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Chapter Text

 Historians of future times will talk of the war between the Dusk and Dawn Dragons’ kingdoms, and they will have tales of great battles to focus on. Stories of both defeat and victory. Failures. Wins. Villains and heroes written of and decided by said victors, and the historians shall never know. The moments in-between. The small moments. Those moments that really shaped history.

 They’d never know about the run-ins in the hallways.

 Or the meetings in private rooms.

 Or the picnics, and the kisses each morning in bed, or the ways Leo and Ryoma Vincini fell in love in all the little ways.

 They’d never know, for they’d rather know of the ‘big’ moments. The ‘important’ moment. They’d rather hear and retell the tale of Valentine’s battle, rather repeat those stories about a final battle in Windmire, an assassination attempt behind enemy lines, and a final confrontation at the crux of it all - months and months of war - that ended with a king’s head rolling down the steps of his throne.

 Historians of future times will tell others of the continent’s ‘new beginning’ excitedly, yet forget.

 Forget that life went on for the survivors.

 This great war, between Dusk and Dawn, between their descendants, instigated by an abyss still unnamed - 

 It did not take place in a bubble.

 It was not simply a ‘historical event’ that the participants could read about and then flip the page on, skipping to the next great historical event.

 It was life, for them. Their lives. They lived it. They survived it.

 And life kept on moving following the war, without waiting for the historians to catch up, or them for that matter.

 It wasn’t long after the war ended.

 Not long at all.

 Autumn still held the world in its lulling embrace, all bracing winds and fallen leaves on the breezes and apple pies left out on windowsills to cool. Fields ready for harvest. Mountains freezing early. The hints of frost and snow incoming, as the days passed by in golden sunlit valleys. Or, one valley. One valley in particular. You know of it. You learned to love it. You heard parts of its story, and now you’ve returned for another part.

 Valentine. Valentine, Capital of The Green Halidom, formerly of Nohr, the Dusken Kingdom.

 Newly ceded land to the Vincini family, to Alistair Vincini specifically, newly named intended-husband to Clova Vincini, the late Lady Vincini, lost during the Concubine Wars, and there was history there, to be told, for sure to be told - 

 Regardless.

 It wasn’t long after the war had ended, after Nohr had surrendered to Hoshido’s allied forces in the rotten heart of Windmire, and Leo Vincini had returned to Valentine proper. It wasn’t long since family lines had been drawn. It wasn’t long since the newest members of the Vincini family had been born.

 Twin sons, born to Leo and Ryoma Vincini, the next Lords of The Green Halidom. 

 Shiro Vincini, the elder twin, and Jewels Vincini, the younger. The kitsune son. 

 Stories have their ways of becoming complicated the longer they go on. Twisting and turning, and sometimes the narrator is unreliable and sometimes the world fights back against the path a story takes, and sometimes details get a bit muddied in translation, but that? That wouldn’t change. The birth of those two sons would not change.

 Because it was the happiest moment of both Leo and Ryoma’s lives. It was the moment that sealed their legend in history. The husbands who picked one another over the world. The lovers who loved across battlelines. The man and the boy who fell in love simply by getting lost in the woods one day, because a goddess was smiling down on them.

 It was the moment at the end of the beginning, and the beginning of another part of their story.

 A story simply of home.

 This story. 

 And this story? 

 Begins like so many chapters of the beginning.

 With Leo Vincini grumbling because he hated waking up in the morning. Stretching. Humming happily when his husband’s fingers curled in his hair and ran down his spine, and reluctantly opening his eyes to face the world. His world. His husband’s smiling face and kind, soft tawny eyes, love etched into every bit of themselves and their bond. 

 With three little words on the tip of his tongue as he realized he loved his life and was so happy to be alive.

 “I love you.” Leo Vincini said it softly, cheek squished into his pillows and green irises shining in the morning sunlight through their bedroom’s windows. 

 “As I love you, my little tomato,” his husband answered, cupping his cheek so sweetly, and using the contact to tip their faces together. To make their lips touch. To kiss him chastely on another autumn morning, tasting like the cherry blossoms of his home, the both of them sighing so happily into that kiss.

 Before breaking apart with matching peals of laughter, as hungry mewls began to sound from between them.

 From their twin sons, tucked between their bodies on the bed, already kneading at Leo’s stomach in search of morning milk. Hungry little darlings with wide eyes and chubby cheeks and all of their parents’ best features. So, maybe, maybe this morning was a little different from all those others. But as Leo shifted so he could nudge his sons up the bed to nurse, and Ryoma leaned in to kiss his forehead and helpfully watch like the doting husband he was? 

 It was a difference neither of them could’ve ever loved more than they already did. 

 They weren’t lost anymore. They were found. 

 And they had their home stables right there in Valentine. To make of it whatever they wished.

‘The Green Halidom’. 

 West of Nohr, while southwest of Hoshido, and east of Nestra - tucked safely alongside the mountainous lands that separated two halves of a great continent. Formerly known only as an ‘uncultured’ region of Nohr. Far too wild and green to be considered a proud part of the Dusk Dragon’s Kingdom. Of course, in the end, that saved Valentine and its surrounding lands. Saved it from greed and corruption for its disgrace of being ‘boorish’.

 Valentine, Delgo, Nalina, Wuthering, and the territory of the wolfskin packs on Mount Garou - all lands lost to Nohr at the end of the war, by decree of the then soon-to-be King Xander. 

 There was discourse, of course. 

 Questioning. 

 Opposition.

 All of the above redoubling when it was officially announced Crown Prince Ryoma Hakuryuu was now the former Crown Prince, Ryoma Hakuryuu of Hoshido. Was now? 

Ryoma Vincini, Lord-Consort of this new land founded in the wake of war, wedded completely out of the blue - or rather, the green - to Leo Vincini. Heir and Lordling of Valentine. Formerly the Second Prince of Nohr. Formerly the Crown Prince-Consort of Hoshido due to his engagement to Ryoma. Formerly so many things.

 Needless to say, it was a minor mess.

Nay, a major mess. 

 And when adding the fact that Leo had given birth only a week after the war ended? Had twin sons to struggle learning to raise and nurse, while dealing with all of these matters? Him and Ryoma slept little for many, many days that month. Many. But they were not alone, and they had help. They had hope. That mattered so much more to them. 

 More than the sleepless nights. Or the nights where they fell asleep at their desks, rather, or the debacle of settling into a whole new land, of adjusting to their new lives, of adjusting to the effects their sons had on those lives, of living as newlyweds without a war hanging like an executioner’s axe over their necks every second of every day.

 They’d never really known or loved one another outside of times of uncertainty and weariness and fighting.

 So they discovered together, after the war, that they loved each other all the more in times of peace. If it was even possible for Leo and Ryoma to love each other more still. 

 It sounded impossible, when they already shared a love worthy of legend that gods had wept for.

 The name, ‘The Green Halidom’, was chosen one night. Leo drinking rose tea with warm swirls of steam rising from the teacup. Lounging on the sofa in their bedroom, half-asleep. Dark lines under his eyes. Staring at Brynhildr, placed so innocently on the coffee table in front of him. His legendary tome truly there, like she always often was with how little he liked letting her out of his sight since Windmire. 

 Brynhildr. Leo Vincini named this new land for Brynhildr, for her magic, for the life she brought to all. 

 ‘Halidom’ for they were not a kingdom in the typical sense, were not even certain they’d be taking the title of kings just yet. ‘Halidom’ for following the worship of Brynhildr made sense for these western lands once of Nohr. Lands that had worshiped the ancient tome for times after time. Lands that all shared the similarities of old religions.

Long ago laid to rest religions. 

 Lands that all had their own cathedrals - in disrepair and not - to Brynhildr. Lands that had her shrines in their crop fields to leave offerings at so their harvests would be blessed, lands that had her symbols etched into the mortar of homes’ hearths to bless those homes as well, lands that created windchimes with moonstones for the moonstone pressed into her leather cover. 

 Brynhildr was more than a tome, but maybe Leo had somewhat forgotten that with how long he’d spent forbidden from returning home. 

 Returning home meant remembering. 

 And somehow, honoring Brynhildr by naming their new lands after her, after her worship, after her magic running free beneath the soil like underground rivers - ? Felt right. Felt so right. Deep in his bones, in his own magical core, it had resonated with Leo in a way few other than mages could understand, but it'd been right down to his soul. So? The new Lordling of The Green Halidom had set down his rose tea to immediately begin drafting papers to officiate the name. 

 Ryoma had come in search of his little husband later that night, their sons tucked close to his chest in a swaddle of fabric, for it was time for them to nurse. 

 He found Leo hunched over his desk, documents for officiation, inquiries from neighboring lands, invitations for fellow Lords and Ladies, and other relevant drafts of paper scattered all around him. A smear of ink on the tip of his nose. Eyes sunken, but bright with the glee of what the love he felt had created. 

 When he’d bashfully told his confused husband the name he’d decided, realizing a tad late he hadn’t told Ryoma at all? 

 Ryoma had laughed, a loving sound, rocking their sons gently as he grinned at Leo. 

 Then had taken the chance while they stood in the quiet, in the dim light of a low-burning candle at that messy, messy desk, to cup Leo’s cheek.

 And lean in for a kiss that left some ink smeared on his lips and Leo blinking cross-eyed at his nose, blushing, declaring, “I love it, my dear. Green. Like yours and your mother’s eyes, and like the magic you wielded to change the world. For us. For family. Nothing could be more fitting.”

 Indeed, only a mage was capable of understanding the deep, intimate need to listen to his magical core in this. And Ryoma couldn’t understand that reasoning. 

But he understood all of the reasons that mattered most. 

The fates they’d changed to be together. For one another, and for their families.

So, The Green Halidom, or the Halidom of Brynhildr, was born with a kiss.

 Like so many things in their life, it was born with an ‘I love you’.

 They changed their world for one another, as always. It was a very, very, very busy time. The after. That after the war, that after the after. The after the after the after - Brynhildr preserve them, Dawn Dragon preserve them…Dusk Dragon preserve them. Leo, having recently given birth? Was overwhelmed by the kitting instincts of a nursing kitsune for a time. Stuck in his nest. Tucking his sons close, to nurse, to groom, to love and be imprinted on. Nobody else was allowed close besides his mate. Nobody else saw him in any way other than poking their head quickly through the door frame. 

 Leaving in a hurry each time, before a hormonal fox-mother could try and tear them apart for intruding on his den. 

 By the time that instinctive time had passed, things had already changed so much. In such little time. Somebody had taken life’s hourglass and shaken it wildly, moving things in the world forward far too much for having been so few of days. Maybe it was just that Leo spent so long focused on the war that he couldn’t remember the last time things that didn't concern army numbers and upcoming battles and strategizing over a war table mattered. 

 King Xander Windsor of Nohr was crowned in Windmire before the first week was finished witnessing the world change. 

 An official invite was sent to the now husband-Lords of Valentine, less out of courtesy and more for the fact that Nohr was now a vassal-kingdom beneath the rule of Hoshido. They did not attend. Leo was still nestbound, and Ryoma refused to go further than a few rooms down the corridor without him, but they heard after the fact that it was a very…rushed and prompt coronation. 

 What a polite way to put Xander needing to be crowned as soon as possible to prevent a power vacuum from consuming Nohr-proper.

 What a polite way to put Xander being crowned at the foot of the throne where his father’s head had rolled. Where he’d lain, cut open and tortured by that father. Where he’d surrendered Nohr to Hoshido and Hoshido’s allies at the war’s end, mutilated and exhausted beyond belief. 

 With Windmire, Nohr’s capital, a razed city of ashes and bloodied streets surrounding him.

 Leo did not put much thought towards his half-brother’s coronation, other than to send a short letter of congratulations. And an even shorter letter after that. Both to personally announce Ryoma’s decision to abdicate for him, and to privately inquire about his…injuries, as well as the states of his half-sisters still in Nohr. 

 The letter he received in reply several days later was written in such a shaky script, carrying the weight of King Xander’s exhaustion in every uneven line.

 They took small steps, but those steps were still leaps and bounds more than what their relationship had been during and even before the war. 

 Besides Xander being crowned King of Nohr? 

 There were his Hoshidan in-laws and siblings, returning to Hoshido.

 There…was obviously a bit of an uproar following the return of Hoshido’s royals without their beloved Crown Prince Ryoma at the lead. There was worry. Then, that worry turned to shock, with the announcement of Ryoma’s abdication. Then that shock turned to panic and maybe some outrage. Coming out of the other side of a terrifying war to learn a former enemy of the Dawn Kingdom had taken their Crown Prince as his husband and stolen him away? 

 Sakura was readily accepted as the new Crown Princess of Hoshido, but Leo’s reputation had taken a rather tall swan dive off a cliff, so to speak. 

 While Ryoma spent the nights curled protectively around his smaller husband, murmuring reassurances into his blonde ruffles, reassurance after reassurance, that Hoshido would understand one day. Accept him one day. Love him one day. Leo hummed, and focused on their kits, not worried in the least. Ryoma knew that deep down too, he was sure.

 He was used to being a kingdom’s villain. 

 Princess Hinoka and Prince Takumi were expected to act as ruling regents until the new Crown Princess came of age, electing the new Hoshidan royal council in the month that followed and dealing with Hoshido gaining both Nohr and Cheve, to a smaller degree, as vassal lands under their rule. Not to mention fulfilling their treaty terms with Nestra. It was no surprise those in-laws wouldn’t be able to visit for a while.

 Ryoma kept his spirits up by focusing entirely on his spouse and sons, and there was never a day where he felt lonely…even if he was used to always having his younger siblings flocking to him throughout his life. 

 With life, you grow up. And with life? 

 You eventually move on. Ryoma had moved on, and by doing so? He’d caused his younger brother and sisters to do so as well. 

More minor news from Hoshido involved the trouble of Corrin being less…well, welcomed, since what she’d done during Valentine’s battle had spread. Since her loyalty had been tested and she’d failed. Her naivety was being considered, but she was being doubly scrutinized with Ryoma already having gone, and withdrawing as she supposedly had since returning to Castle Shirasagi, the capital of Hoshido. 

Leo spent even less time lingering on the thought of his older sister who’d let him down than Xander, since she’d let him down in a different sort of way. 

 Maybe a much more painful way. 

 Azura, like Princesses Camilla and Elise of Nohr, had taken on supportive roles for both their people and their royal siblings, and news of them was often accompanied by documentation in need of signing or news of some new political move or delegation work or otherwise. Busy? 

 Busy indeed; all of it. Life. 

 If there was more detail to go into, there would be the goodbye Leo shared with his grandfather, King Thorin of Nestra, shortly after being able to leave his nest. His grandfather who had a kingdom to return to. A war to help his people recover from. A treaty to ask for fulfillment from Hoshido from. His grandfather with a silver and sapphire crown on his brow, who joked about retirement in his old age and coming back to Valentine to spoil his little great-grandkits. 

 More detail would be the tale of Ryoma’s retainers leaving. Of Saizo with his expressionless mask and Kagero with her painting supplies safely packed away, of Kaze accepting some herbal teas from Valentine to take home to Igasato and his daughter, of Orochi tucked close to her husband and arguing in his ear about how many sweets they were bringing home for their son. 

 Retainers no longer, for their Crown Prince was a Crown Prince no longer. 

 Ryoma raised his hand in a final wave to the Igasatans who had served him since childhood, faithfully and loyally, and even when they were out of sight? 

 He took a long, long breath before slowly lowering his hand. Eyes bright. Too bright. 

 Leo snuggled under his arm, their sons in his arms, smiling as Ryoma glanced down at him with those bright, brown eyes. Big and beautiful and bittersweet. And Leo kissed him on the cheek as they stood together amidst swirling fallen leaves. One of them saying goodbye to the retainers they’d lived and laughed and loved.

A few short days later, Leo did the same. 

Lifting a hand, Ryoma holding their sons this time, he waved goodbye to Odin. A temporary goodbye, if his younger brother was to keep his promise, but it was still the longest time they’d spent separated since before the war had started. Off on a fine horse, in finer spirits, to meet with Laslow and Selena at the border and travel to Castle Shirasagi. To the Sunburst Throne. 

 For the other two of their trio had yet to break the curses keeping them from ever aging, as Odin had. After…after that, after he spent some time courting Takumi again in Hoshido, he swore to return to Leo. At least for a while.

 Niles he had to go find and grab and drag out of Vincini Manor by his cloak, urging his eldest brother of all to follow Odin with a small kick to his backside. 

 The man may have been shameless, and terribly ill-mannered, and inappropriate with a dedication that spoke only of taking pride in how scandalized he could make folks, but Leo knew Niles loved Laslow. And he wouldn’t let his brother, his first retainer, his silly stray with the heart of a snowy ocean, spend the rest of his life wondering what if should this be his last chance to see Laslow. 

 So they settled into life without their retainers. 

 So they dealt with the topsy-turvy turnover that was kingdoms reestablishing themselves after a war. Not unlike them sitting together, going over a great many documents with apple turnovers dusted with cinnamon on autumn nights, their sons taking turns being held by both their mother and father. 

 His papa, Lord Alistair as it was, belatedly named Lord Alistair Vincini - for the first thing Leo did as soon as he possibly could as now one of the highest powers in their lands was officiate the marriage never to be between his mother and the man she’d loved. 

 The man who should’ve been his father by blood. 

 The man, as it was, who stepped forward and offered to become the Lord of The Green Halidom. 

 The Lord, making Leo Heir to The Green Halidom and Ryoma his Heir-Consort, so that his son in all but blood wouldn’t have to come into full power of a barely established land so soon into not only motherhood but marriage. 

 So.

 Life…

 Goes on. 

 Brynhildr had blessed them, but of course. And despite the long evenings? The melted candles, the mountains of paperwork and documents to pick their way through? The exhaustion, the changes, the rumors, the little details? There were a few bigger details Leo and Ryoma Vincini preferred to focus on almost entirely. A few bigger details that made them too happy to regret. To regret any of it. 

 Valentine was in the middle of its finest harvest season yet, and autumn was beautiful blanketing their valleys under the mountains.

 They were husbands no longer restrained or worn down by war, but more simply by life, and they’d dreamt of that for too long to not appreciate it. 

 They had their whole lives ahead of them, and they were hopeful for it, for once without anything darkening the paths they’d yet to take. 

 And? 

 More than anything else, they had the blessing of being parents to roll in happily. Their Shiro, their Jewels, their sons; they adored those first weeks with their newborn kits more than anything else in all their lives. Every blanket swaddle, every hiccup and yip, every nursing, even every dirty linen and all the drool that got everywhere and all the bits of toys and furniture that ended up having tiny clawmarks scratched onto them. 

 Clova’s son often went out into the valley as things began to settle, a bit more than the frantic pace of life after a war had been. 

 He would sit in the swaying grasses of a golden valley, his sons cradled in his arms or playing in his lap, with Rose prancing around them or galloping off again. And again. 

 A filly free to run free. 

 But she always came back to her one-day rider, to her rider’s sons, and she always went home to Valentine’s stables at day’s end. 

 That was simply the new chapter their life had taken on. 

 And Leo Vincini had never been happier to have him and Rose stable-bound.

Chapter Text

 It was a lovely autumn day. 

 Sunlight shining down through golden leaves, fallen leaves swirling in the breeze, that slightly chilled slightly brisk breeze that had curtains billowing. A day that began with a cup of steaming spiced tea and cinnabons, and was close to ending now. No surprise there. Days begin and days end, and that was a cycle eternally continued as long as the world existed. But somehow? 

 Day in and day out had such meaning nowadays, for Leo. 

 Because it wasn’t simply another day of pain. It wasn’t simply another day of being let down, being blamed, being harmed. It wasn’t just another day. It wasn’t just another day in the life Clova Vincini’s son had been forced to live in Windmire ever since her passing. Her murder. 

 It wasn’t just another day during the war, either. 

 And there was a difference. 

 And that difference mattered. 

 Because Leo Vincini stood silently next to a crib, and that mattered. The crib his beloved had crafted with his own two hands. Far, far too big they knew now, considering they’d been expecting upwards of possibly five kits. Six, seven, eight, even nine - ! And they’d ended up with two. And oh, how they loved those two, their two, twin sons. But. Still. 

 The fact that the crib was supersized was a bit…impossible to miss. 

 The kits were curled up where they’d crawled earlier, one corner of the crib - the spare nest - which happened to be closest to their mother. Coincidence? No, and Leo’s heart had felt like it’d grown wings when he’d knelt down outside the crib and watched his sons do their adorable little wiggle-crawling motions towards him. Yipping and babbling for attention.

 They’d exhausted themselves; playing with their rattles and the tiny plush toys Leo had giggled about as they took turns tugging on them. 

 That autumn afternoon in the nursery, his precious sons were nestled tight in a bundle of baby blankets. Shiro was wrapped around Jewels almost as if hugging his younger brother, the two of them creating impressive puddles of drool for ones so small. Snoring and whining in their sleep. When the whines began, however? 

 Leo immediately knelt by the crib, sticking his fingers through the wooden bars to pet each of them. Keening softly deep, deep in his throat like Kaden had shown him how to. 

 The whines tapered off. Their unhappy wiggles did too. 

 His sons began purring, and he grinned so wide his cheeks were squished against the bars for how close he tried to get. Stuck on them. 

 Stuck on how dearly he loved his sons. 

 They’d gotten bigger. That felt like an odd observation when they were barely a month old, but babies grew fast! Kitsune babies, at least. Kits. And even so, they still weren’t the size of normal, human babies yet. Not even newborns. That had inspired such a protective streak in their mother that Leo was wacked over the head by every time he so much as glanced at them, or wasn’t watching them, that he was left dizzy with it often. 

 The instincts of a nursing kitsune mother were intense. 

 Shiro, his oldest, had been about the size of Ryoma’s hand at birth. Just slightly smaller then. Now? He was just slightly bigger. 

 Jewels, his youngest, had been about the size of his hand. Now? He was also slightly bigger than that.

 But still. They were bigger. They’d grown more into their proportions with stubby limbs and heads almost too heavy for them, their hair had thickened, their eyes had settled into their coloring, and Jewels had the cutest mini fox tail and ears. As golden as Leo's had been as a kitsune. 

 The both of them were blessings, and the halidom’s new heir could’ve spent all his life watching his sons simply nap. 

 Nothing, nothing, soothed the old scars on Leo’s heart the way watching his family did. 

 So he kept watching. As keen as any mother hen, aware his sons would need nursing the moment they woke up. They were hungry little kits. 

 The murmur of a door opening and closing he noticed, but he didn’t even turn to look as he lifted a finger to his lips. Shushing. Eyes still on his sleeping children. He curled his fingers around the bars of the crib and shifted to a more comfortable position kneeling there, and smiled.

 Following a set of footsteps approaching, there was a pause. Shuffling. 

 He rose to his feet.

 Forearms wound around his waist to hold him, and a nose pressed into the crook of his neck where his matemark was. Scarred and as permanent as could be.

A kiss was pressed to it, and shivers raced up Leo’s spine. 

 “My dove,” Ryoma mumbled, lips on his skin, on his scar, and the blonde hummed to urge him to speak even if his voice was so, so soft so as not to wake the boys, “did it take them long to get to sleep? I’m sorry I was gone for so long. Your father needed help with the Wuthering delegates.” 

 “So much work to be done,” Leo said, sighed more like, and let his head lull back. Let his darling husband hold him. He turned his nose into that brunette mane and smelled flowers and smiled more, “So much business to deal with,” he breathed against the shell of his love’s ear, “So many meetings, so much paperwork…so many expectations.” 

 Staring down at their baby boys tangled up in their baby blankets, in one another, the younger shivered at the feeling of another kiss being pressed to his matemark. 

 The feeling of being connected, and that connection strong and thriving between them. 

 Strong enough that the Vincini heir could feel Ryoma’s guilt, distant like an imprint on paper yet still there. There enough to be seen. There enough to feel if he focused on it. There enough to be noticed and noted, and cause Leo to close his eyes to the feeling for they’d already had this talk. They’d already walked this path. 

 During the war and after. 

 During many of their late nights together in the past month or so. 

 “...You shouldn’t have to worry so heavily about such things,” the man he loved said, naturally not for the first time, surely not for the last, and it was Leo’s turn to tilt his head and kiss Ryoma’s temple. Reaching up to brush some of his wild bangs aside. Another kiss, and another, and a third, and when Yoma lifted his face, Leo cupped his cheek to pull his lips up. To kiss him properly, and slowly, and sweetly. 

 For a while, listening only to the sounds of their lips clinging to one another and the quiet snores and keens of their sleeping sons in their crib.

 “We’ve had this talk,” was what Leo breathed against those lips that breathed into him when the kiss ended, when their mouths were still sharing the same air, and he punctuated the sentence with a quick peck, pointed, “We knew what we were getting into. We knew we’d have to focus on both the halidom and our sons, Yoma, and we planned for it.”

 Another peck, and this time? It was Ryoma deepening it.

 It was his Ryoma dipping his big hands down lower, grasping his hips, and turning them to face one another properly. Those hands grasping the top of his dress skirt. Those hands, with those thumbs, rubbing slow circles into the dip of his hips through the fine fabric, as he was wont to do when he needed to bring up uncomfortable topics. 

 Comfort in the face of discomfort; Ryoma was so lovably predictable. 

 “Leo,” and there was the uncomfortable topic, and big brown eyes worriedly fixed on his face shaded by afternoon sunlight, and his mate as aware as he could be of the truth of his next words, “you’re exhausted, my love.” 

 One hand traveled up, up, up the front of Leo’s lounging gown so he could brush one of those thumbs under an eye next. No doubt tracing the shadows there from lack of sleep and an excess of work…and long nights of them adjusting to having two kits to care for. 

 “You haven’t slept well in a month,” Ryoma went on, and both of them knew a bit more than a month ago was when the twins had been born, and was potentially the last night either of them had slept more than five hours at once. Neither of them regretted. But both of them knew the dangers of such a thing.

 The former Hoshidan heir especially, since he’d been extra concerned about Leo going from giving birth to working so much. Even if Ryoma had shouldered just as much if not more to take work off of Leo's plate.

 In Ryoma’s mind, he could’ve never shouldered enough. 

 The fact that Leo had to return to work at all his darling seemed to view as a failure weighing on himself. 

 Which was why Leo Vincini had made his oath to always be as honest to his golden-hearted husband as he ever could be. Even if it was hard sometimes.

 “...Children are a lot, Ryoma,” he said, softly, leaning forward as the brunette rose to his full height simply so he could hold the blonde in his arms, “We knew this. We talked about this. We made our choice. We don’t regret it.” 

 Lifting his face from where he’d nuzzled into Ryoma’s chest, he tugged a bit on his husband’s yukata to make sure his next words were heard, locking eyes with those tawnies…then glancing down at the crib they stood beside. So much larger than it needed to be. With room for more. With hope for more, maybe, far in the future. Containing the biggest parts of both of their hearts right there. Right there.

 “We don’t regret them.” 

 Shiro kicked one of his stubby little legs in sleep, making a sound somewhere between a human baby’s babble and a kitsune kit’s yip. 

 Jewels responded in kind with a proper yip, his fluffy little triangles for fox ears twitching and brushing at his older brother’s nose. 

 Both parents chuckled a bit when Shiro scrunched up his nose to sneeze, and then squeezed his younger brother as if protecting him from the sneeze. 

 Jewels’ stub for a tail twitched like it was trying to wag. Shiro babbled and tugged more of the baby blanket over his twin even in sleep. Already such a protective big brother. Such a sweetheart. Shiro may not be able to act as kitsune-like as his kitsune brother, but he took after many kitsune anyways in other ways if not biologically. Instinctually, for one. An older littermate who would do anything for his younger. 

 Jewels, for his part, so tiny and so fragile and so kit-like, needed it. 

 They were perfect. 

 So perfect, and so beautiful, and like so many many many many moments since the twins were born? Leo Vincini, their mother, found himself wishing he was capable of pausing time to stand there with their father forever and just watch them nap. Innocent and free of the world’s burden and never ever destined to grow up and grow away from him. 

 “We could never regret them,” Ryoma confirmed, so softly, so firmly.

 The sort of firm only a General of Hoshido could summon, short and swift and hidden behind honor, and ready to ignite a war against the world for what he believed to be right. Or in this case? For their sons. Their greatest gifts of all. Their baby boys, that they would rewrite history for if it came to that. 

 They would do absolutely anything for them. No matter the cost, no matter the pain, no matter the eventual end it might bring to others. For their family, for their children, Leo and Ryoma Vincini would raise and raze dynasties. And they wouldn’t stop there. They would salt the earth and drain the seas and remove mountains from the world’s maps. They would change reality for their children - all of this they both knew down to the marrow of their bones every time they so much as laid eyes on Shiro. On Jewels. 

 It had been such a terrifyingly real realization, for Leo specifically, in that first week of being a new parent.

 “I still don’t know how…how he…” 

 Leo let that sentence die a swift death on the tip of his tongue.

 They’d had this conversation during many late nights already in the last month.

 ‘I will never be able to understand a parent hurting their child now, Ryoma. NEVER.’

 The blonde boy sucked in a deep breath his lungs longed for, and slowly lowered himself down to his knees. Returning himself to the shaggy rug next to the crib. This time? Ryoma lowered himself too. This time? They knelt together, him partially cradled in his love’s lap, reaching through the crib's rails to let both of his sons nuzzle into his hand like the darlings they were. 

 ‘I will never be able to understand how he could enjoy hurting US so, Ryoma.’

 Two tiny, tiny hands grasped onto his pinky and ring finger, so small, skin as soft as could be, they rubbed their noses into the creases of his finger and purred, and Leo began to shake.

 ‘I will never be able to understand, Ryoma.’ 

 Ryoma never mentioned the shakes, but he tucked his smaller husband to himself so tightly that Leo was half-enveloped in his yukata with him. Beaming at the image of his spouse and sons in the late afternoon sunshine.

Thinking the same thing he’d told Leo when he couldn’t understand. 

 ‘You never will understand, Leo, because you are not him. And you never will be him, and I know that. Because I love you. And I love you as you are, and as you will be, and as I’ve dreamt of you being, and as I’ve feared of you becoming. Yet, I have never feared you becoming the sort of person who would harm our children. You would sooner tear gods from their thrones. Knowing you? You would find it the easier task, I am sure.’

 They kissed on a nice, sunny afternoon in autumn, in Vincini Manor, in Valentine, capital of The Green Halidom.

 The start of their next story was always just the start of another new day. 

 Was just another kiss. 

 Just another softly spoken promise.

 Just another small memory that would be forgotten to the deep depths of time, but even forgotten? It mattered. Even small? It mattered. And even at the end? It mattered. It all mattered. From beginning to the next end, and to the next and the next. Because their story had only just begun again, and again it was another quiet moment in their nest, and again it was another embrace, and again it was another dream. 

 And deep down, below the water’s surface, there was still a darkness gathering.

 But for now, the hisses couldn’t be heard, so they were free to live for at least a little while. 

 Leo and Ryoma Vincini had twin sons to raise, they had a halidom to officiate and settle into the reach of history’s bookmarks, they had a life together as wedded men to live, and a whole new outlook on how that life would turn out both together and apart. Just another day to start in Valentine. Just another day to start in the same nest. Just another day together. Just another day. Just a day. 

 Brynhildr minded not; waiting.

 Waiting for the day her chosen wielder, her child from another womb, would be truly ready and willing to seek out the next big tragedy of his story. 

 For now, she was content to be a godmother to his twins, and let this next, soft epilogue unfold.

 Chapter by chapter.

 Page by page.

 Word by word.

Chapter Text

 Morning birds in Valentine sing softer in late autumn.

 Morning dared to come and morning’s sun dared to rise again. Leo didn’t even have to open his eyes to know that terrible truth. Sunshine. Dim and light as only sunshine through an autumn haze hung over the valley could be. It was illuminating the back of his eyelids. Even tossing an arm over his eyes shielded him little since he could feel sunshine on his cheeks. Warm. Waking him.

 Why did something so beautiful and so warm and so soft have to involve waking up? 

 Grumbling, the blonde boy curled defiantly into a ball even sunshine’s assault couldn’t penetrate…then smiled, sleepily, to himself.

 Because there were two answering growls in response to his grumbling, and just the sounds were so cute.
 
 His sons’ growls were like kits play-fighting. Growling at imaginary opponents, and squirming where they were nestled close to his stomach.

 Mindful of them, Leo adjusted the way he’d curled up. Discovering his will to wake in those brave growls from his little protectors, he also managed to win the battle to force his eyes open. Mornings. Ugh. He still smiled down at the two tiny bundles more precious than all the world’s riches. His sons; still asleep. 

 Sure to wake soon for their morning milk, though, now that their mother was awake. They all seemed to have developed an internal clock for such things. 

 Leaning down into their space, and quite frankly twisting himself into a contorting, ring-like shape to look at them from a different angle where his cheeks were squished into the rumpled sheets of his and his mate’s nest and his sons were upside-down but even upside-down they were adorable - 

 Clova’s son giggled at the mere existence of his own sons, and stayed twisted up like that for a long time. 

 Watching them slowly wake up.

 Surrounded by the scent of his mate, his nightgown twisted and bunched around him, his baby boys drooling on a good portion of the fabric as if they wanted to make lakes of drool, Leo was awake. Leo forgot about the offensive morning light.

 The crib his beloved had crafted got far less use than intended…at least, for now. 

 The kits were too young to go far from their parents’ nest. Kaden, when asked, before him and Barrow had returned to the Hamlet with the other kitsunes, had lightly suggested separate nests after the second or third month. But even then? Kits were each different, each unique, because instincts were all different. All unique. And his sons were both human and kitsune, even if they presented as if they both leaned in different directions each.

 Kitsune were all different from one another. All in need of being taught in different ways, of growing at different speeds, of maturing into full-fledged shifters in their own time. There had been a whole week of lessons from Kaden and the most experienced parents of the kitsune company after the birth, before they’d gone, and - 

 Well, it all came down to one thing. 

 Every kit was going to be different. And every bit of advice and know-how was going to be more like general guidelines for Leo and Ryoma in raising their sons. 

 Half-human, half-kitsunes were rare, after all. And they all grew in their own ways.

 Of course, the complications of how they came to be conceived, and how Leo had been unwillingly changed into a kitsune at that time, and several other factors all meant raising Shiro and Jewels would be an endeavor. An endeavor for sure. But neither husband would take the easy road if it meant their sons being any different than they were. 

 For now, their sons slept on the same bedding as them each night, and when there was work to be done? That work was done in the nursery or in their nest. Their bedroom, their den. Where the new Lord-Heirs of The Green Halidom could work and still keep their sons within sight at all times. Only very, very, very rarely were they ever out of Leo’s sight, and never were they supposed to be out of both of their sights. 

 When they slept, they slept curled towards each other, an oval of space between them.

 A cavity perfectly filled by their twin sons, nestled in tight, tucked in close, safe as could be sleeping right against their hearts every night. 

 Which definitely made waking up a more appealing ordeal every morning and counting. 

 On this particular morning, it was just a mother and his kits still nestled into their nest as the sun rose. The sheets were rumpled, warm, but Ryoma was nowhere to be seen. Leo sniffed unhappily at that, but immediately turned his attentions to his sons instead of his missing mate who was probably off scrounging up a breakfast for them again. 

 The urge to care for and provide for one another had redoubled since having the boys, and Ryoma had made it his morning pilgrimage to venture down to the kitchens of Vincini Manor so they could have peaceful breakfasts in their nest each morning. 

 Excluding times when Papa specifically asked to have breakfast with them as a family, which was rare because of how busy life had been.

 “Ugh. Mornin’s.” Leo grumbled verbally, aloud rather than inside of his head, and his western Nohrian…or rather, The Green Halidom accent came through clear as could be. He promptly face-planted in his very soft and feathery pillows in search of his dear unconsciousness as he continued to feel the boys wiggle and wake more fully against his stomach.

 A few soft hums, and they were satisfied with waiting a few more minutes for their own breakfasts.

 “You’re as bad as your father, you know that?” He mumbled into the pillows he was contorted around, hugging his sons close as he felt them begin to gnaw and suckle on fabric from his nightgown in search of the milk they were used to, “Waking up at sunrise. Rarely settling before sundown. Snugglers. You get that from him, not me. I never snuggled that much before your father came along so clearly it's a natural trait inherited from him.” 

 Shiro’s big, brown eyes finally opened fully, and the tiny, tiny babe looked right at his mother.

 And his mouth opened into the biggest, fangless, brightest smile ever accompanied by excited babble as those hands as small as his thumb made grabby motions at him. 

 Clearly his eldest was hungry.

 Who was Leo to ever say no? 

 He reached out to poke his son’s cheeks and earn more babbles that had the golden-haired twin waking more and more.

 Time for their breakfast, then.

 Unfurling and propping himself back on the many, many, many hoarded pillows of his pillow-hoarding husband, Leo sat up. Smiling at his sons as Shiro began the journey of squirming his way up from the plateau of fabric that was Leo’s nightgown. He laughed outright at the sight of the tiny darling doing so with such big, brown eyes and already the same wildly untamed brunette hair of his father.

 He softened his laughter when Jewels whined, reaching up to slide the straps of his nightgown off of his shoulders.

 Shiro could fit in one palm, and Leo preferred coaxing his son to curl around his ribs to nurse. So he did so. Always such a hungry boy! Shiro had stormed his way - in a roly poly way - up to Leo’s chest for breakfast. Fresh milk. He latched on and began suckling. 

Leo kneaded his swollen pecs to help the process along - they weren’t as tender as they’d been in the beginning.

 And as always so far, the younger twin woke up second. Without nearly as much noise, with big eyes inherited straight from his mama and grandmama, and stared at his brother nursing.

 Then whined.

 So Leo reached out, delicately, so as not to dislodge his nursing son, to lift the second twin up to his chest too. Jewels latched on and started nursing a few moments later. Having to reorientate himself and adjust before he even felt comfortable there. Always the more shy and cautious brother, as it was turning out.

 The boys nursed, silent and content.

 Leo let them, used to Shiro nursing more. Used to Jewels getting sleepy after nursing, and slipping down into his mother’s lap to curl up for a morning nap moments after finishing. Used to his older son joining his younger. Not to nap. Just to lay there, with his littermate. 

 With the murmur of the door opening, closing, green irises lifted from the children he’d learned to love watching when life had never let him near children before, really. Not as a villain. Ryoma entered their bedroom with quiet footsteps. A tray full of breakfast held by the man. Still steaming, smelling of scrambled eggs and perfectly greasy bacon that made Leo’s mouth water.

 They kissed, and then they ate breakfast curled up in their bed. Their mated nest. 

 That was how most of their mornings began nowadays. In the after days. 

 Leo loved it.

Morning consisted of them stretching, of the nesting instincts in Leo leading to him refluffing and shuffling their nest ever so slightly, and of them getting their sons dressed. In something more than the linen diapers they wore to bed. Or the onesies on colder nights - Jewels’ with a tiny slit cut in his bottom for his tail’s nub to poke out of. 

 Jewels usually wore Leo’s own baby clothes. Especially the ones with pictures of tomatoes embroidered into them.

His husband would laugh and claim he was trying to make their younger son adore tomatoes as much as he did, and Leo would pout and demand tomatoes as an apology for saying he would ever manipulate his baby boys in such a way! But…well - 

Tomatoes may just be worth the manipulation.

Shiro would wear the mini Hoshidan clothes, delivered from Hoshido with Ryoma’s belongings after the war. And he was such an adorable tyke. Pretty much all of the clothing had to be altered to fit babes the size of kitsune kits, but Valentine’s seamstresses had seemed to enjoy the job greatly. They even tried to refuse payment while gushing about how tiny their new, littler Lords were.  

 The mornings culminated with Leo sitting on one of the sofas of their bedroom - or removing all of the cushions from said sofas and crafting a nest right there out of them and blankets twisted together - doing paperwork as his sons played with toys.

 Nursing when they asked. 

 Changing diapers when needed.

 Tossing aside managerial materials to instead cuddle with his kits, nuzzling them and cooing as they purred in his arms, which was oftentimes how Ryoma found them later. In a cuddle pile, purring, humming, singing. And his darling husband would lay a blanket over the three of them, before sitting on the sofa to watch over them lovingly. 

