Chapter Text
Whenever his father's ambitions of conquest would fall into bitter ash and fantasy, Shouto had always assumed that he, too, would die with them.
He was his father's perfect weapon – the fusion of two magic schools, two elements at his fingertips, a feat so rare most were sure it was impossible. And yet, Shouto existed. An impossibility. A feared reality, whispered amongst the common people whose homes he was sent to raze to the ground in his father's campaigns. A demon, they called him. The witch prince of Endeavor.
His father would have loved to have Shouto take the throne as well, his heir as well as his weapon, but Endeavor's inheritance laws had always been strict – the eldest takes all, no exceptions. Even a king couldn't bend this law on his own whims. Any change would have to be passed with a long debate with the Council of Nobles that also ruled the land – a debate that could take years, perhaps generations. And since Enji's luck was not that he got his desired outcome on his first try, or second, or even third, but fourth – well, even he knew that it would be too suspicious for all his elder children to 'tragically' vanish or die before his favorite ascended the throne.
So Enji left his eldest Touya to learn affairs of state and rule from tutors and nannies – and then Natsuo, when Touya vanished, presumed dead, and Fuyumi already promised in marriage to the eldest prince of Ingenium and unable to inherit – and he took Shouto aside, forging him into the weapon to destroy his enemies.
It didn't matter that Shouto was only four, five years old when the strict training – beating – began. It did not matter when his mother snapped like thin ice under Enji's cruel treatment and branded Shouto's face with a visual mark of his monstrosity and she vanished, locked away by Enji gods knew where. It especially didn't matter when Shouto collapsed when he was thirteen, baking under heat not from either his or his father's flames, Presenting as an Omega, a gender meant to nurture and protect. If anything, that made his father more pleased – now Shouto had no choice but to obey his father's Alpha commands. He had no will with which to resist, burnt out of him long ago.
Shouto was his father's perfect weapon, and he lived as such, not allowed contact with the outside world or his siblings.
So it was logical that he would die as such, as well.
No conqueror lived forever, no conqueror had infinite resources to pour against the enemies inevitably made. Push too hard, and the people would push back. Shouto wasn't allowed much of an education about state affairs – he wasn't to rule, after all, only follow Enji's orders, and Natsuo's eventually, when he ascended the throne – but he knew enough history to know that much, despite whatever his father seemed to think. No one person could permanently best the many.
So he was not surprised when the other kingdoms rose up against his father, forming the UA Treaty – a band of rulers under the same banner in the name of peace. He was not surprised when the combined forces eventually defeated his father on the battlefield, forcing the man to retreat and withdraw into Endeavor. He was not surprised when those same forces marched into their kingdom, forcing their way to the capitol with all intents of bringing his father to justice.
The fight on the castle grounds was harsh, UA's forces swarming and overwhelming the guard with almost insulting ease.
But Endeavor prized strength above all, so those that were at the top were the strongest. And there were few in the country near as strong as Flame King Enji and his two-toned demon of a son. The real battle began when he and his father were surrounded, rather than ended.
Shouto hadn't wanted to fight, had never wanted to be a part of this war in the first place, but even with his own acceptance of his death – likely there and then in that battle – he'd selfishly wanted to live just a little longer.
He didn't really want to die, despite his own fatalism.
So he fought. He refused to fatally wound his opponents, refused to use his powers as anything other than defense, despite his father's screams. He was a monster, a weapon, but he didn't want to die as such.
He was defeated eventually, of course. One against many. As was his father.
There, in the castle courtyard, as Shouto panted for air at the feet of the one who bested him, a green-haired Alpha with unmatchable strength and will, Enji roared for Shouto to destroy. To raze the castle to the ground, regardless of who was in it. The Alpha order was heavy on his voice, and Shouto felt his fists clench at the order, frost and flames licking at his fingers.
He could. He hadn't used his powers much, so his magic was fresh and undrained, despite his physical tiredness. They wouldn't be able to stop him in time.
He looked up at his opponent, the Alpha's eyes wide and green. He held his sword at the ready, strength-enhanced magic beginning to crackle along the hilt and his arm. He would kill Shouto the same instant Shouto would raze everything, he was sure of it. A mutual destruction.
But, despite everything, despite the flames crackling around them, despite his father's terrible venom, despite the desperate battle they had just fought – Shouto did not see hatred in those eyes, staring down at him. Fear, yes, and desperation. Pleading, perhaps.
