Chapter Text
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There is something about Oikawa, when they go into the village, that makes it seem like he is coming home. He came to live in the castle at a young age and made a home of his chambers there, and of the castle grounds and kitchens, and of the gardens out back with the maids.
But this is his origin, where the midday sun does not look at all like it intends to be harsh upon him.
Not many people recognize Oikawa. He was a nameless boy as he grew up, and is practically nameless still—or would be, had people not repeatedly mistaken him for royalty.
“They almost bow to me,” he whispers to Iwaizumi, voice laced with apprehension.
“Why would they not? You are immaculate in commoners’ robes.”
“I belong in these robes, my king.” Iwaizumi thinks it better not to protest.
You belong anywhere, he could say. In every nook and cranny of this kingdom. But Oikawa, armor or not, is Oikawa; he would belong where he wanted, and if it is both here and at Iwaizumi’s side, then there is no protesting that.
The brunet says, “You’ve yet to tell me the nature of this trip,” glancing at him sideways. “Is this for leisure?” Or is it for me? “The palace gardens would have done, or the forest.”
“The forest,” Iwaizumi muses, watching Oikawa’s profile, “Is devoid of people.” You are enough, but, “I like seeing the people.”
“As do I.”
A child bumps into Oikawa’s knee, followed by a young woman who strings her apologies together as if sewing. She crouches to meet her child, who looks up at Oikawa with wonder, and follows his gaze. It then drops to his royal seal, visible where part of his cloak had fallen away.
Her cheeks redden and her eyes go wide when she squeaks, “Your Highness!” Her honey-blonde hair falls over her face as she bows.
The smile Oikawa gives her is tight-lipped. He is not the king. “It’s alright,” he says gently, turning to the boy and kneeling to ruffle his hair. “This one is a good runner. He must take care of those sturdy legs.”
When they go, Oikawa turns to Iwaizumi, sheepish.
“That was a good impersonation,” Iwaizumi says, eyes crinkled in a laugh. “My king.”
“Don’t,” Oikawa starts, half-smiling. “There is only one.”
They make their way to the fountain at the center of the village courtyard, housing hundreds of rusted pennies and coins.
“If you dropped silver in it, would a wish be more likely to come true?” Iwaizumi wonders.
Oikawa watches the water glisten, scrunching his nose as he turns to his king. “Who says we wish? The people have long known wishing is futile. This—” he moves to the other side, “—is lore, now. We do it for fun.”
In the distance, a carriage’s wheels clatter along cobblestone streets, and Iwaizumi makes a mental note to have it evened out. He looks to everything else that might need repairs. The streetlamps are mostly with shattered glass, and the bridge they had crossed was in need of a fresh coat of paint. In the market, he had wondered if the vendors were content with selling on carts, or if they wanted stalls of their own.
He looks to his knight, who is watching him already.
“You’re thinking,” Oikawa tells him. “Did you want to come to see how the village is faring?”
Iwaizumi smiles. “Am I so obvious?”
From where he is seated at the fountain’s edge, Oikawa rises. “No. But there is no point in wanting to see the people when it’s nearly noon, and there are hardly any people.” He looks around. “We should be heading back s—”
“We are heading back now,” Oikawa growls.
He has his sword drawn and at the ready; has Iwaizumi pressed to his chest. The king’s sword is also unsheathed, much to Oikawa’s dismay—proof that only moments ago, he had jumped in front of an arrow for him.
It had been a blur. It had been Iwaizumi screaming Oikawa! in a pitch Oikawa had never heard from him before; the snapping of wood in half and the weight of a metal bolt echoing as it fell to their feet.
It had been Oikawa, livid, moving to protect his king because that arrow was surely meant to be his.
“Run,” he says with a venom not for Iwaizumi, and he grabs his hand, and runs.
Oikawa does not make the mistake of forgetting the horses. But he takes his, frees it, and sends it galloping back to the castle on its own while he mounts the king’s horse and rides with him. He does not sheathe his sword. He keeps Iwaizumi close. Iwaizumi does not speak and keeps his eyes peeled for danger as well.
They do not stop at the gate to acknowledge the guards, nor do they stop at the stables. Oikawa’s sword glimmers in the light even when they run into Iwaizumi’s mother—the old queen—who dismisses them quickly upon sensing the urgency in Oikawa’s posture.
Oikawa breezes past his friends Hanamaki and Matsukawa while Iwaizumi only gives them a curt nod. The same goes for poor Kyoutani, who had been helping a maid carry white cloths to the other rooms enthusiastically.
Oikawa only stops at the door to Iwaizumi’s chambers, sheathing his sword then and waiting to be let in.
Iwaizumi is rigid, but he enters the room and leaves the door ajar for Oikawa to follow.
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