 Ryoma, for his part, had become his Vincini husband’s delegate. 

 Wherever Leo Vincini was needed outside of their bedroom, there was Ryoma. Whenever Leo Vincini was called on, there was Ryoma. Whoever had reason to meet Leo Vincini, met Ryoma Vincini instead. His mate and his lover and his husband and his Consort. The Heir-Consort of The Green Halidom. It was worrying, at first, the amount of responsibilities tossed onto his husband’s shoulders after their sons’ birth.

 But the honorable man took to each and every responsibility like he was born to do it. Which, in a manner of speaking, he was.

 Valentine had swiftly begun to fall in love with their little Lord’s husband, to the relief of said little Lord. His guards especially approved of the duty-bound man, willing to take on any and all responsibilities that would’ve otherwise weighed on his newly-a-parent husband. Nevermind that he was in the same boat, that silly, silly teddy bear.

 But Papa was there to help him too, with many of the major delegations.

 It was complicated, but while his father, Alistair Fortuna, was not his father by blood? He was his father by choice, by life, and by the latent marriage Leo had officiated between his late mother and him as the man she’d wished to marry. He was now Alistair Vincini, in truth. And he had taken up technical Lordship of The Green Halidom…that he and the rest of the halidom viewed more as a regency. 

 Just until Leo had lived enough, loved enough, and settled into both his place as the next leader of a whole new land and parenthood. Then? Then, this son of Clova Vincini’s would take his place as the rightful ruler of the halidom properly. His people didn’t mind waiting, and didn’t mind remaining under Lord Alistair’s rule as they’d been for almost a decade already.

 In spite of that - all of that. 

 In spite of it all, the duties, the worries, the long nights and new things to adapt to while still so young and so in need of recovery? 

 Leo Vincini found himself often calling his life, this life shared with his family, simple. 

 Remarkably simple, compared to the life he’d lived thus far. Or the life he’d lived ever since he was nine years old. Ever since King Garon took him and his mother to Windmire against their will. Treating his wonderful, wonderful mother like a broodmare he’d bought once and him a spare heir he could pull out and dust off when necessary. Ever since her assassination. Ever since Windmire’s Court had changed him.

 Ever since becoming a villain, and ever since rising up to that reputation, and ever since the war. 

 Life was so simple, and busy, and beautiful. 

 Their days had a routine to them now that Leo relished in. With only a few acts breaking up said routine in simple ways.

Like a bath.

And Jewels looked so adorable, with his cheeks puffed up and his ears pinned back, struggling to stay strong as Leo cupped a bit more water in his hands to drop over him delicately.

 His son was sat on his knees, tail nub twitching so much that Leo could feel it and the young mother chuckled.

 Took a second to boop the tip of his son’s nose.

 Which spawned a whole array of reactions that were all equally adorable. From flinching back so hard he nearly toppled into the bath’s water with a whine, to screwing up his face in shock, to wide and shiny green eyes, and finally whimpering as he surrendered and stretched out his stubby arms towards his mama in search of comfort.

 Children so small that they were barely larger than your hands was…alarming, at times, since Leo could hold his sweet son to his chest with one palm alone.

 But also, he was simply adorable.

 More and more every day, he understood the term ‘baby fever’. To the great joy of both him and his beloved husband.

 The blonde babe whimpered a second time, trying to scramble deeper into the nook of his mother’s neck, and Leo made shushing noises in response. Ignoring the wet droplets scattered everywhere with all the sloshing they were doing, and equally ignoring his son gnawing toothlessly on his shoulder.

 “Oh, do you miss your brother?” 
 
 Gathering his hands under the squirming kit, he kept making noises like keens and shushing. Soothing his kit until Jewels had calmed enough to go still. Tucked up under his jawline. A tiny, tiny ball of basically all of Leo’s reasons to love life bundled into one thing. A son. With golden hair and golden ears and a golden tail and probably a golden heart too, since Ryoma was his father.

 Sighing softly, the Lordling of Valentine shifted in the tub. Leaning back against the wooden rim. Humming a song with no name nor rhyme to his son as he lifted one leg from the water idly.

 Flexing his foot.

 Curling his toes.

 Watching water droplets cascade down into the bath once more, the sound a reminder of so much.

 No bubbles this time, though. Jewels was so small he’d get lost in a bathtub of bubbles.

 “Your papa will bring Shiro back to you soon,” he said, softly, blowing lightly on Jewels’ little, little ears with a duck of his chin. He giggled as the tiny triangles for ears fluttered and fluffed up and his boy squirmed around with yips of protest.

 Jewels stopped. Waited. Then whined.

 His brother wasn’t there to back him up like he usually was.

 “Soon, sweetheart,” Leo swore, ruffling those blonde curls with a single finger alone since he was so small, “Soon, you and Shiro can have your nap together.” 

 Being the kitsune kit of the two, meant Jewels was so much more needy than Shiro. Because kitsune kits were needy. Clingy. And they needed to be. They practically never left the side of the ‘mother’ mate for the first two months of their life, according to Kaden and kin. Similar to how they spent the first week alone with the boys to let them imprint on them and settle the instincts to nest and stay and protect.

 Similar to that, Jewels would begin whimpering hysterically if Leo left his sight while he was awake.

 Jewels didn’t cry. Neither of his sons did. Shiro got loud and babbled and growled in his own human way, and Jewels would whine at higher and higher pitches and begin to shake and quiver terribly if he was upset.

 But neither twin had outright shed tears since the day they were born. Even if they were upset.

 No tears.

 Leo had sworn on Brynhildr to do everything in his and her powers to keep it that way.

 Speaking of, or thinking of, her wielder grinned when swirls of green and violet shades of magic began to dance on the water. They wove between his toes, and it tickled so he huffed and let his leg fall back underwater. Watching the magic dab at the water’s surface, sending ripples outward, swaying back and forth.

 Clearly waiting patiently for attention.

 But not from its wielder.

 “Jewels,” he breathed, nudging his son despite the noise he got in response, tiny, tiny hands tugging at whatever strands of hair he could grab with them in complaint, “look. Jewels, look. Your godmother wants to say hi!” 

 Big, round, as green as emeralds as green as Mama’s eyes peeked hesitantly out from his son’s hidey place against his neck. 

 Still holding strands of his hair for support, so Leo offered an index finger instead.

 And, gods, was it normal to want to simply start sobbing at his son wrapping itty-bitty fingers around his one finger, and looking between him and the magic with wide-eyed wonder? Or was that just Leo? 

 Then Jewels broke into the closest thing he had to an overjoyed reaction with a few shy giggles, and a small, toothless smile.

 He waved at the wisps of magic. 

 The wisps waved back, and continued to dance for him as he held his mama’s finger for support in this big, scary world. Too big for such a small babe. For his little kit. Overcome, Leo hummed happily and ducked his head to lick a small strip across Jewels’ forehead. Then stopped. Registered what he’d done with his tongue still partially poking past his lips, and sighed in resignation.

 Sometimes the instincts of a kitsune parent still got the better of him, though Jewels had simply tipped his face to him and closed his eyes patiently. Expecting to be groomed.

 His mother went for the soft washrag to dunk in the water and scrub instead.

 Jewels immediately mewled in complaint, and he felt like he was torturing a true angel with how the adorable kit curled back and yowled against the use of so much water. 

 “The suds at least have to go, Jewels!” He cooed, wondering idly if he’d been this fussy about baths as a baby or if it was simply Jewels…or even his kitsune half. But then, he’d been completely fine with water as a kitsune. Whereas his son’s ears went as flat as they could go in his wet curls and he continued mewling, squirming where he was propped up on Leo’s bent knees. Soap suds unnoticed as they were washed away. 

 Wisps of magic whispered soft words to the boy surely already destined to be a mage considering how they seemed to adore him so, but Jewels just kept right on with his mewls. 

 The torture only ended after a few more rubs of the washrag and his tiny son sat there drenched and pouting, yowling to empty air at the horrors he’d had to endure. 

 A bath! How dare he? 

 Clova Vincini’s son outright laughed as he finally set aside his instruments of ‘torture’ to cradle Jewels to his chest.

 At the same time as the bedroom door being knocked on, four times in sequence so he knew who was on the other side of the threshold, and Leo called them in. Looking up to smile at the image of Ryoma carrying Shiro and stepping into their room. A smile met his. Tawny eyes met his which were green as green could be. 

 And Shiro immediately began yowling in tune with his baby brother, without hesitation, not even needing to know why they were in distress just knowing that something had upset Jewels was enough. 

 “Still weary of water, is he?” Ryoma asked, his amusement thinly veiled behind his kind, kind eyes that still made Leo’s heart flutter every time they were fixed on him, approaching the bathtub where mother and son were soaking. 

 “An understatement, I’d have to say,” Leo intoned dryly, still one to smile as he did so, indicating down to their son who was now writhing and yowling in his arms since he was wet - the horror! Which made his husband outright laugh too, throwing his head back and shaking as he did so so happily.

 Shiro’s cries cut off momentarily.

 Because laughter was a good and happy sound, especially from a parent, so why was he so unhappy when that sound was there? The confusion was adorable. As adorable as Shiro continuing his cries hesitantly to keep supporting his baby brother afterwards. The twins would be a team to be reckoned with one day, when they were older. When they were grown. 

 The Lord-Consort of Valentine, his darling Ryoma, came to settle on his knees next to the bathtub. Not minding the water droplets wet on the floorboards from their splashing, as he leaned over the tub’s rim. Beaming at Shiro in his miniature yukata noticing Jewels and stretching out his stubby arms towards his brother. Making grabby hands. 

 Burying a squeak at simply how cute their kits were, Leo shifted towards the outer rim too. 

 Angling Jewels towards Shiro, even if the smaller was still sopping wet. 

 The second the brothers noticed and found one another, they were wrapped together in a hug. And the mewls quieted. The whines, the whimpers. The fear. Everything went away except for each other, it seemed, in their young minds, and Shiro certainly didn’t mind how wet he and his sky-blue yukata were getting as he let Jewels snuggle into him. 

 The sky color darkened a shade, two, but the boy almost looked comfortable enough to fall asleep just like that. 

 “How did the tax propositions turn out?” Leo whispered after a moment of them winding down, leaning that little bit further so his forehead was resting on Ryoma’s shoulder over the bathtub’s wooden rim. Having eyes only for their sons. Having mind only for the breaths close to his ear, and the feeling of a nose burying itself in his wet hair so Yoma could kiss him. 

 “Better than I thought,” his darling doe of a love sighed, emphasizing the gratitude in his next words with another kiss to his temple, kissing away drops of water from his skin, “Thanks to you, of course. Your offers were more than fair.”

 Thanks to him, of course. Leo knew more about how to manage a land than most would expect of a former villain.

 Nohr had taught him much. Windmire had.

 But Valentine, home, had taught Clova Vincini’s son why good management mattered. For the people, and the people’s people. For the land and for life and for the magic thrumming beneath their feet every day. So he would put forth his best, offer his best, do his best. All for his home and his family. But for now? 

 He would let their sons cuddle, and later rub the little darlings dry and dress himself, and let the day continue. 
 
 For now though, it was just a bubbleless bath in a sunlit room, and that was enough for Leo. 

 
Later, another part of another simple routine, Leo sat on the sofa after putting their sons down for a nap, and let the ‘business’ portion of his day commence. Shoulders loose. Not tense in the least. A tray of tea finery on the table, steam still curling up from the pot, and smell of cherry blossoms soft around them since he’d had the kitchens dig out some cherry blossom tea for him and his love to share.

 He shared the tea, and his incredible love shared their responsibilities outside of simply being parents.

“Here are the delegates’ responses to the taxation requisites, the reparation reports from Nalina, and a request to meet from Wuthering’s Lady. Personally.” Ryoma added when Leo arched a brow at that, “I was very firm, and explained why you wouldn’t be doing that anytime soon, and she…backed down.” 

 Ryoma’s expression contorted into one of confusion, even as he admitted that. Admitted that he’d experienced easy acceptance from a high-born. It was adorable.

 His younger husband hid his snort of laughter by shuffling around some of the papers he’d been handed, staring at the many mounds of documentation and lettering scattered across their bedroom’s tablet now. A few even sorted into uneven piles on the rugs. Oh well.

 His study was far worse.

 “People here are so…so…” 
 
 “Easygoing?” He suggested lightly, used to his love’s disbelief by now after a month of such reactions.
 
 Also very used to the urge that bubbled inside of him like a boiling potion pot. The urge to saddle up a horse and ride to Hoshido to make life a rather…well, living hell for the former members of Hoshido’s Royal Council. The ones he and Hinoka had displaced.

“Compared to Hoshido?” His mate and husband with a heart of gold said, sounding mystified by it even as he shook himself out, “Completely. I have never known people in power to be so…or so willing…or to not - “

 Each example trailed off into silence, and his darling simply made a motion with his hands. The paper he held fluttering with it. Another motion, and another. Finally he shook his head and let out his breath like he’d been holding it in for a while, like he’d been holding it since he was a child, and the blonde really, really, really wanted to take that trip to Hoshido.

 ‘And they say Hoshido was free of corruption compared to Nohr.’ 

 Those councilors had been meant to help their future King, not stifle and trouble him and tear him down at every interjection.

 “Welcome to our halidom, my darling,” Leo smiled behind his fan of papers, yet another weight falling off of his shoulders by how relieved his love looked.

 “‘Our’ halidom,” the former Crown Prince repeated, all of his mystification fading away to a far brighter expression that had Leo standing from the sofa and stepping into his husband’s space, “I rather like the sound of that, Leo. Love it, really.” 

 “As do I,” he whispered, placing his hands on Ryoma’s chest, feeling the silk of his yukata, feeling the muscles through it, feeling his husband’s strong heart pounding as they gazed into one another’s eyes, at one another’s lips, twining themselves together as they’d done so many times. And he pushed himself up those few inches between them.

 For a kiss worth every heartbeat skipped.

 It began as a peck. It ended with one of his hands fisting his husband’s yukata and the other tangled and lost somewhere up in his wild mane, both of them flushed. Breathing hard. About to fall into another kiss just like it…before a quiet noise sounded.

 Quiet in actuality, but to Leo? 

 That sound, that whine, was as loud as a cannon going off in the quiet of their bedroom and their breathlessness.

 That sound of their kit calling for them.
 
 Jerking towards the bed so fast he practically shoved his husband down onto the sofa, Leo was crawling into their nest in a heartbeat. Humming deep in his throat to soothe Shiro, who was squirming where he’d been laid. 

Nap finished with, apparently.

 “Oh, sweetheart,” the boy of Valentine breathed, careful to not disturb Jewels beside his brother as he plucked Shiro from the nest to hold up to his collarbone. Sniffing at him as a pointless instinct considering his senses weren’t enhanced as a human, and then rocking him back and forth to try and gentle him back to sleep a little longer.

 “I know, I know,” he shushed as Shiro squirmed and his cheeks flushed as if he were about to start yowling out of frustration at being awake, “I know. The world is so mean for waking you up. It’s your bedtime, what dared wake you, my little Lordling? But it’s alright. Mama’s here. Mama and Papa are here and you are safe, little one. That I swear. Going to sleep, Shiro. Go to sleep. Go to sleep~” 

 The yowls never sounded.

 The flush faded from his cheeks. 

 Shiro’s expressions shifted from one of kit-like frustration to one of sleepiness, complete with a big, toothless yawn and his tiny hands balling up to rub at his eyes. A few minutes later? Leo was shushing his sleeping son. Trailing his fingertips through tufts of brunette hair, and catching drool dripping off of his chin as he put his son to bed in their nest once more. 

 Right next to Jewels, who rolled over and used his big brother’s tummy as a pillow an instant later.

 A low, throaty chuckle behind Leo had him leaning back. Straight into the arms of Ryoma, sat in the nest behind him. His yukata loosened, so when he turned? His nose was instantly able to bury itself into the center of his husband’s bare chest. Sighing into the soft flesh there and running his fingers through the hair trailing up it. 

 “Usually it’s Jewels who wakes,” the man he loved noted. The man he loved utterly.
 
 The man, his mate, who held him and began carding his fingers through Leo’s golden lockes, pressing kiss after kiss to the crown of his head as they sat there together staring at their sons tucked safely into the furs of their nest. Sound asleep. This nap a lasting one, as it turned out. All they’d ever dreamt of. All they’d ever desired during the war. 

A moment of peace that wasn’t attached to an hourglass about to run out of sand.

 If they wanted to, they could’ve stayed there for hours more.
 
 Never once needing to consider the effects taking a moment would have on a continental-wide war. Never once needing to worry about troop movements, or scouting reports, or enemy positions. Spies or subterfuge or sabotage. Never needing to do anything, except hold one another. Safe together with their sons. In their nest. The fur silky-smooth beneath their legs as Leo smoothed out his dress’ skirt.

 As Ryoma slid his yukata off of his shoulders so Leo could fully benefit from the living, crackling fireplace that his husband was. Always running so warm.

 Muscles always so fun to press kisses to for how it made his husband shudder, his pupils grow in interest.

 Eventually, Leo Vincini crawled from the fur of their nest. He returned to the sofa. To the many, many documents in need of his attention there. The business revolving The Green Halidom he was now responsible for, to help his own father in being the Lord of it all. 

 But that was eventually.

 And this was now.

 And for now, Leo Vincini had a lovely Ryoma Vincini to kiss senseless and shirtless at the edge of their nest while their sons napped. Safe in shafts of twilight through their windows. Soon would come dusk. Then night. Always, the same pattern repeating. Always, morning would come again. Another day. The difference withstanding? That there was no war.

 The difference withstanding that they were home. In Valentine. 

 The home they were going to make with their own two hands. 

 The home they were going to keep just the same. 

 It was a cloudy night.

 Autumn nights usually were. Cloudy. At least, it seemed that way in Valentine. Both when he was a child and nowadays. The stars hid from the fallen leaves. The valleys beneath the mountains. The stars laid down its crown on the world at this time of the year, and Leo hardly blamed them. The night was so chilly that he had to wrap a shawl of his mother’s around his shoulders to simply stand out in the field.

 Not too far from home. Hardly far enough to even call it ‘leaving’ Vincini Manor.

 But he wasn’t in the same nest as his husbands and sons, and so it was something. Something which irked those motherly instincts tethered to his matemark like a permanent imprint of fear-concern-danger-PROTECT. 

 Always when he was away from his children. Away from his mate. 

 But his mate was with his children. Their children. And Leo knew Ryoma kept Raijinto right beside their nest too. Should any danger be fool enough to find them, that danger would find itself dead before its corpse even touched the furs of their nest. No danger would come to Shiro or Jewels with their father curled protectively around them.

 A dragon guarding his brood, perhaps? 

 So Clova’s son stood on a hill, looking up at cloudy skies. The valley blanketed in darkness around him. Darkness that reminded him of Nohr. Blackness that reminded him of a certain throne room. And Leo cupped his stomach, shielding it, at the mere memory. It was flattening out now. There was almost no evidence of his pregnancy besides a few stretch marks. 

 It was odd, but ever since that stormy day in Nohr’s throne room, Leo felt almost like…he didn’t view darkness the same way that he had.

 Did that sound mad? Maybe. He thought it did, privately. Which was why he hadn’t told his dear husband. 

 How was he to simply go up to Ryoma, and tell him that, ‘Darkness FEELS different since you saved me from Garon, Yoma.’? How did he explain that? How did he explain that the darkness, the shadows in the dark, used to feel alive? That he used to see them writhing. Reaching. Stretching towards him like they longed to have him? 

 How did he explain he felt different the longer he went without feeling darkness in that way? Lighter. Fainter, maybe, even. Weaker? He got breathless sometimes. He slept more. He felt tired from smaller things, and sometimes felt untethered to reality in small ways wound around his magic. Was that mad? 

 Whether it was or wasn’t, what Leo did know? 

 Was that it brought him out there. Out to a hilltop or two at night. 

 Wearing his nightgown, the fabric pale and fair in the dark, he would walk small paths through the valley surrounding the manor. The long, golden grasses catching on his skirt. The earth chilly where soil collected between his toes. Leo would walk through the darkness, as if to prove it couldn’t grab him. Knowing his sons were safe with his husband in their nest, in their bed.

 And Rose would be there. Was there.

 The black filly would walk at his side, snorting whenever he so much as thought the shadows had shifted, standing protectively beside her one-day rider despite how small she now was. So different from the mare she had been before…whatever happened near the canyon that night, at the war’s end. The night she died just to come back. Come back to him.

 She truly was a special horse. 

 And even if she tossed her head in exasperation each time he entered the stables at night, each time he asked her to come with him? She came. And she walked beside him patiently, his loyal, loyal girl. Until he was satisfied enough to walk her back to the stables in the front bailey, where a few of his guards would be shifting worriedly until they had him in sight once more.

 Where one would immediately kneel to dry his dewy feet off with a towel, and another would place a cloak over his shoulders and his shawl, and another would fluster over Rose for him.

 And he would be sent to bed. 

 To the bed that was their nest, that he crawled into after shrugging the shawl off. Checking on his sleeping kits who never noticed their mother had gone. Smiling down at them with a secret sort of love he wished he could scream out to the whole world for they were his whole world by then. 

 He’d lift his gaze from them, laying his head on his pillow, and his smile would turn guilty when he met the open eyes of his husband.

 Ryoma always knew when he had left the nest, no matter how much care he took to try not to wake him.

 Ryoma always waited for his return before he even tried to fall asleep again.

 Ryoma would find his hand - his hand with freezing skin and pale fingers - and lift it to his lips. Kissing his knuckles. Kissing his wedding band. Kissing the inside of his wrist, where his pulse beat softly, and then they’d fall asleep holding hands. Looking at one another. Curled around their sons together. Just another night. 

 It was always just another night for them.

Chapter Text

 “Well, aren’t you handsome!” Cooing, Leo laughed aloud to the tune of Shiro’s babbling. Happy babbling. Babbling joined by Shiro squirming around in his cushiony basket, making it hard to get his stubby arms into the sleeves of his jinbei, “Soon, sweetheart. You can play with your brother soon. Just…let…me - “ 

 A jinbei was something similar to a yukata, as Ryoma had patiently explained when Leo asked. It was simply less of a robe and more of a pants and shirt. Still tied shut, and still that same, softer material with a flowy design. But needless to say? 

 Shiro looked positively adorable in the little outfit. Deep blue with stripes of alternating shades. 

 The clothes were smaller than a dolls’ would be, because his son was so mini, and Leo giggled. Feeling no better than his giggly son as he tickled those tiny feet. Listening joyfully to the next bout of giggles as Shiro curled his toes and kicked, squealing in delight, and he leaned down into the basket to blow a raspberry on the belly he was trying to wrap up.

 Shiro giggled, and it was like the sun shining after many, many sunless days. So much like his father. 

 Jewels mewled. And the mother of the two exhaled - another laugh - as he sacrificed the use of one hand to ruffle the small fluff-for-hair and ears that was his younger son’s golden head. Jewels was curled up in the crook of his calf and thigh. Already dressed in his own onesie, complete with a tomato embroidering because it was necessary, and he very much seemed to be enjoying the sound of laughter filling their den.

 Their bedroom, that was.

 It was a sunny autumn day, the walls were lit gold by that sunlight, and Leo was sat beside the open window in the window seat. Fallen leaves blowing past. Most of the trees bare of all their leaves by such a late point of autumn. Frost covered the branches more than anything else these mornings, but with the sun? Was a little bit of warmth.

 So Leo had delicately put his sons in the basket bassinet a kindly, older maid had woven for his sons and set them on the window seat to dress them that morning.

 It was another simple thing, and it was another perfect thing.

 And it was another good memory, as Leo tickled his baby boy’s tummy one final time before finally winning the tiny struggle to tie his jinbei shut. Both of his sons yipped excitedly. Looking forward to their playdate they had every day, and oh, joy, Brynhildr, Mama, had he ever been so innocent a creature? Had he ever been so pure? 

 The son of Clova’s placed his youngest in the basket beside his brother and rose. Cradling it close in his arms as he went to leave the den. The safety it offered. Foregoing boots in favor of simply stepping out into the hallway and letting the doors close behind him. 

 On one hand, he must’ve been an innocent babe too once. He knew that.

 Outside, three separate guardsmen were guarding their den too, all bowing deep in response to seeing him…yet all also so clearly trying to tilt their heads just enough to see the kits still squealing happily if unseen within the basket bassinet he carried. Leo paused. Clutched the wicker thing closer for a second, then relaxed. 

 On the other hand, it was something he would never be able to fully visualize after the life he’d lived.

 The little Lordling of Valentine slowly tipped the edge of the bassinet. Just enough. His sons never even noticed the shifting, too busy playing with a toy rattle he’d put inside to distract them, but he found his heart softening to the sight of his guards trying to hurry forward a few steps and peek into the basket. To see their littler Lordlings. The twins. Eyes wide with awe, one even shoved another guard aside to get a better look, which resulted in a small shoving match.

 Being so young, being so innocent, it was something Leo couldn’t ever go back to.

 Instincts prickled at Leo’s neck, at his matemark, and Leo reached his limit. Tilting the basket bassinet back towards his chest as he scampered down the hallway. Two doors down from his den. One door down from his study he had yet to properly organize since the twins kept him so busy. A door in front of him, which opened to the peaceful ambience of the twins’ nursery. 

 It was something he was allowed to covet the idea of, at least, right? 

Pressing his back to the door, he laid his weight against it until it clicked shut. Then? He cooed down at his sons in the cushioned basket. So small. So fragile, it sometimes terrified the young parent to think about. Shiro was letting his little brother use the rattle, and Jewels seemed nervous to make it actually rattle, and Leo’s heart melted a little when Shiro reached over to try and demonstrate with his tiny hands how to rattle it properly. 
 
 He clutched the basket to his chest, and closed his eyes, and hummed.

 And he exhaled so, so slowly when his sons began purring in response. 

 When he opened his eyes? The two were grinning big, wide grins up at him. Completely toothless. With their tawny and emerald eyes just as big, just as wide, shining bright and gazing up at Leo as if he were a star in the night sky and worth the world. They were so tiny. So young. So innocent. 

 So the fact that they could love him like that, was beyond precious to Leo Vincini.

 He hugged that bassinet for a long, long while. 

 And only when his knees stopped feeling shaky and his breaths stopped hitching did he push off from the door. Headed for that big crib his beloved husband had made for their litter. A bit too big. But it was no bigger than their love for their sons, and the other kits they could’ve had, so Leo wouldn’t ever ask for anything smaller. He padded over and crawled over the bars. Bunching up the cuffs of his pants around his knees. 

 Pulling the boys out of the basket, he set them on the cushioning of the crib, where there was a miniature nest of baby blankets and plushies just for them, and so many toys scattered around.

 And he laid his head in his arms like they were a pillow to simply watch; Shiro squirmed his way towards these painted building blocks of pastel colors, and Jewels simply turned over after grabbing a sheep plushie for another nap with a sleepy yawn. 

 And Leo had never loved anything more in his life.

 He rested his lips on his wedding band, kicking his feet, and content to watch his children for however long he had until his darling came looking for him with duties abound. His shirt rucked up as he laid there, on his stomach, happier than he remembered being for a long time before the war.

 A parent. A protector. A mother, with his mother’s eyes and magic dancing with the mobile over the crib. 

 When Ryoma entered later, shuffling papers as he walked, frowning down at one request or another and nodding to the guards on duty as he went inside? 

 Leo was still watching their sons play happily; Shiro was moving the building blocks to create colorful shapes Jewels seemed to smile at, rather proudly…and his cute husband’s shirt had ridden up as he laid there. Ryoma paused. There were scars on his love’s skin. There were reminders there, right there, in their sons’ nursery, of pain. Of torture. Of terror and screaming and the panic they’d endured together. And it was just a small scar or two - 

 But Ryoma set aside the papers, and went to his husband. 

 He knelt at the bars of the crib he’d crafted with his own two hands. He tapped the wood, and saw the smile dim in his dear Leo’s eyes when his little husband saw whatever expression he was making. Dimness. Realization. Tense. Sad. And then, the boy he loved was shifting back to kneel on the other side of the bars, facing away from Ryoma.

 He pressed his spine to the wall of the crib Ryoma had built to hold, and the samurai who’d abandoned his first vows but not his wedding vows reached through the bars.

 He rucked up that soft, cottony shirt himself.

 And he pressed his face to the bars, to kiss his husband’s spine through them. To kiss the scar there. To kiss the memories of a time where he couldn’t GET to Leo in time. His mate kept an eye on their sons. His mate managed to keep smiling. His mate indulged him, when the former Crown Prince reached over the crib to hug his shoulders, burying his face in Leo’s nape, breathing out slowly. 

 Leo held the arms that were crossed over his heart, and kept watching his sons play.

 Some of the scars they carried as husbands weren’t on their skin, was all. 

 And sometimes, simple meant ending the day snuggling instead of doing paperwork with a cup of tea. 

Chapter Text

 Sunrise was when Ryoma Vincini rose, each and every morning.

 It was an internal hourglass that ran out of sand with the dawn, and whether that was because he was a descendant of the Dawn Dragon, or it was his samurai training of the past? Ryoma so very rarely slept past the first rays of golden light bursting across the horizon. Cloudy or not. Weather nice or stormy. Warm, cold, long night or not. Sleeping in was a rare treasure for Leo to share with the man he loved.

 One of them being less than a morning person, and the other being the embodiment of sunrise had become a bit of a joke throughout Vincini Manor.

 Ryoma would get up. Would lay in bed for a while. Maybe pick up one of his novels to read a few chapters, maybe check on their sons, most often simply staying there. Laying there. Watching Leo sleep. Innocent to the waking world. Unknowing, and therefore safe, face so smoothed of all his worries. It was wonderful. 

 He’d always go fetch breakfast for him and his mate as the morning began properly and the servants made it down to the manor’s kitchens for the day. 

 Such a provider. 

 And he did it all just for the smile his little husband would wear when he woke him with a tray of breakfast already in their bed. He did it all for the kiss Leo would gift him. 

 This morning? 

 This morning, though, Leo Vincini was roused first. And the sun hadn’t risen yet. Their bedchamber was dim in that washed-out way only the time before dawn could be. Dark. Shadowy. The furniture was malformed shapes, the curtains over the windows were twisting and writhing and…except. No. They weren’t. Leo blinked, and they weren’t.

 The darkness didn’t leer at him. 

The shadows didn’t grab at him.

 Their bedroom was simply still, and shadowed, and there was the sound of footsteps out in the hallway. There was this low murmuring. The voices of his guards. There were the soft snores of his beloved, still laying face-down in his pillowy hoard, and there was the snuffling of his sons. Snug as a bug in a rug together, tucked between the bodies of both of their parents.

 What had woken him? There was no answer.

 No way of knowing. If there’d been a dream, it was gone from his head now. And again - the stillness of the darkness irked him, but why? 

 Sucking in a frankly fortifying breath, the boy of Valentine crawled out of their floor-nest. Trying not to disturb the covers too much. Trying not to wake Ryoma. He sat on the cool floorboards beside their bed for a moment. Adjusting his pants’ cuffs and fidgeting with his sleeves. He stood, slowly, wincing at how the floorboards creaked. 

 He waited a moment, but nobody woke up and/or began whining, so he was able to step away from said nest with hesitant steps.

 Still struggling so much with leaving his sons anywhere he wasn’t directly looking at them. 

 Crossing the shadowy bedchamber that had been his since childhood, Leo paused in front of the doors to it. Glancing back at his mate and where their kits were still tucked in. His palm rested on his stomach. He waited. In the stillness. In the quiet. He waited for something to leap out at him. For something to feel wrong out of the blue…but there was nothing.

 The nothing was almost as bad as those mornings during the war where he’d wake up ill. Queasy. Unable to remember why he was reacting in such a way to nightmares he’d forgotten. This was more unsettling. Because it was simply nothing. It was empty. And Leo made up his mind as his stomach turned over from stress.

And stress alone. 

 Opening one door, he winced when he jerked it inward a tad too hard, and had to overcorrect so it wouldn’t slam into the wall by accident. Gripping it tight with white fingers. 

 Sure enough, there were guards outside of his den. Three of them. All three straightened up to attention, twisting to face him, a fist thudding to the point over their hearts on their rose-gold breastplates. Not greeting him aloud, for which he was grateful, but still showing their loyalty as they only ever did. 

 The guardsman closer to him than the other two was closer in a more literal way too, and he waved Sir Rainier over. 

 “My peppermint tea, please, if you would?” It was a kindness to not mention his fingertips drained of blood for how hard he was gripping the doors’ frame. Sir Rainier bowed and went, no questions asked. Nothing but an affirmation and understanding in his blue-as-rain eyes. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to ask for the peppermint tea Kaze had once prescribed to him.
 
 It was unlikely to be the last too, if the darkness didn’t stop…leaving…him alone? 

 Sighing, the blonde waited in the doorway for that tray of tea, watched over by those other two guards, and not once before their eyes did he feel judged as he waited. Valentine’s people - his people - never made him feel judged. They never made him feel lesser for sometimes needing calming tea in the morning because the darkness was leaving him alone. Sir Rainier just looked a tad worried as he shut the door.

 He went to the window seat with a teacup and saucer clinking quietly in his hands due to his shaking. Trembling, more like, after he’d inhaled a deep breath of peppermint scent. Rubbing his thumb along the rim of the teacup. Humming to no one. He sat. Drawing his legs up and crossing them, and then leaning back against the windowpanes that were chilly for an autumn day.

 How cold it was even through his sleeping shirt made him more alert.

 He sipped on the tea slowly.

 He heard shuffling, slow, and then fast-paced, and he whistled. Very, very lowly. The shuffling slowed again. Where their nest was built into the floor, over the edge of one sofa? A burst of bedhead that was his husband’s mane popped up. Hair sticking every which way as if static electricity was on his side.

 Ryoma left their nest, still in the middle of tying his yukata close as he stumbled towards Leo with concern evident in the pout of his lips. 

 Smelling peppermint, his mated paused. Tilted his head. Pouted more, but this time his brows knitted together, and Leo patted the window seat beside him. Offering a spot on the white cushioning. Too tired in a less than physical way to admire how Ryoma’s yukata was loosely held together by a bow that was fighting for its life. He sipped his tea.

 Ryoma sat beside him.

 The trembling ceased.

 They held hands on the cushioning, leaning back against those chilly windows wet with condensation, separating them from an autumn valley, as the sun rose.

 They stayed there until his teacup was empty. Until the tang of peppermint began to fade from Leo’s breath. Until dawn was behind them. Until their sons began mewling for them, and then Leo was upright and darting over to their nest once more. 

 Still with the phantom feeling of his husband rubbing a thumb across his knuckles over and over and over again, for more than an hour, in the quiet and still darkness. 

 Leo Vincini began that day ready and willing to forget whatever had begun his day. Fully. His darling Ryoma didn’t have to worry about the darkness leaving Leo alone…

 He didn’t.

Chapter Text

Cozy meetings had become the norm for the halidom's lording family, and Leo far preferred that to the meetings he'd endured for years in Nohr. They were actually comfy.

Sat in a sofa nest of cushions and commandeered blankets - truly, every spare blanket in the manor HAD to be in their bedroom by now - Leo was carefully picking through some of the requisition requests from the other townships of their halidom, when Ryoma brought the twins over. Setting the boys in his lap. 

 Sitting beside him with a peck to his smaller love’s lips.

 “Anything we should outright refuse?” Ryoma asked.
 
 “...Outright? No,” and Leo considered, no less sneaky now that he was officially in control. Rather than just working from the shadows, “Wuthering has some law amendments they want made, including a few criminal clauses. A few I cannot truly give them, but giving the appearance of considering it will help with relations rather than turning them down and risking offense.” 

 A finger tucked itself under his chin, and turned his face from the papers for another peck on his lips.

 Ryoma smiled so blissfully as he receded that Leo couldn’t even pout about being cut off.

 “You’re brilliant,” his husband sighed, eyes big and brown and so warm - and Brynhildr, Leo could’ve fallen in love with those eyes alone if he hadn’t fallen in love with Ryoma’s heart first. There were rose vines growing over the back of the sofas. Again. He laughed and waved the magic away and then cupped his husband’s cheek.

 Pulling him back for a longer kiss.

 A kiss where their lips stuck to one another as they separated, breathless.

 “I have got to get that silencing spell put around our rooms,” he muttered, pleased by how it made the man he loved blush, then pressed him for another kiss just as sweet.

 Cut off far sooner, by squirming in his lap, and he reached down to gather their sons; one in each arm. Papers forgotten and scattered. He kissed both Shiro and Jewels on the crown of their heads, once, twice, three times, then proceeded to devolve into happily humming lullabies from old music boxes as his sons purred up a storm.

 His husband tucked his face close enough to bury it in his neck, and began nibbling on his matemark.

 And Leo’s brain promptly went very, very, very blank. 

 The tail to his soul curled, very, very pleased.

 Breathing in Ryoma’s breaths, he was about to fall entirely into the man he loved when Jewels whined, and suddenly the poor man was yelping as he toppled backwards out of their cushion nest. Leo’s arms outstretched with how he’d shoved him for a millisecond before he was readjusting his sons where they’d landed on his lap. Checking them over.

 Only when he found both Shiro and Jewels were fine as could be, and it seemed Jewels had simply had an itch behind one of his fluffy little ears, did Leo lift his head.

 And burst out laughing.

 His husband’s legs were still crooked over the rim of his cushiony nest. One of his sandals missing. His yukata a messy twist of fabric. As he laughed, Yoma lifted his head and Leo saw his awed expression with strands of that wild mane of his falling halfway over his face and he simply looked so undone; he loved the man. He swore. He laughed.

 And their sons chirped and babbled happily in response, Shiro clapping along to the tune of his mama’s laughter even if it meant laughing at his papa.

 Ryoma grinned dopily at all three of them, and Leo nearly toppled over himself; he was laughing so hard.

 It took some squirming, but his mate found his legs under him.

 Leo was head over heels in love with the darling man.

 Head over sandals, perhaps.

 Ryoma Vincini crawled back onto the cushions scattered with papers, brushing them all aside, to reach out and frame Leo’s laughing face. To cut off that laughter with another kiss. A kiss that ended with Leo falling back into the cushions and papers and blankets, their sons wiggling around next to them, playing with some of their toys as their parents kissed each other breathless in the rays of sunshine and atmosphere of laughter surrounding them.

 It ended only when somebody opened the door, making a noise as if they meant to say something, then one embarrassed squawk later the door thudded shut.

 Leo rolled out from under his mate to soothe Jewels who had startled so hard from the thud that he fell over and had taken that as the end of the world, whimpering and shaking, the poor kit.

 Ryoma gathered his papers for him.
 
 Work waited for him.

 Leo could wait for work though, and he did, as he nipped at his darling doe’s lower lip and whispered, “That silencing spell would go well with some sort of barrier spell, wouldn’t it?” 

 It was a matter for later, since neither of them truly minded the occasional interruption, even if his husband was hesitant to let certain activities be overheard as they had been in the past, since they were staying in Valentine now. Calling it home. They had all the time in the world now. 

 So they had time for some kisses.

 
 “Green.” 

 “...Blue.” 

The Vincini boy actually paused at that, raising a brow at his love’s answer. He thought it was pretty reasonable to have expected Ryoma to choose a color like red. Or gold. Or even white. They were the colors of Hoshido, after all, while blue was more…Nestran. Meanwhile, Papa slapped his knee and snorted and nodded along to his son-in-law’s answer.

 Up until he noticed his son’s mock glare, and very quickly went quiet. Probably well aware thanks to his mother what would happen if he didn’t support green. Green was literally the Vincini family’s color. It was the color of their flag. And now? 

 They were quite literally the capital of The Green Halidom, so he dearly hoped his father would side with him.

 They were debating the color of the halidom’s flag, after all, and in what world did anything besides green make sense for The Green Halidom?

 Was Leo a little more worked up over this than he needed to be? No. Of course not.

 If he was worked up, he wouldn’t be using his ‘the boys are napping, wake them and DIE’ voice. He was simply nudging both his husband and father to the proper outcome of this talk. Very, very. Firmly. Nudging. Ryoma had been pushed off the sofa during the meeting already, because it had made Jewels giggle. Which was always worth a bit of disgrace from either parent. Ryoma, usually, more than Leo. Almost always Ryoma, really.