But there was no hatred of Shouto. No disgust. Perhaps there was even sympathy.
The first time in years, Shouto found the strength to resist his father's Alpha command. He pulled his magic away from his skin, the flickers of ice and fire fading away from his hands, and bowed his head. His father's enraged scream was far away.
Just like that, the war was over.
But Shouto was not dead.
The green Alpha did not drive his sword home when Shouto surrendered. When his father was dragged away screaming, to be held and interrogated in UA's dungeons, Shouto was not taken with him. When an unassuming man with dark eyes clamped magic restraints onto Shouto – delicate collars and cuffs that looked like jewelry but held back his magic with a burn, a burn that almost equaled his father's flames for someone like Shouto, so used to living and breathing his magic with no restraint – he asked if Shouto had wanted to follow his father in his mad quest. If he thought his father right in what he had done.
Shouto was silent and taciturn on the best of days, words often feeling like he was dragging them up out of a bog, slow to come to him and sticky to leave his throat. Here, exhausted and beaten down, they would not come. So he merely shook his head.
Of course his father was not right. Of course Shouto hadn't wanted this. The first time he'd been taken to the field and forced to use his magic on living opponents, he'd sobbed and vomited the entire night afterwards. Eventually his physical reactions dulled, but the empty hollow pain never did. He hadn't wanted to do any of this – but his father commanded him with an Alpha tone, so even if Shouto were to refuse, he'd end up doing it anyways.
The man had stared at him, and Shouto had felt the workings of some sort of magic around them. What it was, he didn't know – he wasn't well-versed in the magics beyond the elemental schools he belonged to. His father hadn't thought it a necessary study.
Whatever the magic did, it seemed to give the man an answer. He smiled at Shouto, and to Shouto's utter surprise he was released into the care of Natsuo, who had also faced a similar interrogation and came out on top.
The armies of UA left Endeavor's capitol – not without a stationed legion as guard, of course – and, bewildered, the country began picking itself back up.
And Shouto is still not dead. He wakes up the morning a week after, still alive and completely lost in what to do.
His entire life, he has been Enji's weapon. But now Enji is imprisoned, and though he is nominally under Natsuo's rule, his elder brother has been too busy negotiating with UA's leaders for peace that he has no orders to give Shouto.
Shouto can do nothing but wander the castle, lost, as servants scurry to and fro repairing the battle damage. What use do weapons have, after war? Most should be melted down, reformed into nails and horse shoes and the other metal necessities of mundane, peaceful life. But Shouto has not been melted down. He still exists, a sword without a wielder. Cast away. Abandoned.
The other fate of weapons after battle – to be abandoned and rusted until they were little more than dirt. The thought of rotting away alone in the castle is nearly as distressing as dying.
Fuyumi comes to visit – Ingenium is a country under UA's banner, and Shouto hasn't seen her in years, on opposite sides of the war as they were.
He remembers how swift UA's army was to take the castle, how they seemed to know every hidden defense and trap. He has no doubt that Fuyumi's knowledge paid a part in that, but he does not begrudge her treason. A monster such as Enji was above family loyalty.
The first few moments of their meeting is awkward. Fuyumi comes across Shouto in the library – one of the few places Shouto feels anchored, reading and learning everything his father deemed 'not necessary knowledge' for a weapon – and she hovers at first, the silence between them deep and awkward like deep snow.
“You've gotten so tall,” she murmurs after a moment, reaching out to gently tuck a lock of blood red hair behind his ear, as if to prove she will not shy away from the side their mother hated, the side that Enji colored. Shouto can't help the slight flinch – he is not used to being touched so gently, to exposing his scar even more. Fuyumi's face falls.
She does not step back however. Perhaps the kingdom of Ingenium infused her soul with the steel they are famous for working into their fantastical machines, and she stands taller now than in his memories, no longer cowed by the blazing weight of their father's will. Instead, she steps closer, and wraps Shouto in a slow, gentle hug, giving him every chance to back away, to run from the affection he hasn't felt in years.
Ingenium has been good for her, he thinks.
He does not run away. He doesn't hug back, doesn't want to stain his sister's purity with his hands, but he leans into the embrace, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. She smells similar to their mother – fresh snow where Mother had been the deepest winter morning, and a deep part of him relaxes at the touch of a fellow Omega, of family.
