fbr11
A/n: Sorry this took longer to update. I hated the direction this chapter was taking so I ended up deleting the previous pages I wrote.
- Year 1281 AD-
Clack Clack Clack
Yao rode unperturbed by the methodic sound of hooves hitting hard rock. After numerous days of traveling in the arid valley, he was already immune to the noise. Only a few li remained before they finally reached their destination. Yao stared at the vast, dry grasslands and the jagged mountains surrounding him; his hands clenched the reins. He had enough of this.
"Yah!"
The sudden break of formation caused Yao's entourage a momentary panic. Heads turned and hands reached out to stop their deity from leaving the safety of the center.
"Shangdi!" his general cried out.
Yao ignored him, racing ahead. He was tired of this. He was tired of all the war, of the scabs and bruises covering his body. He was sick of the endless travel he was forced to endure and the stale air he had to inhale. Days, weeks, and months of travel all because Mongolia demanded he pay a tributary visit and submit himself to the Khan.
He never thought this would happen. The nomads behind his walls have always been a nuisance, but they never posed any real threat. To China and his empire, they were nothing, but insignificant flies.
His pride became his downfall.
Nearing the village, Yao slowed his horse down to a trot. As far as the eye could see, yurts and farms dotted the nomadic village. The streets teemed with life as people bustled about their business, uncaring of the stranger quietly observing them. Yao could see women shaving the coat of the ewes for the coming winter, horsemen leading a cart full of weapons and the children playing sometimes with dolls or sometimes with wooden swords. Here in his city, domestic life mixed with the ways of the warrior.
It was Karakorum- the old heart of the growing Mongolian Empire.
Yao wrinkled his nose, the smell of dry air irritating him. As he rode deeper into the village, people and animals passed him by. Yao watched the children lead the herd of cattle out into fields for feeding and unexpectedly he felt a pang of nostalgia. Being here out in the hinterlands reminded him of the life he use to lead when his people themselves were nomadic. However those days were long passed. Their lives were no longer dictated by land and nature, but instead by laws and commerce.
The ache in his chest was becoming unbearable; he didn't understand why. Yao didn't regret the progress his people made- that much he was certain- yet he couldn't rid himself of the longing he felt. What was it he was missing? Why this feeling of wistfulness and melancholy warring inside him?
Lost in his thoughts, Yao didn't see a boy suddenly walkout angrily from his yurt. Frightened, his horse- trained for battle- reared on its hind legs, ready to strike the enemy down. For a brief moment Yao caught eyes the color of the evening sky widen as the hooves were about to come crashing down, but he paid them no heed. He pulled the reins with all his might. His horse turned away at the last second, barely nicking the boy on the shoulder.
Still spooked, the horse neighed and nickered, shaking its mane in discontent. The boy ran up to him, shouting, but Yao ignored him in favor of soothing his horse. Without even giving the boy a glance, he lazily patted the horse's neck and whispered comfortingly. The words the boy yelled were foreign to Yao's ears. It wasn't a language he heard before and so he easily drowned them out like he did with the thundering hooves. Yao felt more than heard the boy seethe with righteous rage at being ignored for a mere animal.
Unable to withstand such insult, the boy made a grab for Yao's reins and attention, but Yao was faster. He snatched the boy's wrist before he even touched the embroidered reins as he aimed his golden dragon eyes and sharp tongue at the little offender. He bent down and pulled the child closer, taking a breath to begin his lecture when the boy raised his head defiantly to meet Yao's eyes. At that moment, all thought cease to exist in Yao's mind.
Magenta. Violet. Amethyst. The color of the setting sky stared back at him without fear. They shined. They beckoned. The boy was daring him to strike.
Yao could only helplessly gaze back. Those eyes burned him, yet he couldn't bring himself to look away. The orchids withered and died, but these eyes- vibrant with the same color- brimmed with life. No…it wasn't he couldn't look away. He wouldn't. Not again. He won't lose him twice.
A breath hitched in Yao's throat. Slowly, but surely he felt the ice around his heart melting and along with it came the floodgate of emotions they once held back. Years and centuries of anguish haunted him. He should hate, blame the person who left him when he needed him most….Yao felt none of them. Beyond the pain and loneliness was stark relief.
Questions and logic buzzed loudly in his head. This wasn't him. It can't be him.
It is. It's him.
This is a child. Not a man.
Yao studied the boy in front of him. He wore a hat the Chinese didn't recognize, but underneath the hat Yao could easily recognize the light colored hair. It was careless of him to mistaken the boy as a Mongolian. From his hair, to his eyes, to his facial structure, nothing about him resembled the usurpers traversing his once beautiful cities. He was smaller than the person Yao was looking for- only reaching his chest- but it didn't matter. His hand still gripping the thin wrist tightly, Yao knew. He felt him. He found the thread that connected them; he smelled the vast forest and the bite of the refreshing frost. It all returned to him.
Here. He was here.
The tiny doubt in the back of his mind vanished. He didn't know how this child and the man from long ago could be the same person, but it didn't matter. None of it did.
