Work Text:
Harle strutting about the Halidom as though he owns it is a daunting sight, on the rare occasions he stops by to visit. The Black Raven peddles in information relating to Satan and little else, when it comes to these visits; he's always the first one to hear of dissenters trying to once again bring the king of demons to walk the mortal realm. Every pair of eyes he meets stares back at him with distrust, though who could blame them? Truthfully, though his irritating little body double had been working toward causes that Harle himself finds quite undesirable, he can't say that he wouldn't have done the same things if his goals had been more closely aligned with Loki's. It's in his nature to use the powerful, after all.
One pair of eyes, however, continues to linger on him even as he retires to a spare room for the night. Leif, captain of the White Sparrows, is not even bothering to hide the fact that he's following Harle to his room, and must surely be aware that Harle is simply ignoring him all the way. From the way Harle had heard it, Leif didn't even realize he had been replaced. That, too, is understandable—Loki had copied him down to his memories. He can't know what happened during the years he was trapped in that strange, dying world, but he's sure of one thing, at least, and that's that his relationship with Leif remains as complicated as it ever has been, with or without Loki's interference in it.
Finally, he spins on his heel, startling Leif into stopping. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, then?" he drawls, lips curling up at the sides instinctively. His eyes alight on a wooden box clutched tightly to Leif's chest. "Is that an Alberian chess board? Don't tell me you followed me all the way here to play a board game with me."
Leif furrows his brows slightly, as though he's just now realizing the absurdity of the situation, but he responds regardless. "That is precisely why I am here, Harle. Your stays at the Halidom are few and far between, and I wished to seize the opportunity while it lay before me."
"I don't have any obligation to amuse you with a game. Why don't you bother one of the princes for a game, if you'd like to play so badly?"
"Because I wish to play chess with you."
The simplicity of Leif's answer is something he should have expected, but it's still unexpectedly funny, and Harle can't bite back the bark of laughter bubbling up at the back of his throat. "Did you ever ask that double of mine to play chess?"
Leif hesitates, and Harle's grin only widens. "No. More important matters had to be attended to."
"Ah, yes, I'm sure. You were leading the Royal Guard, after all—surely, you were too busy to be bothered with me, in my own lowly position." There's another inscrutable shift in Leif's expression, and Harle pounces on it again. "Perhaps if you'd ever gotten the chance to ask, you might have realized you were face to face with an impostor? Is that what it is you're thinking? Rest assured, Leif, I am the genuine article—though I suppose that means nothing to a man who wouldn't be able to discern the difference in the first place."
Leif only sighs, completely unfazed. "I will not apologize for being fooled by a double that behaved exactly the way I came to expect of you."
"Nothing struck you as odd at all?"
"Well..." Leif shakes his head. "I don't have any obligation to amuse you with an answer."
Harle's eyes sparkle with intrigue for just a second, and he kicks himself internally for it. Their game of chess has already begun, it seems—and Leif has made a startlingly effective opening move. "I see. Dangling something I want to know in front of me like a prize, expecting me to grasp at it like a beast of burden straining for the carrot dangling before it..." He shrugs. Despite his own less-than-flattering description of the situation, he doesn't deny it. "Very well. One game."
"Thank you, Harle." Leif follows him to the guest room he's been assigned, waiting patiently while Harle intentionally takes his time unlocking the door. "If I have the right of it, you were in a different world these past several years."
"You have the right of it indeed."
"What sort of world was it?"
Harle turns the key in the lock with a soft click. "One that need not be dwelled upon any longer. It hardly merits thought."
"Unpleasant, then."
"You're free to interpret that however you wish." Harle waves Leif inside. "One of its finer points is that you were always elsewhere. Ah, perhaps I should never have left at all."
"I'll let you know when the board is ready," Leif says coolly, completely ignoring Harle's barbs. "Have you had the chance to play recently?"
"In your own words, more important matters had to be attended to."
