fic: Moments (Ziam)

[berusama]

Title: This Life, For One More Day
Pairing(s):
Rating:
Warning(s):
Disclaimer: I cannot and do not own/know/associate with/stalk the real people mentioned herein. The following is a work of fiction. No money was made in its creation.
Summary: It's the end of their world.
Author's Note:



Liam's fingers ache as he finally unclenches them from around the hilt of his sword. The peace talks had taken longer than he was expecting and if he does not get to speak to his uncle soon, he's sure he will do something drastic.

"Liam," his Uncle Simon calls, interrupting whatever Lord Byron had been saying to him, "instead of glaring from across the room, why don't you join us?"

"I would prefer to speak to you alone," Liam answers, not moving from his place in front of the retiring room.

His uncle looks at him for several moments before turning back to his remaining advisors.

"If you would excuse me," Simon says.

He receives a chorus of, 'Of course, Your Majesty's as he stands from the table and makes his way to the retiring room.

Liam waits for his uncle to be seated again before sitting on his left side. During the meeting Liam had mentally prepared a number of compelling arguments but they all seem to escape him now.

"I'm concerned about the peace treaty," he blurts out finally. When his uncle only raises an eyebrow at him, Liam continues. "I'm not sure the last term is such a good idea. In fact, I'm pretty sure it's a bad idea."

"Going to war was a bad idea," the King counters, studying his nephew. "You are in favor of peace."

It's not a question, but Liam says, "Of course," anyway.

"You drafted many of the settlement terms yourself."

"I did."

"Can you not see the wisdom in adding this final term?"

"If I saw it, we surely would not be having this discussion."

The Brontane King laughs, then, and Liam feels his as though he can breathe again. He has never seen his uncle as the king everyone else knows him to be, and it's unnerving to watch him in the role.

"It's about leverage. About having a sense of security."

And that's the part Liam just can't wrap his mind around. "How on earth is bringing a fire-speaker into our home going to give us security? Right now we have the advantage, why would we risk that by bringing one of them behind our walls?"

"His presence here will ensure that their king upholds the peace treaty. He is their only male heir."

"He is also their strongest warrior! He has never been defeated; in the Seraphim songs they say that his plaited hair touches the ground."

His uncle's eyes crinkle at the corners as he laughs. "It's not that long. See for yourself." He gestures toward a box at the side of the room and Liam is confused enough that he does not pause to think about what might be inside before opening it.

The hinges creak ominously and Liam has never seen hair so dark, except on the Seraphim. It takes a moment for him to register what he is looking at, but when it hits him, Liam almost feels sad. The hair is still plaited with red fabric and it's filthy, as though it were cut from its owner as he knelt on the battlefield. Liam thinks of all the songs and stories he's heard of the Seraphim prince and how there won't be any more.

"They sent it with their terms of surrender," his uncle says, snapping Liam out of his thoughts.

"His own people cut it off?"

"His own people would never dream of letting us do it."

Liam looks down at the mess of hair and dirt and ribbon that used to symbolize so much and thinks that, yes, he is sad. He closes the box.

"I still think him coming here is a bad idea."

"Liam, you know that the castle walls will neutralize his power."

"And what if he manages to figure out how the generators work? Our ability to silence the Seraphim is our only advantage."

The king smiles, but it looks tired. "They have no taste for technology. He will not be able to understand it on his own."

There is a pause that Liam doesn't know how to fill, but his uncle continues moments later.

"To be honest, I'm not terribly fond of the idea myself, but I have confidence that it is our best option for prolonged peace." The king rises and crosses the room to Liam, placing both hands on his nephew's shoulders. "And if having him here means that there is peace for the rest of your life, then it is what I will gladly do to make that happen."

"I understand," Liam says, covering one of his uncle's hands with his own.

His other hands remains at his side, still clenching the hilt of his sword.

- - -

"So when's the ash-mouth getting here?" Louis asks, deliberately using the derogatory term that Liam has told him to stop saying.

("It's not like he speaks Brontane!" Louis had protested every time Liam brought it up.)

"Any day now," Liam answers, hoping that if he stops calling Louis out, then maybe Louis will stop using it on his own.

"I'm kind of nervous," Louis says, like is a strange phenomenon that's never happened to him before.

"About what?" Niall says, looking up from the sword he's cleaning, "We've already beat him."

"Yeah, but he's the Seraphim prince. The ash-mouth."

Well, it was worth a shot.

"Don't call him that," Liam says distractedly, not turning away from the window.

