Chapter Text
Thunder shook the sunlit palace.
Though vast in its wealth, rooms too numerous to count and treasures hanging off the walls like fresh fruit off a tree, it was very much the fort so many made it out to be. No one guest could wander the halls without coming face to face with a fleet of guards and foot soldiers, each armed with a curved blade. Still, only one person could create the chaos that now shook the Great Hall’s granite walls.
From his place before the towering, alabaster doors, scorch-marked scrolls in hand, General Hakamata Tsunagu released a sigh. “I thought the prince was… hunting?”
Terrified servants and maids scurried across the floor, fleeing into nearby rooms for cover. Lieutenant Ashido dodged a frantic maid and cleared her throat with a sheepish grin. “My apologies, sir. Last I checked, he was.”
A beat of silence passed before another clang echoed throughout the halls, curses and shouts growing ever louder. “When did you last check?”
“This morning, sir…”
The door practically exploded off its hinges. If the servants were frantic before, it was a wonder one didn’t die of pure fright now. Even on his best of days, the prince was an unfiltered goldmine of short temper. Now— pure rage radiating off like sparks— Prince Bakugou looked ready for war, the blood stains on his torso not going unnoticed on behalf of General Hakamata’s keen eye.
“You’re back early.”
“Yeah, no shit.”
The other passed him and Lieutenant Ashido with a grimace, simultaneously ignoring her excited bounce and wave. Tsunagu turned aside and continued to examine the papers at hand. Though a rather silent man, he was not one without the decency to have a towel and pitcher brought forth. As Katsuki stormed by, Tsunagu caught a whiff of the potent, copper scent. “Please tell me that’s pig blood.”
“Does it help if I say it belonged to a fucking asshole who could be described as a pig?”
“Is this pig still alive?”
“Don’t ask stupid questions.”
The prince glowered at the terrified servant tasked with bringing him the towel. For one tense moment, the General thought he might actually move to clean the prince himself. Thankfully, the room visibly relaxed as he snatched the towel away and the servant scampered off.
“Busy morning?”
No reply but the splashing of water, trickling throughout the silence, and though the general didn’t really expect a reply in the first place, he listened intently for possible conversation ques. If one was inventive enough, after all, anything and everything was a rope to bind others. Keep him distracted, Tsunagu. Come on.
Finally, after a few moments of silence, Katsuki began to dry off his face, still ignoring the prod for information. “Where’s the hag?”
“You really shouldn't refer to your mother in such a way.”
“Where’s the royal hag?”
“The Boudicca is currently headed towards the southern marshland. Urgent matters.” Tsunagu watched carefully as the prince tossed the towel away. Ashido caught it and, subsequently, tossed the rag behind her as well. Suddenly, three more pairs of hands burst through the open doors, each grappling for the towel and falling on the floor in a heap.
At the commotion, Katsuki whirled around. Any previous composure flew out the door. “Fuckin’ idiots. Get up!”
The motley crew behind him each sharpened to a fine point. However, this ‘point’ dulled to a blunt hum as wide grins spread across their faces; they flocked towards their prince like a pack of hounds, whooping and shouting.
“Calm down, Your Highness! You’re gonna scare off the maids.” The boy with bumblebee colored hair— Kaminari, was it?— draped himself on the prince’s shoulders and waved to the servants as they passed by. He was clearly the youngest of the group. Immediately after, echoed jeers filled the throne room.
“Hello ladies! Don’t let this brute scare you off, now!”
“He barks much more than he bites.
“Shut the—”
“He does indeed. Though I’m unsure as to whether or not that’s a good thing.” While Tsunagu appreciated the distraction, he realized quickly that Katsuki had an agenda that remained undeterred— even in the face of his hunting party’s jeers.
The prince’s gaze narrowed. “Keep it in your pants, idiots. We’re here to deliver a message.”
Turning back to the General, the prince approached. Another piece of parchment joined the conversation, clenched at his side and notably stained with the red seal that Tsunagu himself oversaw. At this, the General released a long-held sigh.
“I see the messengers have failed.”