"I suppose that is probably true. You've been ever occupied with one scheme or another." The nostalgic sound of wooden pieces scraping softly against a game board cuts through the silence of Harle refusing to dignify Leif with a response. Evidently growing tired of it, eventually Leif begins to speak in an almost mournful tone. "I rolled it over in my mind, again and again—wondered why you had aligned yourself with Empress Zethia, even when it became clear she was The Other. I knew well your disdain for the way things are—social hierarchy, class discrimination...but surely, that was taking things a step too far...?"
Harle groans. "At least have the wits about you to refrain from providing me what I asked for until you've lost." He takes a seat across from Leif, steepling his fingers. "Shall we flip a coin to see who goes first?"
"No, that won't be necessary. You always preferred that I go first, so I see no reason to change it this time."
"I do hope you're not taking pity on me for my circumstances. I could defeat you at this game even if I had not played in an age."
"I know better than to offer you, of all people, pity. I simply thought it would be more enjoyable an experience if we played it the way you wanted."
Harle blinks, taken aback. Of all the responses he'd cooked up in his head, not a single one of them is even close to the one Leif has provided him. He gives Leif a wry smile, though he can see the knight's eyes darken slightly, doubtless in response to the suspicion clouding his own gaze.
"I have no ulterior motives, Harle," he says, gently. "I simply wished to see you again."
Harle straightens his back, fixing his gaze on the chess board. "Unfortunately for you, I'm not sure I've ever had motives that weren't ulterior, and I intend to get some answers out of you when I win. Make your move, then."
Leif opens the same way he always does: bolstering the defenses around the sorcerer princess piece. And so Harle opens the same way he always has, in turn: ruthlessly advancing his soldiers. The first few moves they exchange are enough to make him sick, the exact same sequence from their time spent in the Officers' Academy. He can almost feel Cecile leaning in to see the board, hair spilling into the corner of his peripheral vision, and he glances over his shoulder for just a moment out of habit. He hears Leif chuckle from across the table and irritably begins his assault on his pieces.
It's been years since they last played, but there's no way Harle could ever forget Leif's strategies. They're still as dull and uninspired as ever. He doesn't even have to think as he counters them, gradually crowding around Leif's increasingly-huddled pieces. "Timid as always," he mutters. "You truly haven't changed a bit, have you?"
"You, on the other hand, are even more ruthless than usual," Leif observes. "The formation on the left is completely open…ah, no, I see." His eyes narrow in thought as he realizes Harle's intentions. "You aim to goad me into attacking what seems to be a weak spot, but you've set up quite the brilliant counterattack. Which means…" Leif turns his attention to the pieces on the right side of the board. "Yes. Here, I think."
Leif has probably lost either way, and they both know it, but his tenacity always was a thorn in Harle's side. "Are you sure? That leaves you completely open."
"On the left, yes. It will mean losing pieces, which is unfortunate. I didn't understand your strategy until it was too late, but I believe I can at least delay the inevitable."
Harle snickers. "A miserable position to be in."
"Indeed. If this were a true battle between us, the most I could do would be to hope to stall for time until my reinforcements arrived. Alas, that cannot happen on the board here." He makes his move and leans back slightly in his seat. "I found myself in this situation with your double on more than one occasion. His tactics were indiscernible from your own. He was always one step ahead, much as it pains me to admit it."
Harle smirks. "You always were a bit short-sighted. The brilliance of your duty blinds you to other methods, so you remain utterly predictable."
Leif crosses his arms. "And it used to be that your penchant for never settling would invariably leave you grasping for the dirt, so that it might be thrown in your opponent's face."
"Used to be? What, pray tell, gives you any indication that that is no longer the case?"
Leif points at the left side of the board again. "What kept you from sacrificing these pieces?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Though you frequently bested me when we played at the academy, it was usually with very few pieces left, and you delighted in picking mine off one by one. This is a very different game than what I had expected."
Harle stares at him, waiting for Leif to continue, but he's met only with his unwavering gaze. "And your point?" he asks, after a measured silence.
"I don't have one. It's simply an observation."