 Now, Clova Vincini’s son bounced his sons on one knee, frowning at his husband and father taking refuge on the sofa across from him, nudging scattered papers away with his feet as he fell pensive, staring down at the rug…the rug covered in scattered papers. 

 “Green, of course, my dear,” Ryoma finally agreed, though his voice was so soft that it was obvious he’d only been playing at picking something else this whole time to tease his little husband, “We could use a similar tree pattern to the Vincini family’s crest too, if that sounds acceptable?”

 “Our family’s crest,” Lord Alistair huffed, adjusting his spectacles as he mimed peek-a-boo with the boys, grinning as only a grandfather could as he teased his boy, “We should have a little tomato in the corner, though. It’d only be right.”

 Ryoma chortled, and Leo made a longing noise as he was immediately sidetracked from the matter at hand.

 Tomatoes tended to do that.

 Especially when he knew the kitchens always stocked up for him. 

 There were big tomatoes and small tomatoes and bright tomatoes and round tomatoes and round tomatoes and cherry tomatoes and grape tomatoes and royal tomatoes, and - 

 Papa held his stomach as he laughed so hard he had to remove his glasses to rub at his eyes, and at the same time he motioned to the doorway. Where a pair of guards were doing their job, guarding their Lords, and stood at attention with attention on them.

 “Tomatoes, for my son, Sir Joey!” The kindly man all but cheered, causing the guard to laugh even as he bowed and sauntered off to fetch precisely that from the kitchen staff. Leo stuttering after him. 

 “Should we rethink you manipulating our sons into loving tomatoes?” Ryoma chuckled, tawny eyes soft with mirth, and Leo’s cheeks puffed up from all of the teasing. 

 “Perhaps the boys’ first words will be ‘tomato’?” Papa then had the audacity to tease, at which Leo squawked and reached for the closest weapon he had at hand without delving into his magic - a sofa pillow - and chucked that feather-filled projectile at his father. It hit his sons’ grandfather square in the face with a very satisfying thump.

 Ryoma gasped in genuine astonishment, hands outstretched like he could stop Alistair Vincini from dropping his spectacles or falling sideways in spectacular, dramatic fashion off of the sofa with them. It was a fight which ended with Leo’s chin tipped up high, his sons yipping in support of him, his husband flustered, and his father clutching his stomach as he bellow with laughter endlessly, rolling around on the rug by their feet.

 It ended a happy memory. 

 And a platter of several different tomato types balanced on Leo’s lap as he gorged on his precious, precious fruits while juggling his sons and paperwork.

 And with The Green Halidom’s flag being decidedly green…with the symbol of Brynhildr embroidered into it. 

 Everyone was happy that way, and Papa kissed him on his forehead when he had to rush off on more business, his graying scruff tickling him as he did so. His spectacles a bit bent but still usable. Consequences, but consequences none of them minded as Ryoma offered to play with the twins until Leo finished signing a few harvest reports for Valentine.

 It was a dream come true.

 No more broken dreams.

Chapter Text

 A nest grows as the family grows, and their nest had certainly grown since their sons’ birth.

 There were toys perpetually hidden in the furs, for one. Leo would slide under the quilts, the blankets, the fur covers and wince as he sat on a rattle some nights. Ryoma had recently laid down on a bed of building blocks that were very much not comfortable. Checking the nest for forgotten toys had become a part of their nightly routine now.

Not that Leo minded.

In his head, his kitsune-instinct-ladened head, the part of him that was still fox-like viewed it as nest ‘maintenance’. Which had him sat in a nice, neat nest before bed each night, proud as a Nestran peacock as he waited for his mate to compliment their family nest until he was satisfied and finished purring. Well, humming for him, it was his sons who purred to be laid to bed in a fresh nest.

A nest layered in the scents of their parents. 

Either way, the nest had become a place the boys liked to hide their toys.

They also shoved toys in-between sofa cushions, under sofas, under rugs for poor, unsuspecting servants to step on later and cause their parents to apologize so very much, and Jewels had taken to taking naps literally on Ryoma’s open novels. 

As in, their younger son would squirm over to where his father left a book open on his pillow to finish reading later when he had to step away, curl up in the center of two pages, and take a nap. Purring at the ink and parchment, and Ryoma would spend ages simply staring at their kit in pure adoration. 

Leo couldn’t blame him; Jewels was adorable, and apparently already a fan of books.

Shiro, on the other hand, had developed the worrying habit of trying to gnaw on Raijinto’s sheath. If his parents turned their backs for even a moment too long? 

Their older son would make a wild wiggle for the legendary blade, with a big, toothless smile that was far too mischievous for a son of Ryoma’s.

Clearly he got that from his mother.

The Vincini boy would be prouder if it didn’t mean one of his baby boys was literally trying to gnaw on a lightning sword. A lightning sword that had…bad history between his parents. Really, really bad history. Leo was getting to the point where he wanted to demand the darned sword be stowed away, but…well, the war had made him hesitant to do so.

Because of what it’d done, in a sense, they’d tried to keep Raijinto away from their relationship for a time. Or more like Ryoma couldn’t bear to wield it after the battle of Valentine. But they’d proven during the downfall of Iago that the Dawn Dragon’s descendant could trust no other blade. Rely on no other weapon. 

Ryoma was trained to handle Raijinto, and only Raijinto could handle Ryoma.

So the deadly, lightning-summoning weapon stayed parallel to their nest every night. Reluctantly. And Shiro wasn’t allowed to touch it.

Or gnaw on it. 

 You know, Clova’s son had never thought he’d have to worry about a child of his chewing on legendary weaponry, but there they were these days. And Leo? Wouldn’t trade that for anything. Actually having children? Raising children? Was so different from the stories he’d heard second or third-hand growing up. Each day typically had a discovery to go along with it; a new challenge, a new skill to master.

 The skill of changing diapers that his papa was wiling to teach him from something of a distance, due to overprotective instincts at the time.

 Or the most experienced wet-nurse in town who was summoned to teach him how best to nurse his own sons. 

 Or Kaden and kin, who tried to explain everything they possibly could before they’d disembarked for the Hamlet. Further questions were directed to wolfskin visiting Valentine, since wolfskin had many similarities to kitsune. In some ways. Or…at least they were both beast-shifters? 

 Having children meant a million little sacrifices.

 Truthfully? Leo had believed himself to be too selfish for such things. Spending your whole life surrounded by people who called you a monster? Who said you were incapable of love? Who shielded their children from you, cursing and snarling to ‘protect’ the young they believed Nohr’s villain would steal from them? The effects lingered.

 And Leo had his doubts often, but usually somebody was around to stop him from spiraling. 

 From panicking.

 This particular autumn day, there was no panic. It was a lovely, late autumn time. Trees bare. Fields being harvested all across the valley. The Harvest Festival was going to be far smaller that year, due to the amount of change Valentine would be going through - becoming a capital in and of itself to The Green Halidom, and the costs of the war weighing heavy on the land. But still - 

 As ever, there were celebrations in Valentine.

 A cup of steaming rose tea that morning, a tasty breakfast curled up with his mate and their sons, some time spent sorting a variety of reports, letters, and otherwise as the boys played in the crib. It was a slow day, but a slow day didn’t necessarily mean a downer day. The blonde boy was so happy he was humming.

 A tune from an old music box, as he scanned sentences scrawled in ink, treating the paperwork like some would treat a nice book you read a few chapters of before bed.

 There were just many, many side stories. 

 Not all of them fit together, not all of them he liked, not all of them were either or both or otherwise answered. Leo focused right up until he couldn’t anymore, and Jewels was resting his tiny, tiny chin on his mama’s thigh and snoozing away in the rays of afternoon sunlight shining down on their crib. 

 He scratched at an itch behind one of Jewels’ tiny, fluffy ears when his son began to whine and tilt his head in search of help.

 He giggled. Leo did too.

 There was a knock at the door. There was a maid there, an envelope in her hand that Ryoma fetched for his younger husband. There was a seal to break, and a letter from Auntie Rei for her nephew to excitedly pull out to read. There was good news from Hoshido, and there was his darling doe knelt next to the crib. 

 Trying not to look too eager to hear the news from home.

 Auntie Rei - Lady Reina, retainer to Crown Princess Sakura of Hoshido since the death of her previous retainer, Hana, in the war - had some stories to share. The new Hoshidan Royal Council was coming along nicely. Many members were younger. More willing to accept the changes in their kingdom, more willing to take a young princess like Sakura seriously.

 But Auntie Rei wanted to tell him about her kinshi, Nira’s, recent mishap where the poor bird mount tried to eat a whole garden of raspberry bushes. Nira ended up dying her golden feathers scarlet in the process, and the color still hadn’t come out. 

 Auntie wanted to tell him about the sights of the city, the way Hoshido had finished reconstructing the capital’s center.

 Auntie wanted to tell him how their royal wing was cleaned out, but still surely theirs, for whenever they should decide to visit Castle Shirasagi.

 Auntie wanted to tell him about how Takumi had been so excited to see Odin that he tripped and fell flat on his face in front of him; it had been the cutest reunion she’d seen in years.

 Auntie wanted to tell him that all was well, without really saying as much.

 And Leo Vincini held that letter to his chest for a moment after he finished reading it, smiling down at his baby boys, before passing said letter over to his husband through the bars of the crib. It was good news. Good news from home was always worth hearing. Leo hummed a different tune. A lullaby.

 An autumn haze turned the sunlight truly gold through the nursery’s windows.

 Taking some effort and some shuffling, the boy of Valentine was able to lay down on the crib’s cushions with his sons without really disturbing their naps much. He curled around them. His small kits. Not so small as when they were born. Shiro nuzzled into his tummy and Jewels nuzzled into his brother’s tummy.

 And through the bars of the crib built by his husband’s hands, Ryoma reached out to rub Leo’s back. Such a nice sensation. His fingers worn, weathered, but softer than a feather’s touch, slipping beneath his shirt to caress naked skin. Soft enough to lull the blonde boy off into a nap of his own. 

 He fell asleep thinking about their sons and his husband’s hands on him.

 In the golden light of autumn, he let his magic grow a rose for his beloved. Petals as scarlet as they could be. 

 A piece of home and heart, just for Ryoma Vincini, who’d given up pieces of both to make Leo happiest. And for that? 

There could never be enough thank yous.

Chapter Text

 Domestication was a good look on Leo Vincini, if he said so himself. And he did. And his husband said so as well, and his papa did as well, and his guardsmen, and - 

 Well, the point was domestication was wonderful. 

 During his years in Nohr’s corrupt court, the former Second Prince had heard many a wife and husband and spouse complain about being ‘domesticated’. About married life, sharing a home, sharing responsibilities, settling down and leaving behind their wild youths - now he wondered if any of them had ever been truly married. Or perhaps Nohr had bestowed curses instead of blessings onto the married folk of the Dusk Kingdom.

 Leo had not one complaint. 

 Although, he also wouldn’t say he’d left behind his wildness. When he still ran with the horses and happily watched the sheep herds be herded home at night across the valley, and still ran through the hallways of Vincini Manor, sliding on polished floors and giggling on the late night walks he still sometimes took when his mind had too much to think about and all others of sense were sleeping.

 Without wildness, was it really a Valentine romance? 

 Was it really a Green Halidom romance? 

 Leo wouldn’t have his marriage any other way, nor his mate any other way. Maybe he was simply one of the lucky ones, but he loved his life in domestication. There hadn’t been a single assassination attempt since the war’s end! Nobody had flung insults at him, or much else for that matter, or stones either, and he was pretty sure he was setting some sort of personal record.

 There’d been no anonymous letters sent to him that were page upon page of coded curses. There’d been no mages dabbling with the darkest of magics in this, his homeland, his land of Brynhildr. There’d been no battles. No conflicts of a physical sort at all. There’d been no terror. No loss. No hopelessness.

 There had been several days of Leo being astounded such a life could exist and growing weary as he waited for the other shoe to drop.

 It never had, and so he reveled in his domestication!

 Clova and Alistair’s son had never smiled so much. Had never laughed so frequently nor freely. Had never gone so long without flirting with death or villainy. Villainy or death. Each day was nearly worry-free, excluding his protective streak he had for his twin sons. And each day another tiny, itty-bitty bit of the scars on his stitched-together heart mended more than he’d ever believed possible a few short months before.

 Weights lifted off of his shoulders as if they were feathers caught by the wind, or fell from them like a cloak unclipped and left to drift to the floor. 

 Freeing; each and every day was.

 The Lordling of Valentine had had more frequent and regular meals than he could remember having for a long time. He’d gained weight. Proper weight. Healthy weight. Though the stretchmarks on his stomach would remain because of his pregnancy, this weight was only right and proper and gave his husband some flesh to hug. 

Something other than lean, starving hollowness and bones.
 
 The first time Ryoma pressed a kiss to the stretchmarks along his stomach after the boys were born, was a time when Leo recalled how he’d been starved once. He’d laughed at the ticklishness of his husband’s lips trailing his navel.

 He’d laughed so hard he cried.

 Sobbed.

 Wailed.

 And then he sat back up laughing heartily like the people of Valentine were known to do, his tears brushed away by the man he loved as they overwrote more of the memories not as worth remembering. Leo was fed. Leo was hearty. Leo was hopeful, and more all of the above every single day. Sunrise to sunset.

 He could have baths whenever he wished, rather than just when the roads be willing in their travels. He could pick a book off of one of his bookshelves and read for the fun of it, rather than for a more sensible reason, and nobody stopped him. He could sit and write letters without using code or a hidden message or - 

 Sometimes, Leo just had to stop everything he was doing and take a deep breath. 

 Maybe pinch himself, subtly, to check that this really was real life he was living and loving. 

 He may have more scars than he’d been stolen from Valentine with, but he was still the land’s Little Lord. And every moment of being home was heartening for the Little Lord Leo.

And every day, the guards of Valentine got to see more and more of that sunshiny smile that they’d gone to war for. 

 And some days? There were all of these things, and there was a knock on the doors of a pair of husbands’ bedroom. Alone - Ryoma in a meeting with Papa elsewhere in the manor - Leo answered the knocking. Brushing his hands off on his pants, frowning, he was curious as a cat that lit up like he’d found his canary when he opened those doors to the sight of a whole group of guards standing on the other side.

 All crowded around the doorway without crowding him, and so very careful not to step over the threshold into his den. 

 They’d already learned doing such a thing could end up leading to Leo’s milky white, flat, albeit human teeth making a play for their fingers. Trespassing in a mother kitsune’s den was a no. So their care flattered their liege, and Leo smiled. Smile widening when the leader of this ‘pack’ of guards, Sir Fern, Head Guard of Valentine himself, straightened up and announced - 

 “We would like to see the babies, milord.” 

 Murmurs of affirmation sounded around the Head Guard, along with some very stoic nods, and, well.

 Mama kitsunes, turns out, love showing off how wonderful their litter was. A litter of two was still wonderful enough to show off. Especially kits like Shiro and Jewels that were so flawless - the men laughed lightly at how their Lord Leo lit up in response to what they wanted, and they were all only too happy to wait as said Lord held up one finger. 

 Signaling for them to give him a moment.

 Scurrying back into his bedroom, he play-chirped at his sons who were in the middle of laying about with some of their picture books in the nest. Drooling on the pages and pointing excitedly at the bright colors as young’uns do, they both chirped in reply to their mother.

 And didn’t fuss too terribly when Leo transferred them from the nest’s silky furs to the basket bassinet he’d been using to carry them around between rooms of the manor. Shiro babbled excitedly at the idea of going somewhere, while Jewels snuggled as low as he could get into the cushions in the basket, whining. 

 He shushed both of them before he scampered back to his guards with the basket cradled in his arms. Like a babe.

 It was amusing how incredibly still each and every one of his guards went as he approached, aware of how huffy he got about others anywhere near his kits - 

 But if his guards were sheep dogs? 

 Their tails would be wagging fast enough to create a breeze. 

 As one, they all leaned forward that little bit towards him, holding their breaths. And Leo slowly tipped the basket just enough forward for them to see inside. See his sons squirming in the cushions. The cooing broke out immediately. And Leo preened.

 Yes, he had beautiful sons. They were perfect in every way. They were so smart, and cute, and quick learners, and cute, and had he mentioned cute yet?

 Fingers wiggled at his sons, and there were many awwwwwws and oooooohs and just general baby babble from grown men that made Leo Vincini perk up like the proud kitsune mama Ryoma had made him.

 None of them trespassed, none of them disrespected his boundaries, so the blonde boy debated with himself as they cooed. 

 A younger him won that debate, for the sake of the guards ever-so loyal to him, and Leo hesitantly took a step forward. And another. And a nudging war began amongst the honored guards of Valentine as they all fought to get a better look or two of their newest little Lords. Shiro babbled, Jewels keened and tried to merge with the cushions, and Leo rocked the basket as he was buried in praise. 

 “They’re so small, but they look so healthy!” 

 “That one has your eyes, Little Lord!” 

 “His ears and tail - they’re even stubbier than a wolfskin pup's!” 

 “Brynhildr has truly blessed you, Lord Leo.” 

 “Valentine has been blessed by you and your sons, Lord Leo!’ 

 “They’re both so darned adorable, milord!” 

 The praise went on and on and on. Until the Vincini boy’s ears were warm from the warmth of his heartbeat in his throat. Until he was curled over his baby boys’ basket, beaming helplessly at some in-between. Some in-between where he’d not had this, not had them, for so many years. So many years. When in childhood, he’d sworn his guards would be beside him forever. He’d have their loyalty forever.

 He still had all of the loyalty they were able to give, but they hadn’t been able to stay together for very long at all.

 Which was why, when one of his guards reached out with a cheerful laugh to actually ruffle his hair, Leo began to giggle.

And Leo began to cry. 

 And another hand reached out to also ruffle the golden hair he’d inherited from his mother. Another, a gauntlet, reached out to grip his shoulder firmly yet gently in a way only warriors could. Warriors like his husband, warriors like his guards. Another hand curled around his nape, a thumb rubbing gently at the spot just beneath his earlobe that made him feel tiny again. 

 Another rubbed his bicep, and another brushed so sweetly under his eyes so salty droplets transferred onto his gauntlet that Leo just had to sniffle and lift his head. 

 Meeting so many smiling faces stood around him, beside him, on his side, so many memories in them all as they comforted their Little Lord Leo.

 “Chin up,” Sir Fern reminded him, crooking a finger to actually tuck under Leo’s chin and lift his head high, him and others all familiar faces from a childhood Leo had once truly believed was lost to him. Yet. Here they were. And it was almost as if they were offering it back to him on a rose-gold platter, in their variants of rose-gold armor of Valentine and their training clothes, their hearts more than just on their sleeves.

 Their hearts in their irises, as they held their gazes to his.

 And his sons keened for his attention, which swiftly grounded Leo as he turned all of his attention to Shiro and Jewels to soothe them. To reassure them the tears, the sniffling, was nothing bad. Nothing bad at all. It was okay to cry. He wanted his sons to know that.

 He wanted his sons to know everything he’d forgotten. He wanted his sons to grow up better. 

“Little Lord Jewels looks just like you, Lord Leo!” Sir Jeralt, one of the older guardsmen with actual silvery whiskers and age behind the wrinkles of his face said then, jovially, “Just, smaller!!!” 

Sir Alexander, still with his crutches from when his leg was broken during the final battle of Windmire, sighed, “If my daughter had been that small when she was born, milord, I would’ve never let her out of my sight!” 

 Leo sniffled and pointedly cradled the basket closer to his chest, and all of his guardsmen laughed because he’d barely let the boys out of his sight since they were born.
 
 “How soon until we can swear our oaths, milord?!” One of the younger guards called out excitedly from further back in the group, to the tune of more excited chatter from his fellow Valentine guards. 

 “I volunteer!” 

 “No, me!” 

 “I have seniority!” 

 “I want to go first!” 

 It turned into a minor shoving match outside of the threshold of Leo’s den, and by ‘minor’ he meant several of them were sent tumbling down the halls with how hard they were shoved away as multiple voices joined together to offer their loyalty to his twin kits. Exhaling, Leo huffed. The smallest of huffs. The most minor of sounds, barely even a noise. Barely. Yet, it was heard by those that always listened to him.

Heard and noticed and recognized by his most senior guardsmen, as the whole group was silenced by Sir Fern spinning around with his fiery-auburn hair and pounding his fist to his chestplate. To the place over his heart.

 An act repeated by every guard in that hallway, both standing and mid-wrestle and lying on the floors, and his boys both let out yips like cheering in response. 

 “Not so loud!” The Head Guard commanded, his own tone a hushed thing, and Leo nodded. Approving.

 He brought his baby boys back to their children books soon enough, with their bright, mesmerizing colors and fantastical world...but for a while longer? Leo stayed out there letting his guards of past and present and future fall in love with the sons he’d never be prouder of. 

 Being a parent meant gushing about your baby, always and in every way possible, especially to people who have heard it all before. 

 Alistair had done the same exact thing when Leo was a baby, after all, in spite of everything else about that situation.

 The guardsmen of Valentine didn’t mind at all. They had two new Little Lords to give all their lives to. To love with all their hearts.

 And they would, in a heartbeat of those hearts. 

Chapter Text

 
 There are rainy days in autumn. There was a rainy day that day. A rainy afternoon, to be more specific. With water droplets falling lightly down from cloudy skies, on fields mostly harvested. On rooftops lined with colorful clay tiles. On cobblestone streets milling still with market-goers, because business couldn’t stop for want of sunnier weather in everyone’s case.

 But in the case of the wielder of Brynhildr, business and everything else could very well stop. 

 Cloudy skies had foretold the coming rain, along with the hum of Brynhildr in the faraway bits of Leo’s mind. He sensed rain like only one with his magical core, tangled so intrinsically around Brynhildr and the earth could, and he finished the documents relying on his viewing early. He called for both breakfast and lunch early, sharing the first but not the second with his husband.

 Ryoma had business sorting out some of the harvest bales that day, just down the road from the manor.

 So Brynhildr’s chosen spent a majority of his time after he’d finished sorting documents standing before the windows of his bedroom. His fingers curled in and brushing the buttercup curtains idly. He waited. He watched the clouds swirl, twist, and darken. His sons were playing with their toys on the rug, today favoring some of the wooden figurines Grandfather had gifted for them. 

 Rose paid him a visit; the black filly prancing into his bedroom after snorting in her imperious way at one of the guards outside his doors so they’d open for her. 

She left following that lunch of finger sandwiches, which Leo ate little of, already dozing as he sat there as his soul itself felt the rainfall on its way.

When it rained, the world softened. When it rained, terrors stood still. When it rained, there was neither peace nor comfort, but there was the quiet you prayed for from both. And you knew it was only a temporary reprieve. You knew the rain would stop, soon enough. You knew the stillness would fade, the quiet would be deafened by noise, and yet you neither loved nor hating it.

 Rain over Valentine’s valleys was no different. No different than when Leo was a small child, watching his mother doze because of her being Brynhildr’s wielder at the time.

 Now though, it was Clova Vincini’s son on the verge of dozing as he watched the skies. 

 Listening only to the now-familiar murmur of his twin kits playing together on the rugs scarcely four steps behind him. One day, would one of them be the next to have their souls lulled to sleep by rain over the earth? Over the soil, over the grass, over the trees and their leaves - would one of his sons be the next to follow in his own footsteps as he followed in his mother’s? 

 Leo breathed out slowly, leaning into the embrace of the sheer curtains, letting them wrap around him with the simple nightgown he’d not bothered to change out of that morning.

 Its white fabric seemed pale, and fading to a washy gray the longer he stood in the light of the windows. 

 He traced the inked flowers down his left arm. He fiddled with his wedding band there. Admiring the roses of both; one tattooed and the other carved. His matemark throbbed faintly, and he hummed. Wondering when his husband would be home for him. Probably as soon as Ryoma felt the first raindrop fall from the skies. 

 His beloved so rarely left him alone when it rained. The only time he had, it was the storm that had raged over Windmire that final day of the war.

 His kits keened, and Leo Vincini went to them with wisps of magic sluggishly weaving between his ankles. The colors duller, dulling still, and yet no less gorgeous than magic simply was.

 Carrying his baby boys to the nest of comforts and furs and rose vines, Leo let Shiro and Jewels nurse until they’d had their fill of milk. 

 All the while, watching the lighting of his bedchambers fade, swish, swirl like his magics. Watercolors painting the walls. Shades of pale and gray and dim. Shades of rain. His heart skipped a beat with the first raindrop to fall to earth elsewhere in the valley. His world went still. He heard its near-silent splatter like a roaring sea in his ears.

 And he was already nestled up in the softness of his and his mate’s nest, with his sons napping using his hip as a pillow. So Leo let himself doze.

 Let the rain sing him a lullaby no wielder of Brynhildr liked resisting, even if he could.

 He wouldn’t.

 He needn’t.

He napped with his boys, in a watercolor world of rain. 

 Touching him; the weathered, weary fingers of a fighter brushed against Leo’s jaw. Tilting it to the side even in sleep. Ordinarily, he would wake. He would wake with a snarl, with a weapon already summoned to his grasp. He would be unrelenting and unforgiving, depending on who dared to stir him…if only it was not the man that it was.

 The man that he loved with all of his heart. 

 The man that smelled of the cherry blossoms of Hoshido, his home, and whose wedding band matched the one he’d proposed to Leo with. The same wedding band the dozing boy could feel. Carvings of dragons and cherry blossoms tickling his skin, for his love’s touch was so tender. 

 “Mmmm…” Leo batted his eyelashes, as green as summer grasses, up at his dearest lying beside him. His dearest with adoring eyes of big, brown warmth even in a dull world of rain, and his mane lying a little flatter than usual. His brunette hair a little darker than usual. A few bangs pressed to his freckled cheeks for how they were damp with rain. 

 A sight for sore eyes.

 Said eyes drifting downward as Leo yawned, ducking his head to do so, and he took a second to adore on his own time. Adore the way his handsome husband’s yukata was just loose enough for it to show off the tantalizing triangle of shapely muscle and dark hair that was his chest, water droplets slipping down it and disappearing deeper into the fabric in a way which should’ve been illegal. 

 Well, perhaps not.

 He’d never be able to enjoy such a sight if it was.

 “Sorry for missing lunch,” Ryoma murmured, tenor low and rumbling through that chest just as tantalizingly and Leo’s toes curled in the furs, trailing his eyes very slowly back up to meet his lover’s, “Though, I hear you didn’t eat much. Was it the rain, my dear? Or something else?” 

 Rather than answering, there was a far more worthwhile effort of Leo’s, and he carefully shifted his hips. Checking so very carefully that he didn’t wake his sons as he shifted them from him as a pillow onto the nest proper. 

 And once the boys were properly relocated? 

 The blonde boy shifted again. Hooked a leg over his husband’s hip, used the surprise with which Ryoma went still and his brows went up to turn the man onto his back, and ended up straddling his rain-damp darling in their nest with a very sleepy and pleased smile pasted onto his lips. He purred. His view exquisite atop his mate; so disheveled, so pretty, so wet. 

 “Yoma.” 

 “Yes?” 

 Grinning, Leo’s hands planted themselves right in the middle of that lovely chest of his husband’s and slowly began sliding upwards as he leaned down, even his breaths hushed because their boys were right there, but he was sleepy. And the man he’d mated and married was unfairly attractive. And quite frankly, between the boys and the fact he hadn’t gotten that darned silencing spell cast yet around their bedroom? 

 Well, let’s say certain parts of their domestic and mated life had been…lacking. 

 Making love on a late, rainy afternoon sounded rather nice to the boy of Valentine, from where he was perched on his mate’s stomach. Those very defined and solid abs, to be specific. 

 Sweet Brynhildr, sometimes it hit Leo like a runaway carriage just how attractive the man he’d fallen in love with was. 

 “My darlin’...” Chest hair curled around his fingers as he pressed his stomach to that chest of his husband’s, and they fell together into a kiss that tasted like autumn rain. It lingered. Like the longing, once their lips slowly fell apart. They were breathy and panting by then though. Leo’s hands had found themselves framing his husband’s face, brushing damp bangs away from his cheeks, staring into one another’s eyes in a watery world of just the two of them.

 Like something slotted perfectly into place between them, they inhaled and fell together again. Another kiss. A kiss with their lips plump by the end and his fingers somewhere in the dark, wet curls of his husband’s hair, and Ryoma’s hands planting themselves on his thighs as Leo straddled him. So very teasingly sliding higher and higher up bare skin.

 Bunching up his nightgown. 

 Pushing the purely white fabric higher, and higher, and higher with every swallowed gasp and muffled groan forcibly kept quiet between them. His fingertips were worn. And scarred. And so textured they tickled, and then he pushed his nightgown high enough to get to the thin and small undergarments Leo was wearing. 

 He teased the edge of them to the tune of Leo making tiny noises that had to be silenced with more kisses, flirting with dipping his fingers into them or not. Into them or not. 

 There and so close - 

 So breathless.

 So willing, so wanting, Leo wanted, and he wanted enough that he ended up slowly pressing his hips down. Shuddering; the both of the husbands, and barely keeping quiet. The kissing fell apart in favor of something better, something more…pleasurable, as Leo shyly checked that the twins were still napping soundly. Catching and holding Ryoma’s wandering hands between them as he sat up straight, perched on the man, checking. 

 Catching his breath too, as he waited. Watching. Waiting. But Shiro was using Jewels’ head like a blankie; clutched close to his chest. And Jewels was contently curled up into the tiniest kit-ball ever. Both already in their nap onesies, so…it should be fine, shouldn’t it? 

 Why did it feel like they were getting away with something naughty children would try to hide? 

 When Leo refocused on his husband who was waiting patiently with a big, blushing and beaming expression on his face, playing with his smaller husband’s fingers as he did so, Leo giggled. Embarrassed by that thought and by how affected the both of them were.

 Ryoma listened to him giggle, then giggled himself, though it was more a chuckle. Throatier. Rawer. Raspier. 

 “How far would you like this to go, my cute little tomato?” His tenor voice was all of those things as well. 

 In answer? The young mage tugged on his magic, and blushed even more cherry-red than his beloved. For the faint glow of magic could be seen through his nightgown’s thin, white fabric as he sent away his undergarments to a magical storage. Rather giving away what he intended. As for how far - ? 

 Reclaiming one of those big, warm hands of his husband’s, he was even more shy as he very, very haltingly brought it back to his thigh. Cupping it as he helped it slide up his leg this time. Helped lead it under his nightgown. Letting go only when his teddy bear got the idea, at which point Ryoma pushed himself upwards. Holding Leo’s other hip to keep the boy balanced, straddling him, as he leaned in to pepper kisses across his collarbone. 

 Wet strands of hair were cold where they touched his skin, and he shivered. 

 But Ryoma’s lips were hot. Hot enough to burn, and they made him shudder. 

 But then that hand slipped beneath his nightgown found the part of him longing to be touched by this man he’d wedded, and his head fell back from the bliss as he sighed in pure pleasure. Pure. Pleasure. Falling apart so gladly under the touch of Ryoma Vincini. His husband. His Consort. His lifemate. Father of their sons. He was touched and he liked it.

 He whispered; begging for more. Shifting forward so Ryoma could get to the parts of him he needed after summoning a small tincture of sweet-smelling oil for his husband to use.

 This dance as a married couple they’d done before, and they did so again. Leo Vincini never safer or more satisfied than he was held by his love’s strong arms. Arms over his shoulders as he was held. Arms around his waist as he was steadily lowered onto his husband’s hard cock. Arms under his legs as he sat in Ryoma’s lap and they sought pleasure as one. A pair of sinners safe in their den of mates and kin and pleasure. 

 The pleasures of life and the pleasures of lust went well together, Leo learned.

 Leo also learned his darling doe loved the stretchmarks across his stomach, when he took the time to lay Leo out on his back and push his nightgown up to kiss them more passionately than he had done so yet. He learned he could happily be a mother and Ryoma a father, and they could still sometimes just be husbands.

 It was a careful balance, and they had a long way to go working on that, but this was a very, very pleasing start. 

 A start that ended with Ryoma’s knees pressed into Leo’s sides, and Leo’s ankles locked behind his husband’s broad back, and the two of them moaning quietly into one another’s necks as they struggled to keep quiet while locked in such throes of passion. Leo trembled. His mind blessedly light, and blank, and sleeeeeepy. 

 And he laid limp in the furs, whilst Ryoma so tenderly went to fill a washbasin and bring it back to their nest’s edge to clean him up afterwards. Dozing in and out. Responding and not to the touches, the caresses, the kisses on his body. The nightgown sweetly straightened out, and the final kiss to his brow…

 And then, the mewling of their kits seeking some milk after their nap. 

 Ryoma pulled the straps of his nightgown down for him, helping Leo turn onto his side so his sons could nurse without any effort needed. He cradled them both close. Humming, throat delightfully gravelly in that after-sex way even if he’d been quiet for once out of necessity. 

 Comforted all the more by his mate laying down behind him, curling around him and their babies with his bigger body, burying his face in the crook of Leo’s neck and crooking one arm over his waist as they curled up together. It wasn’t even dinnertime yet. The sun hadn’t set behind the clouds yet. The world hadn’t stopped standing still yet. 

 But there were rain droplets running down their bedroom’s windows. 

 And Ryoma hadn’t let him brave the rainfall alone. 

 So Leo Vincini slipped off to sleep, lulled by the lullaby of a rainstorm over Valentine. 

Chapter Text

 Poised in the middle of a room, a room he distantly noted was like his old study in Windmire but not, for there were regular doors between him and the world rather the magically enchanted entrances it truly had and he was staring right at those doors - Leo blinked. Glancing around at his surroundings in confusion. This wasn’t right. 

 Not only did he no longer reside in Windmire, but his and his mother’s study had had its contents transported to Valentine following the war. 

 The walls, the shelves, the furniture, the clutter; it all wavered. Like an image through the water’s surface. Distorted and not quite natural. 

 The clutter flickered in and out of sight. The study shifted from one he knew - ? 

 To a generic, regal office fit for one of royal status but not quite personalized. 

 Like a stage, set for some performance. 

 Leo scarcely had the chance to linger on that. Those doors in front of him were suddenly thrown open. They swung in towards him, slamming the walls hard enough to nearly splinter, and he flinched. Startled. It’d been so long since somebody dared be loud around the Lordling of Valentine. But this? This wasn’t Valentine.

 But that was his husband storming into the stage-set study, Saizo and Kagero present long enough only to close the doors behind their stormy liege. Leaving the husbands to their lonesome, and strangely…wavering too, like they were just as false. 

 And his spouse stormed towards him, dressed in his royal armor that’d sat unworn in an armory since the war…and he looked angry. 

 Taking a hasty step back by reflex, Leo gasped as his spine hit a conference table in the center of the false office.

 “Lord Ryoma - !” Left his lips, but left him surprised too. 

 Since when did he call his husband Lord Ryoma? 
 
 But he, this man, this man he loved who he did not recognize with such fierce dislike raging in his eyes directed at Leo, stalked straight up to him. Hair wild. Stance downright predatory. Scowl etched deep into his face, hand on Raijinto’s hilt with lightning crackling around him. He came close, pressed closer, growled and it was a sound of dragons that sent Leo’s soul shuddering.

 And this Lord Ryoma ousted his spare hand to grab both of Leo’s wrist in an unforgiving grip, and lay him out on his back roughly, atop that conference table. Hands pinned together above his hand. The Lord’s body bearing down on the rest of him. Dressed in noble clothes, but no armor. With no weapons. With no sign of them because that hand on Raijinto’s hilt bore no wedding band.

 A thorn pierced his heart. Sharp. Scared. Chilling him - 

 And magic cradled his heart. Magic, magic’s presence, removed the thorn with care, and wrapped the poor, pounding organ in Leo’s chest. And magic promised him it would make this all well again before the fear could consume him. Because he should never fear the man he loved with all that he was at his worst, and loved all the more at his best.

 And suddenly, the wavering came so distortingly all around him, all at once, like the world was washed away and replaced with someplace brighter. Kinder. Someplace that looked more like his and Ryoma’s study he had yet to properly unpack just a door down from their bedroom in Vincini Manor, with shelves waiting to be filled and crates and luggage lying around.

 The lighting was soft. The shadows less. The skies golden outside, and there was the scent of autumn’s sweet, sweet rot drifting in through open windows.

 And Ryoma was still pinning Leo down atop a table, but his grasp had gone so gentle.

 And his wedding band was there.

 And Raijinto was not.

 And his Ryoma was wearing a felt-fabric yukata, soft to the touch and loose, his hair in a messy bun, his cheeks flushed as he leaned over his smaller spouse in the privacy of a study none would come searching for them in. 

 This dream did not feel so false. This dream, Brynhildr’s wielder trusted, and he heard her fond laughter distantly like a fading echo elsewhere in his mind. Inhaling a deep, deep breath, Leo went pliant beneath his beloved. Limp. Loose. Relaxed. Breathing in a scent he actually recognized, rather than the sharp snap of ozone he’d been struggling to breathe around moments before without even realizing it. 

 He exhaled, a hesitant smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. 

 “Oh, yes,” he sighed, finding it adorable the confused way Ryoma tilted his head in response, the way he released Leo’s wrists so the blonde could cup his blushing cheek. Could touch him in return, “I much prefer this, Lord Ryoma.” 

 “...Lord - ?” Ryoma repeated, sounding so darling and so confused, but he still let his eyes flutter shut, and dipped down to kiss the inside of Leo’s wrist as he cupped the man’s cheek. His lips velvety soft and ticklish enough to make shivers crawl up the back of Leo’s neck as he breathed out very, very slowly. Controlling himself.

 There was no fear. 

 “Do you like that?”

 “May…be.” 

 There was no need to flinch away, anymore.

 “Do I like that, Lord Leo?” 

 There was a kiss that made his tummy flutter full of butterflies’ wings. Then, there was pleasure.

 And then, Leo Vincini awoke. In his nest. Beside a much more awake Ryoma Vincini who startled because of how quickly Leo sat upright. So fast he dislodged his kits, in the middle of nursing on him as he dozed, and ended up fumbling to soothe their whimpers as a result. His Yoma asked worried questions only half-heard.

 In one ear, deaf to the other while he tended to the boys.

 The smell of a fresh breakfast wafting around them, a tray of which beside his husband, and Leo felt too embarrassed by the parts of his dream he could remember to pay any heed to it all. 

 To that mouth-watering breakfast, to how early in the day it still was, to how handsome his darling Ryoma looked in the rays of dawn as ever. Those questions of his unheard. Growing less and less subtle. Growing closer and closer to where the smaller spouse tried to focus on their kits to distract himself.

 Until his beloved asked about one of the few words he’d actually heard Leo say while asleep.

 “Lord - ?”

 Causing the little Lordling to squeak and cup his cheeks that went as red as a cherry tomato, Turning his face away. Flustered. His body still loved on from the rainy afternoon before with his mate. The rain had finished falling, now. But he still also recalled how he’d thrown his head back and screamed that with his legs over his husband’s shoulders in that blasted dream.

 In what sort of dream did he want to call his husband, whom he loved so much and the intimacy between them, by a title as they made love? 

 How was that explainable? 

 Clearly it wasn’t. It must’ve just been because he was overly tired. Because of the rain. He tended to have strange dreams when it rained, so that must’ve been the cause. Or it was the fact that his husband had been taking up the role of a Lord-husband of Valentine so naturally, and managing so much for him, and being in control in such a nice and determined way. Taking his jobs seriously.

 Caring for Valentine seriously.

 A…Lord of Valentine. His Lord of Valentine. Was that - ? Did that explain - ? 

 “You’ve gone so red,” his beloved with a golden heart behind his brown eyes then said, a chuckle behind the words, and a worn palm caught his cheek. Turned his flushed face back to Ryoma’s full view as he sputtered, “Are you alright?” That palm slid up to press against his forehead for a moment, “You don’t feel as though you are feverish, my love. Is it something else? I’m sure the boys won’t mind you having interrupted their breakfast.” 