"I'll call him what I like because he's our prisoner and he won't know what I'm saying anyway. Maybe I'll call him a cock-sucking, mother-fucker when I meet him."

"He's not a prisoner," Niall says, and really? That's the part that Niall chooses to address?

"Might as well be," Louis says sitting up enough to peer at Liam over the top of the lounger. "Don't you have guards to keep watch for you?"

Liam glances over at his friends, but can't seem to tear himself away from the window. "I just want to be prepared for when he gets here."

"Maybe he won't," Louis says, laying back down. "Maybe he's offed himself on the way."

"Yeah, right," Niall says before Liam can. "The Seraphim are too proud for suicide."

"Okay, but this guy's already lost his hair and now he's on his way to be locked up by the enemy for eternity? What else has he got to loose?"

"We're not going to lock him up," Liam says, though part of him wishes they were.

It's just... He was in those battlefields for the past three years and he knows what Seraphim warriors are capable of. He's never met the prince in battle, but he's heard the stories and he doesn't want a man like that anywhere near his people or his home.

Louis is going on about the different ways they could potentially neutralize a Seraphim warrior -- should, goddess forbid, the generators fail -- while Niall debunks them all with simple logic ("We could throw him in the lake!" "With what? An extra-long pair of fire tongs?"), when Liam finally sees it.

It's just a glimmer on the horizon, but after another ten minutes the glimmer definitely turns into moving shapes and that has to be him.

Normally Liam has unending stores of patience -- one must, if one is to be friends with Louis Tomlinson -- but right now he just wants to know what is taking so long. He's sitting in the throne room with his aunt and uncle, waiting for the guards to finish searching the belongings that the prince has brought with him and if they don't hurry up, Liam's liable to storm into the entrance hall and do the job himself.

Finally, the doors swing open and though Liam had watched the prince's progress toward the castle until he was nearly at the gates, he's not prepared for the sheer number of people who enter the throne room.

It seems as though the entire Seraphim kingdom has made the journey to see their prince off.

Except, all of these people are dressed the same and Liam realizes far too late that these men and women must be the Seraphim royal guard. He panics for all of two seconds before remembering that there are just as many of his own royal guard in the room.

Once everyone has entered and a hush has fallen over the room, Liam's uncle stands and descends the steps from his throne. Almost simultaneously, the Seraphim royal guard parts to reveal a young curly-haired boy who looks to be about Liam's age.

"Your Highness," says the boy, and though he is dressed in traditional Seraphim clothing, there is no trace of an accent that Liam has always associated with Seraphim speaking Brontane. "I'm Harry Styles. His Majesty wrote of me in the final negotiation of terms."

"I know who you are," the king says, and Liam is surprised at the gentle tone of his voice. "Where is the prince?"

The boy -- Harry, he had called himself -- speaks something in Seraphim and again the guard parts to reveal another young man.

Had Liam not already been sitting, he thinks that he may have chosen to do so at this moment.

The prince is stunning, and Liam has trouble consolidating the image he had built of the Seraphim prince in his mind with the image being presented to him now. He is too thin, too short, too beautiful to be the fierce warrior Liam had been expecting. Liam tries to picture him with long hair, but can't focus on anything past the boy's graceful neck and shoulders. He's dressed for a Seraphim spring, not a Brontane one.

'He must be cold,' Liam thinks, but then mentally shakes himself.

He doesn't care if the Seraphim prince is cold. All he cares about is how quickly he can kill him if he tries to burn them from the inside out.

His uncle finishes speaking with Harry and turns to walk back to his throne. Liam's hand flies to his sword at the sight of his uncle presenting his back to the enemy. The king catches his eye as he goes to sit and Liam relaxes slightly.

Harry turns to the guard and speaks to them briefly in Seraphim. They turn as one to face their prince, kneel, and then they are back on their feet and marching out of the throne room.

Soon only Harry and the prince remain.

"Liam," the king says after several uncomfortable moments of silence. "Please escort Harry and Prince Zayn to their rooms."

Zayn.

Liam isn't sure what to think about a name like that, but he knows instantly that it's one he'll never forget. As he stands and makes his way towards the two young men, he can't help but wonder if the prince knew his name before his uncle had addressed him just now. The Brontane aren't as superstitious about names as the Seraphim, and Liam knows there are more than a few stories out there that feature him and his achievements in battle.

Several guardsmen have fallen into step behind Liam by the time he reaches the middle of the throne room and the look Harry gives him is slightly amused. Liam arches an eyebrow at him and the other boy looks like he's trying not to smile. Liam's not sure what to make of that.

