then he leaves, following the silhouette of the palace in the distance through the growing darkness.
It took twelve years to hold Kaveh again.
Alhaitham simply hadn’t expected it would be the last time.