 “It’s - it’s nothing,” he managed, waving the memories of that very vivid dream from his mind, saying the first thing that came to his mind, “I - I was dreaming about tomatoes!” 

 Ryoma barked with laughter.

 And his face grew warm for another reason.

 Laughter, though? Laughter was good. Laughter made their kits purr. Laughter led into a kiss sweeter than tomatoes touching his lips. Laughter led into breakfast together in bed, lounging naked in the furs until they felt awake enough to call for baths. Laughter led to Leo watching the water droplets of a finished rainstorm rolling down the bedroom windows, their sons playing and babbling happily in the background, as Ryoma prepped the first bath for him.

 A bath with bubbles, since Ryoma had no immediate business and could watch the boys play while he washed up. Jewels wasn’t so upset when he could see his mama.

 And he definitely wasn’t upset about being free of the dreaded water. 

 And even later, when Leo stood by waiting for a kiss and handing his dear husband the documents for refugee policies they’d been working on, considering the amount of people who seemed to want to join the halidom they’d built from all of the other kingdoms - looking for a fresh start that they seemed to believe the Green Halidom would give them - when he watched his lover go? 

 Back so straight, head held high, greeted respectfully by the guards as he walked down the hallways of Leo’s familial home reviewing those policies once more before discussing it with Lord Alistair? 

 Leo thought, ‘Lord Ryoma.’ 

 And he blushed, before closing the door and going back to his sons.

 He had strange thoughts sometimes, is all.

Chapter Text

 Jewels was huddled helplessly up under Leo’s jaw where he seemed to enjoy taking naps when life overwhelmed his little self, purring as his nap dragged on and on. His twin was swinging around a toy sword…that was really little more than a carved twig, due to his size. Turns out? Baby toys made for human babies weren’t the easiest for kitsune babies to start off with.

 Which was why Shiro and Jewels almost solely played with the small rattles or the building blocks or the plushies.

 All of which lacking any significant moving parts, and whose size didn’t strictly matter for kits just looking for some stimulation during their wiggle and crawling time. Wiggle and crawling time in the crib, that day. That day that was as hazy and misty as a day after a rainstorm ought to be. A late autumn chill curling through the cracked windows. The curtains billowed only faintly.

 And Leo paced, rocking his younger son as he did.

 There were important matters to think on, after all.

 Like the refugee policies Ryoma was primed to propose to his father. Leo had lingered on their drafting perhaps longer than he should’ve. Two extra cups of tea, longer. Delaying his sons’ nursing by precious minutes, longer. The importance of them could not be stressed enough however. Wars? Wars change more than allegiances and flag colors at the end of a conflict. 

 Wars change economies. Ways of life. Maps, and therefore the existences of those within the bounds of those maps. Meaning? Refugees. How many homes had been decimated during the war? How many met the end of it all with nothing waiting for them? Nothing to show for how hard they fought? How many also had allegiances they wished to follow across the border? 

 Allegiances albeit shaky for some.

 Soul-deep for others.

 A point of pride or a last bout of desperation or a lie, the end of the war meant the end of many things.

 Which was precisely why the refugee policies for the Green Halidom had to be fair, yet harsh. Their valleys and orchards and mountains were in a unique situation. For several very, very unique reasons. Obviously there were those who’d been forced out of the halidom’s lands during the war; they’d be welcomed back. Barely questioned at all, provided they could prove their previous residence in the Green Halidom. 

 Others were where it got tricky, since multiple alliances were tangled together in the halidom. 

 The simpler ones were the ones seeking to start anew, start fresh, and seeking refuge in the most put-together land this side of the continent’s mountain ranges. They required new papers, no criminal records, and oaths of loyalty sworn to the new halidom in front of verified witnesses. It was all legal and bureaucratic and all those things Leo knew how to lay out neatly, while Ryoma knew how to present it as not so daunting. 

 They worked well together, like that.

 Then came the complicated ones - the ones seeking refuge based on previous loyalties. A precious few would do so based on the former villain of Nohr, the Blood Prince, Leo Vincini. But many Hoshidans sought to follow their great General, their former Crown Prince Ryoma Hakuryuu-now-Vincini. And that required a bit more reworking and management.

 There were also Nestrans seeking land rights in the Green Halidom now, due to the fact that it was finally open and public knowledge just who Lord Alistair was. The adopted son of King Thorin of Nestra. A royal from across the mountain ranges, thought to have become a vagabond in his youth, for his protection and the protection of Valentine few had known of his royal ties.

 But, well, Alistair openly accepting King Thorin into his homeland and fighting alongside him in battle and calling him ‘father’ on the front lines had hardly gone unnoticed. Plus, it was officially notated in the announcement of his belated union with Leo’s late mother, when he became a husband to Clova Vincini proper and acting Lord-Regent of the Green Halidom.

 Suffice to say, there were Nestrans interested in settling in Valentine and the halidom’s lands. 

 There was already talk of how far Valentine would expand with it being the capital of the new halidom. 

 Leo, as Brynhildr’s wielder and a lover of the valleys since childhood, had put his foot down about disturbing any of the farmlands or the valleys outside the mountain, as well as strictly restricting any work that involved cutting into the forests of the valleys without careful management. 

 If they disrupted Brynhildr’s magic in his home, he would have blood. And he made that very, very clear in all contracts involving refugees seeking to build independent homesteads out in the wilds of the halidom. 

 Comparing the troublemakers to them, however, there was no competition.

 The troublemakers being anyone trying to sneak in the halidom with false papers, criminals too horrendous for words seeking asylum he refused to grant, or those bad apples from Nohr who thought they could bring troublesome ideas to his homeland. They were the reasons the policies had to be harsh.

 And implemented as soon as possible.

 Wuthering and Delgo had both reported refugees trying to move into their lands before the war had been over for a full week. Then, the wolfskin tribes had reported poachers bold enough to venture into their territory in the confusion after the war was over, and Leo had ferociously lent his own guards and knights of Valentine to hunt any and all who would hunt beast-shifters in his lands.

 Beast-shifters like his sons.

 So the refugee policies - 

 Jewels startled under his jaw, suddenly whining and kicking out with his stubby legs, and Leo was knocked out of his thoughtfulness as he nosed his son considerately. Licking lightly at the tip of his nose before he caught himself with his tongue poking out past his teeth, and he sighed.

 Taking his younger son over to where his older was now using a plushie’s chest as a pillow as he napped with his toosh in the air, Leo carefully lowered Jewels into the crib too with a kiss to the crown of his head. Watching fondly as he wiggle-crawled over this brother to join in the plushie pillow napping.

 Sighing, watching over them, Leo smiled when Brynhildr stirred his heart with reassurance.

 Ivy vines grew in sprigs of green magic, winding up and down the bars of the crib.

 It wasn’t the first time he’d grown plants in the kits’ nursery, but it was the first time he bothered not to dismiss them. They were tenacious. Taut. Protective, if need be, and he needed that reassurance for but a moment. A quick moment. Barely a second. 

 There were some resources books he needed from the study next door…and the boys were napping…they wouldn’t even notice him rushing over to find those books…

 But, oh, he was loathed to leave them.

 If he was quick it’d be fine. It’d be just fine.

 His bare feet were silent on the floorboards as he rushed for the door. Composed rushing, but rushing nonetheless. He wouldn’t leave his kits alone for a second longer than necessary. He pushed up his shirt’s sleeves, gripping the white fabric tight in the moment he paused to look back.

 Then he yanked open the door, stepped out, closed it with an almost ragged breath as he reminded himself his sons were safe alone for a moment in his home - 

 And turned his serious expression on the guards all standing at attention in the hall.

 “Guard them.” He commanded. A command met by their fists pounding their breastplates, and then he was hurrying one door down the hall. 

 Just one door.

 The door between his den and his kits’ nursery…where he wasn’t at the moment and needed to be. And Leo darted inside. Already determined and redoubly so to grab those books he needed and get out. If only the study he was meant to share with his husband wasn’t so cluttered. They needed to find the time to organize all of the crates and boxes and - 

 He tripped.

 Distracted and huffy, he stumbled. Kept himself upright, and glared back at the…cloth - ? He tripped over?

 Cloth draped over a square shape? 

 In a dim room without the curtains even open? How careless. Leo grabbed the cloth and yanked at it with a hiss. Wincing. His toe hurting from how he’d unintentionally kicked the darned thing. And beneath? Was a trunk.

 A Hoshidan trunk.

 One of Ryoma’s? One he could not recognize. It was large. Weighty, judging by how it barely shifted when he stubbed his toe on its corner. Wedged between some more crates, partially. With a cloth laid over it? Curious. Curious. Both the trunk, and Leo as he found himself distractedly staring down at the thing. 

 A lovely bane of his; his curiosity. He knelt and with some effort? Managed to wiggle the heavy trunk out from between those crates. 

 The latches flipped up with ease, obviously oiled and taken care of, and Leo swore to himself a glance would satisfy the curiosity curled like a cat up in his chest. Then he’d grab those resource books and go. Back to his kits. A glance. Nothing more. He flipped the trunk’s lid up so it rested on the crates, and a magical orb of light appeared over his shoulder so he could see in the dimness of the study.

 And, well, what had he expected? 

 They were books. He snorted in spite of himself; his husband who loved to read had books brought over from Hoshido. Of course. He was about to close the trunk’s lid once more when this tiny notion niggled at his mind.

 None of the books had stitching on their bindings. Odd. No embellishments. No titles. 

 So he curiously tugged one out of the carefully packed trunk with books all bindings-up before him, and turned it over. The back was blank too. He turned it over again. The cover too? The book he held was simply a solid color, and he frowned pensively at it before he tugged out another book. He turned it over fully. Blank. He set those down next to himself and tugged out two more.

 Blank. All of them. The whole trunk was full of blank books without titles or authors stitched into the covers and bindings. That was…odd. 

 Thinking they might be journals, Leo casually flipped a book he held open, a royal-blue one, and expected handwritten entries inside. But no, it was proper printing from a Nestran printing house, if he had to guess. He flipped another book open, a ruby-red one, and that one looked like it’d been printed in Hoshido.

 What was his husband doing with unmarked books hidden in their study? 

 Pausing to take a moment to actually skim a few of the pages he’d flipped to in the red book, Leo wondered if they were printed documents or the like. He read a few sentences…

 Ah.

 Oh.

 Oh.

 His cheeks warmed. Warmed like he’d fallen asleep by a fireplace for hours. He dropped the book with a mortified squeak, and his hands went up to his cheeks to cup them. Scandalized. By just a few sentences. He’d known his husband had…had books that mentioned love-making. That his love favored romances, but he hadn’t expected the books to be so…so…

 Detailed.

 Swallowing, he very, very, very cautiously lifted up the corner of the dropped book again, as if it would bite him, and found another page staring up at him. There were words there he didn’t know. There were acts written there he didn’t know. His breath caught as he realized it was a love-making scene between three men and a woman and he dropped the book without really letting the sentences fully register in his head. Feeling like his head had been dropped in a cooking pot.

 He’d known Ryoma had some racy ideas now and again, that his mate had driven most of their love-making, guided it, always gentle with it. And he’d known such…relationship dynamics existed out there, especially thanks to Niles’ willingness to be very open about some of the vague fun he’d had on lonely nights, but the idea of his demure husband who could barely stop blushing when he was kissed in front of a single person who wasn’t Leo reading such things - ? 

 Wondering if he’d regret it, he flipped open the Nestran book, gulping, relieved when he didn’t immediately open to a scene about love-making. One more flip of the page, however? 

 And he had to snap the book shut faster than he’d opened it. There were more words he didn't know there. 

 He was having strange thoughts as he knelt there, his magical orb fading away so its summoner wouldn’t have to see anymore and his brain feeling…well, boiled.

 Did Ryoma…

 Desire these things? 

 A fist knocking at the door startled him enough that he squeaked and fell backwards onto his hand, chest heaving as if he’d just been caught doing something very wrong. Very scandalous. But then a voice came through the doors, and he was rushing, worried, for a whole other reason and didn’t have time to be worried about the blank books at all.

 “Lord Leo, the little ones are crying for you!” 

 He shoved the blank books he’d taken out back in the trunk haphazardly, shutting the cursed thing and throwing the cloth over it, then stood. Careful not to remember a thing about what he’d found. He hurried for the resource books he knew were stacked on a table only a few steps away from the discovery, and then hurried even moreso for the door.

 A door he darted out like a fox with hunters on its bushy tail, his guard jolting back as he burst out, and Leo disappeared one door down.

 The sound of his kits mewling and whimpering for him, eyes bright and close to tears, all but stole away the discovery from his mind for a long while. He tended to his and Ryoma’s children.

 And he didn’t think about the blank books.

Chapter Text

 Those blank books were on his mind the rest of the afternoon, after his sons were settled.

The sentences within them were shaken away with actual shakes of his head, but their existence…lingered. Like some taunting secret. A devil at his shoulder, hissing in his ear, demanding he dig deeper. Which was hardly fair.

 He was the one who’d gone snooping! Curious or not. He’d known that the trunk was Ryoma’s and he’d knowingly rummaged through it. Granted, he and Ryoma didn’t exactly have rules about privacy.

 What was his was Ryoma’s, and what was Ryoma’s was his. 

 But those felt very singularly Ryoma’s.

 Scandalized more and more as the hours dragged on, Leo barely had the stomach for lunch or an afternoon snack. Suddenly, his dreams about calling his husband Lord Ryoma felt rather small by comparison to said husband’s apparent…interests. Except, what if they weren’t his interests? What if they were simply books he owned? 

 But what if they were? 

 Snapping shut the text he’d been flipping through without really reading anything, Leo sighed. Then started guiltily when Jewels yipped unhappily at the noise. Half-asleep in a patch of sunlight on the rug. His nose wrinkling up and his ears wiggling as he kicked, then settled. The text was set aside, and the boy of Valentine sighed again.

 With only his thoughts, alone in his bedroom once more, he was getting nowhere. 

 Of course, he had his instincts about guarding his den and staying with his kits, but after more than a month since the birth? Those were dwindling more and more by the day. He was capable of leaving the boys alone for short bouts of time. And he was fine with letting people into or around his den - bedroom - far more often now. 

 At least, nobody had gotten flung across the hallway by feisty vines in a few weeks.

 Still, leaving for such a silly reason felt - 

 Bending his knees, Leo hugged them to his chest. Toes curling into the cushion of the windowseat in his room. A land without leaves on the trees outside, mist hanging low over the valley, the grass a burnished-orange color and fallen leaves clumped together along all the paths. He pushed the window out a little further to get a better breeze rushing past him. Perhaps it was just air he needed.

 But as he readjusted to rest his arms on the windowsill and lay his cheek on them, watching a few chirpy birds fly past? 

 Some of his guards wandered past on the pathway two stories down. Their rose-gold armor glimmering in the misty sunlight of the day.

 And their voices carrying up to Leo mid-conversation. A conversation that made him go very still.

 “ - me, you didn’t really say that to her, did you?” One, a younger guard Leo wasn’t quite sure he knew by name was saying, face-palming, as if he was baffled by the stupidity of one of his brothers-in-arms. 

 “I misspoke!” Another younger guard stressed, stopping to make anxious movements with his hands at the first, sounding as if he wanted to do the face-palming, “She looks stunning! No baby woulda changed that. My wife is a beauty, and that’s all there is to it! I never thought she’d get so offended by it!” 

 Blinking, one of Leo’s hands subconsciously fell from the windowsill to his belly, that was now entirely returned to his before-pregnancy state other than the stretchmarks, and he began to puff up and worry on behalf of this wife. Which was strange, since he didn’t even know the full story.

 So even though it was rude, he curiously tipped his ear to better hear the group of guards that had stopped below his windows unaware.

 “Word of advice, young’un,” one of the guards that Leo did know, Sir Raveth, said turning to the younger guardsmen while another cackled at their ‘mistakes of youth’, “Ya never try to initiate intimacy in the bedroom after your spouse has had a baby. Let them decide. There’s two ways it can go. Ya can either get the wildest rustle in the sack ya’ve ever known before, or ya could end up sleeping out in the barn for the night. Let them choose which. My husband was the same after the birth of our children.” 

 More raucous laughter from two older guards sounded, and Leo’s ears warmed.

 Was that…true? He thought back to the evening before and his love-making with Ryoma, and, well, he had initiated. Was this common knowledge? 

 Had his beloved been waiting on him? 

 “The difference between the two of you is who wears the pants in each of your relationships!” One of Sir Raveth’s friends called back down the path tauntingly to him, “We all know that young lass isn’t going to let the lad touch her for months, maybe years! Having babes with your woman just means you also have to expect your bedroom life may come to end is all, lad. ‘Less she’s looking to have another.” 

 “Which is perfectly fine!” Leo was glad to hear the younger guard sputter but say, loud and proud, yet Sir Raveth raised a hand and waved off his friend’s taunting with a harsh ‘baaa!’

 He then turned and pointed to the younger, apparently married guard to say sternly.

 “Now, ya listen here, he don’t know what he’s saying, he’s never known more than a few dalliances with passing merchant daughters.” A passing, offended ‘hey’ came from the friend, “A healthy sex life is important in marriage. Should be discussed well and often, and preferably before children but ya ain’t too late. When ya get home, ya sit her down and ya two have this talk, got it, lad?”

 “Ah, yeah,” the lad said, and Sir Raveth slapped him heartily on the back in response, so hard his armor made clanking noises.

 “There’s a good lad. I’ll have my hubby bake up one of his legendary apple pies too, ya hear? Send it home with ya. That’ll put yar missus in a great mood for the talk. Just remember, she ain’t owe ya nothing, but yar opinion matters too. A marriage is a partnership, ya hear?”

 “You ol’ sap!” The friend further down the path shouted, then turned and continued off with the other experienced guards as Sir Raveth and the young’uns went to catch up. 

 Their little Lordling was left staring after them, turning over Sir Raveth’s words in his head.

 ‘A healthy sex life’?

 The sound of their footsteps fading away, down the stepping stone pathway down below, and Leo’s eyes still tried to follow them as they rounded a corner of the manor. He felt as though he approved of Sir Raveth’s point of view, for the most part. But it left him very curious too. Curious in this way where there was a pit in his stomach. 

 Thinking about the blank books he’d sworn he wouldn’t think about.

 Did he and Ryoma have a healthy sex life? 

 There were strange thoughts in his head, so the boy did what he hadn’t been able to do for a very, very long time before returning to Valentine. He decided to call for an adult.

 “Please fetch my father,” he told Sir Joey, stationed outside of his bedroom, before vanishing inside just as swiftly as he’d appeared. 

 Papa would know. 

 “Papa, what is a healthy sex life supposed to be like?” 

 Lord Alistair blinked at his son. Once, twice. Sat on the sofa across from his and Clova’s boy, he’d been so overjoyed to be invited into what was essentially the boy’s ‘den’ for the first time in too long, to see his grandsons, and…somehow he wasn’t too alarmed by the question Leo asked him with a serious expression and sharp eyes. 

 The silvery-haired Lord adjusted his grandsons on his lap, giving it some thought as he bounced his knee so that Shiro giggled and clapped. Jewels clung to his waistcoat tightly with a whine, so he curled his fingers through the darling’s hair as he considered.

Leo looked truly…concerned. 

Any concern of his son’s was of the highest priority to Alistair of course. The tea on the tablet between them was forgotten as he wondered just what his son-in-law had done to suddenly have his boy asking about this.

But regardless, an answer.

And answer which, well - 

“That depends on one’s relationship, dear boy,” he said, calmly, and gave the blonde boy a chance to collect that non-answer in amongst whatever conclusions he’d surely already drawn. Leo was as smart as his mother, after all. And Leo motioned to him to continue, so Alistair did so, “Sex, as a whole, is wholly determined by the participants. Do you understand that?”  

 A small nod. Slower. Leo began to fiddle with the cuffs of his shirt, frown not negative, but pensive.

 He had such a thoughtful son. He dearly hoped Lord Ryoma hadn’t done something to deserve him challenging the man in a duel to the death for the honor of his and Clova’s child.

 Of course, if he had, Lord Ryoma’s grave would be dug by day’s end.

 As much as he liked the young man, nobody dishonored nor insulted his son. Not in this home. Their home. Not again. Never again.

 “What if…” Leo’s voice was softer than usual, trailed off like it didn’t usually do, and Alistair tucked his grandsons closer to his hips so he could motion for his boy to continue and shift his weight forward. Trying to show he was there. He would listen. It was okay.

 “What if I don’t satisfy him?” 

 “Has he said you don’t?” 

 “Well,” the boy’s face crinkled up uncertainly for a moment before relaxing, and he fidgeted where he sat a bit, his voice turning into an almost embarrassed murmur, “no…he hasn’t. I just. I overheard something…and I found something I probably shouldn’t have, since it was an invasion of his privacy.” 

 Lord Alistair of Valentine hummed, contemplatively. Aware of those brilliant, green eyes just like his mother’s snapping to him. Waiting for whatever answer he couldn’t find himself. And Alistair was genuinely curious, but if it was meant to be private from even his husband - ? He doubted Lord Ryoma would want him to know.

 Some of that Vincini curiosity had truly rubbed off on him. But, he thought he had enough of a grasp on the situation.

 “My dear boy,” he began, rubbing circles in his kitsune grandson’s back as the small dear keened and nosed at his waistcoat, trying to keep his smile stern but also kind, trying his best, as he always only ever did for the boy he’d loved and lost too soon and only just gotten back, “the matter of a healthy sex life is certainly something you’d have to discuss with your husband.” 

 His boy began to wilt, so he went on before he could.

 “It is a matter only he and you can decide on. I could tell you that there is a set amount of times you must make love as husbands each week, but it would be a lie. It could be as simple as setting something of a schedule, if you both approve of such an idea. Or it could be a talk on particular…interests, if that is part of your concerns, but the matter of consent is yours to decide, and his to accept. And his to decide and yours to accept as well. It is, well and truly, just up to the both of you.” 

 That was quite a bit for his boy to think about; his brows were pinched together and he’d crossed his arms, humming as he thought.

 The adoptive Prince of Nestra didn’t mind waiting, he just spent some time cooing at his grandsons, rocking them in his lap, and scritch-scratching behind little Jewels’ fluffy ears that grew bigger and more fluffy each time he saw the little mite.

 He looked so much like Clova, like Leo. 

 His brother looking more like King Sumeragi and Lord Ryoma wasn’t a bad thing; it just meant Shiro looked like an old friend and the man his son loved. 

 He leaned down to give them each big, loud smooches on each of their foreheads until they were giggling wildly and waving their hands around. Squealing as he laughed, a grandfather. A grandfather. It still struck Alistair each time he saw them - he was a grandfather. Oh, how Brynhildr had blessed him in the end.

 All those years of waiting had been worth it.

 “I…think I understand,” suddenly, his boy’s voice came, a bit stronger now, and the old man that he was now startled. Having not noticed Leo stand and circle the tablet to stand in front of him. Smiling softly at the scene of him with the twins. 

 The son of the woman he loved leaned down, and kissed him delicately on the cheek.

 “Thank you, Papa.” 

 “Always, my precious child. Anything for you.” 

 After that, it was just grandfather time with the boys.

 Shiro and Jewels both whined complainingly when his papa had to leave to attend business. The Lord of a land, especially the acting Lord-Regent of a whole halidom, couldn’t linger long. Not now. Not when there was so much to be done. But Leo appreciated his papa taking the time to meet him. And they both found it utterly adorable how the boys seemed to have imprinted on their grandfather despite seeing him so rarely since their birth.

 Guiltily, Leo knew he was to blame for that. Those instincts, his overprotectiveness, yes, he was to blame. But Papa just ruffled his golden lockes when the boy tried to apologize at the door.

 Kissed him farewell, and went. To do the duties he would not allow to lay on Leo’s shoulders just yet.

 The twins settled. Eventually. It took some shushing, some rocking, and finally some nursing. They had to nurse on Leo’s milk anywhere from seven to nine times a day at their age, and, well, the schedule was beginning to set more for all three of them. At least it calmed them down. Made them sleepy.

 He had two tiny bundles tucked close to his heart, his fingertips carding through their tufts of hair, in no time at all after that.

 So Brynhildr’s wielder thought on what his papa had told him. 

 It certainly warranted thought. It was a big thing. An important thing. And he regretted more than before listening to those guards outside his window, eavesdropping as he had, but it’d felt too close to home for him to ignore. 

 Now to address this with the man he loved. His mate. Leo noticed his matemark pulse, faintly, and wondered if Ryoma knew he was thinking of him. Thinking on him. Thinking on them. He wondered if the man knew he was wanting him, longing for him, beckoning him as soon as possible to join him to put his young spouse at ease. 

 The matemark pulsed again, and Leo wondered if he’d just thrown all of that across the bond they shared, tied together by teeth and blood and love.

 Tied by a wedding night that had bore them their sons.

 “Your papa is an amazing man,” he mumbled down at his sleeping children, children he sometimes still was in awe of having, and his lips twitched up at how Jewels’ tiny ears twitched from his breaths, “Sometimes, I still wonder what I did to earn such a man.” 

 “Everything.” 

 Tensing, an unexpected tenor suddenly there, Leo twisted around where he sat in one of the armchairs to stare at Ryoma. Stood on the threshold of their den. Slowly closing the doors behind himself so they would not make a sound, would not wake the sons Leo had just slightly jostled.

 He waited until they’d stilled, their breaths even and snores soft, before glancing back to his husband. Back far sooner than he’d expected.

 “I wasn’t expecting you yet,” he confessed, still easily tipping his head up with expectancy for the kiss Ryoma leaned down to place on his lips. Velvety-soft and tasting of…smoked meat? He must’ve had some jerky as a snack or with his lunch. 

 “The policies passed easier than I think either of us expected,” his darling explained as he removed Raijinto from his waist to prop against the tablet, and adjusted the Hoshidan-red robes he wore that day. Always a color that suited him. Though Leo still preferred him in green, “I am still…adjusting, to how nonconfrontational the delegates are.” 

 Humming in understanding, when his Yoma leaned down again, Leo shifted Shiro to his other arm beside his brother so he could thread his fingers through his husband’s wild mane. Curling them like he knew Yoma liked just behind his ear, brushing down his nape. A show of affection which ended on his matemark, fingertips dancing across the scar tissue lightly, and he smiled at how his husband’s whole body seemed to loosen at the touch.

 “Also, I heard you had not eaten much from the meals the kitchen staff brought to you.” 

 He winced, guilty.

 “And that you asked for your father to visit you for counsel.”

 He averted his eyes, and then it was Ryoma’s hand touching him. Caressing his cheek. Fingertips brushing down to chastely let the webs of lightning scars he had under his jaw remember their creation had been an accident for none who beheld Leo so lovingly could ever hurt him willingly.

 “I worried.” 

 “And I…needed to speak with you,” Leo sighed, surrendering to the touch and to this conversation, as the man he loved knelt at the armchair beside him. A show of devotion he’d made so many times. Yet it took his breath away no less this time, with Ryoma’s touch trailing down to glance over their sons. Both of the boys keening as they sensed their papa was there with them.

 Yipping happily, sleepily, and going right back to their nap afterwards.

 “Thank you for being forthright with that,” Ryoma’s tenor rumbled, and he waited with a tilted head for a moment as Leo struggled to find where to start. How to explain.

 When the waiting dragged on and Leo ended up opening and closing his mouth several times in false starts, shifting and growing less and less sure, those tawny eyes closed for a moment. When they opened? His husband looked vaguely…ashamed? And he spoke first.

 “Forgive me if I have guessed wrongly, my sweet tomato, but…is this about my trunk of books in the study?” 

 Emerald eyes went wide in response; answer enough. 

 “I went in there earlier to find a few documents I’d been working on,” so Ryoma answered his questioning silence, rubbing at Leo’s knee as if to reassure while the boy’s ears went warm once again that day from embarrassment at having been caught, “I noticed somebody had removed the cloth. Had gone through some of the books. I’d wondered, but…” 

 “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my place.”

 “It was,” and predictably, in such a sure tone, his husband said, “What’s mine is yours, Leo. They were not some great secret. They were simply something I was…hesitant to openly speak of. Those books are…I am aware that they are a bit…ah, perhaps it would be best to call them - “ 

 The very last thing Leo looked to inspire in his darling with a golden heart was shame. Yet shamed was the only way to describe how he was visibly withdrawing into himself right before his eyes.

 So it was a wrong he would right.

 “They are yours, and things of yours may be whatever you please or fancy,” he said shortly, firmly, reaching after the hands that had withdrawn from him as if Yoma wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch Leo right now and that was unacceptable, “I was merely startled by how - how detailed the ones I skimmed through were.” 

 “Yes, well, that trunk is intended for my most, ah, amorous novels. Mostly ones I purchased during my teenage years. Did it not make you uncomfortable?” 

Shifting, avoiding answering for a moment, Leo readjusted the boys against his collarbone. 

A lie would be unwelcome at the moment, but the truth felt almost too honest. But. The truth was what he’d sworn to always give to Ryoma, so he did so again. In a hesitant way, but at least it was said, “Uncomfortable may be too big a word for it, Yoma. It was more…eye-opening.” 

Ryoma’s brows knitted together at the word he opted to use, and when he motioned with a hand for him to continue? 

The Vincini boy found himself simply spitting it out.

“Ryoma, do I not satisfy you in bed?”

His husband sputtered, seemed genuinely shocked, and Leo didn’t give him a chance to speak out of fear when he knew he should, because there was this ugly feeling clawing its way up the inside of his throat and turning him weak from the core out.

“Because I know I haven’t been initiating love-making or other forms of intimacy since the boys were born as much, and I know we never really did such things often during the war regardless, and some of the things in those books were really - they were - and I - “

His Lord-husband silenced him with a thumbpad pressed to his lips.

“Forgive me, but I must stop you there, because in no way am I unsatisfied by you. By us,” and there, as ever, was his Ryoma making sense in a world of fools. Fools like Leo, when he allowed his heart to be carried away by anxieties, “Those books are fantasies, and nothing else. They are not things I need. In some cases, they are not even things I want. And you are in no way lacking, Leo. Please don’t believe otherwise.” 

Waiting, a breath passed, another, the next breath was easier to take in, and Leo felt heat fill his cheeks. Felt it hit him how he’d panicked over books. 

He kissed the thumbpad still resting on his lips, and Ryoma leaned up to replace it with lips proper.

 “Sorry,” the blonde boy apologized, really feeling his age when faced with how unwavering his older husband was, which was certainly uncommon considering he knew himself to be mature, but Ryoma nodded.

 “Forgiven,” he said simply, and it felt as if that was that.

 It was just that…Leo had been having strange thoughts lately.

 “So…you don’t want to invite another person into our bed?” He double-checked in the instant after that kiss, and Ryoma promptly dropped away. Away from the armchair. Away from him. So his forehead touched the floorboards, and Leo could hear him mumbling to himself, bowing there, and he felt even more embarrassed.

 “No, I do not want anyone else in our marital bed, my cute little husband.” 

 That was good. Leo was worried how Ryoma would take death threats towards a hypothetical third party in their nest, and now they weren’t needed. They’d probably need to talk a bit more at length about the contents of some of those ‘amorous’ books.

 But for now, he held his children close and hesitated a moment before confessing.

 “I’ve been wanting to call you Lord Ryoma in bed…since a dream I had last night. Would you dislike that?” 

 His Lord-husband lifted his head, and oh - those tawny eyes of his had gone dark, the pupils wide, observing Leo like a lamb that had wandered away from his flock. And Leo shivered, subtlety, clinging to their sons a bit more as Ryoma answered in a voice rough not from strain but from desire.

 “I would be amenable. Did…did you want to have this conversation because you also have a few fantasies for our bed, my dear?” 

 “Perhaps. Will you tell me one of yours in exchange?” 

 “Of course.” 

 They had things to try out together. Things they did try out later. Together. Once the boys were put to bed and out for the night, hopefully, in their nest. There was a certain charm, a certain thrill, to calling his Lord-husband Lord Ryoma as they made love. There was a certain piece of Leo’s heart that felt filled by it. By handing over that control, even if both of them knew as his Consort, Ryoma had less power than him in real life.

 But that was precisely why it felt safe for Leo to do it, with his arms over the man’s shoulder and the title ‘Lord’ bitten off, barely stopped from being screamed, as they made love in the furs.

 It was just a fantasy.

 Sometimes, he had strange thoughts. And more than sometimes? 

 Ryoma Vincini reminded his husband that there was nothing wrong with that. 

Chapter Text

 Tomatoes were always made available to Leo Vincini. 

 In some ways, it was like a royal decree. What a life. It made Clova’s son snort, to think such a thing. Why, yes. The best thing about Valentine wasn’t the beauty of it, the welcoming nature of its lands and people, the way it was engraved on his very soul as a piece of himself as he was and shall always be. No. Of course not. What a silly idea. The best thing - 

 Was that there were always tomatoes there for Leo Vincini. 

 A symbol in and of itself, mayhaps? What an odd idea; tomatoes, being symbols. And no, not in that silly way where Ryoma had teasingly suggested embroidering tomato imagery on their halidom’s flags. Seriously. Truly. Tomatoes, made available to the young Lord, being a sign of something bigger. 

 Something better. 

 Something kinder. 

 Who would’ve ever thought a favorite snack could alter fate? Had it? Maybe, in the littlest of ways. Like all the important things do. Like all of Leo’s favorite things do. A snack is only a snack until you attach the memories to it, the reasons why it is your favorite. And, alright, tomatoes began as Leo’s favorite because of their taste and the delight they inspired in him as a child. 

 There were definitely less healthy snacks for a growing boy to have. Tomatoes were hardly a vice he should be ashamed to have…excluding just how many tomatoes he could gorge himself on without ever growing tired of the little fruits. Still, the point? 

 Was the memories. 

 Tomatoes were his favorite in the beginning because of the taste.

 Then, it was the laughter of his parents as they watched him feast on tomato after tomato until he’d eaten the kitchens clean of the fruits. It was Leo hiding out in the gardens with a basket of the red-skinned things, shoving them in his face until the juices were soaked into his clothes and skin and he was sticky-fingered and satisfied. Mischievous little Lord of Valentine. 

 Then it was Leo running away from laughing servants and guards with a stolen hoard in his tiny fruit basket.

 Then it was Leo being fed tomatoes as a special snack when he had a fever and Mama and Papa agreed it was an acceptable treat as he recovered; them pushing soft-skinned tomatoes onto his tongue for him to pop when he could stomach few other things. 

 Then it was picnics, and happily playing in the flowers as he mindlessly snacked on tomato after tomato, a seemingly endless supply waiting for him to run out so they could be refilled. 

 Tomatoes were a taste, and in some ways they were the taste of home. 

 Tomatoes were the delight of seeing Ryoma fluster as he ate a cherry tomato for the first time and it popped across those soft lips of his. Tomatoes were the comfort food his husband requested whenever Leo’s spirits were downtrodden and weary. Tomatoes were the tiny surprises his husband found for him to make his heart soar. 

 Tomatoes were waiting on a small platter beside his main course every meal he ate in Valentine, morning, noon, and night. Tomatoes of every species. Some even specially bred species; made to taste sweet, made to taste bitter, tomato juice and tomato desserts and tomato salads easily prepared whenever a snack with tea was requested. Leo had never once wondered if Valentine wouldn’t have tomatoes for him since the war had ended. 

 So, really, tomatoes meant something to the boy. 

 Call him silly if you wish, but tomatoes can be a love language if one wished, and Leo was willing to be a translator if that was what it took. 

 If his darling doe, Ryoma, was unsure of his mood for the day? Leo knew. And how did he know? Because on those days, Leo awoke with a small platter of tomatoes in their nest. On the furs. Set beside his pillow. The first thing he saw on those days in the morning light was his husband’s shining eyes, his adoring smile, their sons snuggled close, and tomatoes practically set under his nose.

 Some days he forewent using his fingers at all, and simply resorted to burying his face in the platter and snagging tomatoes with his mouth. As if a bloodhound drawn by their scent. Munching on them half-asleep, barely aware, but aware enough of the tomatoes and satisfied with that alone. 

 That morning wasn’t so different. That morning, Leo felt loved.

 Because there was a small platter of tomatoes under his nose. 

 And they tasted delicious, even out of season. 

 When Leo had asked once, Lord Alistair of Valentine had answered with pride. How was Valentine so unendingly full of tomatoes? Well. It wasn’t simply a blessing from Brynhildr, though it also was that. Papa had had greenhouses built in Valentine after his boy was taken, and he’d filled them with every known and unknown and yet to be known species of tomato in the world. 

 Lovingly tended to; a regular routine for the guards of Valentine, to take turns tending the tomato greenhouses. 

 Valentine had surpassed Cheve years ago, being the main monopoly on tomatoes on the continent. And now that Cheve was nothing but a memory of soot-stained stone foundations? They went unchallenged. And these greenhouses produced throughout the winter, blessed eternally by the Lady Brynhildr, who would never mind expending just a tiny bit of her magic so her wielder could have some of his favorite snacks whenever he desired. 

 So, yes, Valentine was willing to rule the tomato world. 

 And all for the little boy who liked the taste, once upon a time. 

 Now, there was nothing sweeter than a nice tomato to Leo Vincini. And he had the feeling that would never change. Savoring those treats each and every day, Leo knew down to the marrow in his bones - probably tomato juice by now - that he was home. 

 And he was free to eat as many tomatoes as he wished to. 

 And that was enough for some people. That was enough for him. 

Chapter Text

 The kits rarely were brought outside of the walls of manor, for a number of reasons.

 Leo’s overprotective instincts being number one for more than a month following their birth.

 Then, there was simply the matter of not needing to risk it. They were so small, still so delicate in the face of a world so big and strange, and so easily made sick or frightened or stressed. Nay - Leo and Ryoma would not risk it. They were best off safe in their warm den, nursing and playing and worrying not at all for all their first months of life. 

 But, well, the boys were nearly two months old now.

 Harvest season had reached its end. Autumn had nearly reached its end. The frosts were so clear on each morning’s wind now, and soon Valentine may very well be seeing its first snows of winter. 

 Harvest season’s end, the wrapping up of the Harvest Festivals, the end of one season and the coming of another. Valentine dealt with this same time each year with efficiency and care, because few times of the year threaten a town of mountain valleys more than winter’s snows. Its only competition was the flooding seasons of spring, when flashfloods were a risk rushing down from the mountains with all the thawing snows.

 There were no trees left with leaves on their branches, other than the rare, resilient leaf refusing to let go. The leaves that would stay and frost over until bitter winds tore them from their stems. 

 The evergreens remained, bushy and green, but of course, but little else in the Green Halidom could be called such in this season and the season to come.

 The people of Valentine had much to do, to prepare for winter’s wearying weight. 

 Preparations that had already begun. Simple things like topping off the wells so they’d not freeze completely and leave homes without water, setting the fields up for frosts and snows and a new seeding come spring, getting the livestock wintered and the trunks of warmer clothes hauled out of attics and sheds. 

 Leo, too, had had a trunk of winter clothes for his sons taken out of the attic. Just in case what he already had neatly folded away inside the drawers of their wardrobe in his den and their dresser in their nursery wasn’t enough. He had plenty of little booties, however. 

 It seemed as if every sweet, elderly person in Valentine capable of either knitting or cobbling had had booties made for his sons and sent them as gifts. 

 Each of his sons had a set of such booties wiggled onto their tiny, tiny feet that day.

 That rare day, when the sun was shining brilliantly in late autumn and the weather was at least warm enough to not need more than a shawl for a walk outside. 

 When the wielder of Brynhildr had pushed open his windows that morning, she had whispered to him. He had listened. And he had fetched his boys’ warmest clothing with extra layers and thick blankets to boot. Unwilling to take a chance with even sniffles. Leo trusted Bryn, though. He trusted her so he bundled his kits up tight in layers that seemed disproportionate to their tiny sizes.

 Carrying them outside took a bit of pacing. A bit of battling with the motherly instincts inside of him.

 A silent battle full of pensive looks to the doors to the garden, that his guardsmen watched amusedly until his mind was set.

 Shiro and Jewels were brought outside of Vincini Manor with a full guard detail, bundled up tight, and not to leave Leo’s arms…and the sunshine on their cheeks made them both purr. 