He cuts his eyes to the prince, who is still standing several paces back, and rational thought once again escapes him. Zayn is looking straight back at him, direct eye-contact, and his eyes... His eyes are mesmerizing and so very expressive.

They are beauty and misery and anger, and they promise things Liam can't even imagine.

"This way," Liam says, not breaking eye-contact until he has walked past the prince. He leads them through the hallways, down and in, to the center of the castle where the effect of the generators is the strongest, and where any attempted explosion would simply be buried by the rubble it created.

Harry gives him another disconcerting look after ushering his prince and their belongings into their new rooms, and then he closes the door in Liam's face.

Liam blinks at the wood and then turns to face the men behind him.

"You know the drill," he says lowly. The first shift moves into place without a word. "I want to know everything."

"Yes, sir," his men reply, but their confidence does nothing to settle the uneasy feeling that sits across his shoulders.

- - -

"How do you feel?" Harry asks.

Zayn can't even imagine trying to answer that question right now.

"Cold," he says to at least give Harry an answer.

"Yeah, me too," Harry says and goes straight to their bags to, presumably, look for something to remedy that.

Zayn glances around the room they are in, but the architecture is so foreign and ugly, it only makes him feel worse. There is a long cushioned seat against the far wall and Zayn goes to it. The fact that it is surprisingly soft is of little comfort.

"We should both rest," Harry says, crossing the room with a winter cloak draped over his arm.

Zayn nods and does not protest when Harry climbs onto the seat behind him. He curls around Zayn and drapes the cloak over both their bodies.

"Sleep now," Harry whispers, and normally that is all the encouragement Zayn needs. Today, however, is not a normal day.

Today he has been traded to the enemy in exchange for the promise of peace, all because the brutes have managed to build a power-source of their own. Zayn can feel it at work now, somehow sapping the fire straight from his body. He wonders if it will kill him, eventually.

Harry's arm tightens around his waist and Zayn pushes the thought from his mind. Seraphim warriors do not pity themselves. They accept what is and move forward from there.

He has Harry and he has his health. As long as he is here, his family is safe. His people will rebuild their cities and their lives and that is all he wants, even if he must sacrifice his own life to ensure it.

The tearful faces of his family members swarm into his mind, and Zayn thinks that grief is different from pity. He is allowed to grieve for what he has lost.

So in the dark, cold depths of a foreign city, wrapped in the arms of his best friend, Zayn closes his eyes and grieves.

- - -

Liam hardly sleeps at all. Every sound has him sitting up in his bed, straining his ears to make out the sounds of a potential attack.

When sunlight begins to filter in through his windows, Liam gives it up as a lost hope and gets out of bed. He makes his way down into the center of the castle where the guard has already changed.

"Anything?" he asks, but they have no news for him; the foreigners haven't made a sound.

Liam goes to the kitchens and prepares their breakfast himself. Fruit, porridge, bread. Liam wonders briefly if it will be to their liking, but then reminds himself that he doesn't care.

When he bolts the sliding hatch closed again after sliding their tray of food through, Niall's words from the day before come back to him.

He's not a prisoner.

In theory, the Seraphim prince is not their prisoner. He is their ward, or some such diplomatic term. Liam stares at the door, straining to hear any sounds from within. He hears none.

Back in his rooms, Liam tries to read a book, anything to keep his mind from wandering back down to the lower levels, but it's no use. He feels anxious and strangely guilty, but also justified in his actions. He has a duty to protect his people and until he determines the amount of danger the Seraphim prince poses, it is not wrong to keep him locked up.

He decides, then, that he will speak to the prince today and chose a plan of action from there.

- - -

"When will you leave?" Zayn asks when morning comes. At least, they assume it is morning, but it's difficult to tell without windows to judge by.

They are sitting where they slept -- or tried to sleep -- poking at foreign food that had been waiting for them upon waking.

"Leave?" Harry asks, looking up from where he had been inspecting his next bite.

"You're home now." Zayn says, tries to state it as the fact it is. "I don't expect you to stay with me."

Harry looks at him for several moments. "Where would I go?"

"You have family-"

"They think I'm dead," Harry cuts him off. He's looking at Zayn with furrowed brows now, lips parted like he's about to ask a question. It never comes. Instead Harry looks down, moves their food to the floor, and turns towards Zayn so their knees overlap. "Did your father tell you why he sent me with you?"

"To ensure my safety, I assumed."

Harry smiles because they both know how useless he is when it comes to defending himself or others.