The following, serrated smile was one of morbid glee. “To you, maybe. The way I see it, they merely obeyed their prince. ‘Said it was important, so I had no choice but to… intervene.”
“Your mother won’t feel the same way, I’m sure. This is your… third intercepted letter?”
“Fourth.”
“It’s better to leave the interrogation to us, my prince. The prisoner is no one of value.”
“No one of value was brought directly to the palace?” His smile spread like blood on a battlefield. “Must’ve been a very slow day, General.”
“It’s important enough that I must oversee it myself. You’re to stay out of it” — He’s growing too confident. Too eager in his grabs for power. It won’t do for someone so young — “and that’s an order. Do you understand?”
The room went silent once more, but Bakugou’s following rage seemed to re-ignite the energy rather seamlessly.
Before he could unsheathe his sword, Kaminari and Kirishima both darted forward and grabbed at his arms, effectively chaining him a good foot away from the General.
“Katsuki, calm down!”
“Get your fucking hands off me!”
At the incoming fight, Tsunagu filled the distance with his looming presence. The young prince continued to lash out, teeth bared and eyes squinting angrily, but upon seeing the approaching figure of Tsunagu, he steeled back towards composure. His snarl of surprise was like a roll of thunder, his chin quickly snatched in between a commanding hold.
“Your mother has left the city; your father has accompanied her. I’m all you got. Let’s not be needlessly difficult.”
“Oh, I’ll show you difficult.”
“You want to prove yourself. I can understand this feeling… quite well, but I’m sure you already realize that. You must be patient, my prince.” At the other’s shocked reaction, Tsunagu grinned, though one could never tell from behind that denim sash. Ever since the prince was a mere toddler, the piece of cloth had always resembled a river’s waters. By that logic, Tsunagu was the crocodile peering towards shore. “Do you understand?”
No reply came after his order, and Tsunagu took this as a sign to leave. The prince watched as he retreated, draped in denim, shadow looming over the room like a vulture. It was the very same image he’d grown so accustomed to while left under the other’s tutelage.
The man was like a living fossil. Never changing. Even as a freshly recruited man, he carried an aura of intrigue and importance. To a young, toddling prince, barely reaching the General’s knee in height, only his mother could compare.
But Katsuki had been patient, damnit. He’d been patient his entire life.
Patience only got a prince so far, after all. He didn’t risk shouting again, so the words drifted over his shoulder, a dull rasp barely registering throughout the hall. “You with me?”
Near instantly, the familiar drawl of Eijirou's peculiar Draconic answered. “I got the keys if you got the guts. Do you?”
“Do you even have to ask?”
The walls of the dungeon blazed like molten gold. While any number of rationally thinking prisoners would have grimaced against the heat and arched away in their shackles, the freshly stripped and tortured member of their ranks leaned into the scorching fire. It was no worse than usual.
There was no telling how long he’d been down there. If stoked continuously, the small fires used back in the North burned for at least six hours at a time. That was up north; the raging inferno in front of him showed no signs of stopping any time soon.
Of course, if the sun had come up yet, it would mean he’d been here less than a day. A window would’ve been extremely helpful, in this case. How unfortunate it was indeed that only fire and brimstone illuminated the walls of Komodan’s dungeons. No such conditions were accidental either, Dabi knew.
The stories of Boudicca Bakugou and her forces resembled moreso tales meant to frighten children than actual boasts of conquest: decapitated heads and bodies left to guard the village entrances, scorched cities and maggot infested corpses scarred in the sun, no survivors spared in the wake of crop failure and plagues. Much had been debated about the Draconic empire, each theory more swayed and confused than the last, but one aspect of the nomads burned through even the most resilient of shields; their anger and vengeance remained indisputable.
The rotting corpse chained next to Dabi was proof of such.
Time passed as did the prisoner’s sleep schedule, entirely dependent on how uncomfortable those manacles were against his wrists. Just as he had found sleep, however, nestled in his repressed memories of a better time, the steeled door to the dungeon creaked open, sending a sudden sweep of cold air into the blazing cell.