The end of autumn meant the end of sweet, sweet rot on the breezes of the valley, and Leo inhaled a lungful as his boots tapped on stepping stone after stepping stone. The gardens of Vincini Manor all wilted beautifully, and had an air of loved lands even leafless and brown from said wilting. Leo carried the boys as close as close could be, but let them both enjoy being outside in the sunshine. Sunshine through leafless tree branches. Shiro chattered excitedly at every little thing he saw.

Jewels clung to the knit shawl his mother was wearing, wary of the world as he trembled. Really. So small and fragile a thing. 

If it wouldn't mean depriving Shiro, their mother might've taken them straight back into the manor.

But he kept on walking, letting Jewels nose his way underneath his shawl to hide. Listening to the quiet chit-chat of his guards following him. Gushing fondly and so blatantly about his boys that Leo felt all puffed up and bright with pride over them. Sirs Rainier and Joey especially kept taking a few extra steps forward to coo at the boys. Decorum mattered little amongst those trusted, after all.

In Valentine, guards were often family, after all.

And at least since the war, Leo Vincini had learned he could trust family. 

At the end of the path of stepping stones, there was a wrought-iron gate. No taller than Leo's waist. When he placed a hand on it to open it, shifting the boys more together to be able to use one arm? A soft whinny sounded. The boy-rider shifted further to greet his dear filly with a smile and to allow Rose to enter the gate ahead of him. Her coat already looked thicker. Shinier. She was already taller too, not all knobby knees and new like she'd been after…well, her rebirth.

Still, as near as her rider could tell, that HAD been what it was. 

What gave his dear horse back to him. 

But Rose? Had always been special. For him and for his mother before him. For Brynhildr. So Leo simply was glad of it, and questioned no else. Vincini Manor was used to magical happenings as well, so none of the stablehands had questioned either. Though…he was beginning to suspect the black filly was growing a bit too fast for being basically as old as the twins.

Rose flicked her short tail at him, trotting into Mother's personal gardens.

The guardsmen with him each stopped and bowed respectfully before entering. Each asking for entry he and she granted. 

Mother was as gorgeous as ever; the polished stone of her statue and grave a striking contrast against the garden's colors now. Leo thought of himself wearing a white dress. He thought of himself sneaking out of his den while pregnant. He thought of lying in fallen leaves as he sobbed and thanked his mama for all she'd sacrificed so he could be happy one day.

He thought of Ryoma lying in the fallen leaves with him, and he smiled lovingly down at the sons in his arms.

Their sons.

The sons they'd had thanks to all Clova Vincini had given and given and given. And now? A bit late, maybe, her precious son was presenting his precious sons to her as he approached her grave. Her statue. Her, standing there in a gown with a bouquet of her favorite roses held by her, beaming. Such a beautiful smile. Papa said he inherited it.

The young parent knelt at the foot of her grave, holding his sons so she could see them.

Never ever ever prouder than that moment.

“Look, Mama. These are my sons. I'm sorry I spent so long without coming to introduce them…but I know you would love them both so much! Another set of Vincini twins…”

Another set, after the fire - he shook that sad thought away.
 
 “Ryoma’s mentioned already how we should get a family portrait done,” he hummed, thoughtful as he cradled his sons who grew more accustomed to the wilted garden of Valentine’s most beloved Lady and were now showing off that signature Vincini curiosity trying to squirm out of his arms, maybe to explore, “One to hang right next to yours with Papa and me. I don’t know how I’ll get Shiro to stay still long enough, though. How’d you get me to stay still?” 

It was a rhetorical question, but he distinctly heard one of his older guards with silver in his hair snort and say, “Bribed ya with tomatoes, little Lord, obviously.” 

 Snorts and snickers all around from his guards, all taking a knee in the wilted grasses of the garden before their Lady’s statue, and before their Lordling’s conversation with his mother. 

 Leo snickered too, and cradled his sons closer, “A shame they can’t eat solid foods yet, then…or do tomatoes count as solids?” The thought of baby bottles full of tomato juice filled his mind, “Actually…can they - ?”

 Straight up laughter sounded from his guardsmen, his most loyal, a few close to falling over they were laughing so hard, and the sound was light. Bright. Like the sunlight shining overhead.

 Like how Leo Vincini’s heart fluttered when a very welcomed tenor began to speak behind him, and his guards all managed to greet their Lord-Consort around their laughter…well, most of them did.

 “I was wondering where my boys had gotten to,” Ryoma Vincini said, such dripping affection in his tone as Leo twisted around to smile at his husband entering his mother’s garden, that Leo’s teeth ached from the thought of how sweet a kiss from this man that he loved would be at the moment.

 He approached, his wild brunette hair tangled into a bun barely on the wrong side of being called a nest atop his head, the pins shiny in the sunlight because they were made of jade and Leo had bought them specially for him from a Hoshidan merchant passing through Valentine, and they went perfectly with the jade-green kimono he wore that day as well. 

 Which was why Leo had chosen them that morning, but that was beside the point.
 
 His husband was a wonder, worthy of the way Leo lost his breath at the mere sight of him. 

 “Your boys, is it?” Leo repeated, teasingly. Both of the twins suddenly starting when they heard their father’s voice and beginning to babble quite eagerly to get his attention, making grabby motions with their stubby little hands at Ryoma and trying to squirm out of their mother’s hold. It was adorable. Especially bundled up in extra layers of fabric as they were. 

 “Yes,” Ryoma chuckled, “my boys.” 

 Gushing over their sons began immediately - only after a kiss that tasted as sweet as Leo had daydreamt it would - after Yoma knelt beside him before the statue of his mother. Her grave. Bowing until his forehead touched the withering grass, and then the boys had his fullest attention. Cooing at them, and even taking Shiro into his own arms so the son most like his father would stop trying to squirm out of Leo’s arms upside-down and red-faced. 

 Jewels was content for his papa to scratch him behind his tiny ears, and then burrow back under Leo’s shawl. Trembling. A trembling Jewels was not good for Leo’s poor heart. 

 “Visiting your mother?” Ryoma asked kindly, after their children had adjusted to both of them being there. Leo nodded. He continued, “This is the first time the boys have been out here. If you’d told me this morning, I would’ve joined you, my dear.” 

 “It was…impromptu,” the blonde confessed, sort of motioning towards the sky in general, the slightly gray, yet sun-shining sky and the weather that was not quite biting cold around them, “I wanted to bring them to see Mother before there was frost or snow on the grounds. The weather turned out nice today, so I figured it best sooner than later.” 

 “Yes, I look forward to seeing Valentine in the winter!” Ryoma confessed with a laugh full of wonder, and it melted layers off of Leo’s heart in such an unfair way, “Hoshido has winter, of course, but we get so little snow towards the plains. Nohr, on the other hand - “ 

 “Is home to the Ice Tribe for a reason,” Leo agreed, and leaned nearer to his love until their shoulders touched and they were supporting one another, kneeling on a sunlit grave, Rose laying beside his mother’s final resting place. Her rider’s final resting place. A day that could’ve been like any other. 

 A day that Leo instead chose to treasure, for that exact moment in time. 

 Surrounded by loyal and loved and those trusted, and those of the future and those of the past and those who loved his mother. 

 Like she deserved. And then his dearly beloved suggested something that made his tummy flutter all the more as he giggled at the idea. 

 “How about a picnic?” 

 “That sounds just about perfect, Yoma.” 

 Overheard, one guard rose from his respectful kneeling, off to gather whatever was needed for this picnic as the two husbands basked in sunlight and sanctuary. Little dandelions sprouted around them. Wisps of magic waved at his baby sons. Dandelion fluff was tugged away by a breeze not quite cold but still enough to make Leo shiver, and he watched the fluff fly until Ryoma cleared his throat. Suddenly, seemingly, concerned.

 “Are you sure it’s warm enough for you to be out here in only a shawl?” Burst out of his husband the second he turned to him and tilted his head to ask what was wrong. 

 And Leo felt it was so very Ryoma he had to chortle, even as he summoned something to deal with that concern.

 A very familiar cloak, for the both of them. 

 Scarlet-red fabric for Hoshido, with the Hoshidan royal insignia still emblazoned across its breadth. The cloak was soft, velvety, warm. It was also washed and patched full of stitches and bits of fabric sewn into the stretched lining. It still bore the scars of the war, as did they all. And it still sheltered Leo. And Ryoma. And their sons. 
 
 And it kept the cold of broken dreams away.
 
 Clova’s son leaned into Ryoma’s space, all but nesting under the man’s arm, snug as could be with Jewels snug against him. He closed his eyes. There was only the rustle of branches in the breeze, the crunch of leaves on the ground, the chatter of Shiro excited in his father’s arms, the snores of Jewels as he dozed off. 

 There was only them, and the dandelions, and the guards who knelt and waited patiently and allowed their Lord and Lord-husband this moment. 

 In the audience of their Lady, murdered too soon.

 And though he never saw her, Leo got the sense that his mama was there, gushing over his sons too. Over how cute and utterly adorable they were. 
 
 And they had a picnic in the Mother’s garden that sunny day at the end of autumn. One of the last sunny days autumn still had up its sleeve. Their guards were of course welcomed to join them, blankets were laid out and foods delivered by the kitchen staff and Leo ate in the presence of his mother and his husband and his Rose and eventually his father, when Lord Alistair came out to join them. 

 And his sons, he caught both gazing up at the statue of his mother, Lady Clova Vincini of Valentine, before he had to take them back indoors to nurse. 

 And he swore the next breeze ruffled the twins’ hair, and they babbled happily up at the statue of their grandmother as it did so. 

 And it was a perfectly lovely way to end their autumn making a home in Valentine. 

 With family and good fortune and good food and a bit of magic.

Chapter Text

 The first frost of Valentine’s winter was on a morning, like any other.

 In that, Leo Vincini woke up in the arms of the man he loved. Shiro and Jewels were two, tiny balls of adorableness between them. The furs were silky. Smooth to the touch of naked skin. The quilts covering the family of four were soft and padded, and probably the sole reason none of them woke shivering that morning. There was no fire crackling in the fireplace, despite the wood servants had stocked there, the scent of pine and cedar in the air. Different from the flowery scent Leo was used to waking to.

 More like the smell of winter than summer.

 Their bedroom was still. The manor seemed silent from their place in it, and the lighting cast over them had a paleness to it. A fragile sort of light. Fractals hanging in midair. Particles of dust floating in the rays of pale, morning light, and Leo yawned. 

 He rubbed at his eyes, and even as he nuzzled more deeply into Ryoma’s warm chest? A heartbeat beneath his cheek? 

 Leo peeked through sleep-bleary eyes to the realm outside of their simple nest, built into the floorboards of what was his childhood bedroom.

 The windows shimmered. 

 Shined like crystal.

 Like the snow and frost crystals clinging to the glass. The sky he could just barely see outside of the windowpanes seemed endlessly gray. Pale in another way. That sort of eternal cloud that covered the skies of the mountains when snowstorms were ravaging the peaks, and Leo wondered sleepily if snow was falling higher up the mountains. 

 But for him? For him, there in Valentine, and for the people of Valentine? 

 It was just the first frost of winter. It was their sign that firewood must be chopped aplenty in the days to come, chimneys swept, wells capped, and barns winter-proofed. Anyone who hadn’t already fetched trunks of warm clothes from their stores was probably doing so at that very moment. Anyone who’d doubted the first frost was coming was shivering as they prepared their breakfasts and wishing they’d already begun readying for the winter ahead.

 For Leo Vincini, however, it was just another morning in the arms of the man he loved…with a great excuse to all but try and climb inside of his sleeping yukata and keep dozing.

 Ryoma shifted, eventually. Waking. Woefully underprepared for the first frosts under the mountain, evidently, considering he went to tug the quilts off of them and Leo instantly felt a shiver run through his teddy bear. The quilts stayed in place. His husband shivered again and again, the brunette stiff with surprise, and Leo hummed sleepily.

 Showing he was awake, so Yoma could voice whatever question he had in an uncertain tone of voice.

 “My dear…does it seem excessively cold to you, this morning?” 

 Humming thoughtfully this time, the younger husband took a second to savor his husband’s hot body - in more than one way, he thought with a satisfied curl of his nonexistent kitsune tail - then lifted his face from Ryoma’s beating chest. His heartbeat steady and constant, like a drum. His face though was full of the same uncertainty as his voice. 

 Ah. Yes, his husband had been aware Valentine winters were different from Hoshidan winters, but he hadn’t been aware aware, had he? 

 “I’z…pretty normal…for V’tine,” he slurred, still half-asleep as he was most mornings, his western accent slipping in the process…and was it rude to think Ryoma’s sudden and very obvious concern was cute? “First frost, Yoma. First frost.” 

 For a minute that nearly dragged into two, Ryoma blinked down at Leo. Then blinked down at their tiny sons tucked into the safety and warmth shared by their bodies beneath the quilts, then knit his brows together as he cautiously lifted one arm out from beneath those quilts as if he were testing some great danger. And his brows knit even more tightly together, creating weary lines in his face as he felt the man swallow through his body-to-body contact.

 “Ah.” 

 That was all his Hoshidan lover said, as he swiftly pulled his arm back under the quilts, shivering a bit. Then.

 “Shall I…call the servants to fix the fireplace, or is that - ?” Is that normal? Is that acceptable? Ryoma Vincini had adjusted commendably since coming to Valentine as its Lord-Consort, Lord-husband, but here his Hoshidan roots showed. Very, very clearly as he shivered again and actually hugged Leo to his chest, for once reluctant to leave their nest like he’d never been before. 

 It was true; the temperature differences between the Dawn Kingdom’s lands and the new Green Halidom was quite noticeable. So much so, that the day before probably had been chilly enough for Ryoma to consider it on par with Hoshido’s winter temperatures. And then there was this morning, that was easily much colder. And there wasn’t even proper snow falling yet.

 Yes. Yes, Leo found it so cute how his husband clung to him for warmth, and shuffled around under the covers to even tuck their sons closer to his belly as if to keep them warmer. 

 So he kissed the tip of the darling doe’s nose, which was a somewhat redder color than it should’ve been, and for the first time in a long time? 

 Leo Vincini left their nest first, that morning.

 Wiggling his way out from under the quilts to the softly whined complaints of his husband - one husband who couldn’t stand mornings and one husband who couldn’t stand the COLD so it turned out - the Lordling of Valentine grabbed one of his thicker, crocheted shawls from where he’d set it on the floorboards beside their nest, wrapped it snuggly around his bare arms, made a note to himself to rummage around until he found his slippers, and went to the doors to their den.

 They creaked in complaints when he pushed at them, clearly the hinges liking the cold no more than his husband.

 The hallway without his room was a tiny bit less chilly, meaning other fires had been lit already that morning, and Leo held his shawl together as both Sir Rainier and Sir Alexander were on duty outside his doors. Sir Alexander was sat in a chair, granted, because of his broken leg still on the mend from the final battle of the war, but even he managed to use his crutches to stand at attention and greet him.

 Neither guard bothered to hide their surprise at seeing him first however, and Clova’s son laughed softly at that. Yawned. Then made a motion back towards the interior of his den.

 “We’ll be needing the fireplace lit, if you’d mind, Sir Alexander?” The asked guard perked up, looking so happy to have been given a task as he got his crutches under his armpits properly and began hobbling into the room, and Leo added for the other, “Sir Rainier, if you could make sure the kitchens send up a nice, warm breakfast today? Drinks too? My husband, it seems, is not a creature for the cold.” 

 “Just as you’re not a creature for the morning,” Rainier teased him, blue eyes shining as his little Lord yawned and made a shooing motion at him; off he went, to the kitchens to seek the warmth he was ordered to.

 Some hot cakes, some hot coffee, and hopefully a crackling fire would rouse his husband from their nest.

 Really though, Leo stood for a moment in the doorway watching Sir Rainier go, marveling at him being so readily out of bed before his husband like this.

 Looking to the great windows lining the hall’s wall across from him, arching tops and diamond-shaped bars.

 And frost on their windowpanes.

 Leo found himself looking also at a valley covered in frost, the trees with white patches outside and their leaves lumps of white, bristly frost. The fields shiny in the pale light. The rooftops of Valentine the same, with smoke puffing out of all the chimneys he could see as Valentine experienced its first frost of this year.

 Hugging his shawl closer, playing with the pale yellow yarn of it, he remembered when his mother would wear the same shawl on chilly mornings when she came to wake him. 

 And he felt Brynhildr’s presence brush past him; summer warmth on this - this first day of what would become their winter. 

 Leo took his time returning to his bedroom, where Sir Alexander was kneeling beside the fireplace, stoking sparks that would become roaring flames. Where his Ryoma had the quilts pulled up over his nose, brows still knit together, and Leo giggled.

 Even as he knelt beside his hibernating husband, and laughed at his disbelief of Leo sat there in only a nightgown and shawl? 

 The blonde boy resolved to order a fire made every morning by the time they’d wake, so his husband could wake comfortably.

 Valentine’s wild side meant having thick skin.

 But not just because of the wildness - because the winters were tough. And the people had to be hearty to still smile and laugh through them.

 And to Ryoma Vincini? This was the first time he realized just how hearty Valentine was, as he stayed tucked up and shivering under a mound of quilts on this, this first frost of winter.

 The frosty day may not have been joined by the first snowfalls of winter, but Ryoma seemed quite sure that it should’ve been. 

 Was it childish to be amused? Maybe. Did Leo mind? Hardly. His husband was adorable. Learning out of the blue that the man he loved couldn’t handle cold temperatures without a chance to adjust? Or a distraction? It certainly amused. For once since the war’s end, since the boys were born, his Ryoma stayed in bed. For quite some time after dawn. He didn’t bother making excuses, admitting a bit sheepishly that he simply didn’t want to weather the coldness of a frosty morning, and, well - 

 Leo Vincini was always looking for ways to spoil his rather independent spouse. So he let Yoma stay tucked under the quilts while the fire built itself up to crackling flames, and the heat spread throughout his bedroom enough to melt the frost clinging to the window.

 Ryoma snuggled into his pillow hoard, a mound of blankets atop him, and read one of his novels in the meanwhile.

 Leo nursed the boys, readied them for their day, then admittedly fell to his guilty pleasures of just sitting in an armchair watching his beloved read for a while as the boys played.

 The last few months - the last war, Ryoma? Ryoma had given him so much. So often without cause nor reward. His support, his loyalty, his heart. Him. To the point that he’d abdicated his crown and chosen to start anew a home and life in Valentine. What was one morning allowed to stay in bed reading compared to all of that? 
 
 Incapable could never describe Leo, and so Leo went to work that day to spoil his mated as best he could. 

 Frost clung to the windowpanes, and for the first time? 

 The Vincini heir took his sons into the room - study - next door, where his work might begin.

 Crates and boxes and piles of books, study supplies, and alchemy supplies lay all over the study in a half-sorted fashion. Much of it having been brought to Valentine in wagons following the war and shoved away, without the time to organize anything. The study was prepared for the bare-bones needs of Valentine’s Lord-husbands. A stately room with a pair of desks; each in their own nooks. Bookshelves empty and waiting, floor to ceiling in length, the floors hard, the rugs flat and unobtrusive, the walls a wallpaper like birch or aspen trees that contrasted the old wood finishings well.

 Leo’s nook, on the rightward side of the study, was without the window that Ryoma’s desk was under. Instead? It had another table, and another, clearly primed for alchemy, and a number of sorting cabinets and display cases that would work perfectly for the alchemy materials he’d had brought to Valentine from Windmire. But, he began with simply setting up what would become his lordly desk.

 His boys in a basket, playing with their plushies and babbling at the ceiling.

 The study had a far smaller, far less grand fireplace, and it was already lit and burning so flickering firelight kept Leo warm as he settled into the process of getting simple writing and lettering materials out. 

 Sorting his quills by shade, sorting his inks by the same, a pile of paper on one corner and an unlit lantern on the other. 

 Leo stumbled onto a more important trunk while sorting that; a Nohrian trunk. 

 Inside were the journals of his mother’s time at Windmire, his mother’s torture since having him…and her precious child stared at each of the worn, leather covers as he tugged them out of the trunk one by one. They went on one of his bookshelves, unhidden, out in the open, where her memories deserved to be. Where they could be, for the first time. 

 And Clova’s child sat down at his desk, in a chair with a nice, soft cushion, and he placed a piece of paper in front of himself. With his sons’ bassinet in his peripheral, he picked a lovely duck feather quill from his quill holder, clicked open an inkpot, swirled the ink around, then put the point of his quill to the paper.

 Beginning to write a few of the Noble Rights requests that he knew Ryoma had intended to do that day. 

 In a halidom, after all, they’d need more than simply one or two high-born families. 

There were several old money families, similar to the Vincinis, in the western reaches of what was once Nohr. Nohr's uncivilized reaches should the Nohrian Court have a say. They had, before, declaring a great many of those old money families unworthy of titles due to a number of reasons. None of which were acceptable now. Delgo of course had Lord Delgane, Grandpappy Delgane, but Wuthering and Nalina especially would need greater support in the form of high-born families, Valentine too, and...hm.

 Leo Vincini scribbled away at the paper, in a partially organized study, his magic lighting the lantern on his desk to light up his work of swirling lettering and a signature fit for royalty at the bottom of the page. Then he placed another piece of paper down. Then another. Using his foot to rock the bassinet whenever his boys began to yip for attention. 

 Doing his duties until the manor had warmed enough for Ryoma to brave the temperatures of this first frosty day. To join him in what would become their study. 

 A hand rested on the back of his chair, careful to not startle the boy writing another thought down on paper. He finished off the last letter with a loop, squinted at the paper to ensure it was legible, then set that page down atop the other finished ones and turned his face expectedly up to his husband.

 Ryoma leaned down to kiss him, his bangs tickling Leo’s cheeks as they fell around his face.

 Ryoma saw to the boys, and then saw to his own nook in the study. 

 There was frost on the windowpanes, frost on their world, hot chocolate brought by the maids, and his husband wrapped up tight in a thick yukata as they did their work together.

 Preparing for their first winter together in Valentine.

Chapter Text

 The smaller, less decorative fireplace in their study was crackling quietly with the sound of low-burning wood.

Of ash. And soot. And cinder. And the scent of pine and cedar swirled around the room; a scent most of Vincini Manor would smell like before long, all throughout the winter to come. It was a given, and yet it was a given Leo had nearly forgotten for all of the years he’d spent away from home. 

 The scent of burning evergreens had been there, like a portrait waiting to be unveiled in the back of his mind for so long, and now he remembered so many moments before a blazing fire in winter, in a childhood where he was still innocent, and he hated that he’d forgotten in the first place. 

 But there was his spouse, his Ryoma, to bear the weight of some of the memories. As ever. 

 Ryoma had noticed his distraction as together they unpacked and sorted more of their study into proper order. Ryoma had come closer, to wind his arms around the smaller’s waist, to hold him, to ask if there was anything he could do - ?

So the son of Clova and Alistair Vincini began telling tales of his past winters in Valentine. His winters in childhood. Those days that seemed a lifetime ago, now.

 The days of hot cocoa served at every meal, of marshmallow treats and peppermint candies and jello pies. The days of fireplaces lit in near-every room of the manor. The days of him wearing thick coats and cloaks, and running through the woods on adventures with his wolfskin friends. Clinging to their furry hides for warmth like a little, golden burr. 

 The days of Mama and Papa letting him play on the rug in front of the fireplace in their study, as they did paperwork and whatever else he was too young to be involved with at the time. Creating incredible stories with his toys. Crashing them together, creating miniature battles for them to fight, whole stories of good versus bad - all on a rug in front of a warm fireplace.

 The scent of evergreens all around him. 

 Mother would take more naps during the winter, since she wielded Brynhildr then, and, well, water. For what was snow and ice besides frozen water? 

 Papa would wrap him up tight in a little, lordly cloak whenever they went horseback riding together. Mother would tuck her precious boy close to him to read him storybooks by the crackling fires. The guards would hover, like the mother hens they were, worrying about him morning and night for he was so small they believed the snows would swallow him whole. 

 Red cheeks and red nose and frost on his eyelashes, riding Rose even back then. A flurry of snow kicked up where she ran. The white crystals of snowflakes sparkling on her black coat. Snorting as if offended by the cold, the lack of blossoming flowers and swaying grasses, but still willing and wanting to take her tinier rider for a ride whenever possible. 

 Long hours laying on his belly by the fireplaces, eating tomatoes by the dozen after a long, chilly day playing outside.

 Ryoma laughed and Ryoma asked questions and Ryoma listened. 

 And Ryoma Vincini came over to hold him by the waist again, and kiss him deeply when he was finished telling tales of the past winters of Valentine. Leo didn’t even need the fireplace by then.

His husband made him burn hot enough on his own. 

 But regardless, by the time the pale light of that first frosty day was fading to something dark and gray and charcoal-like across the sky? The pair of husbands had unpacked much of their study. The bookshelves were lined with quite literally hundreds, if not thousands of book spines. The shelves otherwise were packed full of desk and working materials. There were trunks stacked neatly in the spaces between shelves; whatever spare materials they had that did not need to be constantly available packed away inside of them. 

 One trunk specifically, full of blank books, was the bottom of one pile with four other trunks atop it, and Ryoma blushed as he piled them atop it.

Leo pretended he didn’t see for his shy husband’s sake. 

 There were some things thrown out. In truth, Leo had never felt safe cleaning out his and his mother’s study in Windmire, lest something be found or used against him in some way, even if it’d gone in the trash. So while his orders had been for the trusted guards of Valentine left in the capital to take everything from his bedroom and magical study, some of that everything he had no desire to keep.

And they had taken his order literally. Everything. 

 Down to the furniture, and down to the candles burned down to nothing more than puddles of wax. 

 There were things - like the half-burnt table and the chair with a broken leg and the sconces with candles melted atop candles melted atop candles - that the Lordling of Valentine tossed without hesitation.

There were others, like a book that had unfortunately had acid spilled on it or a tome without any pages left between its covers, that he shifted unhappily about the idea of throwing out. Potions that had gone bad. Bottles half-shattered. The old, musty cot he and Ryoma had slept on after the final battle when they were recovering. 

 Leo threw them out, with the encouraging weight of Ryoma’s hand on his shoulder. 

 This would be a home. A study. Not a sanctuary, not a hideaway, not a dirty secret disguised by magic. This would be theirs. So Leo…wouldn’t hide anymore. 

 All of that was the simple part, for him, at least. The study was looking respectable by late afternoon. By early evening, it was almost looking presentable. A bassinet on a stand was added to the room, so in the future they could work with the boys present and safe in a proper place without worry. Then? Leo got to work on his alchemy materials. 

 My, was it work. Transporting alchemy ingredients was troublesome, yet it seemed his guards had managed to make sure all of his many rare ingredients would survive the trip to Valentine. Even if that meant packing them inside of a sack inside of a box inside of a box. Inside of a trunk, with sacks stuffed all around it. He had new alchemy tables to wear in, and as he began to sort potion vials and ingredients bottles, he recalled doing this once before.

With Ryoma.

In Castle Shirasagi. 

Back then, they’d planned to call the Hoshidan capital home following the war’s end. They’d planned to return. To share a study there together, in Ryoma’s wing of the royal castle. After returning from Cyrkensia, after the Hamlet, they’d daydreamt together of a life shared in Castle Shirasagi, and…it would never come to be now.

Leo didn’t mind confessing it had truly been a daydream that had brought him joy at the time.

 But now? Thinking about all the days they’d already shared in his true home? 

 He was so glad they’d stayed in Valentine. 

 Sorting bottles and vials and tinctures and tins, onto glass showcases and into ingredient cupboards and into the drawers of his alchemy tables - Leo hummed happily as he set his atelier in place atop the biggest table. His mixing pot. His alchemy bowl. Whatever you wanted to call it; it fit like a gem fit into a ring made for it. And all of a sudden? 

 Leo could see himself so much at home in the study, as he adjusted the height of the desk lectern and placed an alchemy book on it. Just so he could casually flip through the pages and admire how homely it all felt. It felt like a beating heart in the study he’d share with his husband, and he exhaled slowly.

 Turning around, leaning back against his now-main alchemy table, Leo never said a word.

He simply watched.

Happy, as only his dearly beloved could make him.

 His dearly beloved who was currently kneeling on the scraggly rug in front of the fireplace, with their sons. His thick yukata was loose and baggy now. More comfortable. His hair tied with a random ribbon. Shiro was sat on his papa’s thighs, giggly and bright and squealing as Ryoma tickled him.

 Jewels, he found, was a tuft of golden hair sticking out of his papa’s yukata. Curled up for a nap inside of the fabric, and Leo was just in awe. 

 In awe of how much he loved his boys. His sons, his husband - he understood now, Ryoma’s feelings towards them all. 

 It felt like a balm. A balm for his heart, healed now, but still covered in the jagged scar tissue of what it’d endured for years and years and years. It felt magical, and Leo felt small vines curl around his ankles as he stood there. A reminder that this whole life of his was magical. He got to stand there, in a study never a secret, without hurt, without fear, without pain, he got to stand there and watch his mate play with their kits, in front of a low-burning fireplace, and got to listen to Ryoma’s huffs of laughter and Shiro’s squeals and know that Jewels was snoring softly in his father’s yukata as he napped.

 Leo Vincini got to have that.

 And nobody could take that away from him.

 Nobody would survive trying.

 With awe, with joy, with love, the blonde boy went to the man he loved. He circled Ryoma playing with their babies. He knelt behind the man who still laughed, still played, who was still soft. Who hummed curiously when Leo snuggled up to his broad, broad back and wrapped his arms around him, and buried his face somewhere in the middle of his spine and clung to him. 

 “...My dear?” Yoma said like a question, when he did not speak.

 “‘S nothin’,” Leo mumbled, words muffled by the thick fabric of Ryoma’s winter yukata, and the playing continued. The fireplace kept crackling. The wood kept burning. He kept smelling the scent of evergreens. And a weathered palm laid itself on his hands, crossed in front of Ryoma’s body. 

 Holding his knuckles like they were something small and delicate, even as the father of his children kept tickling Shiro with his other hand. 

 “I’m here, my dear.” 

 “I know, Ryoma,” he whispered, then closed his burning eyes to the fabric, and kept his ears open to listen as night fell and the valleys frosted over again, “I know.” 

 The start of their first frosty night together in Valentine was a lot like the morning; they held each other, they loved each other, they held their sons, and they waited. Waited until they were ready to keep living a life outside of being one another’s whole world. Leo nursed the boys by the fireplace, more wood was added, their study was neat and ready to be worked in by the Lord-husbands of Valentine - 

 And their bedroom was pleasantly warm when they went back to it, with softened hearts that adored the soft furs of their nest all the more. 

 They tangled together for warmth, on this, this frosty night.

 And they never even felt the cold. 

Chapter Text

 A music box’s melody played. Soft, mechanical tinks, note by note. It was a music box Ryoma had bought for his little husband in Cyrkensia. It had not been the finest or most expensive music box the seller had for offer; that hadn’t mattered to Leo. What had mattered? Was the melody it played. A melody Clova Vincini’s music box used to play.

 When he was a child, it was the melody that Leo remembered listening to as he dozed in his mother’s arms. 

 The melody Ryoma opened his eyes to now, years and years later. Those tawny eyes opened slowly, sluggishly, going from asleep to half-awake to half more - the melody of a music box softly sounding around their bedroom. A dark bedroom. All shadows and the paleness of moonlight on a cold night, and the swirling lighting of the fireplace. 

 The Lord-husband of Valentine shifted, instinctively patting the nest in search of his mate. His mate who was not there, he realized, when his hand ran over nothing but furs. 

 A tiny bundle was nestled against his chest, however, and Ryoma soothed the bundle when Shiro let out a yip and squirmed because of his shifting. 

 Leo and Jewels weren’t in the nest. 

 Lifting his head ever-so slightly from his pillow, Ryoma squinted at a room of shadows. A bedchamber he’d grown so familiar with over the many past weeks. In the shadowy space, furniture took shape more from his memories than from actually being seen in the din, and the music box played, and…Leo was sitting in the windowseat, bathed in winter moonlight. 

 The music box was a tiny shape, open on the cushions next to him.

 Jewels was just as tiny a shape, cradled in his mother’s embrace, suckling on Leo’s chest as the kitsune kit nursed. So late at night? He must’ve gotten fussy. Woken up. Leo must’ve left to nurse him so Shiro wouldn’t wake. That was rational. That was simple and rational and so thoughtful of his little husband - 

 Yet it all still took his breath away. 

 His dear Leo Vincini, lounging on a windowseat in moonlight, the straps of his nightgown slipped down his arms, the top with lace trim around his ribs, Jewels latched on and silently nursing with his tiny stub of a tail wagging and his ears flat with contentment. And Leo - humming along to the melody of the music box, his eyes closed in solace and face tilted up to the moonlight. His pale skin glowing, his golden hair almost appearing the same silky-white as Lord Alistair's.

 Utterly ethereal. Beautiful in a way only otherworldly.

 Ryoma’s husband frequently stole away with his breath, but he never got used to it. 

 He never wanted to, when his reward was a pounding heart and butterflies in his stomach. Even if all he could was watch, was love from afar for a time, was revel in the existence of the boy he loved? Ryoma Vincini could and would. He would lay in the nest saturated in their shared scents, and he would snuggle his elder son close, and he would watch. And he would listen to the melody of the music box. 

 And he would hum along in tune with his husband, until he was ready to come back to bed.

 In the white moonlight of winter. 

 He would worship his dearest, most adorable tomato, his Leo.

 And he would never regret choosing him and Valentine. 

Chapter Text

 It was another frosty night. 

 Another frosty night, with Leo Vincini sat in a window, with windowpanes that had snowy crystals clinging to their glass. With curtains still and pale; framing him. With his knees drawn up to his chest, his nightgown’s hem tucked under his toes, and a crackling fire at his spine. The scent of evergreens surrounded him. The scent of cold, of frost, of ice permeating through the glass at his front. It was another frosty night. 

 And Leo Vincini was plucking idly at a loose string from the shawl around his shoulders. A shawl once his mother’s. The evenings too cold, now, for him to go stand out on the hilltops of Valentine beneath endless layers of stars…

 It was another frosty night.

 And Leo Vincini exhaled slowly, measuring each of the heartbeats he heard drumming in his ears over the crackling fireplace. His toes wiggled. Curled into the windowseat’s cushion. The sounds of Ryoma snoring, of his sons breathing easy as they slept, were drowned out now. He knew they were sounds that were still there - 

 But they felt gone, between one heartbeat and the next.

 And also so terribly present. As if they were pieces of his own heart, stitched to it, stitched to him, and they would follow the boy of Valentine forever. Three heartbeats sheltered by his own. Three heartbeats to love. Three heartbeats to carry.

 Three heartbeats to lose, should this world turn its back on Clova’s son again.

 He tried not to let it get to him. The memories. The knowledge of how two-faced people were. Kingdoms were. A halidom - their halidom - would be different. Ryoma swore it would. Not in as many words, never outright saying it, but his husband could only imply his ultimate goal was to make a land where his family was never insulted in so many ways before Leo found it impossible to let go unheard. 

 Especially after half a lifetime of experiencing otherwise. 

 Leo was used to the insults, truly. They washed over him like water off a duck’s feathers by this point. This many years later. He was used to the overt and subtle mockery of his character. He was used to scorn, to spite, to downright fear as well, depending on which stories folks had heard about him. He was used to being the people’s villain. 

 Leo wasn’t used to Valentine.

 To their halidom. 

 Leo wasn’t used to the compliments. They slapped him in the face, flustering him, making him shy and bashful enough to hide behind his husband or his papa or even his guards on occasion. It would take a long time for him to get used to them. He wasn’t used to the utter respect he was treated with, the bows, the kind greetings. He wasn’t used to the polite conversations that held no secondary motives, no hidden agendas. He wasn’t used to the awe his people directed towards him; seeing in him a hope that had gone out from Nohr’s point of view years ago.

 He wasn’t used to being a beloved little Lord, anymore. 

 Realizing that, when he’d first come home to Valentine, had been easy. Simple. 

 Realizing it now, when his family would be calling Valentine home once more and staying, was harder. It was hard every time a maid curtsied to her ‘Lord Leo’ with a happy smile alighting on her lips, not even a hint fake. It was hard every time somebody was visiting the manor and sent along their well wishes to him, without any ulterior motives. It was hard every time somebody laughed with him instead of at him. It was hard - 

 Every time he was reminded of how much he could’ve been loved as a child.

 It was hard. 

 It was hard to sit there, and think, and be stuck on kindness. It was hard to stand in the hallways of his childhood home, his once-again-home, and wonder, ‘What if I’d grown up here?’

 It was hard.

 ‘What if Garon had never stolen me?’

 It was so hard.

 ‘What if I was really Papa’s son?’

 And his nightgown’s fabric grew wet with tears, as he buried his face in his knees and cried, and cried, and cried. Hugging his legs to his chest. Silent, shoulder-shaking sobs as pale moon and starlight shone down around him. Wrapped in a shawl of his mother’s. Surrounded by all he’d deserved to have, but hadn’t gotten. 

 It’d been his, you know. The manor, Vincini Manor. The bedroom he now shared as a den with his mate, his husband. The study they’d organized for themselves. The fields. The guards. The people. The affection, and the kindness, and the love. It’d been his. And he’d been stolen from it so Garon could have another spare son, could have Brynhildr’s family line his to claim, could have more power, more conquests - 

 It’d all been his.

 He could’ve been loved.

 He could’ve been happy.

 He could’ve loved himself.

 Leo Vincini would not, could not, and will never regret the road he’d ended up on in life. He’d debated with himself over it for so long. So many times. What if was a fantasy. A false promise. What if would steal away the man he fell in love with, if things went even somewhat differently. Would steal away his family. Would steal away their victory with the war. Would maybe even steal away his twin sons, now, and gods above if he wouldn’t fight the heavens for his kits -  

 He would certainly fight fate. As many times as was necessary. The shadows may no longer reach for him.

 And he may no longer be aware of the abyss’ movements. 

 And he may know peace for now, but only somebody who did not know Leo Vincini would think he wouldn’t go to war against the world for his family. 

 But tonight, this frosty night, he would cry. 

 Because he could’ve been loved. He could’ve had an innocent heart, when he was still a boy as he was now. His heart could’ve been in one piece. He could’ve been something other than a murderer, a child-killer, a villain...a monster. He could’ve been something his sons would one day be proud of. He could’ve…

 But there was the curse. Right there. Could. Have. Maybe. If. Perhaps. There was no confirmation, no sure way to know, and Leo was a genius so he knew that. Clova’s precious child was a genius, so he wiped his nose. And he sniffled. And he curled his toes tight as he lifted his face, wet with tears, from his knees. As he stared up at the stars. And the moons. And a wintery night sky, still frosty. 

 Still no snow falling, but soon.

 Leo let out a breathless laugh at himself, at his wily heart, and stretched out his legs in front of himself. He leaned back. His head thumped lightly against the wood of his window nook, and he closed his eyes to a wintry night sky. Some nights, it hit him a bit too hard. Some nights, a few tears just decided to escape from his heart. Some nights, he had to put himself first to get the emotions out. 

 Footsteps creaked on the floorboards. 

 Sometimes, he wasn’t alone. 

 “Is there anything I can do?” And Ryoma breathed a question, and his lover all but breathed life into him as a palm worn by life cupped his cheek. Turned his face from his home’s skies to his husband’s worried eyes. A thumb brushed at the wet trails his tears had left behind. Always, always brushing away his tears. Ryoma. His mate. His spouse. His heart. 

 Leo closed his green, green eyes.

 “You’re already doing it.” 

 And he survived another frosty night, held by the first man to love him in years. 

Chapter Text

 Candlelight danced across walls, across his desk, and the glow was reflected on the glass of the study’s windows. Frosty glass.

Another evening. Another list of responsibilities. Another day and eventual night of frost; Leo Vincini sat at his desk in Valentine and fingered a letter opener. Staring out that frosty window. Stuck…a bit. And that was okay. Ryoma told him time and time again - 

 It was okay to be a little stuck sometimes. 

 Winter, it seemed, was stirring up memories in Leo that had been otherwise - for lack of a less fitting word - frozen in the Vincini boy. 