"Before you left, he asked me to meet him in the gardens. And he told me that even though it would feel like he was losing two sons, he wanted me to go with you. Told me that he trusts me with your life and that if there was anyone who could keep you sane in the belly of the beast, it was me."

Zayn's eyes sting as he tries not to blink, because the the movement will surely cause his tears to fall. Zayn can count on one hand the number of times he has cried in his life, but his fathers words, even second-hand, proving that he loves his son... Zayn is powerless to stop the tears. Harry's eyes look similarly wet.

"I always knew you were his favorite," Zayn says eventually.

Harry grins at him. He wipes at his eyes and then reaches out and swipes a thumb across both of Zayn's.

"It's because of my Seraphim good-looks," Harry reminds him, and old joke between them that never seems to get old.

"Yes. You will be in high demand here," Zayn agrees with the barest hint of a smile; his first in days.

- - -

Liam makes himself wait until mid-day before heading back down to the prince's rooms.

He knocks on the door, and immediately feels like an idiot because 1: there's no way the prince could even answer the locked door, and 2: he's in control here, he should just enter the room.

Liam unlocks the door and opens it to the sight of the boy -- Harry, Liam reminds himself -- half buried in one of their trunks, clothes flung about the room. The prince is sitting at the far end of the room, eyes now trained on Liam who feels the need to look away.

"What are you doing?" Liam asks. He hadn't, he realizes suddenly, prepared anything to say in all the time he had spent planning to come down here.

"Looking for this," Harry answers, holding up a bright red scarf. He straightens and walks to the prince, handing him the scarf before turning back to Liam. "Is there something you need, my lord?"

Liam's eyebrows swoop down at the formality, but he quickly regains his composure. "Yes. I would like to speak to the prince concerning his continued stay in the castle."

Harry glances back at his prince who responds with a few quick words spoken in Seraphim. Harry looks confused, but when the prince merely raises his eyebrows at the boy, he turns back to Liam and says, "I would be pleased to translate for you, my lord."

Liam nods and almost suggests they move to a more comfortable, less depressing room, but he knows that this is the safest place to be in the castle, for now.

"Thank you," he says to Harry and brings two chairs over to where the prince is sitting.

Once he and Harry are seated, Liam leans forward on his elbows and tries to form his thoughts into actual sentences as he studies his clasped hands.

"I suppose what I want to say first is that I appreciate your sacrifice for the sake of peace."

Liam looks up at Zayn who is staring back blankly, then glances over at Harry. Harry seems to jump a little before speaking in Seraphim to his prince.

Liam has always secretly liked the sound of Seraphim speech with it's soft vowels and rolling consonants. Harry seems to be saying a lot for just the one simple sentence Liam wanted him to translate, but then Zayn begins speaking and his voice...

His voice matches his appearance, which is to say that it is beautiful, and not at all what Liam had been expecting. He speaks low and slowly, like he is choosing his words carefully, something else Liam can appreciate.

Harry turns back to him and says, "His highness acknowledges your appreciation and says that forfeiting his life for the lives of his people was an easy choice to make."

Liam's stomach drops. "Forfeiting? I don't know what kind of impression your prince is operating under, but no harm will come to him here. We will uphold our end of the treaty terms."

Zayn speaks then, but Harry nods without looking at him, and Zayn falls quiet.

"Forgive me, my lord, I merely meant that his life as a free man of Seraphim has ended. That life has been forfeited for peace."

Liam can feel the realization of this settle onto him. It feels heavy and oppressive and it whispers this is your fault.

I agreed to this for peace, Liam reminds himself, and pulls up the anger he has toward the Seraphim as a shield.

"Very well. I'm pleased to hear that the prince is prepared to uphold the treaty, as we are. Per the treaty, he is not our prisoner and will not be expected to remain in this room. There are more rooms several floors up that have been prepared for the both of you. Also per the treaty, the prince may not leave the castle walls. For the time being, I will be accompanying the prince in his day-to-day activities."

Again, Harry does not begin translating right away, and Liam worries that he spoke too much for the boy to remember.

When he finally begins, Liam watches Zayn's face, but he betrays none of the thoughts or emotions he is experiencing. He is watching the stone floor, and remains with his gaze turned down after Harry finishes.

Zayn speaks briefly to Harry, but instead of translating, Harry replies in Seraphim.

After hearing whatever Harry had said, Zayn sits up straight in his chair and nods.

"He understands?" Liam asks Harry.

"Yes," Harry replies.

"Alright." Liam stands. "I will show you to your new rooms."

