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No matter how hard he tries, Tibarn can’t sleep. He tosses and turns, but all that manages to accomplish is to make him more irritable.
The next day – or that day? Tibarn has no idea what time it is – is very important to him: he will be officially crowned King of the United Bird Tribes, an event for the ages, to which the entirety of Tellius’ royalty – laguz and beorcs – will attend.
He needs to be at his best, and for that, he should be getting a restful sleep, but he feels anything but rested; if anything, he feels nervous. Yes, he has to admit it: his nerves are slowly frying inside him, making it impossible to stay calm.
Too many thoughts are running around in his head, too many for him to keep count of each of them. He needs… out, yes, that would work: he needs some fresh air.
Despite the need to escape, he still moves calmly, as slowly as he can: beside him, Reyson is fast asleep, blissfully unaware of his inner turmoil – his dreams might be protecting him – and Tibarn would hate to wake him up.
He walks up to the window, but before doing anything he turns towards Reyson. He hesitates – he would want Tibarn to wake him up, he knows it – but then he shakes his head; unfortunately, this is a kind of pressure Reyson will never know. He’d be just disturbing his sleep if he woke him up.
He feels wrong as he turns away from him, but he needs this: he takes a deep breath, then he takes flight.
It’s a short-timed endeavor, as the dense vegetation of the trees makes it hard to properly fly, especially during the night, when barely a speck of moonlight comes through the branches; his feet land on soft soil, accompanied by the creak of dry leaves as he does.
He was never in the habit of talking to himself – with a retainer that could hear his words even from miles away, he learned quickly that some things are better not uttered out loud – but as he begins to move his first steps, words spontaneously overflow out of him.
“C’mon, Tibarn. You are better than this and you know it.”
He doesn’t know where he’s going. For a moment, he wonders if he could get lost, but he figures that, eventually, he’ll be able to find his way back.
“If they’ve all decided that you should be king, it means that you are worthy.”
What if he gets lost, however? The ceremony is tomorrow. What if he goes so deep that they can’t find him?
“Yes, you’ll be in charge of all the Bird Tribes, but you already know how to rule.”
Would that be so bad?
“Plenty of people will help you. You won’t be alone.”
Maybe this was a mistake. He should’ve never accepted to fill such an important role.
He stops, body frozen in place.
“What am I doing?”
“Hush. Do you always have to be this dramatic? You’ll be fine.”
Taken completely off guard, Tibarn’s head snaps upwards, where he finds Naesala, perched atop a tree branch, hidden enough that, if he hadn’t spoken, he wouldn’t have noticed his presence.
Dread washes over Tibarn: how much of his little speech has he heard?
“What are you doing here?” he asks, then, without even bothering to hide his accusatory tone. He might have decided to show him mercy for his betrayal, given the circumstances surrounding it, but that doesn’t mean that he trusts him.
Naesala regards him for a moment, then shrugs. “What, is the king the only one allowed to have a bad night?”
“Why you–” Tibarn begins, fists clenched and ready for a fight, at least until he registers Naesala’s words beyond his tone. “Oh.”
“Oh,” Naesala echoes, without hiding the mocking tone, but Tibarn’s still too stupefied to react.
Silence follows. Neither of them moves. Naesala seems unbothered by it, though his subtle glances at Tibarn do indicate a sort of nervousness whose cause, however, Tibarn cannot precisely identify.
He’s unsure on how to act: on one hand, everything about Naesala fills him with a rage that will take quite some time to subside, on the other his first comment seemed genuine.
Before he can choose, Naesala does it for him: he doesn’t leave his branch, but he speaks again. “Anxious before the coronation? You should be used to it.”
“One time was enough already,” Tibarn immediately retorts. It should be unsettling how easily he falls into the patterns of their usual spats and how that helps him relax, but he’s too grateful to question it now.
Arguing with Naesala has always carried a nostalgic feeling after all, one that reminds him of older times, when they were free to do what they wanted without having to worry about consequences.
“Oh, yeah, I remember. Your buddies all getting blacked out drunk while you couldn’t because you wanted to set the good example,” the raven reminisces. Of course the asshole would pick one of the worst things to remember about that event, though Tibarn has something to add.
“If I remember correctly, you were among these buddies,” he points out, in fact, but if he had hoped he could at least get under his skin with this, he’ll be disappointed.
“If I can remember it, I wasn’t that blacked out, was I?”
Tibarn sighs and shakes his head. Always the same story with him, though he also has to admit that little exchange has put him in a better mood than the one he arrived here with.
There is one thing that he has forgotten, or that he has chosen not to recount: the two of them, laughing and almost delirious, finding a dark corner where…
Perhaps it’s best not to dwell in it.
“Let’s have a walk,” Tibarn says, then, surprising even himself with that sudden invitation. It came out of his lips before he could actually think about it and decide that it would be a bad idea – he’s always been too impulsive for his own good.
If Naesala’s surprised too, he doesn’t show it. “Why don’t you come up here?” he retorts instead of answering. He’ll never lose a chance to be a contrarian if it means he gets to mess with Tibarn, no matter how precarious his position is.