Standing before him, draped from head to toe in pearly-white ox fur and animal bone, was the Boudicca’s spawn. Of this, he was absolutely certain. Only the highest of ranks called for tattoos, and the dragon was limited only to the royal family’s direct descendants. It was a symbol of honor somewhat marred by the matching set of animal teeth lining his pelts.
From behind the little tyrant, however, there emerged three more shadows, each towering and sharpened in their own right. Dabi steeled in response, tensing up against the heat. He faced death everyday— had been doing so for the past twenty years. As such, he knew what to expect. If death came saddled on the shoulder of a tattooed, scowling brat, then so be it.
Like a snapped band, the tension released at the sound of keys. “Better get dressed, Cobra. Dinner’s waiting.”
Perhaps he didn’t know exactly what to expect.
Vengeance-hungered ruffians? No problem. Barbaric generals? ‘Seen ‘em. The mundane for most consisted of wheat cultivation and wood chopping; for Dabi, the mundane found itself between the skull of a traitor; on the back of a flayed deserter to the rebellion; staining the end of his dagger. He knew such to be violent. Even for a rebel leader, he was sure his body count far outweighed the others. It was, nevertheless, his own. Something to which he could reasonably accept and expect with each new day.
Being served dinner with the Bastard Prince? Less expected.
It wasn’t complete uncharted territory, at least. They were still in the dungeons, be it the elevated section that housed guards and oversaw the fires, a table separating the two men with a towering array of fruits and meats in between. Bonfires still roared throughout the entirety of the pit, this time sweetened by the smell of cooking meat. The chains around his wrists remained exactly as they were and even gained a heavy, steel collar encircling his throat.
Of course, when examined from the universal lens of distrust, the precautions were needed; two knives sat on either side of his plate, flanked by a cacophony of forks. Using such for cutting anything other than the food on his plate, at this point, would be virtually impossible.
Smart. Perhaps the prince wasn’t a complete dunce, though his words tried their damned best to convince otherwise.
“There’s a little rumor about Shinnetsu warriors, Cobra. You heard of it?” It was as if he had stumbled upon a beggar in the street and had suddenly decided to strike up a conversation.
Dabi blearily gazed back, eyes burning from the heat. “Perhaps.”
“Shinnetsu warriors build walls twice as fast as they build bridges. Sound about right?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never built a bridge.”
“No shit.” The guards, dressed in bone and armor like the savages they were, fucking giggled.
Building a bridge, in reality, had about as little to do with architecture as this dinner had to do with hospitality. Shinnetsu warriors were some of the most revered in all the provinces, being equated to that of demons amongst men. This, amongst many other reasons, was due to the lack of bloodlines associated with their name. Before undergoing training, oaths of celibacy were taken in order to ensure proper devotion and focus was applied. Of course, there was the occasional breach in oath.
Upon breaking their oath, a warrior came under the scrutiny of their superiors.
“It’s either celibacy or castration, if the rumors are to be believed. I wonder, which of the two are you?”
Not even the roaring of flames could hide the guard’s snickering. Had he been in a different position, perhaps Dabi would’ve found the situation amusing as well. As it was, however, the heavy metal around his throat made laughing difficult. Still, he managed to rasp out a response: “Which do you think?”
“Hard to tell,” the prince said. “They call you Cobra because of your hood, right? You’re clearly not getting laid. Not with that ugly mug, at least.”
“You got some balls, kid.”
The harsh laughter practically bounced off the flames. “You on the other hand…”
“Trust me, they’re intact. You’re free to check.”
“Guess I’ll take your word for it.” The prince remained steeled even as he gestured to the spiked bull behind him, burnt to a harsh purple crisp against the flames. “Your pick.”
Dabi scratched at his own flaked scar, regarding the other coolly. “I’ll take the pitaya. That red one.”
One of the guards, at the nod of the Bakugou, skewered the blush pitaya that Dabi gestured to and unceremoniously dropped it onto his plate. It landed with a dull thud, rolling around before settling stupidly in the center.
“A cobra that eats fruit?”
“I’m sure someone as informed as you—" the fruit bled quickly as he severed the skin— “would know that Shinnetsu warriors consider the bull to be a bad omen?”