He doesn't know how long they stay like that, with his head bowed onto his shoulder, her fingers running through the split of his hair, but he treasures it, stows every sensation of it into his memory. He doesn't know what will happen to him now, and he wants to hold every good thing close until the heavy expectation in the air falls and crushes him, some way or another.
He lives every day with no direction, no orders, and he doesn't know his own future. It's terrifying, and some part of him wishes he had been struck down on the battlefield, for at least then he would be free from this uncertainty, free from the judgment hanging over his head.
“What will happen to me?” He mumbles, making Fuyumi's arms tighten around him. Of all people in the castle, she would have the best idea, being close to one of the major players of the winning side of the war.
“Oh, Shouto,” she breathes, like he's four again and dragged half their mother's clothes through the palace hallways playing 'dress-up'. “The peace talks are still ongoing, but Natsuo won't let anything bad happen to you.”
She says it with conviction, but Shouto has no such hopes. He knows Natsuo avoids him, must look at him with equal fear and resentment – fear, of the weapon he is and how narrowly Natsuo had escaped the same fate, resentment because at least Shouto got some sort of attention, negative as it was. The future king, and he had to watch as his little brother was paraded around, the one to leave the castle at Enji's side.
Shouto can hardly expect any sort of positive interaction after that.
Her words confirm a different fear – she doesn't know, either. Shouto is rather sick of not knowing.
“I should be killed,” he says, and Fuyumi steps back, one hand coming up to cup his cheek – the left cheek, the scarred one, the monster side, why is she trying so hard? – and looks into his eyes. She looks far older than her twenty-four years.
She doesn't offer empty platitudes of his innocence. Both of them know such words won't do anything. Instead she rubs her thumb over her cheek, searching his eyes with a sad, sad expression. “Do you want to die, Shouto?”
No one has asked what Shouto wants in a long time. He almost doesn't know how to respond. But he'd had these thoughts during actually fighting for his life, so he at least has an answer. “No.”
The corners of her mouth quirk upwards. “The people of UA are good and just. Have faith, Shouto. Whatever happens, Natsuo and I will stay by your side. There's no one to stop you from living.”
Living. Shouto wishes he knew how.
Natsuo calls both Fuyumi and Shouto to breakfast with him the next morning. Well, more just Shouto, as Fuyumi has dined with him every meal since she arrived. Shouto, however, is far too insecure in the tenuous fabric of his bond with his siblings, and though there's been an unofficial standing offer from Fuyumi, Shouto's taken his meals alone since the ordeal.
Normally he ate alone in his room – or was forced to meals with his father, a strenuously terrible time – but with no rules comes new freedoms, so he's been taking his meals in the barracks mess hall, inbetween the meals for the guards themselves.
The kitchen servants give him side glances when he shows up for whatever leftovers they can offer him, but Shouto's far more comfortable eating away from his station in life.
This morning, however, a servant shows up with a formal message from Natsuo – Shouto is expected at breakfast.
It's today, then, Shouto thinks. They've finally decided his fate.
He does his best to not show his fear or apprehension, getting dressed in one of his few state-ready clothes, a blue and white velvet affair with silver trim. Most of his clothes are more simple things – things meant to fight in. Still lavish in comparison to the like of a commoner's similar clothing, but no trim of gold thread, no jewels woven into the embroidery. Enji hadn't seen a reason for Shouto to appear in court more than once or twice a year.
Shouto doesn't even think he's ever worn this particular outfit before. It still fits like a glove, nonetheless – the magic of royal tailors with his every measurement on hand, he supposes.
Smoothing a hand down the plush front of the vest, Shouto grimaces as he glimpses a flash of the magic restraints under the frilly cuff of his sleeve. Shouto may be free to wander the palace, but he has no doubts about what he really is – a prisoner. They are taking no chances.
Shouto doesn't really blame them, but the idea of him continuing his father's campaign is a bit laughable.
Well, it is time to face his fate as such a prisoner.
He walks to the royal dining chamber for the first time in weeks. Fuyumi is present already, and she gives him a small, reassuring smile. Shouto's mouth twitches, wishing to return the smile, but so unused to the motion it's more of a sickly jerk.
He sits across from her, to the right of the head of the table, set for Natsuo. Folding his hands in his lap, Shouto summons foggy memories of his mother whispering manners as he sat in her lap. A woman as regal as she was beautiful, she had done her best to teach her children, all her children, how it was fit to behave as royalty.