 Memories that came along, like a wisp of steam over his morning cup of tea. Or like the winds more frozen than thawed these days. Or like the letters delivered and sent and delivered and sent and delivered and sent from Valentine these days. This year, and the next most likely, were busy as the Green Halidom established itself. 

 There were going to be nights where those memories consumed him, there already had been, and that was okay. 

 But? 

 There were also going to be nights a lot like this. With Leo sat at his desk in the study he shared with his husband, in Valentine, in Vincini Manor. Safe as could be. A platter of lemon-flavored pastries next to some of his papers. A cup of cherry blossom tea still steaming beside it. Cherry blossom tea that he’d shared with Ryoma, who was sat at his own desk doing paperwork as night fell across the valleys. 

 Cherry blossom tea that reminded both of them of King Sumeragi, of a father, of an uncle. 

 There was a fire crackling quietly in the smaller fireplace of the study, and the scent of burning evergreen woods had soaked into the manor’s very walls by then. 

 And there was a cradle stood beside Leo’s desk, so the young mother could easily shift just slightly to the side and see his sons sleeping peacefully amongst its cushions. Their cheeks squished together as they cuddled. The mobile one of clouds that circled around and around, and Leo was truly relieved the kits had reached a point where they didn’t need to be in the nest to sleep soundly all the time.

 He reached over in his thoughtfulness, and rocked the cradle a bit. 

 He smiled at how his boys both squirmed and babbled in their sleep, the near-silent squeaks of the cradle shifting grounding to him. To his heart. To his mind that sometimes seemed to take off like a vagabond.

 Maybe it was the winter. Truly. Winter seasons had always made him less…present? Had always made Mother less present as well. Snow and ice, after all, was literally frozen water. And water was not an element that mixed well with Brynhildr nor her wielders. The ol’ doctor Papa had called up from town had gently likened it to ‘seasonal depression’. Papa himself was reminded of his mother’s spaciness. 

 This winter would be a long one. 

 But it would also be a winter full of his darling husband cuddling with him every morning without reservation, so who was really winning? 

 Slitting his letter opener across another envelope in the long list of envelopes he’d opened already that day, Leo sat up a bit straighter for this one. Smiled a bit more. Sighed with relief rather than exasperation as he saw the scrawling handwriting, a little amused and a little exasperated now that the letter’s envelope hadn’t mentioned who it was from. 

 A letter from his chosen brothers he would always love to accept. 

 A couple of months had passed now, since they’d left. Since Niles and Odin had ventured to Hoshido for both shared and separate reasons. There’d been letters in the interim, letters like he received from many of his other family members, but for that pair it was different. It was his retainers. His brothers. A pair that stuck by him longer and more faithfully than many people had, and hadn’t been separated from him for so long in a while.

At least not willingly. 

 So yes, a letter from his chosen brothers lifted his spirits. 

 This one was from Niles. The paper was decent quality, and clearly borrowed, and his writing was the same as always, just slightly slanted due to how he tended to curl his arm over the top of the paper as he wrote, and - and…my. Leo had truly missed them and all their little quirks. And he had to stop and swallow down the sharp prodding sensation in the center of his chest before he could finish reading the whole letter.

 Missing his brothers was normal. Entirely normal. But Brynhildr, did knowing that not stop him from missing them sometimes.

 Even with the months between, he still found himself almost calling their names at times.

 Almost calling out for Odin to ask him a question about some spell or another, almost calling out to Niles when he needed a message sent, almost reaching for them or almost expecting to see them those times he had meals in the manor’s dining room with the rest of his family. Almost seeking out Odin to make sure his younger brother hadn’t had any episodes lately. Almost summoning Niles when he wanted advice and reassurance from his older brother. 

 Knowing not if they’d be coming home to him made it hard sometimes. But then, he’d get a letter. Just like the one in his hand. 

 The letter that told him how Hoshido wasn’t nearly so cold as Nohr got at this time of year. That told him how the capital had had its first frost, yet it was already warm enough to have melted all of that frost and put off the true start of winter for another month it seemed. Niles wrote of how Takumi and Odin were stumbling all over each other, young lads in a young romance, and the whole capital felt caught up in the endearing awkwardness between the two. 

 He wrote about how well Odin was adjusting. How few of episodes he’d had. How much happier he was with both Selena and Laslow at his side; both of those friends of his no longer cursed as well thanks to the powers of the Sunburst Throne. 

 He wrote a bit more firmly and unhappily about how the mood in the capital was a bit…low. And about things involving Hoshido’s royal court Leo would rather not linger on. 

 Niles wrote of how his own lover was now no older than sixteen, physically, and how strange it was to see Laslow as one so young when they’d always been far closer in age. 

 He teasingly wrote out vows of celibacy, describing how Laslow was still tall, still lithe, but had baby fat on his cheeks a bit, and hair that was pink like tulip petals, and that he certainly couldn’t feel attracted to the man in any bed-relations-related way at the moment. Which was all written in handwriting that was a bit more hesitant. A bit more messy. Like Niles was trying too hard to make light of the situation, and Leo wished he could be there for his older brother.

 As Niles had always been for him. 

 ‘He is still the man I love, though, Lord Leo,’ was what his eldest chosen brother wrote, ‘Inside. Inside, he has not changed at all. Even if on the outside he’s a bit young and it’ll be years before we could pursue precisely what we had, he feels the same for me as he always did. As I do him.’ 

 The boy of Valentine couldn’t imagine what he would do if Ryoma were suddenly to look physically no older than sixteen. 

 But the news, the messages, were overall well-spirited. Niles wrote that he intended to rejoin him in Valentine before winter’s end, since Laslow intended to return to Nohr and his King, Xander, for a time as well. That made Leo breathe out in relief to read. Even if there was no indication of what Odin had chosen, having one brother beside him again would be…relieving. Really. 

 Was that fair? Ryoma still had no retainers to replace Saizo and Kagero, even though Valentine knights had offered. Was he overthinking it? Was - 

 “Good news, my love?” Speak of the teddy bear, his husband’s tenor came softly to him from across the room, and Leo turned in his chair. Realizing belatedly that he’d been hugging the letter to his chest, leaving it a bit wrinkled around its edges. Ryoma was beaming at him in the low firelight of their study. 

 All at once, it was like a scene from a dream. A domestic dream.

 A very, very lovely dream.

 So Leo rose from the chair and walked the distance between them, the fire crackling in the background and air thick with evergreen musk. 

 “From Niles,” he explained, meaning the letter, and Ryoma beamed just that bit wider. Happy for him. Such a far cry from the reaction most would have when that brother of his was mentioned, “He says he plans to return before winter’s end. Probably before winter’s height too, since he says he wants to avoid being on the road when there are deep snows, so…maybe by the end of this month?” 

 “I am glad to hear that,” Yoma reached for him, reached for his hips, grasped them and the loose pants and their belt loops and tugged him closer, holding his small husband by the waist as he leaned forward in his chair. His own paperwork, forgotten, “Any other news?” 

 Leo brought the letter up higher, to cover the lower half of his face even though Ryoma had seen him blush before, and he nodded. 

 “Mostly about how adorable Takumi and Odin are, trying to navigate their courting. And about how Hoshido is currently warm enough that it seems like the end of summer rather than the start of winter,” his husband looked a certain playful amount of jealous at that, and he brought one hand down to bury it in Ryoma’s mane as a consolation.

 He, at least, loved their morning cuddles as they waited for the manor’s fireplaces to scare off winter’s chill. 

 “Anything else?” The brunette leaned into his touch, nuzzled into where he was curling his fingers through his mane, and seemed…as though there was a second question in his tawny eyes. 

 “Such as?” 

 Some of Ryoma’s smile dimmed, and Leo felt as if all light had gone out in the world in one harsh moment, so he set the letter on his husband’s desk and hugged Ryoma’s whole face to his tummy. Which earned him a very earnest chuckle and a man he adored hugging his waist, and the question Ryoma had tried to avoid asking.

 “How does he describe Castle Shirasagi at the moment? Hoshido? I worry…well, that my siblings are leaving out a lot in their letters. So as not to worry me.” 

 Ah. His dearly beloved would always have the heart of a king, even if he’d given up the crown of one. 

 “Honestly,” so Leo was honest, because he’d always sworn he would be with the man he loved, “the mood isn’t the best. Hoshido is recovering well from the war, thanks to the reparations Nohr has offered and the benefits of having an allegiance with Nestra, but it’s more…he describes the people as being…depressed, Ryoma. They are weary. They have been through a lot. They - they miss you - “ 

 And Leo Vincini was confident enough in their love that he could confess to how Niles had written about that, even as he hugged his husband’s head and held him, knowing this winter he would not be the only one down at times.

 “Do they still speak ill of you?” His husband asked in a tone that clearly stated he’d rather ask anything else.

 Leo spared him the answer, because by now they both knew it. 

 “Sakura will be an excellent queen, in a couple of years,” this time, it was reassurance Ryoma said for himself, and less so Leo. But Leo’s reassurance was leaning down to kiss the crown of his husband’s head, so he didn’t mind, “Takumi and Hinoka are going to be excellent regents in the meanwhile. Corrin and Azura will help the people heal, and with the new royal court elected…” 

 Some nights were just like this, and that was okay. Some nights were just going to be a pair of husbands holding one another. Both of them still had invisible wounds to heal from, and Leo was well aware of his, and his Ryoma was getting better at not ignoring his own.

 And the evergreen musk, the scent of cherry blossoms, and the warmth of their bodies against one another was a balm that worked like nothing else. 

 A letter was sometimes going to be a big step for them.

 But there was always tomorrow. 

Chapter Text

Valentine’s first snowfall of winter arrived a little more than a week after its first frostfall.

 Snowfall may have been a generous term for it. True, but generous. There was snow, and it was falling. Snowflakes no bigger than specks of dust, swirling past frosted windows. Wisps of white on the winter winds. The lighting was bright that day; sunshine reflecting off of white snow. Leo saw the tips of white tree branches outside of their bedroom’s windows. 

 A fire was already lit and crackling in their fireplace, the air was warm, the world outside was bright and white.

 And Leo sat up.

 Leaned forward.
 
 The blonde boy tucked his knees up close to his chest, tenting the blankets, his sons snuggling up to their father’s chest on this morning as he gazed at the windows across the room. The windows frosted up. Cloudy, due to the temperature difference between in there and out there. He ran his fingers through his ruffles of hair. 

 He exhaled, inhaled, and giggled when he inhaled a waft of peppermint.

 There was a tea tray set beside his nest, courtesy of whatever guard had tended to their fire that morning. Peppermint tea. The tang of it settled in his stomach, in his heart, before he’d even taken a sip.

 Such a far cry he’d come since that year’s spring, when he’d met his husband.

 Just by getting lost in the woods.

 Winter, indeed, made him melancholic. He nursed the peppermint tea that Kaze had prescribed to him months and months ago, and wondered how the herbalist might be doing in Igasato. How his daughter was doing. Igasato had been impacted the least by the war, truthfully, with it tucked safely on the opposite side of Hoshido and Nohr’s shared border. 

 Their losses had largely been from the ninjas they’d sent to the front lines. Ninjas who were now home for this, this first snowfall of winter after the war.

 Leo wondered how Saizo and Orochi and Kagero were doing. How their son was. 

 Gazing out at swirling snowflakes, sipping his tea, the snores of his husband and sons beside him buried by blankets, Leo wondered if the plains of Hoshido were also blanketed in snow on this morning. If the Wind Tribe had frigid winds blowing through their village. 

 Leo wondered if the Hamlet was snowy yet, if there were tiny kitsune kits out there in that peaceful place, playing in the freshly fallen snows. 

 He wondered if Hoshido had snow too, despite Niles’ letter mentioning how warm the temperatures had gone. He wondered if Takumi and Odin would be having their first romantic stroll through a snowy Hoshidan garden, if Hinoka was out training with her new pegasus knights despite the cold, if Sakura was dealing with an influx of runny noses at Hoshido’s infirmary. 

 He wondered if Corrin was playing in the snow with her nose all red and smiling and giggling with Azura, like when she was younger. 

 Leo ran his thumb over the rim of his teacup, the porcelain fine, polished, fragile like his heart was made by this first snowfall, and sighed. 

 He wondered how cold the cold was in Nohr this year. If Nohr’s winter after the war would be as sapping as the years he’d spent in Windmire. He thought of the holes blown through houses during the final battle, the magical spells that caved in roofs, that collapsed whole walls, he wondered if there were snowdrifts inside of Castle Krakenberg this year. 

 He wondered if the cold would be hard for Xander’s hand, for his recovery. 

 He wondered if Elise and Camilla were garbed in their winter dresses that morning, all wool and extra layers and a petticoat beneath every dress twice-over. 

 Then, Clova Vincini’s son took another sip of his peppermint tea and wondered if Papa was awake yet. A far safer thing to wonder. Ryoma had developed a fancy for staying in bed past dawn ever since the cold became a considering factor, and still his darling doe slept on beside him. Cuddling with the twins. 

 Papa though - he just might be awake. And doing work already. There was a lot to manage, after all. Even on this first snowfall of winter.

 Leo sipped more of his peppermint tea, and closed his eyes to the sounds of howling winds outside of frosty windows. He set down his teacup. He reminded himself to smile.

 He crawled out of bed, pulled one of Mother’s old shawls around his shoulders, and went for the doors.

 Outside of his den? Two guards stood watch.  

 “Sirs,” he said softly, so softly, leaning against the doorframe as both bowed in greeting to their Lord and placed their fists over their breastplate, “If you would, go and inform the barracks that if anyone has preparations or things that need doing now that the snows have come, they should go do them. Their duties can wait until their homes are secure.” 

 Sir…Farth, he believed - one of those who’d joined Valentine’s guards after he’d been taken from Valentine - lifted his head and blinked rapidly, looking surprised. While his companion, Sir Conner, smiled gratefully and repeated the motion of placing his fist over his breastplate, his heart. 

 “Very good, milord,” Sir Conner accepted easily enough, already on his way down the sunlit hall before Sir Farth could even sputter, “I will send somebody who is available to act as my replacement.” 

 “Um…” The guardsman left behind, young, confused, clearly not having expected this, stared back and forth between Sir Conner’s retreating back and Leo’s easy stance lounging in the doorway to his room, then bowed, and bowed again, and bowed a third time rapidly before rushing after his senior, “I - I just have to do a quick thing for my ma, Lord Leo, I’ll be back! I’ll send, uh, someone ‘til then!” 

 Laughing behind his hand at the less experienced guard’s awkward earnestness, Leo sighed and truly lounged against the doorframe. 

 Relaxing so much that his shoulders loosened and all that held him up was the wood behind him, his head lulling against brass hinges, he stared out those arching windows at a Valentine being covered in snow. 

 Bright, white snow almost blinding to him. 

 Almost so bright that it looked as though it should feel hot, not cold. 

 A door’s hinges squeaked further down the hallways. Footsteps approached Leo, soft-soled, scuffy, like boots but not the boots of his guards but he didn’t feel unsafe so he continued to lounge with his eyelids closed to the blinding whiteness outside of their little world of Vincini Manor. 

 He could see that brightness even through his eyelids.

 And then he couldn’t.

 Somebody stood in front of him, shielding him from the snow’s light. Emerald eyes like his mother’s opened to find a familiar form there, between him and the light. A familiar form with broad shoulders and silky-white stubble and spectacles crooked on his nose and crystal-blue eyes. And a cord around his papa’s neck, that held two wedding bands and a whistle that had belonged to a child.

 Him, as a child.

 “Morning, Papa,” he breathed. Leaving the doorframe to press a kiss to his Papa’s cheek, smelling the fragrance of some of Mama’s perfume near Alistair’s neck. As always. Always reminding himself of her. Always in love with her. Her late husband, as she was his late wife, and Papa’s eyes though looked so bright even with his back to the snowy whiteness. 

 “Morning, my boy. How are you?” 

 “I am well. I let the guards go if they still had preparations at home to be done, or other matters to tend to with the snows. This seems like it’ll be a lasting winter for us.” 

 “So it does,” his papa clasped their hands together between their bodies, even as Alistair turned to look over his shoulder at those snows over their lands with a sigh of his own, “So it does. Have you had breakfast delivered to you yet?” 

 “Not yet, Papa.” 

 “How about you and my son-in-law and my grandsons join me for a proper breakfast in the dining room this morning?” Noticing how Leo’s nose wrinkled up thinking of the even bigger windows down there, he laughed softly and squeezed the boy’s hands, “Don’t worry; I’ll have the maids draw the curtains before we’re served. If that is amenable?” 

 Beaming at the idea, then glancing back into his bedroom as he remembered - 

 “Oh, yes Papa. Just - it’ll have to wait until Yoma wakes. Plus the boys will need to be nursed before that.” 

 “Say, in an hour? I must go see to it that the manor’s own preparations are complete anyways, now that the snows are here.”

 “An hour,” Leo agreed, honestly happily, as he squeezed his papa’s old, worn hands in return and gave him another kiss on the cheek. Another whiff of his mother’s perfume for him. Another moment together for the both of them. Lord Alistair was off to be the Lord of Valentine and the Green Halidom that he was.

 And Leo slipped back into his den and his nest to wake his beloved and their sons, so the Vincinis could all have breakfast together as a family on this first day of snowfall in Valentine. 

 What could be better?

Chapter Text

 
 Breakfast as a family was a lovely affair. 

 There were lots of options for tomato-lovers. 

 On a less playful note, but no less happy a one, Leo loved sharing meals with others. Leo loved the conversations had over plates of yummy food, and he loved that Papa really had had the dining room’s drapes drawn before he and Ryoma arrived. He loved that there was a basket there for the twins to play in while they ate, and he loved that the cooks had done up mugs of peppermint hot cocoa for this cold, snowy day. 

 Just for him.

 He loved the maids that paused to chatter with them, and he loved the manservants rushing by on hand for the kitchens, and he loved how peaceful every bit of breakfast was. 

 A whole other world away from how his breakfasts in Windmire had ever been. 

 Breakfast was good, the after breakfast hugs and conversations as their stomachs settled was better, and the nap waiting for him in the boys’ nursery in front of a warm fireplace while Shiro and Jewels played and his husband saw to his work in the meanwhile was best. 

 Snow fell still from the skies. Clouds just a shade darker than white drifted by the windows, and frost melted in pieces under the sunshine that got through them. Guardsmen wandered in and out of the manor, stomping snow off of their boots and shaking a dusting of it from their shoulders as they warmed up just to go out into the cold again. Laughing and hopping in place. Noses red, eyelashes frosty. 

 Leo happily let his eyes open to snowy sunshine in his own time, after his nap. He stretched, idly rolling onto his back and yawning. The rug flat under him where he’d been laying. His fingers tangled in the shaggy surface. One of his hands slid up his tummy, rucking up the loose shirt he wore as he stretched again. A yawn fit for a kitsune tugging at his mouth. So, so, so satisfied in the warmth of the fireplace.

 And reminded of the Hamlet, in the way that he was laying on something soft in front of a roaring fireplace. 

 Reminded of his wedding night - 

 Because there were eyes on him. Rather appreciative eyes, judging by how Ryoma’s tawny orbs were a tad hidden by how blown his pupils were, staring at where his shirt was rucked up and surely his mate could see the stretchmarks on his belly and the dip of his navel and the healthy amount of flesh on his body - and of course that would be something his beloved appreciated. 

 Especially after all their struggles getting him fed and healthy in the past.

 Struggles Leo refused to linger on, as he lifted his hand up to rest his arm under his head like a pillow. Smirking when Ryoma’s gaze followed the movement.

 Just to find the blonde watching him just as raptly.

 His darling was so adorable; straightening up and clearing his throat, and turning so quickly back to the papers he’d been reviewing that he accidentally dropped a handful of them and squeaked as they scattered. Ryoma leaned out of the armchair he sat in to gather them, and Leo laughed gently at his teddy bear. 

 Smoothing out his clothes, Brynhildr’s wielder hummed when he found a few daisies growing on the rug around him.

 He hummed and made a chirping sound at his kits when he found them to be playing around him on the rug too. Jewels was trying to eat one of the daisies, his tiny nub of tail wagging as he tried to get to the petals that were bigger than him, the small dear.

 Shiro was building some sort of shape with some of his building blocks, babbling happily at whatever masterpiece it was in his eyes. 

 Both of his boys were so adorable. They got that from their father, clearly. 

 Reaching out, he gave Jewels a few scratchies behind those tiny, fluffy ears of the kit’s and giggled. Listening to the beautiful sound of his son purring as he stopped trying to eat that daisy that was taller than him and instead just rolled over under his mama’s touch. Practically kicking his legs in contentment as Leo gave him scratchies. 

 Predictably, Shiro heard his baby brother purring and realized he could get attention from mama too. Abandoning his building blocks to babble and wiggle his way towards where Leo’s arm was pillowing his head. His mobility was better than his brother’s, but there were still…hiccups, considering Shiro then stumbled over his own stubby arm and squealed as he rolled the final inches to land next to Leo’s cheek all squished up in his elbow.

 Shiro gave one of his mighty battlecries!

 And Leo switched targets, by lifting his head just enough and tugging open his son’s naptime yukata and blew a raspberry on that roly poly belly of his. 

 Shiro’s battlecries turned to ticklish yips, like the sort of sounds his kitsune brother would make. 

 And Leo laughed heartily as he began peppering apologetic kisses across the tiny brunette’s belly, and Jewels began whining worriedly and wiggling towards them. Eyes big and green and shiny with worry for his brother. When he got close enough? The Vincini boy began peppering him with kisses too, all over his face and over his ears, and on the tip of his nose.

 And soon both of his baby boys were purring happily, and he licked at Shiro’s forehead, caught up in the instincts of being a mama kitsune.

 Laughter reminded him of the where. And the when. And the who else was in the nursery besides them. Loud, belly-holding laughter as bright as summer sunshine at dawn. Ryoma’s laughter. 

 The best laughter - or at least on par with his sons’. 

 “Oh, how did I ever get you to fall in love with a fool like me?” His dearly beloved all but gushed, face flushed with love, tawnies iridescent in the glow firelight and snowy sunshine, and climbing out of his armchair to settle on the rug with the rest of his family, still laughing - what a wonder, “How did I ever convince you I was worthy of you? How did I ever earn the gift of your love, my Leo?” 

 Was a bit of laughter and a bit of playing with their sons really worth such earnest gushing? 

 But of course, both husbands agreed. 

 “Those would be my lines, I should think,” the blonde boy said mildly, then couldn’t help but giggle at how utterly smitten his husband looked, crawling closer and closer to join them in front of the crackling fireplace. 

 He was the one who had been a villain, after all. Ryoma had been the hero. 

 “For once, my genius little husband, you’re wrong,” he pretended to be offended, huffing up and snuggling close to the boys with a growl behind his teeth, but Leo couldn’t kill his smile. And he couldn’t pretend he wanted his Lord-husband to keep his distance as the man laid down parallel to him. Pillowing his head under his arm too. Their sons safe between them. 

 Like Shiro and Jewels had been, since the day they were born. 

 “Ohhh. I’m wrong, am I?” 

 “I am so awfully sorry to say you are,” Yoma failed to contain his own grin, failed to control himself as he reached out with one of his worn hands and a yukata sleeve swaying between them to cup Leo’s cheek as they laid there, consumed by one another the sons they shared, and Ryoma’s voice dropped down low into a whisper full of relishment, “I shall never say so again, for you never are otherwise, but in this - in this, you are. Just a bit. Just a little wrong. You have done everything to deserve me, Leo.” 

 Closing the emerald eyes of his mother, of his son, to a thumb rubbing gentle circles into his cheek, Leo laughed. It was barely a sound now. All of the noise had been stolen away by the drumming of his heart loud in his ears as he smelled his mate’s scent all around him all at once. 

 They were so silly.

 They were lying on the rug in the middle of the day, giving heartfelt confessions to one another while their sons babbled and played together between them.

 They were so ridiculous.

 They were so foolhardy.

 Leo loved what they were so much.

 “If I have all of that to deserve you, then you have done more,” he chuckled, saying so mildly, and he could sense his darling husband opening his mouth to argue so he pressed on before Ryoma did, “but give me a little time. A little time, and I’ll surely feel more than deserving of you, my darlin’.” 

 A tiny, breathy exhale sounded across from him, but Leo Vincini never opened his eyes to see the surely bashful awe Ryoma’s expression would be showing. His husband was delightfully predictable in that way. Instead? To the sound of a crackling fire, and Yoma’s breathing, and his children giggling at each other, and the distant howling of winter winds outside? 

 Leo Vincini went back to his nap.

 In love with their little world in Vincini Manor so much, he almost wished they could stay forevermore.

 But even if they only had this winter, Leo Vincini would have every moment possible of it. And even if they only had until the valleys thawed, he would make each moment worthwhile. Like this one was. Like his husband’s every touch was, and his babies’ every laugh was. Like life with his family was. 

 Like a life with love in it, was.

Chapter Text

 
 A lazy night.

 There was a drumbeat in the background. 

 It was Leo Vincini’s heart, pounding away. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Tha-thump. Heavy and yet steady. Until. Until, of course, he glanced at his Ryoma. Then it was less steady. Then it was louder. Prouder. Unapologetic, and thudding away inside of his ears in a thump-thump-thump-thumping way. It was enough to make him press a hand over his heart. Enough to have his fingertips tracing the scar just so slightly above that heart.

 Just so slightly off its mark, and less than an inch away from ending his life months ago.

 When he touched that scar, Leo was reminded of being kissed. When he touched that scar, he just had to let his fingertips trail lower to feel his heart pounding through his skin. Trying to break its way out of his ribcage like a life-long prisoner fighting for freedom. 

 A lazy, snowy night.

 They were in their shared bedchambers following a day of family and finishing preparations for the winter ahead and time shared in their sons’ nursery. There’d been an imprint from the rug on their cheeks by the time Leo and Ryoma had risen to return to work. They’d laughed about it. They’d kissed the marks. They’d kissed each other’s lips, and they’d finished up their day.

 Now, the hour drew later. The candles burned low. The snowy sunshine had gone dim, the skies dark, and the manor’s windows now showed little more than the faint glow of moonlight reflecting off of the white drifts across the valleys. There was frost on the windowpanes. There was a fire lit in the fireplace. The orangish glows bounced from surface to surface, shadows twisting and malforming with the dancing motions of the flames.

 They were warm, content, and the boys were settled in for bed. 

 And, there was this, other thing. 

 Whenever the winter months reached Valentine’s valleys, Vincini Manor did much to prepare for the snows. Much that had already been done before that day’s first snowfall. But only that afternoon, had they done something to their rooms. It was simple. When the winter months came, when the fireplaces spent their days lit, when the walls were soaked in the scent of burnt evergreen logs? 

 There were seating areas arranged around those fireplaces. For comfort. For convenience. For the satisfaction of sitting beside a roaring fire in winter, drinking warm drinks and doing your hobbies in the glow of firelight. The sofas of Leo’s den had been moved, one had been removed entirely, and the armchairs had been arranged on the rug in front of the fireplace’s guard.

 A chaise chair had also been brought in, and set in a prime spot in the path of the fire’s warmth.

 It was long, velvety-soft, and a forestry-green sort of shade that the lordling approved of. 

 Ryoma had claimed the chaise chair the second he laid eyes on it. It had been ridiculously adorable to see those eyes light with excitement in that moment, and Leo never even entertained the idea of his darling not lounging on the chair. Which was what he’d done. Post-haste. Ryoma had loosened his yukata, had grabbed one of his novels, and had set himself up in the warmth of the fire reading for hours.

 Beautiful wasn’t a word that would do him justice.

 Ryoma was resplendent.

His tawny irises shone so warm, like a rich caramel glaze, in the firelight. His hair was just as rich a brown. The way it’d been pinned into a bun to keep out of Yoma’s face as he read through documents earlier now messy and full of loose strands and looking so disheveled and so comfortable, it was downright unfair. His yukata was open, the collar slipping down over his broad shoulders, his chest and the hair spattered in a trail down his abdomen catching in the firelight.

 With one elbow propped up on the chair’s arm, and a novel spread open under his fingers, and a content smile on his lips as he read and giggled and reacted to each scene so animatedly - 

 Leo Vincini fell in love over and over again that night. 

 And oh - the unfairness of it all. How was his heart not to pound with a view like that ripe for the ravishing? An after-dinner snack of tomatoes and more tomatoes couldn’t settle his heart - and usually tomatoes worked for Leo as well as warm milk did for most - and he’d settled for settling the twins in the nest after they’d nursed. Lulling Shiro and Jewels off to sleep with sweet nothings whispered against the crowns of their heads as he lay curled around them…still watching Ryoma be utterly - utterly - !

 Gods, he loved that man.

 So when their sons were slumbering deeply enough, the younger husband slipped silently from his nest. Sure he’d gone unnoticed due to how invested Ryoma was in that romance novel of his. Always so invested. Always so darling. Always so perfect, always making Leo want to carve out his own heart and offer it to Ryoma on a golden platter alongside the whole world’s ashes. So unfair.

 There wasn’t just a fire in the fireplace, there was a fire burning gently in Leo’s heart. Growing less and less gentle, in a sense, the longer he’d watched. Now? He acted.

 A tug of his magic.

 A second check that the bedchambers’ doors were locked.

 A few candles extinguished so there was only the emberish glow of the fireplace dancing around them.

 Leo approached the man of his dreams, both waking and not. The movement snagged his husband’s attention for a second; a flick of those eyes up at him then down at that novel’s pages. Then straight back up at Leo in a beautiful double-take, the novel snapping shut as Yoma let go of it, and it tumbled to the rug below, forgotten. Leo smiled.

 And maybe that smile was a shade or two shy, and he fidgeted with his too-long of sleeves as he stood before the man he loved. A crackling fire behind him. The warmth was all rising to his cheeks, his smile turning maybe another shade shy, but shyness had never dissuaded Leo from taking action before. It didn’t this time either, in the lovely, low, sensual glow of the fireplace.

 His mate turned over onto his back, and Leo moved with him to lift one leg over the chaise chair. One knee settled in the forestry cushions, then the other. And then Leo was straddling his husband.

 Wearing nothing more than a long, loose, white chemise he’d tugged out of his storage for just this sort of night. The sleeves too long for his arms. The collar hanging off of one shoulder, the strings undone across his chest so Ryoma could see perhaps more skin, like he could see his legs and his hips and his intentions written out clear as day between them two husbands.

 Subtly was dead.

 Leo had murdered it mercilessly.

 And judging by his dear heart’s very loving hands going straight for Leo’s hips to hold onto, he was pretty sure Ryoma was willing to be his accomplice. 

 He knew what he wanted.

 Ryoma wanted it too.

 It was written in those tawny eyes, as they dragged slowly down the pretty picture Leo made for, straddling his husband and wreathed in firelight. Flushed, flustered, but beaming. And barely dressed, and barely hiding his intentions, and with his emerald eyes reflecting flames like a forest fire full of desire. Yoma grasped his hips. Held him like he was something precious and something oh-so desirable. Breathless all of a sudden.

 “I really need that portrait of you, my Leo,” and then Yoma burst out with that non sequitur, making the blonde outright laugh, arms slipping around his lover’s wide shoulders, asking.

 “Surely not a portrait of me like this,” indicating to his state of undress. But that only made his darling suck in a sharp breath and with it breathe out - 

 “Maybe a few…private ones.” 
 
 Needing to hear no more, Leo swept down to kiss his husband delightfully senseless. A kiss as firelit as a wildfire. It started passionate, for sure. And it ended with the pins falling from his doe’s mane, clinking as they hit the rug, with Yoma’s yukata fallen off of his chest, and Leo’s chemise in much the same state. The two of them panting, barely a breath apart, dazed-eyed and that drumbeat now reverberating around them.

 Placing a palm over his mated’s heart, “Your heart’s like thunder, darlin’.” 

 The worn skin of Ryoma’s palm slid from his ribcage up to his neck, let just under his jaw, touching so many scars along the way and stopping only at his pulsepoint which Leo let his head fall back in bliss so it could be felt fully. 

 “Yours too, my love,” opening his eyes, Leo thought he saw some…torrent, of emotions, fly across Ryoma’s face before they all smoothed out into one single emotion and he dismissed it.

 When there was desire carved into his husband’s heart, he would answer in kind.

 His lips brushing a warm, warm earlobe, Leo smiled softly. Said, commanded.

 “Make love to me, mate.” 

 A warrior like his husband was knew to obey commands swiftly and without hesitation. That night beside the fireplace was no different. Swift. And without hesitation. The boy of Valentine was had right there, wildly and without shame, straddling his husband and hugged to him as they were warmed by both their pleasures and the winter fire. 

 More than once, he had to bite his lip to keep quiet when Yoma gnawed at his matemark in hopeless longing, their mate bond taut between them as they sought pleasure time and time again. 

 It began with Leo atop his husband.

 It ended many hours later, with Leo laying on his back on the rug, barely awake and hugging his husband’s shoulders as he thrusted tiredly into him. Their kisses slow and languid and lazy. Because this was a lazy night for them. Ryoma was dripping from the times they’d switched up who took whom, and his hair was a tangled nest, and they were entirely naked by then.

 And there was snow falling outside, snowflakes reflecting moonlight, once again.

 And there was definitely going to be a bath or two with their names on it come the morrow.

 But for now, they had their lazy night. And they fell asleep a little sticky and a little love-marked and a lot exhausted and a lot in love on the floor in front of the fireplace. 
 
 And it was all so utterly perfect, Leo Vincini loved every moment of that winter’s first snowfall.

Chapter Text

 
Snow fell thick and fast for Valentine’s winters, and in no time at all it was hard to believe only a couple of days ago the valleys had known nothing more than frost. 

Now, Valentine was snowed in.

Literally and figuratively. Snowed in, in the sense that there was snow as far as the eye could see, hills of it over the valleys, brooks and streams frozen, trees with white branches and rooftops piled high. It was up to a grown man’s knees in some parts of the valley. It took work to create paths through the snow for those who didn’t use snowshoes everywhere they walked. 

But also snowed in, in the sense that the roads to and from Valentine were now like secret passages. Sure, those who’d lived in the valleys for years could walk them well enough. Sometimes there was a more noticeably flat ‘path-like’ place to walk, sometimes it was just footprints you put your own footprints over and the next did the same and the next did the same, and there were semi-clear openings through the trees on some of Valentine’s borders - 

But Valentine was snowed in.

The roads, if found, as if they led to some hidden location, were treacherous. Snowy and icy. 

There was almost no hope of carriages getting through. Wagons would either slide off of the bends, get stuck in a snowdrift, or lose a wheel to some unseen hazard under the snows. 

 The only remaining, reliable options of transportation for Valentine’s winter was riding, walking, or for the boldest? Taking a ferry up or downriver depending on if you could even get to the ferry docks. So, yes, Valentine was all but closed for winter now. Which was why they were so intent on growing their own harvests throughout the year and honing their own craftsmen and being self-reliant. Yes, there was a reason Leo was so proud of Valentine’s resilience.

 Especially after years and years of being neglected and ignored by greater Nohr.

 They may now be the capital of the Green Halidom, for all intents and purposes, but until they upgraded the region’s common roads to be more on par with the roads that lead to Windmire or Castle Shirasagi, this would continue to be the case for Valentine’s winters. Not that Leo minded. Sort of. Maybe. Because - 

 Well, it kept the messengers away. It also fended off the more annoying delegates, and kept more of the less savory sort from trying to move into the halidom with the snows and all. 

 Which meant the Lords of Valentine and the Green Halidom, all three of them, would have less paperwork to juggle throughout the winter months! 

 Plus there was the frigid, cold beauty of winter.

 And all of those lovely mornings where Leo got to cuddle with his husband because the teddy bear of a man hated leaving the nest until he’d adjusted to the manor’s temperatures now. 

 And, and, and, Rose spent plenty of time visiting him! Her legs were so stubby as a filly that some of the snowdrifts were surely going to be taller than her this year, and that meant she had to find something else to do other than go and play in the sunshiney snows. A something else that ended up being spending time with her one-day rider, and babysitting the boys for Leo while he worked on various projects. 

 There was always a fireplace burning evergreen woods. 

 There were always guards huddled around those fireplaces, trying to warm themselves up. 

 There was always a cup of some hot drink within reach of Lord Leo and Lord Ryoma and Lord Alistair as well. 

 There was always the burning love of a wildfire in Valentine, even in the midst of winter. It kept them warm. It kept their hearty hearts pounding. It kept the people busy, kept them laughing and smiling and celebrating each day, busy with the bustle of simple lives. There was always another day in the snowy valleys. 

 And there was always the flags of the Green Halidom flying over Valentine.

 And there was Leo savoring kiss after kiss from his husband, safe in the serenity of his homeland snowed in. Separated from all the world that would hate him. All the world that did not know him. And that was precisely where Clova’s son wanted and needed to be this winter, while he healed. 

 Taking it one footprint in the snow at a time. 

 Standing out on one of the balconies of the manor, overlooking a snowy bailey, Leo smiled softly. In each of his arms, he held one of the twins. All three boys were bundled up in winter apparel, as warm as a hibernating bear would be. In spite of the cold breeze blowing past the balcony. Cold enough to still turn the tips of their noses red, and sting their cheeks. 

 Papa had suggested some fresh air, and Leo had agreed, and he was rather glad he had.

 Despite the snow layered atop snow, atop snow, the steady snowfall had finally stopped for that day at least. The sun was out. It was warm in its light, and the air was cold but refreshing, and Leo just stood at the snowy railing of the balcony. Continuing to smile down at the bailey below. 

 Where a group of guards were dealing with all of the snow piled high on the path to and from the manor’s grand entrance. 

 “We need a bigger shovel,” it was easy to overhear them huffing and puffing as they bit by bit scooped snow away, “a whole wagon! Oi, Joey, any chance your ma - ?” 

 “Uh-uh. Have you seen the roads today, Caelum? You crazy? Ma would string me up and Pa would help if I asked to use the farm’s wagon to finish my chores here!”

 “Maybe she’d at least string you up somewhere warm,” a third voice piped up, sounding as if the boy was yearning for a cup of piping hot cocoa as well, and then Leo heard a yelp. The thud of a snowball hitting its target. The banter of friends and brothers-in-arms wrestling in the snow without a care. It was a lovely thing to hear, and an amusing thing to see when Leo leaned over the balcony’s snowy railing. 

 The younger guards - all three of them having joined the guard after Leo was gone - were indeed wrestling in the snow. Snowflakes were falling again thanks to them. Shining in the sunshine, some snowballs slushier than others, and Leo laughed aloud when Sir Caelum ended up head-first in a snowbank. His legs kicking as he tried to unstick himself.

 A laugh, his laugh, was overheard.

 And all at once, the two not head-first in a snowbank froze, but not before Sir Joey let loose a snowball that nailed his third friend square in the face after they’d frozen.

 Which meant there was a loud ‘oof’ and then a yelp as the young guardsman slipped on a patch of ice and ended up on his bum, groaning. 

 Shiro and Jewels both laughed, the latter more shyly but still laughing, so Leo was happy. 

 Sir Joey, Joey, the farm boy he’d grown up playing with at Eventides Farms, gave him a bow as though that had all been a performance. Smirking, dusting off his cloak and leather guards all smugly…he was so busy staring up at his liege that he failed to see Sir Caelum free himself from that snowbank and charge. 

 Joey ended up face-first in his own snowbank, his screams muffled by the snow, and Leo laughed again.

 Before idly, hm, pulling, just a tad, on Brynhildr. 

 From a patch of snow, a branch grew. A root. Taller and taller and taller and writhing as if it had a mind of its own, and those young guards jumped into the doorway of the manor as it swept across the snowy ground. The path. The stairs. It grew longer as needed, its bark scraping up the packed-down snow and breaking ice with small thumps from additional roots - 

 And within a minute, maybe two? 

 The path to and from Vincini Manor was indeed clear of snow. Half a day’s labor, done in a few breaths by magic. Brynhildr was smug as she withdrew her roots. 

 And his guards were awed as they cautiously stumbled out of the entryway. Staring around at the wide, clear path from door to courtyard center to the gatehouse and stables. The barracks too; though the path there was out of sight, it’d been done. A helping hand from their Lord, if they will. Leo rather…loved.