This time, however, Tibarn has the answer ready, an actual answer mind you, not just a punch to the face.
“Yes, I’m sure that poor branch will be able to handle the weight of two grown laguz. We ain’t chicks anymore…”
He can’t see too well in the dark, but he can imagine Naesala making that face he always does when he’s trying not to show that something has gotten under his skin.
“How about we go up, then? All these trees are giving me claustrophobia,” he counter-proposes.
Tibarn finds himself sharing his sentiment: he’s so used to Phoenicis, its open skies and open seas, that he can’t help but feel that the Forest’s trying to oppress him at times. He imagines Naesala mustn’t feel that different.
“Up it is,” he answers, and he prepares to take flight.
As the view of leaves is replaced by one of stars, he feels like he can breathe again.
He turns around to find Naesala following him almost lazily.
“This feels much better, I have to admit,” he says. “There’s too little air under the trees.”
“Better get used to it. This is your life now,” Naesala scolds him, though his tone isn’t entirely serious.
“You are far too willing to joke, for someone who decided to want nothing to do with this…” Tibarn retorts, but he too is only partially serious.
Naesala laughs. “Oh come now, Tibarn, we all know it would’ve been a disaster with me on the throne. Do I have to remind you that your people hate me?" A shrug. “As they should.”
Tibarn chooses to ignore that last part, wanting this conversation to remain at least civil, which it won’t if they breach that particular topic.
“And the ravens? They’re going to be led by a hawk, I doubt they are happy with that.”
“They haven’t been happy with some of my rulings too, but they’ve remained faithful. They will do the same with you.”
“And you think I’ll do a better job than–”
“I wouldn’t have handed them to you if I didn’t believe you were fit for it,” Naesala cuts him off, half trying to reassure him while also wanting him to shut his mouth forever about this topic, at least tonight, but Tibarn’s not in the mood for platitudes.
“But look how far you’ve managed to lead them! I'd never be able to do the same…”
This last war has given him much food for thought: until then he rarely questioned his way of ruling, believing to be guiding Phoenicis on a righteous path, but then he lost more than half of his country to the man that is now flying with him. That’s unfair, he supposes: Naesala had his hands tied, and made a hard decision for the sake of his people. If it hadn’t affected him in such a negative way, he would’ve even respected him.
If the time came, would he be able to do the same? He had always led his life according to principles like honor. Will he be able to forgo them if the need arises? Would he be able to live with himself afterwards?
“How did you do it?” he wants to ask Naesala, but the wounds this war has brought them are still too raw, too fresh. Perhaps later in their lives they might be able to talk about it without Tibarn feeling his blood boil.
After a moment of silence, Naesala speaks.
“I know you will, because I asked and you said yes, I made you promise that you’ll look out for everyone and you did.” He grips Tibarn’s shoulders with a firm and desperate grip; he needs him to be strong, or else it’ll mean that he’s brought his people to their doom. “And I know you’d never go back on a promise. You’re not trying to replace me, are you?”
Tibarn can’t help but laugh. “No, I swear. I don’t think I have the brains to pull something like that off.”
“Good. They don’t need another me, they need someone who cares for them and can lead them to greater heights. My reputation is too tarnished; I’d just drag everyone down with me.”
Tibarn would like to remind him that he has the respect of the little Empress, which isn’t something many others can say, but he keeps his mouth shut; for the first time since what feels like an entire lifetime, he feels that Naesala is being sincere with him, and doesn’t want to ruin the moment by stating the obvious – he’s smart, he’ll figure it out on his own.
Naesala doesn’t figure anything out, but instead adds, more jokingly this time:
“Besides, you’ll have Reyson making the hard decisions for you.”
Tibarn answers without thinking first.
“And you.”
For a moment, he believes Naesala’s going to fall down: it’s like his entire body freezes in place, wings included. Then, the survival instinct must take over, because Naesala is on the land of the living again.
“I’m sorry, I must’ve heard wrong,” he begins. “Me?”
Tibarn’s mind has caught up to his body, but what can he do now? He certainly cannot backtrack, or he’d lose credibility. The only choice he has is going forward. “No, you heard right.”
“I was giving you an out from your stupid decision, Tibarn…”
He shakes his head. “Don’t need it.”
“Didn’t we already establish that your people hate me?” Naesala protests.
“Yeah, I know.”
“And you hate me too,” he tries again, since it seems that his point is flying way past Tibarn’s head.
“I don’t–” Tibarn begins, but he stops before he can finish that sentence. No, he should be honest about this. “Part of me still believes you’d be better off dead, yes, but I have to be realistic, here: I don’t have experience with subterfuge, and neither does Reyson. We need someone like you, or else who’s to say that we won’t fall for some traps?”
Tibarn doesn’t need to spell it out for Naesala to understand immediately what he’s getting at: the Blood Pact.
Peace has returned to Tellius, but one must be ready for when it eventually won’t be so anymore. If someone manages to take advantage of Tibarn, he’d be jeopardizing all the Bird Tribes. That’s something he has to avoid at all costs, and he knows that the best way to do it is to keep Naesala by his side: his experience will prove valuable.