His memories of her are fuzzy, faded with time, but the memory of her effortless grace surrounds him still, and he has always pulled it around him like armor. He may be a monster, a weapon, not a prince, but he will carry himself as his mother's son the best he can. Especially if these are to be his last hours on this earth – he will face his consequences with dignity.
Around five minutes pass as they wait for their brother, Fuyumi asking him mindless pleasantries – “Did you sleep well, Shouto?” “Fine, thank you.” – before the untimely king sweeps into the room, crown askew and mouth pulled into a grimace.
It's so far from a proper image, from the presence of their father as he came into a room pouring cold arrogance, that Shouto almost snorts.
“Sorry for my lateness,” he apologizes as he slides into his seat. “But I was finishing up with Lord Magistrate Nezu over the final details of the treaty, and it ran late. My apologies.”
“It's fine, Natsuo,” Fuyumi says with fond warmth, and Shouto wonders softly at how happy she seems to be seated like this with her brothers.
The servants appear wordlessly with food after Natsuo seats himself, and Shouto silently works on a bit of egg and ham as Fuyumi asks Natsuo much the same questions about his night as she had Shouto. He doesn't have much appetite, stomach in knots over his foreboding future, but he makes a pretense of eating nonetheless. If he doesn't eat now, he'll be starving later.
They're about midway through the meal when Natsuo sighs, setting down his fork and rubbing at his face. The judgment is to be pronounced, then. The air feels thick and heavy.
Fuyumi looks down at her plate, voice soft and even. “What were the terms of the treaty, for Endeavor?”
Natsuo gives a wan smile. “They could be worse. King Toshinori and the others of the UA Treaty are too kind. We will retain sovereignty, at the price of no standing army and paying reparations for at least ten years.”
Their sister gives a regal nod. “As to be expected. Endeavor is not a rich nation, but it is not poor either. You will make do, Natsuo.”
Shouto silently pops a green grape into his mouth, a whimsical wish popping up to have been given at least some courses in state matters so he could understand the full effects of their forced peace. He has no idea of Endeavor's riches, nor if that sort of treaty really is to 'be expected' as Fuyumi says. He has no input on the matter except to eat another grape.
Natsuo's fingers curl around his knife, and the smile that his mouth had gradually relaxed into as he spoke with Fuyumi returns to the grimace that he'd appeared with. “...There's one more condition.”
Fuyumi pauses, and her eyes flicker to Shouto, and he understands. This will be dealing with him. Shouto puts down his fork – he can't make the pretense of eating, now. Not when his life hangs on the next words to fall from Natsuo's mouth.
“...Is Shouto to be...apprehended...?” Fuyumi asks after a moment, delicately. The meanings behind her tactful words hang heavy.
Is Shouto to be taken from Endeavor, tortured and imprisoned like Enji before him?
Will they decide the demon prince too much a threat to live?
Natsuo is quiet for a moment, before breathing out heavily. He looks towards Shouto for the first time that morning, perhaps for the first time in years. “...In a manner of speaking. But it is not the jailers taking him.”
Confusion stirs in Shouto's stomach. Fuyumi tilts her head, face mirroring his internal dilemma. If not the jailers, than what is Shouto's fate?
Their brother licks his lips in a nervous habit. Shouto vaguely remembers being backhanded once for doing the same thing. 'Don't give your enemy tells.'
“...Given Shouto's...abilities...they didn't want him to go free without supervision, no matter what I told them of your character.” Natsuo glances at Shouto again with an apologetic look, as if he has anything to apologize for. Frankly, Shouto's shocked Natsuo stood up for him at all. Surely, he must fear and resent Shouto's existence, so why attempt to barter for a kinder fate? What does he truly know of Shouto's character?
“But of course, a normal castle or dungeon wouldn't have the...firepower, if you will, to hold someone like Shouto. So, King Toshinori made a concession.”
Natsuo looks down at his plate, frown growing more pronounced. Fuyumi is leaning slightly forward, concern written clearly on her features. Shouto can find it in himself to look away from his brother, or to move really at all. Even his breath feels as frozen as his ice.
Natsuo looks up again, vivid blue eyes looking at Shouto with an apology written in them. Shouto still doesn't know what he's sorry for.
“The heir of Musutafu, King Toshinori's country, is a young Alpha with no bonds or promises upon him. In exchange for Shouto's freedom, it is requested for him to be mated with the one who bested him in battle and thus could do it again if needs arise. So, the last term of the treaty is the marriage of Shouto to Prince Midoriya Izuku.”