 Using his magic for such simple, kind things, that is.

 No curses. No blood nor gore nor battle. No ancient spell, no enchantment needed for some serious reason. Like how he loved to simply grow plants and flowers sometimes, Leo loved to use his highly gifted magic to help. To do small things, even if some or most mages would see it as a waste. As inane or foolish or anything - how many times had Leo Vincini said he didn’t mind being the fool? 

 He’d meant it, and he meant it now as some vines sprouted like ivy from the snow on the balcony’s railing. Swept the snow off so he had somewhere to lean his hip against and hold his sons close. Smiling down at his guards who were waving up at him, hopping, happily cheering as if he’d done some great deed.

 It wasn’t like the time he’d raised the wall around Valentine during the war.

 It was better.

 It was just a little bit of shoveling snow.

 “Are you two using Lord Leo to get out of your chores?!?!” There was then a voice like thunder that rumbled around the bailey, and from the direction of the barracks Sir Fern stormed towards them. A few more of the senior knights following, expressions disapproving. Protective. Fiercely so. And Leo giggled, even as his instincts growled because the loud voices had made Jewels whimper and made Shiro tense up. 

 Upset that his baby brother was upset. 

 “Head Guard Fern!” He called down from above, alerting his senior guards to where he was on the balcony overhead, and all of them paused to bow appropriately in response. He snuggled his sons inside of his coat, where it was warm and quiet and safe, and leaned further over the balcony so he would be heard more clearly without yelling, “It’s alright. They didn’t ask. I simply did it.” 

 He’d feel ever-so awful if the younger guards got in trouble for his attempt to help.

 “Oh…in that case,” the disapproval on Sir Fern’s face melted away as if it were summer rather than winter, and he beamed up at his liege, asking, “how are the little lordlings, Lord Leo? You don’t usually leave them be like this.” 

 “I haven’t let them be,” a roll of his eyes, already aware of how well known his protectiveness of his sons was in Valentine, and Leo shifted to sort of nod down at the two lumps in the front of his coat, “They were scared by your shouting, Sir Fern.” 

 At his explanation, the Head Guard’s expression crumbled to something so dire and damning that Leo almost snorted at the dramatics of it all.

 Sir Fern hunched his shoulders and hung his head, his mutterings distant on the winter winds, and Leo laughed. Again. So many times that day.

 “How dare I? What sort of a guard am I? Gods, forgive me.” 

 “What have you done to my Head Guard, my dear boy?” A very welcomed, very amused voice came up behind Leo as Sir Fern muttered on and on. Snow crunched underfoot, and then Papa was there. At Leo’s shoulder. Looking bemused as he leaned over the railing with his son to watch the guards trying to comfort Sir Fern who had now fallen to his knees and continued to bemoan himself. 

 Leo’s lips twitched, but he didn’t say anything.

 He simply let himself laugh, leaning into his father’s side, the sun and the snow on the winds making it a very good day indeed.

 A very good day, indeed.

Chapter Text

 
 “It’s certainly…an idea.” Musing, Leo leaned back to take in the full proposal a second time. All in all? It was a single page of parchment. Nothing close to the pounds and pounds of paper being a lord required digging through, but that single page of parchment definitely had…an idea to it. 

 “An idea you’re against?” His papa asked, tentatively, Lord Alistair and Ryoma both stood beside his desk as he perused the proposal yet again. 

 “...I never said I was against it,” the boy of Valentine said simply, thumbing the signatures at the bottom of the page, the ink shiny and metallic, and giving off this oxidizing smell that made Leo’s head swim. So he set the proposal down. Frowning at it. Thinking. A familiar sight for his family, so they gave him the time he needed. Papa went to the twins’ cradle to coo at his grandsons, while Yoma stayed.

 Stepped closer, even. 

 Laid his hands on his smaller husband’s shoulders, a reassuring weight, and waited in such a comfortable silence for Leo to finish thinking. 

 The proposal was hardly some impossible task. Far from it. Far from being unwarranted too, or some terrible idea, or anything that would truly justify being caught off guard by it. But then again. Leo had spent the last months only tied to the outside world by paperwork and nothing more, and this proposal would change that. 

 ‘Wuthering proposes a grand ball!’ Declared one line of the proposal. From Wuthering, but of course. On and on it went down the page. Platitudes and promises and ideas and, ‘While we are all part of this great halidom, we lack a sense of unity, especially for those of proper pedigrees. We would suggest a ball, to give those of our echelon a chance to mingle and - ‘

 Pinching the bridge of his nose, Leo sighed. Too well aware why he was actually against the proposal. 

 “Ignoring the superbly bad timing, wanting it in the dead of winter when Valentine is already snowed in from mere days of snowfall and will surely be unreachable by this time next month that they want to hold the ball,” Leo began, in his serious Second-Prince voice that only slipped out when fools were being fools and he was annoyed by it, “And ignoring that Valentine may be able to easily afford the expenses for a ball like this, and that the manor would be an excellent place to hold it, and that they aren’t technically wrong about a lack of unity - “ 

 Basically ignoring all of the details conveniently glossed over by the proposal and the actual good reasons they emphasized - 

 “We’re still evaluating Wuthering’s noble houses. They know this,” after all, Wuthering was a bit too rooted in Nohr proper’s ways of life to hand power over the Green Halidom to, “They are proposing this ball while knowing this. They are the least fair and right of the western towns, and they are also the most sneaky and still at risk of corruption. Wuthering’s economy is also terrible, but they have a private military force on their side. We know all of this.” 

 All details also conveniently glossed over by the proposal.

 “Why would we go along with holding a ball on their terms with all of that in mind?” He crossed his arms, turning to glance over his shoulder at his father and husband respectively. 

 And before Ryoma could even get out a word, his papa had chuckled where he was rocking the boys’ cradle and said, amused, “But it’ll be fun, dear boy.” 

 “But it’ll be fun,” Leo agreed with a hapless sigh. Smiling slightly. Helpless to his father’s Nestran spirits as always. 

 “It would also be a good chance to weed out the Wuthering high-borns?” His dearly beloved added, a touch hesitant, and Leo sympathized. Ryoma was not so used to corruption and the layers of ulterior motives that helped Nohr both prosper and rot. A few of which’s tendrils seemed to have made it into their halidom against their best efforts, “We’ve already dealt with and approved of Nalina, Delgo too, the wolfskins are a nonissue…so wouldn’t this be a good chance to finish the preliminary establishment of Wuthering in the halidom?” 

 “A great point, my love,” Leo commended him, as softly as he could, “That is also something to consider.” 

“In Hoshido, galas and balls were not so…temperamental,” Ryoma sighed, nose scrunching up as he stared at the proposal he’d brought his mate as if he regretted ever doing so, “I had not considered all of these concerns, and that is on me. We can refuse, of course. We have plenty of reasons to, at least until springtime.” 

 Humming, Leo fell back into thoughtfulness. 

 Vaguely he noticed his darling go to his father’s side, the two of them gushing at their kits, speaking softly in funny and excited tones to make the babies giggle. A little family. Leo’s little family, as he sat in his and his husband’s study and thought. For even a seemingly simple proposal had layers, and maybe he’d been naïve to hope the Green Halidom never would need to deal with the corruption Nohr sowed.

 If Leo didn’t know definitively that Xander felt guilty for everything he’d gone through, and that guilt was a reason for him handing over the western lands in the first place? 

 He’d think his older brother gave him Wuthering as part of the agreement solely to get that town outside of Nohr’s borders while Nohr struggled through recovering from the war.

 Wuthering was…a bit of a fixer-upper.

 It was a town that had been founded illegally, by thieves and mercenaries and murderers. The sort who gain plenty of clientele from the high-borns of Nohr, and thus were eventually given actual permission to found the town. From there? It had grown like an infestation. High crime. High taxes. A broken economy, a scared community, high-born families lording over it that had been the original thieving and criminal families that founded the town. 

 A private military wrapped around each of those criminal families’ fingers. 

 Wuthering was part of the west, but it probably would’ve been better left to Nohr. 

 Leo knew Nohr was going to struggle this winter though. Was already struggling. He knew they had not the harvests nor workers to have built up stores for the snowy months; not during the war. He knew many fields had been burned, as a matter of fact. He knew hundreds, if not thousands had died, that Nohr’s coffers were emptier than they’d been in a long time, that the capital city of Windmire was going into winter razed and ruined - 

 He knew that those rumors of a plague coming from the south were proving more and more true and deadly, and that recent messengers brought back whispers of the plague sweeping the eastern coast. 

 He knew that Nohr would struggle to survive until spring, so he knew that Xander had simply been trying to fairly split the west before that struggle tipped the balance too far in either direction. 

 The Wuthering nobles were the hardest to vet, because Leo had less first-hand knowledge about Wuthering than any of the towns of the west.

 Nalina and Delgo, at least, Mother had taken him to as a child to visit. 

 Valentine he’d obviously grown up in.

 Wuthering, though? Wuthering, even as an innocent child, Leo had known worried his mother. Clova never let him join her on her excursions there. Never left with less than a full guard, never let Alistair join her. If Alistair was headed to Wuthering, then Clova stayed in Valentine. If Clova was headed to Wuthering, then Alistair stayed in Valentine. 

 The fact that his parents never trusted their distantly neighboring town to not try and attack Valentine when one of them was on the road was enough for Leo to know not to trust them.

“...But it’ll be fun,” he repeated his papa’s earlier words back to himself, tapping out a rhythm on the proposal, and he thought about how it would be his sons’ first ball. 

He made up his mind.

“We will need a lot, and I mean a lot, of security measures in place.” 

Turning back to the boys’ cradle, Ryoma nodded stoically and his father hummed in agreement, still playing with stubby arms and hands inside of the cradle.

“Then a ball it is,” Leo Vincini declared, reaching for a piece of parchment to write his own response to Wuthering, semi-parts wary and excited. This would be their first ball since Cyrkensia, “There is plenty to do before then, though.” 

A lot to do indeed. 

“By the way, Ryoma, how many western dances do you know?” At his husband’s slightly and suddenly panicked expression, Leo laughed behind his hand and offered, “Don’t worry. I’ll teach you, darlin’.” 

Chapter Text

 
 “My dear boy, I believe our family has always had a rule of business being kept away from family meals?” 

 Blinking owlishly, Leo lifted his gaze from the many papers he’d pulled from his magical storage. Letting them all appear in wisps of magic, his food being arranged around them, stuffing a bread roll in his mouth and chewing on it as he began organizing the ‘business’ he’d been dragged away from to attend dinner. Business he put on pause now. 

 Both his father and Ryoma were staring at him, in fond exasperation maybe, but staring at him nonetheless. 

 He swallowed the bread roll after pausing, glancing between the two perfect examples of working while they ate, and arched a brow. Setting down the papers he’d picked up to peruse. To say, “Papa, Yoma, neither of you can say that without being hypocrites.” 

 Wisps of foresty-green magic swept up another bread roll from the basket, so perfectly baked to golden-brown, and Leo opened his mouth to eat it from his magic’s grasp. Glancing down again at the rough drafts he’d written up earlier. The proposals that were now his responsibilities, the budget, the catering, the hospitality specifics, the invitation list even - all for that winter ball Wuthering had proposed. 

 That they’d decided to accept. 

 Which meant. Work. 

 “Ah, but our studies and bedchambers are not here,” Papa pointed out, with a snort and a wave around them. To the, yes, dining room of Vincini Manor. The table set. A feast fit for lords laid before them. The smell of freshly baked foods in the air and the candles lit and the curtains drawn so the snowy sunshine outside would not blind them as sunset fell. Leo swallowed his bread roll. Then frowned down into the goblet he reached for as his father took a turn arching his brow at him.

 He knew when Papa was really telling him to do something, but still.

 “There’s so much to do,” he mumbled into the goblet, then grinned as Ryoma saw to the boys in their bassinet next to the table. Gushing down at them. Passing them their favorite picture books, and pointing to the art to make cute little noises to draw Shiro and Jewels’ attentions to them and gods - Leo loved the man. He set his goblet down.

 An array of tomato bowls were set in a ring around his paperwork, all ripe for the taking. 

 “There are so many days until then,” Lord Alistair pointed out kindly, nodding to his son-in-law afterwards and grinning at the young father playing with his sons as well because it really was just such an endearing sight, “And, as you already should have made use of, there is another who will help you with all of it.”

 With a sigh, Leo had to concede to his father. 

 It was just that it’d been a while since there was so much to arrange, and on a time limit as well. Most of the business he’d been managing since returning to Valentine had either already been filtered through by Ryoma or his father, or was simplistic. With no extra, moving parts. That wasn’t this.

 Not by far.

 “I never intended to throw so much work your way, my love,” Ryoma said apologetically, his brows knitting together as he lifted Jewels from the bassinet. Their youngest was fussing. His ears flat and tail nub tucked, and he soothed only when he was tucked inside of his father’s yukata to be held close to that thundering heart of Yoma’s, “What have you already begun drafting up? I can take on whatever else needs doing.” 

 Pensive, the blonde boy picked through his papers. 

 Beginning to list their topics. 

 “Location - the ballroom, but of course, catering - the local bakeries paired with the kitchen staff and perhaps a few additions if we call for some chefs from Cyrkensia as a special addition, a budget fit for the upper echelon - I was planning something in the couple thousand gold range, entertainment - I had thought a troupe, but Wuthering especially favors literature entertainment so something involving writing? But of course there will need to be music, but Valentine has far from a royal orchestra so we’ll need to assemble something soon so they may practice for the next month. Then there’s the matters of transportation because we are snowed in, security because Wuthering cannot be trusted, places to stay and hospitality because I do not feel comfortable housing them all at the manor - this is not a castle, this is our home - but the inn in town is hardly fit for so many noble families to stay in at once. Then there is the thought of personal tastes, the exact specifics of the ball itself - themes and decoration, that sort of thing. The effect on the local economy after having so many nobles staying in Valentine for a time, the strain on the granaries and stores, the matter of maybe making it a region-wide celebration so it doesn’t separate the low-borns as much. There’s also the matter of the wolfskin, since they are technically a settlement of the Green Halidom but I doubt Wuthering will like seeing them in attendance - “ 

 He went to go on, but Ryoma interrupted him with a single, strangled, “My love.” 

 Peeking over the top of another paper he’d picked up to drop, as he’d picked up and dropped many papers as he did an overview of what he’d been working on throughout the day? 

 The Vincini heir was met by his husband gawking at him with his mouth open soundly, and his papa positively beaming with pride at the head of the table. 

 All at once, Ryoma made a squeaky noise in the deeper parts of his throat, Jewels squeaked in reply inside of his soft yukata, Shiro yipped in response in his human way from the bassinet, and his father took his goblet to thump it against the table as if beginning a cheer amongst soldiers, throwing his head back to laugh. To laugh so hard his belly hurt and smile so widely his cheeks would probably be sore afterwards.

 “That’s your son alright, Clova, my love,” the adopted Prince of Nestra laughed, shaking his head as he pushed his chair back and began to make his way out of the dining room still laughing, “Pardon me, my boy! I just - I need a moment! Oh. Ah. Ha - Clova, he really is - “ 

 His papa’s voice faded down the hallway, until he couldn’t hear his guffaws in any way other than echoes from elsewhere in the manor, and Leo blinked owlishly for a second time that very evening. Turning that blink to Ryoma. Who was smiling. With such sweet, sweet exasperation that Leo’s teeth ached as if he’d bit into a dessert of pure sugar.

 “Yoma?” 

 “Sweet dragons, I love you, Leo.” That was all he got out of his awed spouse. 

 Tilting his head in confusion, he dismissed his papers to his magical storage after all. Wondering just what he’d done. Was it because he’s brought business to the family dining table? Truly? He supposed he was just used to doing so, since he so rarely ate in a real dining room. Usually he took his meals in his study or his bedrooms or even outside, as picnics. 

 The candelabras and their flames still danced, and his dearly beloved still reached out to take his hand as he soothed Jewels, and there were still plenty of bowls of tomatoes set out for him, but Leo was stuck on the strange reaction to his preliminary planning.

He wanted this ball to be a good experience.

It would be their sons’ first…and his and Ryoma’s first while they were at peace.

Speaking of, he needed to find a dance instructor for his husband. Unless. Well, he would love to teach his darling mate a few things for once. He had said he would, after all. 

 
 “...Yoma?” The boy of Valentine asked later. Late in the evening, when their fireplace was lit and warming the whole room, when their sons were fed and asleep, when it was just them arranging a few final piles of paperwork, Ryoma lounging on the chaise chair with one of his novels and Leo sat cross-legged on the floor in front of it with papers scattered all around - 

 When it was just them, and the quiet love of the life they’d built.

 The life they would build.

 “Yes, Leo?” His darling’s tawny eyes flicked down at him, and Ryoma closed his novel to show his husband had his full attention, and Leo flushed. Feeling silly for being so caught up about what had happened during dinner. But, well, curiosity. 

 By now it is obviously known to be a bane, a boon, and an addiction for Vincinis.

 “Was it…bad? That I’d already begun to brainstorm so much about the ball?” Voice going quiet, with dreadful, dreadful uncertainty, Leo fidgeted with the hem of his sleeping shirt and wondered. Because it’d been normal for him. All of that drafting had been practically nostalgic for him, especially because for years Xander had had the habit of making him redo his work - 

 Again and again and again and again, and he had gotten into a routine of getting everything down and expecting it to not be good enough so he needed to get the bad stuff out of the way first. Then he could work on the stuff that Xander would mildly accept, but still with an air of annoyance to him, and, but, well - 

 Big, warm hands cupped his face. Raised it, to gaze up at his beloved like he was his heaven, his answers.

 “You are spiraling, my little tomato,” Ryoma whispered, brushing his thumbs in abstract patterns along Leo’s jaw and the corners of his lips…thumbing his bottom lip. Tawny eyes glowing in the firelight. His bangs fell around Leo, tickled his lips, and he tilted his head upward expectantly.

 In the middle, a chaste kiss met his lips, and then he was letting his eyes flutter open. 

 Safe in a realm hidden behind his husband’s mane, safe in those big, brown eyes more beguiling than any doe’s, safe with his husband’s hands holding his face, the same hands that had held his heart a thousand times; Leo was safe.

 And Leo leaned in with a tiny gasp, and closed his eyes tight, and this time the kiss was longer.

 But somehow still chaste.

 Intimate, as all their private moments tended to be. 

 “I think,” his heart’s tenor was warm on the lips he’d just kissed, and Leo melted into Ryoma’s forehead slowly pressing down against his, into those long lashes, and the firelight glowing and dancing around their little world, and Ryoma said, “That you are singularly incredible, Leo. My Leo. I think you do not realize this fact, and I wish to help you realize it moreso. I think what you did was awe-inspiring, as a former crown prince and as a lord.”

 The boy’s brows pressed together, he thought on it, and then he said haltingly, “I know. I’m a genius, Ryoma. I’m brilliant. But all I did was come up with a few drafts?”

 “‘All you did’,” his mate echoed with a smile and a tiny shake of his head, before fully pressing their foreheads together and laughing in the delicate space between their faces, “All you did, my Leo, was prove precisely why you were the greatest thing that could’ve ever happened to Nohr, and how terribly you were squandered, and how terribly you were neglected. Because you should know your efforts are admirable. So very admirable, my dove.” 

 Was it really so admirable? 

 “...Xander always said - “ He started. 

 Was stopped by a kiss. A far quicker, far more intentioned kiss with force behind that kept him quiet when Yoma pulled them apart. And this time when they stared at each other in the emberish-orange glow of the firelight? 

 His Ryoma’s brown eyes were dancing with an angry flame he’d long-since acquainted with his husband thinking about his older brother.

 “King Xander was wrong.” 

 A shiver ran up Leo’s spine, and his darling’s eyes softened.

 “He was wrong, Leo. Your drafts are so in-depth, and so very thought out. They would do perfectly. They are better than some final plans high-borns I’ve known would have had. We informed you of the ball so recently, and you’ve all but already planned the whole thing when we have more than a month’s time until the plans must be put in motion. Tell me you see that? Tell me you understand how incredible you are?” 

 ‘See yourself through my eyes,’ those big, brown orbs pleaded, and Leo wanted to. By Brynhildr, he wanted to. He wanted to love himself like that. He wanted to see his credits, not his faults. He wanted to see himself through the same eyes that his lifemate loved him through, and he wanted it so badly his matemark began to tingle. With an inhuman longing.

 “Mate, of my body, of my heart, of my soul,” he breathed, finding his arms up around his husband’s broad shoulders and his heart pounding, and Ryoma’s hands under his thighs as he lifted his smaller love from the floor to sit on his lap, “I…am incredible, because you are the mirror I see myself through.” 

 Ryoma made a delighted noise, and kissed him heatedly.

 “That is all I ever wish for for you, Leo.” 

 They kissed for a long time after that. It did not go further, not as husbands and mates might.

 It went as far as their lips tingling from the force of their kisses, their faces flushed, finding themselves breathless and tangled up together on that lounging chair in front of the fireplace. Ryoma’s palm was splayed out on Leo’s stomach, and Leo’s fingers were pressing deep into his spouse’s muscular thighs. Their hearts were pounding, and the winter winds outside were howling, and the fire was crackling - 

 And all they smelled was cherry blossoms, roses, and evergreen.

 And they kissed again.

 Neither of them ever loving their reflections more, than when they were the reflections of each other in their eyes.

Chapter Text

 Part of being a parent to the twins was the fussy nights.

The more days, then weeks, that passed since their birth? The more often there were these fussy nights. In the beginning the kits slept so soundly. They hadn’t needed a nest, hadn’t needed a lullaby, hadn't needed their parents to keep petting and petting and petting them as they dozed, slipping into a deep sleep. They hadn’t needed any of that; they’d gotten it anyways. Because Leo and Ryoma were awful at denying their sons a single thing in the world. 

Nowadays there were more fussy nights. 

Nursed, snuggled up in their nest, sleeping soundly - everything could be perfect. Really, perfect. And one of the parents would still be woken up by fussing in the middle of those winter nights. Jewels would whine and whine and whine and wake up Leo in a panic because of the distressed sounds, while Shiro would roar for his father and Ryoma would take their older son to settle in the hallway or the nursery before he woke his brother. 
 
 The Lord-husbands still got a plentiful amount of sleep. 

 But their sons - not so much. Meaning they were fussier during the day too. 
 
 Tonight was another nighttime of fussing. The fireplace’s fire had died out to embers, and Jewels had managed to squirm just far enough out from under their nest’s covers to feel the cold. Which meant Leo woke up with whines in his ear. His arms were immediately around his son. Nosing at Jewels’ forehead, behind his ears, checking for a fever and licking at his sternum as he crawled out of the nest with well-practiced ease by now, weeks into this fussiness. 

 The cold was quite the shameless culprit all but instantly, and Leo shivered as he pulled one of his mother’s shawls around his shoulder. Swaddling Jewels in its knitting. He cooed and shushed his youngest, off to the fireplace of their moonlit bedroom. 

 The fussing was minimal that night, so Leo ended up mostly just rocking and humming to Jewels.

 With one hand he replaced the evergreen logs of the fireplace, placed the guard back in front of it, and all it took was a thought in his mind and a tug on his magical core to spark the flames. A fire in winter. Truly a nostalgic, everyday thing for him now. Leo hugged Jewels close and kept rocking his tiny kit. His runt, just about. Scritch-scratching at those little ears of kit fluff, and staring into the fireplace’s flames.

 Or through them.

 He was there, but not there. He was holding his son, but he was stuck thinking about a war when his children would end up involved. Stuck being terrified by the idea. Jewels squirmed against his heart, and he curled up on the chaise chair before their fireplace. Holding his kit. One of the pieces of his heart. 

 Watching flames dance, a wildfire reflected by his eyes, Leo Vincini shielded his baby boy from the world.

 Wishing he could do so forever. 

 Ryoma woke up sooner rather than later. Noticed faster than didn’t that his nestmate, his mate, was absent. Leo heard him patting at the nest in search of missing husband and son, and heard Yoma’s soft sigh of relief when he must’ve laid eyes on them at last. He kept himself curled in a ball around his kit. Kept himself the shelter that his sons could always come home to. He wanted his sons to have what he couldn’t.

 “Leo?” His darling doe was there, and asking, with all of his strength willing to go to war for the two curled up in front of the fireplace even if his heart wouldn’t be able to bear it, “What is it?” 

 The young mother’s fingers stilled, carding through his smallest’s hair. Golden ruffles. Like Mother. Like him. Like him.

 “...I want our children to be able to come home, Yoma,” he confessed quietly to the flamelight, eyes still lost somewhere in the fire, “I want our children to always be able to come home.” 

 His dearly beloved went to retrieve the covers from their nest, to drag them in front of the fireplace, to tug Leo down beside him on them, back to Shiro’s side and bringing Jewels back to his father as well, and they slept there that evening. To the tune of logs cracking as they burned, and the swishing of the flames, and Ryoma’s breaths against his nape. 

 There were fussy nights for young parents to deal with.

 But they dealt well with it.

Chapter Text

 “Well, you seem to dislike these clothes quite heavily, don’t you?” 

 “Ryoma, darlin’, you’re tucking his tail in.” 

 “Oh - Papa’s sorry, Jewels. Let me just - “ 

 “Let me, while you help Shiro. I still cannot get the layers of his junihitoe right. Are you sure he’ll need something so…elaborate? He’s going to get fussy.” 

 “We can take breaks in-between. I wore the very same junihitoe at his age for my first portrait, and from what I would hope this portrait painter will be understanding of the limits of such young subjects,” the pair of husbands switched sons, with Ryoma working on the many layers of Shiro’s robes with practiced ease and Leo untucking Jewels’ tail and straightening his collar, “Besides, Shiro is our firstborn, and our heir insofar as succession is concerned, so he best look the part.” 

 Humming, Leo listened, while peppering the younger twin with kisses to sooth him. 

 The boys weren’t so used to fancy clothes; typically dressed in yukatas or comfortable, loose things seeing as they hadn’t had any events to attend since their birth.

 But a few weeks back, his darling doe had suggested family portraits. So Leo had gone ahead and scheduled a painter a few weeks down the line - a few weeks down the line that they’d reached and so they were preparing.

 Their kits were definitely not going to enjoy this.

 It was evident from the moment they had to shift Leo's nursing schedule to make time to attend the portrait meeting in the first place, and then had come the chaos of Ryoma getting Shiro into a many-layered set of robes, while Leo coaxed Jewels into a traditional Valentine set of clothes appropriate for one of his age. 

 So, high collar, rose-gold buttons, shades of earthy tones, and pants - dreaded pants that Jewels immediately despised  with a passion and began yowling like a crime was being committed by forcing him to wear such things. 

 Both of the twins were calmer now, but today was going to be…a day.

 A day to remember.

 “You’ll have to show me the proper way to wear such things later, Yoma,” Leo said lightly, smiling at the glimpse he got of his older son wearing his father’s baby clothes, like a tiny version of Ryoma, “You explain things well when we’ve the time to be hands-on and go slowly.” 

 Like that very first time his husband had taught him how to wear a yukata. A memory that now made his stomach fill with butterflies.

 A memory of his husband, pressed close, being so considerate, and at a time when he was so unknowingly tempting Ryoma like the proper Hoshidan Crown Prince had never been tempted by anyone before. Alone. Together. Sparks in the air between them. Leo had gone to sleep dreaming of wedding chimes that night, and now here he stood tending to their child. 

 A wedding band around his finger and a matemark on his neck.

 Preparing for their first family portrait together.

 “By the way,” his dearly beloved said all at once, straightening up and turning to face Leo with his own smile that warmed the younger’s heart, and he melted at the earnestness with which Ryoma declared, “You look positively beautiful, my love. You’re glowing. And I could fall in love with you in a heartbeat if I were but a stranger and laid eyes on you.” 

 Flushing up to the tips of his ears, Clova Vincini’s son muttered something unintelligible. Playing with his son as if he wasn’t a blushing mess of a mate following that. That love. That pure and simple love, and the simple way his teddy bear complimented him like that, like he was speaking a truth none would deny, like Leo’s beauty was a fact of his life, and a fact he worshiped as thoroughly as he did the Dawn Dragon - 

 Leo Vincini was dressed as his husband was; fit for a family portrait. 

 Actually, it was an outfit that matched Jewels’ well. A proper, collared button-up with all the embroidery and lining expected of a noble family, let alone the highest ruling family in the Green Halidom. Pants. Proper shoes, and cufflinks, and the epaulets, in the complimenting colors of Valentine. He was a Vincini that night. One of the sons of the great family that would not stand out in the hall of portraits, showing generation after generation of the kin that had wielded Brynhildr for such a long time.

He looked dashing, as his husband had told him earlier, blushing and so serious he sounded bewitched by the fact.

Ryoma was just as guilty of being dashing, however, with his proper Hoshidan robes just as elaborate as Shiro’s, specifically picked for being the colors of Valentine, with his hair done up with lovely earthen pins in the shapes of tree branches by Leo’s own hands. He looked as if he fit the role of Lord-Consort of Valentine to a destiny-abiding degree, and Leo loved him all the more each time he laid eyes on his husband and his heart pounded.

Together, they stepped away from their sons for one of those heart-pounding moments to step into each other’s space and kiss.

Taking each other in.

And then there was a knock at the door.

They were late.

There was a family portrait for the Vincini family to be done that wintry day. Papa was waiting patiently down in the drawing room all Vincini portraits were painted in, debating painting techniques with the painter as a Nestran will. They did not mind their lateness. There were breaks when the boys began to get fussy. It happened many times. It was going to take multiple days and sessions to finish the portrait over the course of a couple of weeks, but it would be worth it.

Vincini Manor had a hall of portraits, with every generation of their family line portrayed, from birth to death. By the time this portrait was finished, tall with a golden frame and so gorgeously painted, the hall of portraits would gain a new portrait to keep the families of the past company.

That portrait would be the one that used to hang above the grand staircase at the entrance of the manor.

The last portrait done of Lady Clova Vincini, Head Guard Alistair Fortuna, and Lady Clova’s son, Lord Leo Vincini. So small a son he scarcely reached her knees. All of them smiling, watching over the entrance of their home as they had for more than a decade.

 The portrait that would take up its mantle was a heartwarming one.

 A portrait of Leo Vincini, with his beloved husband, Ryoma Vincini, at his side. Each of them holding one of their twin sons in their arms, and with Lord Alistair Vincini stood at his son’s side, an arm around his shoulder…and Rose, reaching no higher than Lord Alistair’s hip but there prominently anyways, for there would be none of this if not for that midnight mare.

 My, getting a portrait done was an ordeal.

 But when it was an ordeal conquered, weeks later, eventually, it would be worth it for the welcoming image it was every time their little family came home to one another. 

 Sure, Rose tried to eat one of the painter’s paintbrushes to illustrate her annoyance at his surprise of her being there, and the boys frequently needed rests for them to avoid any fussiness that would devolve into whines and yowls. It was slow, and it was tedious, and yet it was so worth it that Leo found himself loving every moment of standing there with his family simply talking and laughing with them all excluding when the painter needed them to stand still for a specific detail.

 And, why, if when the portrait itself was done and hung in that golden frame, Leo found out his Yoma had paid the man extra to draw sketches of him and the boys during their breaks, whenever possible? 

 Sketches of them that his most beloved man, his Ryoma, stowed away to keep privately close to his heart, to always look upon when he missed them? 

 Well, that deserved a very passionate kiss indeed.

 So the portrait was hung with pride at the entrance of their home, and so it was set into the frame - 

 The first ruling members of the Vincini family of the Green Halidom. 

Chapter Text

 Humming a song that called for rain, Leo caught Ryoma’s attentions as they dressed that morning.

 “Would that be one of Valentine’s songs?” His husband asked, easily enough, curiosity in the tilt of his head. The light caught by his eyes as he started pulling his yukata’s collar over his broad shoulders. The fabric went up. Up. Up. And Leo very much did not shy away from the fact that he was watching the very Hoshidan-red shade slide up Ryoma’s shoulderblades. 

 The tattoo spanning his beloved’s spine shifted with his movements, making the inked dragon there dance, and he was bewitched by the sight of it amongst darkly outlined clouds and cherry blossom petals adrift - before it was hidden away. 

 “How could you tell?” He asked mildly, still staring at Ryoma’s now-covered back, his own fingertips going to his left arm.

 His own tattoos, that covered the scars.

 “Valentine songs, or songs of the west in general it seems, are very…spirited,” his dear heart explained, sounding keen on the subject, and Leo supposed his Ryoma had been around a few western celebrations now. It was only natural he could recognize the faster pace, dancing pace of songs meant to make you lift your arms along with your heart. 

 “A song for the spring months,” fingertips falling from his tattoo, Leo reached for his shirt, a loose and pale thing like he preferred, “For rainy months. For storms, and for those who celebrate such things. Some in Valentine do, some don’t. It makes sense. Considering it’s not exactly a secret of how Brynhildr’s power is drained during those times, so they would seek comfort in other worship in the meanwhile.” 

 Roses. Cherry blossoms. Vines. 

 Thorns, to cover the scars from the only lightning of his husband’s he’d never loved.

 Ink on their skin, memories marring on their hearts, as permanent as all their other scars…but not nearly so ugly. 

 Fingertips more worn than his own covered his, cupped his arm, and the shirt fell from his hand. 

 He turned to look up at the man he loved, the man who had such sadness in those tawny eyes of his now as he stared down at Leo’s arm. The blonde hummed a few more notes of the song that called for rain, with snow swirling past their windows. The pretty, tawny eyes lifted. Met his. Ryoma’s heart trembled under Leo’s touch when he reached for his neck, ran his fingers over his pulsepoint, humming.

 “Forgive me.” His darling says then, as if he hadn’t been forgiven long ago for the faint, silvery branches of lightning curling just barely over Leo’s jaw.

 Still, “Always,” Leo said firmly, then smiled at the feeling of Ryoma’s lips on his skin, on his neck, on his shoulder and then his husband was on his knees and kissing his body all the way down. His touch was the sort of lightning Leo still loved. The sort of lightning Leo missed this winter. 

 It was a morning that ended with Ryoma’s forehead resting on his belly, and Valentine's heir running his hands through the mane of his dearly beloved until they felt strong enough to face the day. 

 It took Shiro and Jewels whining for them, the reminder that they had survived, and then they were parents again.

 And off Leo was, to tend to his sons as Ryoma looked on with all the protectiveness a dragon could ever hold in its heart. 

Tattoos on their skin to cover the scars.

Chapter Text

 It was one of those sluggish, wintry days. 

 Those days where the snowfall was just a tad too heavy. Those days when the howling winds kept at bay by latched windows felt as if they were howling to Leo’s very soul. Those days when the icy and the snow was less ice and snow and simply down to their core water - frozen or no, water, water covering the earth, the soil, the grasses, the roots of all that Brynhildr’s wielders drew from - 

 It was one of those days, where a Vincini was slowed, was lounging in some quiet room of Vincini Manor as if it were a rainstorm outside, not a snowstorm. It was one of those days. Where Clova’s son was lounging. In front of a fireplace, crackling logs turning to cinders within, while without, there was him.

 With a soft, woven blanket thrown over his legs, and his eyelids heavy, and a quill forgotten in his hand.

 Staring through rather than at an invite list he’d been ticking his way through name by name. 

 The quill had long-since gone dry with its ink. There were a few smeared blots on the page. Leo brushed his fingertips over them, blinked when those fingertips turned black, and then stared at the smears of black for a time. There. Not there. There, with the invite list in need of doing before him, but undone.

 Not there, not where the earth couldn’t quite reach him.

 There, with the blanket soft when he pressed his hands into it to anchor himself, with his sons both two tiny bundles nestled into the dip between his legs; the blanket a new nest for them to nap in.

 Not there, not one for winter, not one for the cold and the snow and the ice.

 …

 There, a finger tucking itself under his chin, raising his eyes, staring through, at, at pretty tawny orbs, a handkerchief rubbing at his fingertips to wipe away the smeared ink. 

 Not there, a cathedral in the woods, covered in snow, an altar, an ancient tree, he hadn’t gone there since before the war ended why hadn’t he gone there since before the war ended - ?

 There, the handkerchief disappearing, and weathered, worn fingertips taking its place. Running over each of Leo’s fingertips. One by one. So slow. So tender. A message in each breath of a touch, as he stared at at at Ryoma, Ryoma with his pretty eyes, Ryoma with his soft smile that always made Leo feel as if he’d achieved something great seeing it.

 Not there, lying in a dark cavern far beneath the waters that he’d forgotten.

 There. 

 A kiss on his lips. So brief, so sweet, it tasted like the lemon pastry his darling had eaten with breakfast. It tasted like tea. It tasted like morning love and cuddles in their nest, and it felt the same as the boy’s heartbeat sped up. He let out a tiny breath. A delicate thing. It was so scared to escape Leo, when he was so buried on one of these days. But escape it did, seeking Yoma. 

 Finding his Yoma, less than a breath away, and again came another kiss.
 
 “Are you with me, my love?” The low tenor of his husband was in his ears, but he was under the muffled howls of winter winds; Leo heard both and shivered in answer to neither. 

 His soul was beneath the waters.

 “Are you with me, my tomato?” 

 His heart, however, was kneeling right in front of the chair he lounged in.

 “Are you with me, Leo?” 

 “I…am here,” he sighed. He was there. For his Ryoma, he was there. The quill was taken from his numb fingers. The paper of scrawled and crossed out names was set elsewhere. Shiro and Jewels both shifted in their blanket dip between Leo’s calves, mewling, wrapped around each other, and he was there. He was there.

 It was hard to stay sometimes, was all. 

 “That’s okay,” Ryoma said softly, as if he’d spoken aloud. Leo wondered if he maybe had as he blinked dazedly at the man he loved who was so incredible to him. Already fading away in front of those pretty, pretty eyes. Going, going, going in the snowstorm. Gone. Leo grew distant, and his mate kept stroking his hand, checking on their kits. HIs mate kept the fire going. 

 His mate brought him peppermint tea that unburied his brain for a time, his mate held him, his mate postponed his responsibilities to stay when that day turned out worse than he’d predicted it being under the heavy snowstorm turning Valentine pure white beyond the walls of Vincini Manor that day.

 His mate kissed him affectionately when he wasn’t all there, and tended to their sons when Leo was too absent to his own soul to nurse their babies.

 He faded in to Ryoma tucked up behind him happily, helping him hold Shiro and Jewels to his chest to nurse; darlin’ darlin’ darlin’. Husband, heart, everything.

 Ryoma.

 He faded in to a strong hand rubbing sweet, sweet patterns of hearts and forever onto his hip. 

 He faded in to a kiss ghosting his matemark, to a tingle on the string that connected his spirit to another’s.

 He faded in to kissing his baby boys, as his forehead was kissed by Ryoma Vincini, his beloved husband, and he was there more than he was not for once. And he suspected it had to do with how little he wanted to miss every moment with the man he loved more than many in the world. He held Ryoma’s hand.

 Ryoma kissed his knuckles, kissed the carven wood of his wedding band.

 They held one another, as the snowstorm raged across Valentine’s valleys.

 There was nothing else.

 There was only them and then and that moment, entirely held by one another, and there was nothing else.

 It was a lovely, if sluggish, wintry day.

Chapter Text

 The manor had an indoor training room, for the guards, for the lords, for visitors - whomever had need of it. As grand as the rest of Vincini Manor. Tiled floors with diamond patterns. Tall, arching windows. It was in the far north wing, and had sets of doors that were opened to a training pavilion in the warm months.

 Ivory tiles, paired with the warm, wooden tones of the walls and finishing? Really hit Leo those first weeks when he re-explored his family’s generational home. Hit him like a sudden understanding, standing in the light of the windows that lit every hall and every room and left none of his family’s memories in shadow. 

 Windmire had been so dark.

 So shadowed.

 Windmire had been stone, had been dim colors, had been cold. Hard. Solid. Unwelcoming, unforgiving, as the Nohrian family was likewise intended to be. The windows were tall but many were stained glass, without warmth, without real light ever let in. Windmire had made sure there were plenty of places for secrets to hide. Leo knew. He’d made use of plenty of those places in his time as the Second Prince.