They stand, but instead of following Liam to the door, Zayn picks up the red scarf that had been laying in his lap and wraps it around his head and neck. Liam's heart begins to hammer in his chest. In less than ten seconds, Zayn has transformed himself into a Seraphim warrior: dark eyes and the dark intent in them all that is visible.

Harry picks up an orange scarf from the ground and wraps it around his neck. He leaves his hair uncovered.

When they appear to be ready, Liam opens the door and nods at his men to stand down.

Liam leads them up three sets of stairs and down many halls, taking a round-about route with the hopes of giving them the impression that this castle is massive and inescapable. Finally he stops in front of a door with no lock and pushes it open.

The quality of these rooms is much higher, and the front room even has a few windows. Liam catches Harry's smile as he walks by, though Zayn's face is still impassive.

"Will our things be brought up?" Harry asks after opening an empty wardrobe.

"Yes, I'm sure someone is picking everything up now." This earns him a short burst of laughter from Harry, who then receives a glare from Zayn.

Zayn speaks something to Harry, then, and Harry says, "We're still exhausted from the journey," his lips curl a little, "if we rest, will you accompany us in sleep?"

Liam balks at Harry's words before he realizes that he's being teased.

"No," Liam stutters, "but I will be across the hall."

"Very well," Harry says, effectively dismissing Liam, and Liam can't help but wonder who is actually in charge here.

Liam goes out into the hall and then walks to his own door, immediately across. He props the door open, and moves a chair so that he can see the prince's door.

It's strange to be essentially guarding a sleeping person, but it is what he promised his uncle and Liam is nothing if not a man of his word.

Still, he feels silly and a little bit worried that this may be his life now: babysitting a mischievous curly-haired boy and his prince.

- - -

"So," Harry says as soon as the door is closed behind them. "Want to tell me what all that was about?"

"All what?" Zayn asks, feigning innocence though he knows Harry will see through it.

"All that translating you made me do," Harry answers with a smirk.

Zayn pulls the scarf from around his head, but leaves it around his neck; these rooms are just as cold as the ones below.

"A perceived language barrier is the only advantage I have right now," Zayn answers eventually. He turns towards the bed, hoping Harry won't press further.

Harry comes up behind him to help spread the folded blankets left for them. "But why do you need an advantage if you're both going to hold up each side of the treaty?"

"Because the treaty only promises my life, not the quality of it," Zayn says.

Harry stops unfolding the blanket he's holding. "You don't trust them."

"No," Zayn answers, pulling the blanket from Harry's grasp and throwing it on the bed. "And neither should you."

Harry climbs onto the bed and says, "Liam seems nice enough."

"The Fury of Brontane?" Zayn asks, incredulously. "Nice?"

Harry shrugs. "Dunno. I thought so."

"Maybe it's because you're not the enemy," Zayn says as he climbs onto the bed with Harry.

"Excuse me?" Harry says, shoving at Zayn's shoulder. "I'm just as much the enemy as you are. Maybe it's because I'm not looking for a reason to hate him."

"I don't need to look for a reason! But I don't expect you to understand. You didn't exactly lose your family in all this, did you?" Zayn snaps. He immediately wants to take it back, but it's too late; the hurt is already carved into Harry's expression.

"No," Harry says lowly. "I lost them years ago."

Zayn wants to say something about being free to go to them now, but he holds the words back.

"I'm sorry," he says instead.

Harry stares at him long and hard. "Are you trying to make me angry?" he asks eventually.

"No," Zayn says, eyes dropping to his lap. "I don't know. Maybe. I just-"

"You just what?" Harry asks after several seconds.

"I just keep waiting to wake up and every time I realize I'm not going to..." Zayn pauses, trying to summon the words to explain, but he's not used to describing his emotions. He doesn't know if feeling rage and helplessness and regret and such a deep sorrow that he swears his heart is about to implode... he doesn't know if feeling all those things at once is normal, so he keeps quiet and lets Harry think what he will.

"My first night in the palace," Harry says, his eyes distant, "your mother came and talked to me. She said that life is change and that even though change can hurt, it's never bad."

Zayn's eyes drift back down to the blankets as he imagines his mother sitting next to an eight-year-old Harry and imparting her wisdom.

"I don't remember much else about the queen, but I remember that night like it was yesterday. She was very beautiful."

"I know," Zayn whispers.

And everything is not fixed -- he knows Harry will be wary around him for awhile and that these emotions will not calm -- but right now Zayn feels muted, like his mothers words have settled over him like a filter, keeping the harshness of the world at bay. It's not a good feeling, but it helps him fall asleep.

Harry's hand rubbing soothing circles on his back helps too.

- - -