Chapter Text
Their outpost is stationed so far north that in the winter season, they never see the sun rise past the solstice. This gives Murasakibara more excuse to sleep in ("But Muro-chin, I didn't know it was morning, it's still so dark!"), not that he ever really intends to justify his laziness, and makes the frigid wastelands of the Northern Territories seem all the more foreboding when they patrol. When Himuro surveys the surrounding landscape from the turrets of the Dragon's Keep, he can't help but feel as if their small fortress is but a raft lost adrift in a sea of ice. The snow sucks in all light and sound until Himuro is trapped in a vacuum with only his own thoughts to accompany him.
Tonight is the night of the native Frostbirth celebration, the annual telling of the Tribal Creation Myth. Customs and legends differ within the tribes, but Himuro remembers that this is the one distinct festival that they all share. The pyres are stacked high in the tribal settlements, and from the battlements of the Drakenguard base, Himuro can see faint flickers of flame in the distance, large grey pillars of smoke rising up from the camps and fading into the ink sky. It's comforting to be reminded that he isn't alone in this vastness, although everything seems so much further away than it is when separated by miles of snow and deep frozen turf.
The darkness of the northern winters invites loneliness and melancholy, which prompts flow of drink and excess of food in search of warmth and merriment. While it isn't uncommon to see more than a skin or two of whiskey to be passed around the fortress' mess hall during the colder nights, tonight, alcohol is shared with an even greater exuberance than usual. The festive occasion has prompted even the infamously icy General Araki to open up her personal rations to the rest of the Drakenguard, an act no short of a miracle that ever ascends upon the earth no more than once a year. Many of Himuro's brothers and sisters in arms are currently gorging themselves on the General's collection of finely-aged spirits, and the reek of alcohol is sure to permeate through the hallways of the castle for days to come.
Himuro's come to the battlements of the Keep to escape the merriment, and while the wind causes the Imperial flag to dance like a drunkard, Himuro feels neither the chill of the air nor sting of the cold. The air is crisp here, enough to clear his thoughts and sharpen his mind. Leaning with his elbows on the frosted stones of the castle wall, Himuro inhales deeply, feeling the tingle of his nostrils and throat as the cold air enters his lungs. When he exhales, he watches smoke puff from his mouth and disappear into the air, and Himuro can't help but feel a bit of childish exhilaration, almost fancying himself to be one of the dragons of his namesake.
The scratch of boots against ice cuts through the quiet air and alerts Himuro to the presence of another. Turning towards the entrance to the battlements, he sees Liu Wei waddle out swathed in what seems to be at least half a dozen layers of cloaks and furs. Liu's face is half buried in a thick woolen scarf, and the many garments wrapped around him give his body give him a rotund appearance, as if he were a ball that would roll down the stairs if pushed. Himuro gives a small wave of greeting, responded to by a nod of acknowledgement from Liu as the other man makes his way to the edge of the wall, standing at Himuro's side.
"What the hell, Himuro?" Liu chatters out, lips pale from the cold as he picks at Himuro's thin cotton shirt with the clumsy fingers of his thick leather gloves. "Not even a cloak? Just this?"
Himuro smiles benevolently in response and shrugs. "There's no point in wearing one if I'm not cold. They're so heavy and stifling anyways."
This response makes Liu roll his eyes in disbelief, and he settles a bit closer to Himuro, possibly trying to glean some bodily warmth from him. "Bloody Himuro, now you're just showing off. You'd walk around bloody naked if Araki didn't make you keep your clothes on," Liu gruffly replies, nestling into his cocoon of furs. "Bloody nudist," he adds in, almost as an afterthought, and this makes Himuro laugh.
"It's not my fault that you're such a baby about the cold," Himuro teases, poking at the dark bearskin hide that Liu's flung over his shoulders as a makeshift shawl. He could have sworn that it had been hung up as a decoration in one of the hallways. He decides not to question whether or not Liu just grabbed it off to use as a cape, as likely as the possibility is. "In my tribe, we would send out our children naked into the wilderness for weeks on end, with only a knife to fend for themselves. None of this fur business," He taunts, the corners of his lips flirting with a smirk. "You'd die of exposure within an hour, if the ice wolves didn't get you first."
When he'd first joined the Drakenguard, he'd tried to avoid any and all references to his childhood in the tribes or his native heritage, as if the other guards needed any more reminder of his background. Although Tribals were legally permitted to join the Drakenguard, those who did were considered traitors by their tribesmen, and spies by the Guard. It's an understandable concern. Himuro can think of few who would abandon their people to become one of their oppressors, but Himuro is one such apostate. It shows testament to how much has changed since those early days that he can freely talk about his tribe like this. Even if he is lying.
Liu snorts pompously, small eyes narrowing even further. "May I remind you that I'm from the East? The hot, arid East? No tribes or snow, just desert and sun. You'd melt like butter in a pan there." His expression shows no hint of a smile, but Himuro's known Liu long enough to be able to read the playfulness in his eyes.
Himuro gives a low chuckle, and crosses his arms as he turns his head to look out at the dark snowscape, Liu following his gaze. Their banter falls flat, and there's a few moments of silence as they stand there in the cold together. Finally, Liu is the one to speak up, nudging Himuro gently with his elbow and gesturing with a gloved hand towards the tiny pyre flames on the edge of the horizon. "So, it's one of your people's festivities, right? Why aren't you celebrating?" He asks casually, raising an eyebrow. "Everyone else down there seems to find this cause enough for celebration, and it isn't even their holiday."