Expecting a slap to the face for his defiance, the boy glared as the pretty lady reached for him. He wouldn't cower or beg for mercy from these ruthless people, but still he flinched as a soft, silky hand stroke his alabaster cheek. Surprised he glanced up at the women sitting high on her horse. Her touch was shaky and uncertain, and if he wasn't mistaken…tender.
"Yiwan," she whispered, cupping his cheek. Her hands roamed his face as if trying to memorize his every feature. Despite himself, the boy felt himself blush from the seemingly intimate way she touched him.
He watched transfixed as she got off her horse and stood in front of him. There was a subtle scent wafting from her that he couldn't recognize. It smelled of flowers and spices; he wasn't sure what. The cool, swan like hand reached for him once again. His skin tingled at the feather light touch. When he didn't move, she grew bolder, giving him a watery smile. The back of her hand caressed his cheek and the scent grew stronger. It took almost all of his strength to resist the urge to turn his face and bury his nose into her hand to find the source of that enchanting aroma.
"Yiwan," she repeated. This time he lifted his eyes to meet hers. Her eyes were like any other Orient's surrounding him, but staring into them, it reminded him of warm honey- dark and sweet.
As a very young child, his sister once gave him a spoonful of it and he finished the delicious sweet in a matter of seconds. He asked for more, but his sister refused him. He cried and begged and threw a tantrum to no avail. Honey, she told him, was a delicacy that they had precious few of. They had to save what they could for later. He remembered eyeing the small jar placed on the highest shelf with hungry eyes, craving for more after his first taste. Staring at the young woman only a few years older than himself, he had a disconcerting feeling he wanted something he shouldn't have.
"Yiwan," the woman with dark colored eyes said again. It was through her eyes, he finally understood what she was trying to say to him. Smiling at the funny way she pronounced his name, he shook his head. "Не Yiwan. Иван."
Surprise colored her face, but soon gave way to…contentment? The boy scrunched up his brows in confusion.
"伊万." The bell like voice tinkled his name.
The boy huffed out an air of frustration. "нет! ee-Van! Van!"
Yao smiled; memories of the past and present melding into one, of when the strange man instructed him his name was 'ee-Van' and not 'Yi Wan'. He wasn't wrong. This boy just reaching adulthood was the Ivan he met lifetimes ago. He cupped the face he missed and longed for so long and held it, savoring the warmth. "真的. 你真的我的伊万." A sob caught at the back of his throat as he tried to laugh at the joy and pleasure of his reunion with his first love. "太好. 太好了."
True, as a child he didn't understand his obsessive need to be with the older man or why he craved his attention. He mistook his feelings for the other nation as love a child would feel for a parent. It was when his Ivan was taken away from him, did he begin to understand the unfurling emotion inside him.
Yao saw Ivan glare at him, no doubt unhappy about the mispronunciation of his name. He saw the exasperated breath, the beginning of another round of 'ee-Van' versus 'Yi Wan', and did something he wanted to do since Ivan taught him about his 'magic spells'.
He kissed him.
- Present Day-
The clay pot clattered loudly as the sauce sizzled. Yao obligingly turned down the heat to a mere simmer. Deep in thought, he sighed as he laid his hands on either side of the stove, grimacing. On hindsight, maybe stealing a kiss from Ivan wasn't such a good idea.
Yao knew the Ivan from Xia and the child Ivan he met in Mongolia was the exact same person, but he couldn't explain how a nation could revert back to being a child. It simply didn't happen. There are 'offspring' nations that emerge from the collapse of an old one, but the same exact replica? Never. Rome and the Italian brothers felt nothing alike.
To this day, Yao couldn't figure out what happened to the Ivan between the Xia dynasty until they met again under Mongolian rule. He tried asking Ivan once subtly when his envoy made a visit during the Ming. It was their countries first official contact. There were language barriers of course, but eventually Yao understood all Ivan remembered of him was 'the pretty lady with tasty lips'.
Yao smiled wryly at the memory. Pretty lady, indeed. However, it was that conversation that he knew Ivan was and wasn't his "Yiwan." He didn't remember, didn't know about the time he spent in Xia...the time he spent with him. Yao's heart ached, but he got over it. They could start anew. Yao shook his head, his hands gripping the corners of the stove tightly. No. They did start anew. What they had wasn't perfect, but it was better than nothing. As long as Ivan didn't leave him alone again, then-
"What are you thinking about?" a husky voice whispered against his neck. Arms came from behind and wrapped themselves around his waist. Instead of disentangling himself as he usually would, Yao allowed himself to be pulled gently backwards until he sat on a stool atop Ivan's lap.
"Nothing," he answered, resting his head on the Russian's shoulder and closing his eyes.
"Nothing? Really? And here I was thinking something important was keeping you away from the dying patient."
Settling deeper into Ivan's embrace, Yao sighed, "You're not dying and I'm making you something to eat aru. Can't you stop being a baby for one minute so I can finish cooking?"