As Leif predicts, the best he can muster is to delay the inevitable. The game continues for another ten minutes or so before Harle forces him into checkmate, with more than half of the pieces all on the board. Leif holds up his hands in surrender, and Harle allows himself a moment or several to gloat about it.
"Now, then, I believe you had questions for me," Leif says.
"Indeed I do! Tell me just how that double of mine was able to keep the wool firmly affixed in front of your eyes, and then tell me again how you know me so well."
Leif gives a great, exasperated sigh. "I've already said I won't apologize for that. However, it is as you say. There were…oddities I could not explain, and ruminated on myself. The only other person who knew you as well as I was absent, so I had no one to confide in, and eventually, I simply convinced myself I was overthinking it, and that I did not know you as well as I thought I did." He meets Harle's gaze. "You are a remarkably difficult man to get close to, after all."
Harle closes his eyes, giving Leif's response some thought. When he opens them again, the mischievous glimmer in them is dulled somewhat. "As always, you're a vexing person to talk to. I was able to meet the me of that other world I was in, and I cooperated with him, for a time. In the end, I had to kill him to get back here…"
"What?" Leif interjects, looking alarmed, but Harle ignores him and continues.
"He did not know me half as well as you do, Leif." Harle reaches over and gives Leif's king a flick with his index finger, knocking it to the surface of the board. "He would never have been able to keep up with my strategy, just now. But you saw it before you walked into my trap, and kept up with it after realizing what was going on and managed to lose with your dignity intact. You, and not another version of myself."
This time, Leif is the one waiting for an elaboration, but he doesn't receive one. Harle's expression remains thoughtful as he starts gathering the pieces, sweeping them with his hand into a pile so he can place them all in the velvet pouch from whence they came.
"That will be all," he says. "As always, I do tire of your presence, my old friend."
"Harle…"
"I shan't repeat myself. Leave."
Leif waits a moment more, until Harle's shoulders begin to tense from impatience, then stands, and Harle feels himself involuntarily relax at the sound of the chair dragging lightly against the floor to accommodate his movement. "Very well, then. Good night, Harle. I hope you found the answers you were looking for."
"I'm sure you know that I have not. I'll meet you here again tomorrow night."
Leif is quiet; Harle can imagine his expression as he figures out how to respond, though his eyes are fixed firmly on the chessboard. Eventually, the only thing Leif can muster is, "I'll leave the board here, then."
"Yes, that's fine."
Another pause, and then Leif continues, "I didn't know you were staying any longer than overnight."
Harle glances over his shoulder. "I'll leave, then."
"No, that's…"
"Ha!" It's not a laugh, so much as it is a wordless exclamation of mirth. "Never you fear, I'll leave the morning after next. After all, I do have important matters to attend to, and games of chess with you leave me unfulfilled."
"Really?" Leif asks. "I've always found it to be the opposite."
Harle doesn't dignify him with a response, so Leif finally leaves the room, shutting the door quietly behind him. Neither wishes the other a good night.
Harle doubts he'll find the answers to the questions he's asking tomorrow night, either. He'll be on his way the next morrow, and both of them will find the number of questions they have has only increased. Ever since returning from the other world…perhaps even before then, every conversation with Leif he's had has felt like three at once, and though the distance between them looks to have widened somewhat during his absence, every time he tries to measure how much it's increased, he sees it's always just a trick of the light.
How strange, for things to not have changed at all in this world shaken up by demons, dragons, and the political infighting of a royal family Harle still resents.
He tilts his head back slightly, looking out the window at the stars, picking out the dullest he can find and fixing his gaze on it. He hates it when he encounters a question he doesn't know the answer to, and Leif remains a puzzle, despite being so simple that Harle could take him apart and put him back together again twice before Leif even realized what was going on.
He's one of the only people Harle would take the time to put back together, truthfully.
But they're still young, and though Harle still doesn't have a name to put to their relationship, there's plenty of time to devise a word for it. There's plenty of time to play chess.