Himuro glances at Liu out of the corner of his eye, then looks away and contemplates for a moment before answering. Even now, although he's come to trust his comrades, agents of the Empire though they may be, he is unsure how much he wants to reveal. This is not so much political as it is personal, and Himuro's always guarded his secrets tightly.
"I'm mostly trying to get away from the drunkards," Himuro decides to reply finally, and flashes a slightly rueful smile. "Fukui is going to wake up with the hugest headache tomorrow from trying to match Okamura drink for drink." It's absurd that the small-statured vice captain would even attempt to outdrink their mountain of a squadron captain, but it doesn't stop Fukui from trying to do so every single year. Liu is the resident lie detector, and Himuro is certain that as much as he tries to relax himself, his body language has already given him away.
Liu leans forward a bit more on his elbows, and his thoughtful gaze fixes on Himuro, lips still pulled into an unsmiling line. "Is that so? But don't tribesmen like to drink?" This isn't so much a stereotype as it is a truth- The tribes of the north are known for their famously strong brew that takes away all the cold of the winter, and his people's love of drinking is something that Himuro is all too intimately familiar with.
Himuro stretches his lips into a thin, humorless smile, and nods once, his eyes still fixed upon a point far beyond the walls of the Keep. "Believe it or not, I personally don't drink at all." Himuro knows all too well the potency of alcohol's effect on human behavior, and how easily it is to become a slave to the tankard. He remembers his father's constant absence from the home, staying night after night in the drinking circles, and his mother tireless labor to support the constant drain on family funds. He remembers others who had it worse, a neighbor who'd show up in the schooling tents after days of absence with faded bruises marking her faces, smiling and saying that she'd accidentally rolled down a hill while sledding. These had been considered family matters by the old chieftain of his tribe, and therefore were not intervened upon until they affected the safety of the tribe as a whole. Himuro remembers the old drunkard widower who'd wandered beyond the camp bounds one night and never returned. He'd heard that some hunters from the next tribe had found his body torn to pieces by ice wolves.
Liu watches Himuro from a short distance, speculative eyes sparkling with clarity, and he turns his head to look up to the night sky. Liu had once told Himuro that there were different stars in the East, that they'd called the constellations by different names. The cluster of stars that made up the Imperial Cross was the head of the Black Rooster, and the pale Road to Heaven that striped the dark sky was known as the Divine River. Himuro has heard that there are some in the Empire who claim to foresee the future written the stars, but he hadn't known that this was a custom in the Eastern reaches as well, although Liu did mention that signs are interpreted differently in the East. Now, as Liu looks up at the inky expanse of darkness, Himuro can't help but wonder what knowledge he gleans from the heavens.
Liu's expression is tender, the closest to a smile that Himuro's ever seen it, and there's a distinct softness in his gaze, as if recalling painful memories. "I suppose that up in the North, you don't hear much about what it's like in the East, do you?" He mentions conversationally, and Himuro tentatively nods. Even after being forced under Imperial control, few tribesmen left the seclusion of the Northern mountain range, and even fewer returned to bring their people news of the outside world. The Northern Tribesmen were, as a whole, a very enclosed and secular community. Liu had been one of the first Eastern native that Liu had ever set his eyes upon, and it had been mildly surprising for Himuro to find out that they looked much more similar to the Imperials or the Tribals than he'd expected.
Liu's gaze sharpens as he continues, the line of his mouth growing ever grimmer. "The government has a monopoly on the drug market, and distributes them among the people to keep them subdued." It's probably the heavily-laden sentence that Himuro's heard from Liu, who often keeps out of political discussion, but the way that the Eastern man sighs it out makes his words sound as casual as a complaint about the weather. Liu looks less angry or horrified, but resigned, rather.
"Rampant addicts are the main source of many social problems, but it's not like they can get the Empire to do anything about it," Liu continues, turning his head to face Himuro once more. "All I'm saying is, I think I can understand the aversion to addictive substances."
Himuro doesn't miss the way that Liu's hands brush over his glove-clad forearms, and he's caught glimpses of the shallow scars that mark the skin there, but he knows enough not to comment upon it. Now that Liu's dropped such a damper on the atmosphere, however, Himuro isn't quite sure how to respond anymore, until Liu reaches into one of his many cloaks and pulls out a stack of worn playing cards.
"Well, alcohol aside, it still is a night of festivity," Liu states calmly as he begins to shuffle the cards, laying them into two hands. "I think it's about time we see who has the best pokerface in the Drakenguard after all. And we might as well raise the stakes a bit." The amused shine has returned to Liu's eyes, and Himuro can't help but smirk in response.
Mentally counting the number of layers that Liu's piled on, Himuro places a hand on his hip. "If we're of the same mind, then I believe that I'm at a bit of a disadvantage," he points out wryly. It isn't as if he's wearing anything under his cotton shirt, after all. Liu rolls his eyes dismissively in response.
"It's not as if you mind the cold anyways, you bloody nudist. Besides, I'm probably the one who'll freeze to death first, right?" Liu snarks as he sits down cross-legged on the icy floor, sliding a hand over to Himuro, who gladly accepts. Before they begin though, Liu quickly interjects by asking one more question.
"By the way, the whole sending children into the wilderness naked thing?"
"I lied."
"Thank the gods."