Chapter Text
In a past life, he used to be an archduke.
The day after, an exiled transient, then he had played the part of traitor. At the second of his death, he was a beggar. In the darkness, he resembled a scorch mark on her bed, as if some cryptid had been burned up instantly and left only a shadow where he laid.
His sliver of a body stretched out unbelievably long, his pointed fingernails making demon’s claws at his sides. Without his slouch, she couldn’t believe how tall he was (even though he still would have only met her shoulders if both had been standing). The whites in his head shifted, and she puzzled green eyes looking up at her.
“Sorry. I was supposed to be watching you,” she spoke. He had been so still that she almost assumed the worst. “How long have you been awake? N— Never mind. You probably shouldn’t talk.”
The blow had nearly torn him in two from throat to hip. It was as if the flesh touched by her father’s axe had disintegrated upon impact, leaving behind bits of mashed skin and discolored tissue that she couldn’t parse as being from a once whole, functioning human. Her bare footprints had hardened in his blood like a morbid fossil – it was a marvel that such a small man could bleed so much and still be alive, much less conscious.
“L— Lady Corrin.“ His words held barely any voice. His head shook in her lap, and she wondered how painful it must have felt to draw air into his repaired lungs.
“Shh. You’re going to be okay.” She still couldn’t be sure. With the extent of his wounds, infection seemed certain no matter how many times they cleaned his sutures. “Just go back to sleep, Zola.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
She allowed her eyes to sink shut again. “I know.”
“Why?” His wisp of a voice stirred her after an exchange of silence. “W— Why did you—? You didn’t— Y— You shouldn’t have—” Sending their best healer, that little pink-haired mage, to try to save him had undoubtedly placed the rest of the Hoshidans in jeopardy. “I— I didn’t want to. I—“
Corrin’s clawed thumb grazed his lips. He quieted instantly. “I remember you,” she said with a note of realization.
“What?”
“Back in Izumo, you’d asked if I remembered you. At the time, I hadn’t.” Her fingers brushed along his jaw almost tenderly. From that position, she could easily snap his neck, yet the contact wasn’t entirely unwelcome. “But now I do.”
“I don’t underst— stand.” He had been a tangential presence in her life at best. He used to think her some sort of mythical figure, the ghostly second daughter who emerged from her tower only for the rare banquet or execution. He doubted a princess of Nohr (a princess of Hoshido at the moment) would acknowledge a common member of the army she was fighting, much less a pitiful thing like him.
“I’ll tell you a story, okay? You just listen.” Corrin’s gaze stuck to the far wall, trying to make shapes out of distant blurs. He could feel the urgency of her words in her digging touch. “I had a best friend when I was very young. We used to dream about leaving the castle and exploring the world. We snuck out one day. When my father found out, he forbade me from seeing that boy ever again. Day after day, he had one of the servants whip me until I stopped crying over him.”
Zola didn’t speak. Beatings were fait accompli for the children of Nohr, and even the royal children were no exception. He was no stranger to it himself, only the punishments never ceased no matter how many birthdays passed. The principle was that when people touched him, it hurt. Lady Corrin’s warmth felt like a distraction, a lull before the inevitable shock of pain. With her hands lingering so close to his throat, he almost expected her to seize it.
“No one was allowed to see me afterwards. I wasn’t allowed to have friends outside of my retainers. I remember spending those nights feeling like I was the worst child in the world. Why else would Father punish me more than the others? I couldn’t make sense of it. It was lonely.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
She peered downwards when she felt Zola trembling again. His eyes tracked her hand as it slowly brushed blond shreds of hair away from his face. He reminded her of a small dog. He even resembled one physically with his slight, curled stature and doleful eyes too big for his face. (Even if she hadn’t expressed this idea aloud, she hoped the comparison wouldn’t be taken in offense.) “Because on one of those nights, I saw a little fox outside my window. He was so unusual and grand. At the time, I had never seen anything like him other than what I had read in books. It took me until recently to realize that what I saw was a Kitsune.”
“Absurd,” replied Zola weakly. “All the way in N— Nohr?”
“It was one of this world’s many creatures that I had wanted to see someday. When I lost my friend, I’d thought it was impossible.” A smile ghosted across Corrin’s lips. “That was you, wasn’t it?”
“W— Why would you think—?”
“I should have recognized those eyes from before. I’m sorry I hadn’t.” Those clever, green eyes had glinted with such understanding at her child self. She had decided to keep his visit a secret from her retainers, even though it seemed a silly reason to not warn others of a potential Hoshidan spy. They probably would have shot poor Zola with arrows until the illusion dissipated or until his corpse slid off the roof. “I saw them again when you begged my father to spare my life. Despite what you did, I— I couldn’t let you die.”