"You weren't cooking," Ivan cheekily replied, nibbling the other nation's ear, "You were brooding. Whenever you brood, you frown did you know that?"
Yao pushed away the wandering lips with his hand, but didn't get up from his seat. "Hm, never noticed."
"And you probably didn't know Russians are very good with spells." Idly, Ivan drew small circles on the back of Yao's hand, afraid to meet the gold-amber eyes. His voice was calm as he made his statement. "I know a charm that can make it all go away."
Slowly, almost unbearably slow, Yao turned to face the larger nation. "A magic charm aru?" he asked quietly.
Ivan nodded. "If you show me where it hurts, I can make all the pain go away."
Yao stared at him- searching, beseeching. Hands only trembling slightly, he touched the other's pale lips. "Here. It hurts here aru."
"Does your mouth sting?" Eyes of soaked orchids implored him, removing the soft fingers tracing his mouth.
"Yes, but not as much as before." Yao wrapped his arms around Ivan's neck and drew closer. "After all, nature, time and patience are the three great physicians."
The Chinese could feel the Russian smile as their lips met in a lovers' kiss.
The clay pot rattled on the stove, but no one paid attention. It continued to simmer unattended until the stew inside turned black.
A/N:
A quiet ending to a quiet story~
Forgive me for using google translate…but I had to since it was faster OTL.
I'm not providing translation here, because Ivan and Yao aren't suppose to understand each other and that means, you guys aren't suppose to know what they're saying either too just to add authenticity to it. If you do, good for you, but all you need to know is chibi! Ivan doesn't like being called "Yiwan" and Yao is having flashbacks about older! Ivan admonishing him for calling him "Yiwan" too.
Tiny bit of history note:
The order of who 'arrived' in Mongolia's house is a bit complicated.
Chronological order of Mongolian conquest (in relation to China and Russia)
1205-1209: conquest of Western China
1207: conquest of Siberia
1211-1234: conquest of Northern China
1237-1242: Invasion of Rus
1279: Invasion of Southern China (By this time, the Mongols moved their capital of Karakorum to Dadu- modern day Beijing).
Since it was like this, I was like "Ah, wat the heck, it'll be easier for me if I made Yao come after Ivan." (Oh ho that sounded perverted~)
Confused if Yao thinks Ivan 'remembers' or vice versa? Long story short:
Yao side: Meeting chibi! Ivan (who, of course, doesn't know chibi!Yao), Yao has all his adult life been led to believe that Ivan he is with currently is a different/amnesic Russia to the one he spent time as a child. He has given up asking Ivan if he remembers since Yao has asked him too many times in Chinese if Ivan remembers him and Ivan could only shake his head since he didn't understand Chinese back then. Why did he say "Mongolia" when Ivan asked him when they first met? Because that was Ivan's answer when Yao first asked him that question in the 1600s much to Yao's heartbreak.
Ivan's side: Time travel is a tricky business. Before he could talk to Yao about going to the past and meeting the chibi! Yao, Ivan had to confirm with the adult! Yao if 1) he remembers it or 2) it even happened to him. In science fiction, one theory is that if a person alters a timeline, instead of changing his past, he instead creates a parallel timeline which splits off from the original timeline the moment the change occurs. Meaning there are two universe with two different outcome formed from the split.
What this means to Ivan when Yao answered "Mongolia" to his question is that his original timeline did not change and he was never with this Yao during the Xia. Ivan assumes Yao either forgot him or the Yao he did spend time with is in another timeline different from his own.
All in all, when Yao mentioned his first love in chapter one, he was referring to Ivan in the first place. He knew Ivan would misinterpret him since he thinks Ivan forgot all about it. So props to World-Is-Mine for correctly guessing the ending. (Btw, let me remind everyone again, this is an AU fic XD).
The story comes full circle. Ivan's infatuation of Yao as a child was fueled by Yao's kindness and affection for him. Yao's affection stemmed from that fact Ivan was his first love. Yao's taunting of his first love gets Ivan to travel back in time and Ivan going back in time is the reason Yao falls in love with him in the first place. Time travel, instead of changing things, just reaffirms what they already have.
Will they ever tell each other and find out about the Xia? Who knows. I like leaving things ambiguous. It leaves the ending up to the readers. (If I had it my way, they will never find out XD).
If there are questions that you have that I didn't answer, send a message and I'll try to come up with a coherent response XD.
I know people aren't satisfied with the more melancholy ending so I promised omakes, but honestly, I am tired of writing. I only started writing RoChu fanfics because there weren't a lot of them in the beginning (only 60). Seeing that there are so many writers now, I'm going to take a long, well deserved break. All unfinished stories that I've posted (except for 'Confessions') have been deleted.
Thanks to anyone who left encouraging remarks to this newbie of a writer and to the translators who translated them into other languages (and I suppose to the "shadow readers" that I don't know exists who just favs and reads without so much as a peep XD). It made this year (my first time ever writing something beside a school essay) a real blast.
THANK YOU!