Dabi reached for his second knife. He began to dice the rose-colored fruit on his plate into separate sections, the cuts remaining clean even as he tensed under the prince’s taunting voice.
“That’s some nice form. You're sure you’re not from around here?”
“You’re not exactly a local either, are you?”
A newfound rage crackled behind them, but the heat remained a million times clearer at the dinner table. In spite of the flames, this legendary warrior, now stripped of his signature hood, remained as tall as ever.
Just quickly as it appeared, the flame had been snuffed out. “For a eunuch, I figured you’d at least have some brain where your balls should be, but I guess I was wrong. Only an idiot would forget whose palace he’s currently prisoner in.”
For the first time since the two had met, Dabi smiled. The ice in his grin didn’t melt against the roaring fire behind them. “I know exactly who this castle belongs to. Do you?”
The table trembled as Bakugou tossed a raw shank across it. The meat landed in front of the other with a resounding slap, still-fresh blood spreading onto Dabi’s plate.
The once pristinely sliced fruit, now drenched in blood, gleaned red by the fire light. More than ever before, the knife in Dabi’s hand truly resembled a weapon. He stabbed into the raw meat and grimaced at the sound that came with it.
This entire ‘dinner’ screamed attack, and should the guards behind the two guests suddenly decide to leave, Katsuki had no doubt that Dabi’s knife would find another piece of meat, specifically the one joining him for dinner.
He couldn’t help the large, unrestrained grin that spread at the thought. Let’s put that form to the test, shall we?
“Leave us.”
A single ember of doubt flickered across his guards’ faces before they complied, exiting the room with knowing stares etched into those sharpened grins. At this, Dabi dropped his fork. The knife stayed firmly gripped in between his left hand, and he quickly unsheathed it from the still bleeding shank. If he ignored the chains’ weight, the simple utensil almost resembled his double-bladed dagger. They were roughly the same make and shape; even blood trickled down their sheaths the same.
How he yearned to find more similarities.
The prince circled the table, leaning towards the other with a malicious gleam in those equally bloody eyes. “You can drop the bullshit at any time, you know.”
At the casual threat, a smile broke out once more. “Sorry, I don’t follow.”
“Is this really how you want to spend your last meal?”
“Funny enough," he said, eyes low in amusement, "being chained to my seat was never a part of my dinner plans in the first place, but you make do with what you’re given.”
“Good. Then let’s make do.”
The familiar sound of a sword whipping across the air brought a chill to the back of the Cobra’s neck, but his gaze betrayed nothing of his shock. Instead, he steeled it against the prince’s expecting, anticipatory grin. “You were right about one thing; I am well versed with the Shinnetsu warriors. They may be glorified nuns as well as total assholes, but they know how to fight.”
Dabi lost sight of the prince. His eyes strained against the roaring of flames, searching in the dark for the sound of the other’s strangely illuminating taunts.
“But I think you’ll come to find that I know much, much more. For instance—" the prince’s elongated blade jutted out to the left of him, quickly skewering the leftover pitaya fruit alongside the raw meat— "they’re not nearly so well-versed with a fork and knife.”
Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. “Is it really so hard to believe that a warrior can be strong and well-mannered?”
“For a piece of shit like you, yes.”
In an instant, the constricting hold of iron chains fell from his wrists, the prince's flametongue blade sparking as it sliced through the hold. The collar fell to the ground, and Dabi shot to his feet, knife already flying towards the prince’s neck. The sword barely caught the other, but Katsuki betrayed nothing of any fear he did or did not harbor. Instead, he pressed forward, swinging the knife aside— a mere kitchen utensil was no match against the sword.
“Good form.”
Roaring inferno forgotten, the only sounds were that of Dabi’s shuddering breaths and Katsuki’s clipped laughter. He grinned despite the other’s subdued desperation, twirling his sword casually towards the cornered assassin.
“But the fruit’s more interesting a conversation topic anyways.”
Dabi’s voice shuddered like an old, trembling edifice. “What's so intriguing about a fucking fruit?”