“I don’t understand.” He stiffened. “W— When I was born, no one thought… I should be allowed to live. I— I was a sickly child.” Malformed from bad water, lack of food, disease, poverty. His mother had given birth to an abomination. “S— So my parents t— threw me away. I was despised… e— everywhere I went.” Nothing much had changed. Only now, the ugliness spread deeper than skin, than flesh. His whole being seemed to emanate sickness. “Why did you—?”
Corrin was breathless. “I’m sorry.”
“D— Don’t apologize… to me!” He couldn’t scream without his voice tapering into a pathetic whisper. “I— I just wish someone had told me… it was o— okay for me to be here.”
“Zola.” Corrin perked, straightening her back. “Don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying!” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I have nothing to cry about. N— Nothing!”
“Crying will stifle your recovery. You’ll become distressed and undo all of Sakura’s hard work.” She thumbed away the wetness gathering around his eyes. “I forgive you. So don’t cry.”
He hissed. “I’m such a coward.” Had he ever been anyone different? He had survived over others who were more deserving by hiding, lying, and kissing the feet of those stronger than he was.
“You can change,” she answered. “I know you won’t betray me again. You know what Garon is capable of now.” Most of the soldiers she killed were poor Nohrians who found themselves cowed by her father’s might. She often tormented herself thinking about the thousands who enlisted out of desperation, to escape the miserable poverty that she herself had never touched.
“Lady Corrin.” He rubbed his eyes. “I know you don’t have any reason to trust me a— after what I’ve done, but you have my life. I truly swear my loyalty to you and only you. Honest, I do.”
She seemed to smile at this display. “I believe you, but you need to get better first. The war isn’t over, yet.” The Cyrkensia incident troubled the international community. Hoshido found itself facing the same scrutiny their enemies had after Izumo. Zola always seemed to be at the center of international conflicts, yet no one knew who he was. “I’m going to need your help again. So please, sleep.” Just as quickly, she closed her eyes and allowed her body to slump.
“Milady! Y— You’re exhausted.” How long had she been sitting like that, holding his head? “You should rest. T— Think of your health.”
“I’m fine.” Her eyelids flickered. “You’re the one who’s injured. If you hadn’t spoken up for me—“
“I almost got you k— killed.” The admission served as a confession of sorts. Oddly, he felt relief where there should have been shame. “The least I could do is make sure you get enough sleep. Lie down. Please.” He braced himself before pulling away from her lap, allowing the back of his head to drop onto flat mattress. The small movement invited stabs of pain to spill out from his chest. He gasped.
“Try not to move!” She sighed. “I wish I could, but there are things I must do.”
“T— Then you can tell the others I put a sleeping curse on you!” It sounded believable. Currently, he had to be the least liked person among both Nohrians and Hoshidans, second to Garon. He was sure the results would have been skewed in his favor had he included the opinions of neutral nations.
“I can’t do that.” She swung her legs off the side of the bed and propped herself on unsteady feet. “I’ll send one of my most trusted men to watch over you.” She expected late night visits from some of the more disgruntled members of the camp, given the severity of his crimes. “Try to relax.”
“T— Then I’ll place an actual sleeping curse on you!” An empty threat, given that he couldn’t muster enough acuity to light the candle at the far side of the room. He doubted his pig slough of a brain could even remember the proper incantation.
“Zola.” She studied his expression. He frowned slightly as he met her gaze with a wary one of his own, his thin hands curling near his chin as if to catch an attack from the shadows. She sank onto the bed. “Okay. Just for a little while.”
He deflated. “R— Really? You don’t have to!” he insisted.
“I guess a fatigued commander won’t be any good on the battlefield, huh? I was being stubborn.” She perched herself on her side, facing him. A small distance separated the two, yet she was close enough for him to trace the tired lines etched underneath her eyes.
“Maybe I should move,” he suggested with a dry mouth. “P— People might talk if they see you… close to me.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She was probably the most talked about person in all the realms by now. No one else could understand why she had chosen to salvage him when it seemed fitting to let the traitor die like a wounded animal. “Goodnight, Zola.”
“Lady Corrin. Please, excuse my— P— Pardon, my liege.”
“What is it, Zola?”
“Um, thank you.” He hesitated. “I owe you my life.” Twice.
Her mouth settled into a drowsy smile. “I’m trusting you. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Lady Corrin.”
She was asleep instantly. He laid awake in quiet bewilderment, tuning his rushing thoughts to the ins and outs of her breathing. His promise already felt like a lie. He wasn’t sure if he was capable of protecting even himself, much less another person. But for the first time in his life, he was okay with being afraid.
That night, he dreamt that the seams of his chest came apart. A golden fox pulled itself from his viscera and stood bloodied with its snout in the air, gauging the strange world it had entered. It then lowered its head to lick at his lifeless face, thanking him for his sacrifice, before scampering away.