A traitorous thought overtakes his mind: keep your friends close and your enemies closer, so goes the saying.
Naesala has always been a slippery one, but this way he might be able to better keep him in check.
Another traitorous thought follows through, giving Tibarn a rather explicit idea of what this could entail, but he relegates both of them to the deepest corners of his mind.
Now it really isn’t the time for that.
Thankfully, Naesala’s voice snaps him out of it.
“Listen, Tibarn. I’m flattered, really, but the answer is still no.”
“Why?”
Before answering, Naesala gives him a long look.
“I know you probably think that, even now, I’ve been scheming this or that, but the truth is… I’m tired, Tibarn.”
He’s not lying. Now that Tibarn observes him better, he can tell that, despite his usual put together appearance, the bags under his eyes are quite evident, and he does look “less bright”, if that makes sense, but Tibarn doesn’t give up.
“We all are. If I ask you to do it for your people you’ll do it, won’t you?”
It’s not fair to bring the ravens into this, he knows it, but he also knows this is the only way to get Naesala to at least consider his proposal.
Speaking of Naesala, he looks quite outraged: he shoves Tibarn in fact – when he gets physical is when you know that you truly got him – which startles a laugh out of him.
“That’s a low blow!” he exclaims, but after a moment of silence, he adds, “I’ll think about it, okay? If you really need m– Wipe that smirk off your face at once, I didn’t say I’ll do it I said I’ll think about it!”
Tibarn’s smirk only grows larger. Naesala may say what he wants, now, but he has the feeling that his answer will be a resounding yes.
“I appreciate it,” he says, only to get pushed again.
“Stop being nice, it doesn’t suit you,” Naesala says, still frowning.
This time, Tibarn laughs.
They continue flying in silence for a while. The atmosphere is peaceful, but perhaps it’s that same peace that reminds both of them of their lack of sleep.
“You should probably go back. The King needs his beauty sleep, obviously,” Naesala remarks.
“You’re not doing much better than me, y’know? Should I call Nealuchi to put the nestling to slee–”
Naesala covers his mouth with his hand before he can finish his sentence.
“Shut up! With my luck you might actually summon him!”
That idea makes Tibarn laugh. It would be incredible if just mentioning him would be enough to summon Nealuchi; it’s a weapon he’d relentlessly use to bully Naesala, if that were the case.
“Tibarn, I’m serious. Tomorrow is a big day, and you’ll need to look your best. Go rest.”
It’s weird hearing Naesala use such a caring tone with him, Tibarn won’t lie, but he also can’t say that he isn’t right: looking like the dead won’t help his image at all, and his reputation will take a blow. It’s all appearance, true, but it’s important that he looks the part of the good king, or else the people he’s supposed to lead won’t look at him twice.
He hates that it has to be this way, but this is the nature of politics, and that’s not something he, alone, can change.
“Fine, fine, but only if you do too. What’s the point of doing all this if my trusted advisor looks worse than me?”
“I haven’t said–”
“Point still stands.”
Naesala gives him one long look. He seems… impressed? Yes, that’s the right word. He probably didn’t think Tibarn would put his talon down like this.
“Alright. As my king commands,” he replies. Tibarn decides to ignore the sarcastic tone of his voice.
“That’s right, your king orders you to rest, so you better obey.”
Naesala smirks. “Or what?” he teases, only to realize immediately that he shouldn’t have said that, because his head might be plagued by the same thoughts that immediately occur to Tibarn.
He wants… But too many things have happened between them. It may happen in the future, but for now it’s best for things to remain this way.
He clears his throat.
“Anyway, we better get going.”
They separate quickly after that.
Only after Naesala is nowhere to be seen, Tibarn realizes that he has no idea about where he resides. How can that be possible?
The next time he sees him – which will be pretty soon – he’ll have to ask him.
He makes it back without an itch, finding, to his relief, Reyson still asleep.
He won’t have to explain himself, both his actions and his feelings, which he would prefer avoiding for as long as he can: things are turning right for him, and for his relationship with Reyson, and he wants to keep it that way; having Naesala suddenly in the picture would only complicate things.
Is there even actually a place for him in all this? Does he deserve a place in all this? He feels conflicted.
It’s also true that it’s him that asked him to stay by his side – as advisor, nothing more – when he should’ve banished him and declared him a traitor and enemy of the Bird Tribes.
What’s the right thing to do?
Even in his sleep, Reyson comes to his rescue: as soon as he lies down beside him, like he’s sensed his presence, he turns towards him and scoots closer, seeking his warmth. Tibarn doesn’t hesitate to pull him closer, draping a protective arm around his waist.
Like a spell has been cast upon him, he immediately forgets about all his worries, as a pleasant torpor takes over him. Now, certainly, he won’t have any troubles falling asleep.
Curious, how ready he feels to take on this new, huge responsibility.
His feelings for Naesala might still be conflicted, but even he can admit that, when it comes to politics, he’s the one who knows the most out of all of them.
He’s had his doubts about being appointed king, but if Naesala, out of everyone, believes that this is the best choice, he will too and, most importantly, he won’t disappoint.