The prince, up until this point, had been nothing but smiles; malicious, sadistic smiles that yearned for blood, of course, but smiles, nonetheless. At the sudden cool, calculating expression, the room seemed to drop ten degrees. “Have you ever seen pitaya grown in the north?”
“I—”
“—didn’t think so. It does, however, grow in abundance in the east, doesn’t it?”
The room was impossibly hot. “That's not- I'm not—"
“You’re a bastard. You know your way around eastern delicacy." At the other’s unnerved state, Katsuki sneered a laugh. “Embarrassed? That won’t suit a warrior, Touya. Or do you go by Dabi now?”
A flurry of kitchen utensils flew towards the prince. One must have caught him in the eye; he stumbled out a hissed curse. The assassin was on him within seconds. Katsuki’s hand shook, brow furrowed deeply as he shoved against the iron links threatening to snap his throat.
From behind him, the sound of a ragged voice broke through. “There are no Todoroki children.”
The chain never let up, but a slight tremor betrayed the other’s control. The prince’s leg swung around and connected painfully with the assassin’s nose. The two fell to a struggle in the ground, chain tossed and pulled between frantic grabs. In the end, Dabi’s grabs were just a bit more frantic. Katsuki pulled with all his might, a strangled scream echoing throughout the dungeon’s walls as he hurled the other across the floor.
He rubbed briefly at the irritated skin, fixing the other with a burning hot scowl as he huffed out a cough. “You— hah— you thought I wouldn’t notice, huh?"
If standing, Dabi practically towered over the other. On the ground, he was as useless as a worm left dry amidst a desert. Still, useless or not, he prodded, letting out a few gasps. “Notice?”
“Or maybe you were too dumb to realize that no real Shinnetsu would know how to slice pitaya properly." The grin returned, just as mirth-filled as ever. "Much less be able to name that fucking fruit.”
“You’re right— I’m not a Shinnetsu. But I’m no Todoroki either.”
The groan of disgust sizzled atop flames. “If you plan to keep spittin’ bullshit long term, then I’m done. Enji can confirm it himself for all I care.”
“He can what?”
Gotcha. Katsuki swung his sword in a wide arc, wiping a stray line of blood away from his chin. Despite the chaotic brawl, he remained unmarred by any blows. Dabi couldn't stomach the shame he felt as an assassin. It wouldn't do. He was getting emotional. Katsuki continued. “Looks like dear-old dad is in for quite the reunion, huh?”
“He’s… he’s coming here?”
“The moment I give the order.”
A steady pillar of silence wedged itself between the two, fire trying its best to fill the emptiness with noise. Crackling impertinence spread throughout the entirety of the room before Dabi decided to speak again. “I’m… not confirming anything, but that bastard deserves to die for the things he’s done."
“Which is?”
"I’m surprised you don’t already know,” he spat. “Considering your mother was the one who pardoned him.”
"I'm not a fucking mind-reader, asshole. Unless you want to join that bull in keeping the fire warm, you'll get on with it."
The other searched for eye contact within the somewhat obscured lighting. Wintergreen eyes once shadowed by cloaks and scars alike now burned iridescent; two moons stuck between a forest fire.
“I can tell you this: he found a way to kill without a blade. And your mother pardoned that fucking demon. Pardoned someone who— who truly didn’t deserve it. I’ll never be able to forgive that.”
Newfound anger crackled down Katsuki’s spine. “Good thing I’m not looking for your shitty forgiveness.”
“Name your price. I don’t care what it is, who it kills, how much it costs— just get that bastard in here and let me finish this.”
“You sure this is what you want? You won't get pissy at the end of all this?”
“I swear on my mother’s life.” His tone gave no room for doubt. Katsuki lamented his options for a moment, once more allowing silence to fill the gaps that simple negotiation could not.
“Alright. Names, now.”
“Names of what?”
Leaning casually against the tabletop, as if what he said was inconsequential, Katsuki continued. “You tell me the names of your siblings, Todoroki Touya, and I’ll have the bastard brought here on a silver platter.”
“… name something else.”
“Ah shit, you’re right. Let’s throw in ages and descriptions, too. 'Can’t do much with just a name these days anyways.”
Fuck.