 Now he understood so well why Windmire felt so significantly wrong to him even when he was no longer a child.

 It wasn’t Valentine.

 The training room, home’s training room, was where Papa had offered him his first blade. It was a wooden thing. Carved out of a sturdy branch, a chord of leather wrapped around the hilt to prevent blisters. Papa was just the Head Guard of Valentine then, and spent hours teaching Leo how to swing that toy sword in the light of the windows there. Playfully falling down onto the tiles, head thrown back with laughter, hands up as he surrendered to a small, smiling boy standing over him and giggling with victory.

By the time the toy sword had become a real, dulled practice blade, Leo was taken. 

His father never got the chance to fulfill his promise to teach him swordsmanship. Xander and Laslow had eventually done so...but. It was another thing being stolen had stolen from them.

 Leo Vincini truly wished Garon’s death had been slower, but he was the one who’d swung Raijinto to take off the foul king’s head so he had only himself to complain to. 

 Raijinto’s blade glinted in a ray of sunlight through the windows as it was raised.

 “I am a lucky mate,” the boy of Valentine said softly, to the amusement of his father who chuckled beside him. The pair in the doorway of the training room. Leo with the twins each on one hip, and his father handing a few papers to Head Guard Fern who bowed before hastily taking off with the orders of protection - preemptive plans for the ball to take place the next month.

 They focused on the reason for Leo’s ‘luck’. 

 Or rather, on Ryoma. Training. 

 Such a handsome husband he had. There was no harm in being aware of such a blessing, was there? Brynhildr knew her wielder admired his husband every chance he got; training with his blade while shirtless was a temptation Leo could not simply not admire. He was. Shirtless. His shirt was abandoned by one of the training benches closeby, but his darling stood in the glow of the windows. His mane up in a messy bun as all his hairstyles tended to be, his pants low around his hips, his sandals sliding fluidly across the tiles as he moved. 

 Raijinto cut the air, and muscles tensed and untensed with those movements. 

 Every one of the movements was so painstakingly practiced. Ryoma practiced with Raijinto as if the blade was a part of himself, as if the stretches and slashes were but muscle memory to him, and the katana something that had never left his grip for a second’s time. He was grace and he was strength and he was magnificence in the light just after dawn, and Leo loved him.

 “My, is that drool I see, my boy?” Papa said, and the blonde started. Squeaked. Making an aborted motion towards his mouth that was aborted because Shiro was held by that arm. Shiro, who babbled at the small bounce he’d been able to enjoy as a result, and began making excited motions with his hands. Like he wanted to be lifted again.

 “I jest,” Lord Alistair laughed, extending his arms in offering, while Leo pouted at him, “Though I cannot blame you. He is as handsome as his father, and both your mother and I were quite smitten with King Sumeragi if I may say so - “ 

 “Papa!” 

 The love of his mother laughed, again, while Leo passed his sons over to him. They’d already agreed beforehand that his father would watch the twins for…a short time. Potentially a very short time. Depending on how fussy they got without their parents, and how protective Leo ended up after an hour or two without them in sight.

 But when their mother had finished pouting at his father, he turned to find Ryoma finished with Raijinto, in the middle of sheathing his sword and smiling at them as he made his way over.

 A shame. He really wanted to watch more.

 “Are you sure you don’t mind minding them, Sir?” His darling doe checked, double checked, really, sandals a little noisy on the tiles as he reached them. Reached out, to affectionately rub their sons’ cheeks, cooing at them in their grandfather’s arms, “We could always put a bassinet in the corner and - “ 

 “Nonsense!” Papa waved the notion off, as he already had several times, and it wasn’t without reason as both of the young parents shifted uneasily in front of him, their hesitance obvious, “You both need to get used to being away from the boys for at least an hour at a time, and they need it too. Besides, I have some lovely storybooks I know for a fact you, my boy, loved at their age!” 

 Storybooks with Grandpa.

 Some of the hesitance drained out of Leo, instincts or not, because the fact that his babies could have that…

 “You know what to do if they begin whining, or Brynhildr-forbid calling for us,” he instructed, as if this wasn’t his father he was talking to, subconsciously starting to weave his hands together from the nerves, “Their next feeding isn’t scheduled for another two hours, and you have the linens you need to change them if they make any messes, and if you need toys you can just take them out of the nursery - their favorites are in our nest at the moment though, so take them from there. And if - “ 

 The man his mama had loved laughed, and this time it was not amusement but gentle, gentle memory. 

 Leo relaxed, because this was his papa. 

 “I’ll be able to handle them, my dear boy,” Papa promised, with his sons already latched onto their grandpapa’s vest with tiny fists, yipping at each other, and peering around the training hall curiously, “I handled you, did I not?” 

 Before his father went, off to play with his grandsons for an hour or so, he used his head to nod Ryoma close. He leaned in. Real close. He whispered something in his son-in-law’s ear, something said too softly for his son to hear, and Leo’s brows furrowed. While his love’s brows shot up, and he sputtered, leaning away from Alistair quickly to gasp and babble no real discernable words. 

 Then, like the Nestran who loved mischief that he was, his father skipped off out of the training hall, chuckling. 

 “What was it he said?” He asked his dearly beloved, only for Ryoma to sputter all over again and turn away, a final mutter of ‘nothing’ in the air between them as he crossed the training hall once more. 

 His eartips in the light were glowing red, however.

 And Vincinis were curious things.

 He coaxed it out of his dearest as they stretched. 

 Papa’s teasing essentially boiled down to, ‘I know you two are finally alone now, but do try not to get my son pregnant again until you are BOTH ready, Consort Ryoma.’

 To which Leo huffed and planted his hands on his hips, put off. 

 It wasn’t as though he could get pregnant without the proper potion brewed beforehand. After all, Ryoma hadn’t exactly been neglecting his husbandly duties since the boys were born. All those lovely nights of pleasure and pleasantly sore mornings could attest to that.

 He mentioned as much to Ryoma, which only made his heart blush and bluster. But really, if Ryoma wanted him to be giving his full attention to their intentions rather than his father’s teasing, he really should put a shirt back on. There was sweat on his muscles, and hair trailing down his chest, and Leo had so many parts of his husband’s body he remembered kissing late at night that it was very, very distracting.

 A distraction which was noticed, judging by Ryoma pausing in reaching for his dropped shirt, raising a brow at his shorter husband.

 His shorter husband who was very much staring straight at the muscles his husband had worked for, and worked hard at that. Hard work that had paid off, in skin that stretched over solid abs and biceps and one day it would soften and Leo would love him so still but right now he really loved looking at the deity-like physique of his mate, the father of his sons and - 

 Those tawny eyes were a bit higher up though.

 “Put your shirt on.” He demanded, then huffed and rounded, heading for a tablet near one of the old, wooden pillars of the training hall. A phonograph on the tablet. 

 Yes, the training halls were used for dance training as well as weapons training. Although, the weapons got far more use than the phonograph. Leo flustered about, trying to hum away the warmth in his face, getting a disk set and placing the needle where it need be. A few turns of the hand crank? 

 And music sounded out, in the echoing space of the training hall. 

 Repositioning the horn, slightly, Leo hummed along to the instrumental music. It was slower than some of Valentine’s songs. Easier to learn. It would be a start. He knew Ryoma could dance Nohrian-styled dances since they’d danced in Cyrkensia together, but Valentine’s true dance pieces took the typical style and added much more flare, so. 

 He wanted to be able to dance with the man he loved at their first ball together, as husbands, as parents.

 As the Lord-heirs of the Green Halidom they had created from the ashes of war.

 A presence pressed against his spine; the only one who could get away with such things.

 “Better, my dear?” Ryoma’s breaths tickled his ear, he’d leant in so close, so close Leo could feel the wrinkles of the shirt he now wore brushing against his own clothes as his fingers froze, hovering over the phonograph. It was innocent. It was simple and innocent, and Leo was well aware of that because his husband had a specific tone his tenor dropped down into when he meant something as less-than innocent.

 But Ryoma was just such an affectionate and intimate man, he did things sometimes that made the heart of Brynhildr’s wielder pound without even meaning to.

 “You’re doing that on purpose,” he said just for the sake of feeling vindicated, turning, and smiling at the confused twist to his love’s expression as he placed his hands on his chest. Indeed, a now dressed chest. Shame.

 Leo was decidedly less innocent than his husband by this point, and he didn’t mind that at all. 

 “We’ll be going over the basics today,” he went on before Ryoma might ask that he specify just what he was doing on purpose, “Then, depending on how much we’ll need to go over in the future, we’ll be meeting two to three times a week here to practice when the training hall isn’t in use.” 

 “I wouldn’t mind four lessons a week,” then his darling had the daring to say, with a ridiculously, adorably hopeful smile tugging at his lips, and Leo’s heart melted like chocolate on one’s tongue, “Maybe even five? Dancing with you - as many lessons as possible, Leo. That would make me happy.” 

 They had to take a break before they’d even begun, since Leo had to get his blushing and breathlessness under control.

 At which point he pointedly nudged his adorable teddy bear into position on the tiles, and began repeating all of the basic teaches of Nohrian dance to the man as he could, in as even a tone as he could…without raising his eyes from their feet because he really wouldn’t be able to focus if he was looking into those pretty, tawny eyes while teaching his spouse how to dance like one born of Valentine.

 Freely, fluidly, and without any real rules when you got down to it. 

 Valentine’s dances came from the heart, the soul, and for some? The steps changed every time they heard a song. 

 So starting with the basic, more regimented ballroom dances of general Nohr was a good idea. A good idea that involved a lot of closeness, a lot of touching, a lot of gazing into one another’s eyes, alone, in a room echoing with music, as it turned out. It was impossible for emerald eyes not to be captured by Ryoma’s. It was impossible to keep his touch impersonal and mindful like it was meant to be as a teacher in this. 

 It was impossible to not be swept off his feet with every sway of their bodies.

 His husband knew the basics. He knew the basics well.

 It wasn’t much different from swordplay.

 They’d played through every song on the phonogram’s disc before either husband had even realized it, and then they were just blinking into each other’s eyes as the music suddenly stopped. Never began again. They were in silence, or as much silence as there could be when they were breathy and their hearts were loud in their chests.

 Then, well.

 His father hadn’t brought the boys back for some emergency, and there was nobody vying for their attentions, and the sunlight just looked so stunning shining down on his Ryoma. What was a little longer? 

 They danced without music.

 They smiled, they laughed, they giggled like young lovers getting away with some private dalliance, safe in the arms of one another. Ryoma twirled him. Leo arched into touches from the hands of his mate, his warrior. He rose up onto his tippy-toes for a kiss, and they rocked together. Barely, barely moving.

 But Leo’s head was resting on the chest of his dearly beloved.

 And Ryoma was pressing kisses down onto the crown of his head, burying his face in his golden ruffles and breathing deeply.

 And they stayed like that for a long while.

 Learning to dance in the silence of one another.

 Learning to dance to the music of only their beating hearts, twined together as one.

 Eventually, Alistair Vincini came back to the sunlit training hall with his grandsons asleep in his arms, no fussing, no emergency. Simply family caring for family. The graying lord did not knock. He quietly pushed the door in and peeked inside. Hushing the guards following in his footsteps, eager to see the sight of their little lord teaching his consort to dance. 

 What Alistair found was two people, so very much in love, alone in their own little world, swaying to the sound of their heartbeats tied together as mates. 

 Never before had he seen a couple so in love, but he imagined it was what folk meant when they described how he and Clova had loved each other.

 The father smiled softly, then retreated. He closed the door. He hushed his guards who were a bit disappointed but a lot glad for their little lord. He watched his grandsons for a bit longer. Just a bit. Just a bit - the only wish he’d ever had for his loved ones. Just a bit longer.

 Please, just let him hold them for a bit longer.

 Leo and Ryoma Vincini held each other, dancing in the quiet of their peace.

 And Alistair Vincini held his grandsons, dancing with the memory of his late beloved.

 Just one more dance, was all they’d ever want when all else was gone.

Chapter Text

 “If we were not lords, my dear, I might suggest giving Wuthering demerits for piling so much onto us so soon, at such a ridiculous time. The height of winter! Really, what fools believed that was a good idea? I would like to meet them to scoff in their faces and explain their foolishness to them.” 

 Ryoma Vincini made a noise of acknowledgement, so his beloved knew he was listening, but…well. 

Ryoma had begun to learn very well that sometimes Leo simply needed to rant.

 “Of course, they may have done this on purpose for the sake of creating trouble for us. In which case, I would doubly so like to see these fools face-to-face so I can throw them back out into the snows at the ball myself!” 

 Another noise of acknowledgment. 

 Ryoma beamed when he heard the telltale huff of his cute little husband putting his hands on his hips, frustrated by his own ranting. 

 The study they shared was warm. Warmed by the fireplace ever-lit. A new thing, begun that very winter, it seemed. All for Ryoma. He’d felt guilty at first. So much wood was being used. So many fires were being tended to. But the warmth, nobody, nobody in the manor could deny, was nice these snowy days.

 If need be, Ryoma could go without the comfort of it; a samurai was trained to thrive even in discomfort and cold and the loneliness of a snowy tundra. Trained to need only their honor. Nothing else.

 But why deny himself? 

 The boy he loved had made it clear more than enough times that he very much wanted Ryoma to have his every desire granted. Every comfort. Every luxury. What had begun as kisses and hugs and extra time shared with his sons despite how busy he was kept while Leo recovered from the birth - 

 Turned into gifts. Small things at first. Easy enough to accept as presents from his doting spouse then return the notion. Those small things turned into more. Turned into accessories like Ryoma had never had before, custom jewelry, hand-sewn outfits both Hoshidan and Valentine-styled. Books - so many books, and so many of them expensive volumes - more than he had bookshelves until they’d moved fully into their shared study.

 Fabric for future outfits, as if in return for that sole bolt of cloth Ryoma had gifted Leo during the war which was made into a single maternity gown. A gown kept in their wardrobe now.

 Materials for their study. 

Empty journals of the finest quality. Quills to match. 

Commodities he in no way required. Yet, that Leo seemed determined to gift his Lord-husband anyways. 

While accepting each and every one of his dear’s gifts with grace, it so, so, so blatantly outlined the differences between their abilities to give. Ryoma could give actions. Ryoma could give his strength. Could give his heart. Had. He could ask the kitchens for tasty pastries and tomatoes to make Leo smile at breakfast every morning. He could visit the carpenter in town and craft something with his own two hands and simple carpentry skills. He could give his mate a small break from the kits, tending to them in his place - 

 But gifts? Gifts bought, gifts not traded for but paid for, fine and luxurious and meant for people who never needed to worry about money? 

 Gifts like that, Ryoma failed to give his beloved.

 It was his shame. To know, not with insecurity, but a sense of not providing all that he wanted to Leo, that his husband was far richer than he would ever be by himself in their lifetime. While Leo’s coffers were all but endless, Ryoma’s - as the abdicated Crown Prince of Hoshido or not, were significantly less so.

 And what sort of love would he be if he borrowed money from his husband to buy his husband a present? 

 So. 

 Leo Vincini ranted about all of the work a single ball required from a newly-founded halidom, wishing misfortune on Wuthering and all of its misfortunates. Their study was warm, welcoming, and full of wooden tones and the scent of evergreens and opened inkpots. Paper was rustling as his husband flipped through pages of proposals and messages, invitations, so on, so forth. Business. 

 The winter snows blew by the windows, the night still early but still dark, the stars beginning to shine outside.

 Ryoma Vincini played with Shiro using the building blocks his son loved to stack into colorful shapes to show off, while Jewels was a tiny, fluffy bundle napping inside of his yukata. Tucked down by his tummy with the man’s hand cupping him through the fabric, reassuring himself his son was safe with tiny squeezes that made Jewels purr and snuggle against his skin.

 There was a novel open, forgotten, on the rug that he was laying on with his older son. 

 It was one of the expensive ones Leo had bought him on a whim when a merchant had visited the manor to offer his wares to the lording family. 

 The building blocks all had their sides painted in soft, pastel colors, and Shiro kept building up blocks of light yellows and greens with proud roars that Ryoma rewarded by chuckling and reaching out to pet the proud kit. 

 The ranting stopped.

 His little mate puffed up, all annoyed in the cutest of ways, then made his way over to join the family of three on the rug. Three became four. Leo leaned down to kiss Shiro’s forehead, sitting himself down behind their oldest to card his fingers through the tufts of brunette hair he’d gotten from his father, from Ryoma, as Shiro babbled and played.

 “I have a present for you.”

 Raijinto’s wielder nodded, shoving aside the worry of what it might be this time, when he had the richest lover in the land, and looked up at his dear mate expectantly. Leo gave him a close-mouthed smile, small and soft. Emerald irises shimmering in the firelight. Shimmering more and more and more…and Ryoma felt his brain go hazy when Leo leaned down into his space, covering Shiro with his body, humming in his throat - 

 Ryoma closed his eyes.

 And was kissed on the tip of his nose.

 He blinked rapidly, hand reaching for his lips, then his nose, baffled. Met by Leo receding, an amused smirk quirking up his lips, and looking so positively pleased with himself that Ryoma was pleased too. Even if, well, he’d expected a kiss on the lips there.

 If it was that sort of present, though? 

 “I loved it,” he declared with passion, covering his face with one hand as he felt heat rise to it in a rush of blood and love, and there was nothing sweeter to his ears but the giggling of Leo as he did so, “Thank you for the present, my Leo.” 

 “My pleasure.” 

 Together, they played with Shiro on the rug there for some time, Jewels purring as he napped, the world nice and small and simple for a moment for them.

 And before bed that night, Ryoma returned the gift just as passionately as he’d accepted it. 

Chapter Text

 Instincts were ingrained in one’s self - drove a kitsune more than they would drive an ordinary human. Leo was no longer a kitsune, wasn’t even dealing with the extreme after-birth instincts that he had been those first weeks after his sons were born. Each day it became a bit easier. To remember he was human, to remember children - even babies - would be perfectly fine without constant access to their mother. 

 To leave them to others. To let them out of his sight. To breathe easy when they were.

 Each day it became easier to remember he was human, even if he was also a mother, even if he loved his kits and constantly feared for them because of his own past.

 Each day he trusted the peace they had in Valentine just a tiny bit more, and each day he let that peace make promises to his heart; their safety, their protection, they would be okay if he stepped away for a few minutes to manage something as a lord was expected to. Especially the lord of a new halidom. Especially him.

 Leo could leave Shiro and Jewels in a bassinet for a few seconds and they’d be fine. Ryoma could watch them while he took a long, slow bath and actually enjoyed himself rather than rushing to get back to the boys. Or more than that, the boys needn’t join him in the bath, they needn’t spend every moment in the same room as him, they could be separate from him and they would be safe with his kin and community - 

 Of course, that all applied to Shiro.

 Jewels, they were still working on.

 Being born a full kitsune, his younger son was far, far more clingy still. Far more in need of his mother parent. Far less able to be left alone, and far less likely to not begin wailing for Leo if he actually noticed his mother was gone. 

 Usually whoever was watching him could keep him from noticing. Jewels was easily distracted by pets and being laid down for a nap and even being handed over to his brother to play with if need be.

 Sometimes, though, Jewels just wanted his mama.

 Another meeting, more details about the upcoming ball. In invitations that they’d sent out with fancy letters and even fancier wax seals - the first to depict the Green Halidom's symbol in such a way that wasn’t emergency exchanges - they’d taken to calling it the ‘Winter Gala’. The first social engagement Valentine would be hosting, including every lording family in the new halidom and quite a few prominent business owners as well for future networking opportunities.

 And yes, Leo had very slyly included the fact that it was Wuthering’s idea to hold the ball as soon as possible, at the height of winter, so any criticism about the weather or travel conditions should be directed towards their delegates thank you.

 His father had done a knee-slapping laugh when he read that bit of the invitations.

 Leo had felt very vindicated after that. It had, in a way, been Ryoma’s suggestion too after he’d spent some time ranting about Wuthering’s foolishness to his very patient spouse.

 Invitations sent, many accommodations set within Valentine at the few inns and taverns in town. None would be staying in the manor aside from those from Delgo.

 As thanks for their support during the war, for being the first to support Valentine before they’d even known a new halidom was to form, and as thanks for Grandpapa Delgane. Clova’s son owed him far, far too much to not show appreciation to by at least welcoming him into his family’s manor without restraint.

 Aside from the invitations, the music was nearly sorted with a small orchestra from town that had offered themselves up.

 The bakery in town had done likewise.

 So too had many of Valentine’s local businesses. 

 “They all want your first arrangement to be a success, my boy,” was what Lord Alistair said affectionately when Leo stared down at all of the offers on paper in shock.

 The Winter Gala may be happening at a most foolish time of year, but it was truly not turning out as terrible as Leo feared it would. And with him and Ryoma sharing a private dance lesson four to five times a week - because his husband was a darling little sapling and he LOVED him - ? 

 The Vincini boy was in far better spirits than he’d thought he’d be. 

 Winter was draining, but oh-so worthwhile this year. Being home, being in the warm, welcoming home he’d dreamt of returning to for so long? Waking to a crackling fire each morning instead of the cold halls of Castle Krakenberg? Waking to cuddles with his husband who still disliked the cold and sought him for comfort? Waking to his sons, to warm meals and hearty guards and a genuinely happy atmosphere and day to day responsibilities that were soothing rather than stressful as Leo got back on his feet? 

 Really, all of it was just…so…

 Free. And he loved it.

 Back to Jewels, however.

 In the middle of going through ideas for decorations, how much was too much, how much was too little, what would be considered tacky and what would be considered too ornate likewise because lords Leo had known were judgmental like that - ? He was in the middle of enjoying a sip of some cinnamon black tea, a favorite for winter months, when he stilled. 

 Mid-sip. Mid-breath. His papa instantly stilled with him, became alert, asked with his eyes what was it and at first Leo believed he’d misheard.

 Until he heard it again. Quiet, faint, maybe growing closer.

 A wail.

 The teacup might’ve chipped when he set it back down on its saucer with too much force, but he didn’t care. Couldn’t. Never even considered doing so. Leo was up and out the doors of his papa’s study a heartbeat before his magic would’ve begun throwing aside furniture so he could get there faster. Up, out, and there was the wailing.

 Down the hall, three doors down, the door to the nursery was opened with too much speed to be casual.

 His kit was wailing for him.

 A frantic mother wasn’t aware of moving, only that they had, because Leo was there, was wrapped around his son, was nosing at Jewels and tucking his tiniest kit up against his collarbone and humming deep in his throat to soothe the wailing. That wail that broke his heart, that said he was looking for his mama and he hadn’t been there. 

 And Jewels was just so small. And so soft. Not just with his kit fluff, but with his heart. With those emerald eyes he’d gotten from his mama and his grandmama. With his nub of a tail tucked, and his whines these fast, needy things that made him hiccup because he wasn’t catching his breath until Leo started licking at his cheeks and nose to calm him more.

 Regretting with every bit of himself that he’d ever left his kit in that second where he wasn’t human but wasn’t entirely kitsune either.

 …The whines slowed. 

 Jewels caught those breaths that had been too big for his tiny lungs. 

 His smallest whimpered, then nuzzled into the nook of his neck where it was warm and dark and smelled strongest of his mama. Leo ran his fingertips through his hair. Down his back. Hummed and hummed, until the mimics of a purr turned into a quiet song. A song that was a lullaby. A lullaby from a music box. 

 He came back to himself, leaning back against something solid and warm, soothing his son and calmed himself too.

 That solid and warm something was his husband, who he’d snatched Jewels out of the arms of. Ryoma still held Shiro close, and their oldest seemed to be watching his baby brother worriedly from where he was perched by his mama’s shoulder. 

 Leo tipped his head all the way back, let it thump on his husband’s chest, and stared upside-down up at his darling.

 Who looked guilty, like he wanted to apologize, but didn’t because they both knew.

 It would take time, and there would be hiccups, but that was just part of parenthood. 

 “You should be proud,” Ryoma said instead, his tenor low and loving as he also leaned to the side to press a kiss to Shiro’s forehead at the same time, “They lasted longer than they usually do. And Shiro didn’t join in with him this time.” 

 “I am proud.” 

 Their babies were only a few months old, but they were growing up. Already Shiro was about the size of a normal, newborn human baby. No longer did they have to adjust and tie his clothes tighter as often. Jewels was still about a quarter of the size small, but he was gaining weight. And length. And his tail was a bit more of a nub, and his ears weren’t so flat anymore. They were growing. Like sprouts. 

 Brynhildr whispered her compliments to that fact in his mind, and Leo relaxed fully.

 He really was proud.

 Day by day, they all grew just a little bit more.

Chapter Text

“And you’re always free to begin again, and you’re always free to believe. 
When you find the place that your heart belongs, you’ll never leave…” 

 Song filled the den of two mates, and it was a lovely song. An old song. A song for weddings in Valentine; weddings the lordling only remembered as feelings, brief moments, small things since he’d attended so few before he was stolen. But the goodness, the happy atmospheres, were imprinted on his heart.

 And that song, sang as a bride walked down the aisle to their groom was part of the imprint.

 And Leo sang it softly as he swayed, wearing a gown of his mother’s, a gown of cream-white fabric, a gold, braided belt around the waist, draping sleeves that swished as he moved. It was easy to remember his mother doing the same, wearing the same gown. It was a nice thing to remember. 

 It felt far too simple a moment for somebody who’d survived the things the Vincini boy had.

 Yet he was so grateful for that simpleness, as he always was.

 He sang, he swayed, and he contemplated the upcoming Winter Gala. Staring out crystal-glass windows at the snow falling across the valley. Humming the instruments’ parts, singing, humming - happy.

 Winter wasn’t always a time of just being drained.

 And his sons were playfully chirping on the rug; toys scattered around them. Shiro clapped at his mama’s singing, while Jewels just stared up at him with these wide, wide eyes and an open mouth. Like he was shocked by how beautiful the soft singing was. It was an adorable expression. Adorable enough to bring Leo to his knees, to pinch those cheeks full of baby fat, and coo at his kit-son.

“Love is like a melody, one that I will always treasure. 
Courage is the key that opens every door. 
Though you may not know where your gifts may lead, and it may not show at the start."

 Poking Jewels’ cheek, again, and again, and again.

"When you find the place where your heart belongs, you’ll never leave~”

 Poking Jewels’ cheek, again, and again, and again.

 Until his baby boy was scrunching his nose up in complaint and tipping his head back to yowl. Tipping himself so far back he fell over with his tiny feet kicking at air in shock as he whined at the shock of finding himself suddenly on his back and so very disorientated. A giggle burst from Leo, and he tickled the bottoms of those tiny feet.

 Jewels wailed for his brother, and Shiro came crawling forward valiantly in defense of his baby brother.

 So his mama knocked him over with the great attack of blowing a raspberry on his forehead, and then tickled Shiro’s feetsies too.

 His older son babbled, grabbing at the air, giggling and wiggling and giggling and Jewels stopped whining helplessly to stare at his brother. Like he wasn’t able to understand why Shiro wasn’t whining too because clearly tickling feetsies was a terrible, terrible attack on them. Right? 

 Which caused Jewels to whimper, his ears to flutter in confusion, up and down and up and down and - 

 Leo leaned down to press a loud, wet kiss to Jewels’ nose.

 Up.

 His ears perked right up, and all three - mama and son and kit - all started giggling together in a snuggle pile on the rug. Toys all around them and wintry sunshine shining down on them in a halo of light that made Leo seem to glow in the pale gown of his mother’s.

 He never heard the bedroom’s doors open. Nor the steps stop on the threshold. Nor the fond exhales of two men there, three, four, if the silent guards behind them were counted. But no. Leo only heard them when he heard this hoarse, heartfelt chuckle from the doorway, and looked up, brushing back his bangs to find his papa standing there with his husband and two guards behind them.

 Papa looked positively struck by him. 

 Smiling the same sort of smile Leo used to see him direct at his mother.

 Ryoma looked positively smitten by him.

 Beaming the same way he always did when Leo got his heart beating just by being himself.

 “...I have the backgrounds on those nobles you asked for, our dear boy,” Lord Alistair announced when he’d found his voice, lifting a collection of papers to show off with a smile as if he hadn’t had to clear his voice to say as much, “And, if I may say, you look so much like your mother, Leo. She would be glad to see her gowns still used. And worn so beautifully as well.” 

 “Beautiful barely touches the surface of all that you are,” Ryoma chimed in, voice almost breathy, earning very understanding and approving nods from his father-in-law and the guardsmen behind him, “Would that I had an eternity, I might begin to scratch that surface but the depths would never be without a second eternity to match.” 

 Chuckling himself, Leo lifted the boys who let out excited squeals in response and clung to his neck, one in each arm, and went to his father and husband.

 “Poetry, Yoma?” His mouth ticked up, feeling flattered as he always did with Ryoma’s romantic words, “You are darlin’. And if it’s two eternities you would ask for, give me some time. I’m sure I could figure it out.” 

 He wasn’t serious, genius mage or not, immortality had never been a brand of enchantment Leo sought to pursue.

 But for his dearly beloved, Leo would also make and fulfill absolutely any promise in the world. If Ryoma asked for two eternities, he would receive two eternities. 

 His marvelous mate took the boys.

 He took the background papers his papa had brought.

 Papa leaned in to kiss him on the cheek as affectionately as any blood-father would.

 And the guards smiled, silent observers in the background, to the love of the Vincini family during these wintry days.

Chapter Text

 There is such a thing as a ‘reasonable’ bedtime.

Leo Vincini had never heard of such a thing. His many, many, many long nights of study and sifting through documents as a teenager could attest to as much…but who was he kidding? He was still a teenager, technically, at seventeen years old. He still had long nights of the same. He still pretended he’d never heard of going to bed at a reasonable hour every morning after. 

 He was better about it, because when a darling man such as Ryoma beckoned him into their shared nest at night he listened. He wasn’t an idiot, thank you very much.

 But some nights? Some nights, with the winter winds howling outside of the windows and the fire burnt low to cinders and them rubbing their eyes that burned from staying awake for too long? 

 Both of them forgot about going to bed at a reasonable hour.

 Of course, there was also his beloved’s habit of occasionally starting a new novel of his far too close to nighttime and reading until the early hours of morning. Leo would wake those mornings to a novel spread open on the pillow between them, Ryoma would flush a bit, would guiltily close the novel for a moment - sometimes it would not be the novel he was reading when Leo fell asleep - and then give his little husband some attention and kisses to start the morning.

 As if he hadn’t read through the whole night and would spend the day blinking sleepily at whatever papers he was asked to read.

 Silly, silly teddy bear.

 But this? Had been a night, a long night, where Leo was kept up. Going over the trade denominations and branches across the Green Halidom; a very important matter to have a handle on. Business went hand-in-hand with lording over any lands, and learning the business of each part of those lands was a requirement unless they planned to delegate - which they didn’t. 

 Delegation could get messy too quickly, particularly in a newly freed land like their halidom. Delegation was power. Meant handing power to others. Meant pouring your own authority into others. Others you can’t always trust, and by Brynhildr if it wasn’t somebody Leo knew implicitly he just couldn’t…handle that. Not again.

 He couldn’t let the Green Halidom become another Nohr.

 He couldn’t let Valentine become another Windmire.

 Maybe, maybe one day, maybe when the boys were older and they had trusted advisors and partners within Valentine to train as proper delegates. But not now. 

 Clova Vincini’s son had burnt through his second candle of the night, had been practically nodding off on his desk, by the time Ryoma bookmarked his current read and came to him. Placed his palms on his shoulders. Kneaded a bit. Leant down for a kiss on Leo’s nape, a bit. Nudged him away from the desk and documents that trapped him, a bit. 

 It was late, so late the boys were snoring soundly in their basket bassinet already, and the moon was high and bright in the starry skies over their snowy Valentine.

 Leo had stumbled when he stood.

 Ryoma had swept him off his feet in a heartbeat, cradling him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he nearly nodded off right there. Safe in his mate’s strong arms.

 “Do I…even weigh anything to you, darlin’?” He’d asked, halfway asleep and nodding off even as he spoke.

 Ryoma’s response was short and sweet and as romantic as he ever-always was, “About as much as my heart, for you hold it, Leo.” 

 Sir Alexander was summoned to carry their sons’ bassinet to their bedchambers in Ryoma’s stead, since his arms were a tad full. He seemed happy to do so. Happy to finally be off of his crutches, even if he still had a mini splint on his leg and had to hobble, he was extra, extra careful with his little, little lords. 

 Needless to say - 

 The blonde didn’t remember making it to their nest of blankets and hoarded pillows galore. The last thing he remembered was the hallway, lit by the light of sconces, and a starry sky view out the arching windows. Moonlight. Illuminating Ryoma’s face, his soft eyes, his gentle smile. It was a fine last thing to remember of the night as he tipped his head towards his husband’s chest and fell asleep.

 He trusted his darling to dress him for bed and settle the boys down for the night, but of course.

 But of course, Leo woke up feeling the effects of that long night. An immediate, insistent throbbing behind his eyes the very second he tried opening them. So he closed them. And he took a deep breath. And he tried to open them. And it throbbed, so he closed them, and he took a deep breath…repeat, repeat, repeat.

 The throbbing faded a tiny bit as he adjusted to it, but not enough for him to not notice. He was in the middle of considering a prolonged nap when Ryoma must’ve realized he was awake. 

 And laid an arm over his waist to rub his back as a good morning.

 Which made Leo wince a bit. Which brought back the throbbing full force. To which, he must’ve made a pained sort of sound. 

 Because immediately he heard his lover make a concerned sound in response and their nest was shifting around with Ryoma’s movements. Sitting up, moving the kits a little further down between their bodies, hands hovering just inches away from Leo’s skin as if he were afraid to touch and gods, Yoma should never be afraid to touch him, not again.

 “Leo? Are you awake?” Ryoma asked first, which made sense since he’d dealt with the boy’s horrible nightmares plenty in the past. 

 So Leo cracked his eyes open a sliver to show that he was, before squeezing them shut tight for a second or third time - he’d lost count - and turning his full face into the pillow to hide in the darkness of it. The throbbing was less there. And it was cooler. The coolness felt nice. He entertained the idea of going to the windows to rest his forehead on the frosty glass.

 Then he remembered it was snowy-sunny outside, bright and white and not what he wanted to deal with when he had a headache.

 So no, he didn’t do that.

 Because he definitely had a headache.

 “Does your head hurt, my dear?” And of course, his wonderful mate figured it out on the second guess. Ryoma knew him too well. Knew the tense lines of his body and the pained noises he made and the way he curled into himself too well. But also just as well as somebody who loved you was meant to. 

 The presence, the closeness, of Ryoma faded away with the sounds of shuffling. He couldn’t bring himself to not bury his face into the pillow like he wanted to smother himself as his head throbbed and throbbed and throbbed, so he didn’t. He stayed there. This aftertaste dry and cottony in his mouth, that made him really want some cold water to drink. Or snowflakes to catch on his tongue, like when he was a child.

 The pressure in his skull made his ears feel weird. 

 And his eyes felt sore.

 And - 

 Oh.

 “Yoma…” Finding the strength needed finally, he lifted his head, only slightly, since that slight movement made everything in his brain shift forward somehow and made him feel nauseous as if he had had a nightmare after all. And, yeah, yeah, his voice sounded congested and his nose was definitely not cooperating with the whole breathing thing it was meant to. 

 Fantastic.

 “Yoma,” he said quietly to the darkness of keeping his eyes closed, lest his brain explode, and he heard the patter of footsteps across floorboards as he tried to pretend his voice wasn’t pitched to something almost…whiny, “I think I’m sick.” 

 The footsteps returned to him. The floorboards creaked as somebody dropped down into the folds of their nest, and then a hand was laid flat across Leo’s forehead. A cool hand. But a hand with callouses. Except, that couldn’t be right, because Ryoma’s hands were always so warm and - 

 “You have a fever, Leo,” his husband’s tenor came across the darkness and he sounded stricken. 

 And suddenly it hit Brynhildr’s wielder upside his achy, achy head why that was such a serious thing. Hit him in the form of memories. Of reports. Many, many concerned reports coming in from Nohr and from Delgo at Nohr’s borders. Of the harsh winter and the harsher, wartorn state of the Dusken Kingdom, and the worst of it being the plague coming from the south that was sweeping the rural parts of Nohr.

 The plague.

 The sickness.

 A new set of footsteps. The door must’ve already been open, since Leo heard hushed whispers, fast and frantic outside, and then somebody rushing straight into their room. 

 And then he felt Ryoma shifting, and stiffened when he noticed the familiar snores and small presences of his sons were being taken away. Taken out of their nest. Taken away from him, and he forced his bleary eyes open no matter how it ached to try and find them. Reaching for them. Keening for them. His kits, they'd taken his kits, his kits - !

 “Calm, my boy,” Papa was there, and that was better because Papa wouldn’t let anything happen to his kits, not again, not ever again would their family be stolen from this manor, not under his watch and, “Leo, my precious child, you have to take a deep breath. You have a fever. You’re sick.” 

 “My kits - !” 

 “I know,” a hand, smaller than Yoma’s, cooler, yet still calloused and he knew them, “I know. And you know. You know, that they’re too young to be around sickness. It’s not safe for them. You know this, Leo, I know you do.” 

 Sick?
 
 Kits…shouldn’t be around sickness. The kits were too young, too small still, to be around sick people. To be around medicine and bandages and blood; too small. Still too weak. Too likely to get sick themselves. And when they’re so small, they’re so likely to - to get hurt should they get sick. 

 To die.

 His hand fell limply back into the silky furs where his kits had been, and he still keened for them. Heard them wake. In their father’s arms, somewhere across the room. Somewhere away from him. They heard their mama in pain, and they woke, and they started wailing as if they knew something was terribly wrong. 

 “I’ve sent for the doctor,” a new voice said from the threshold of his den, low with contained panic as he spoke over the wails of two sons taken from their mother, “She’ll be here as soon as possible with her assistant.”

 “Good,” Papa’s voice. Papa’s calm. Papa’s scent, blended with the scent of his mama’s old perfumes that he wore to remember her, Leo felt dizzy and laid his head back down on the pillows. Suddenly out of whatever energy he’d woken with, “Bring her here the instant she arrives. Send out the word that anybody feeling sick is to stay in the barracks or servant quarters as well. We won’t take any risks with this.” 

 “Yes, Lord Alistair,” confirmation, then footsteps, gone.

 “Ryoma,” Papa, less calm now, “take the boys and go bathe them. Change them into fresh clothes and put them in the nursery. If you start feeling sick, you are to leave and have somebody healthy watch them. If either of them seem to be getting sick, you are to ask for the doctor as well.” 

 Blurry, dizzy, achy.

 “I should stay - “ 

 “Now, Ryoma. This is not negotiable.” 

 Yoma.

 Their kits were wailing, their kits were crying, maybe with tears for the first time since they’d been born.

 Leo couldn’t comfort them.

 “I love you, Leo,” footsteps, backing away from him further and further, “I will be back as soon as possible, my dove. Stay strong. This is probably just a cold.” 

 Footsteps, gone. 

 Cool, cool hands, like mountain stones, brushing at his bangs. Tugging at the golden ruffles. There were beads of sweat on his skin. Their den felt so hot. So hot. He wanted to go out into the snow. He wanted to fall asleep on an icy river. Cool, cool hands. Like mountain stones. Cupping his nape, rubbing some of the ache away. 

 He whined, and he was shushed. Papa was with him. 

 “I am here, my dear boy. Your husband is right; this is probably nothing more than the common cold. But…better safe than sorry.” 

 Always better safe than sorry when it came to his beloved sons…it was just…sort of hard to reconcile that at the moment. Everything ached. Everything was blurry when he peeked through his lashes at the dark world of his face pressed into a pillow. Everything felt hot, humid, dry, his mouth was full of cotton and his eyes were burning and the throbbing in his head got worse.

 And worse.
 
 And worse.

 And he wished…he could go back…to simply being held in his husband’s arms, like the night before…before…before…

 He sank into the furs, the sheets, the endless too-hot softness of a nest he took pride in. 

 And everything faded to black.

Chapter Text

 Unconsciousness wasn’t what claimed him.

 He faded in and he faded out. He was curled up on his stomach with his face buried in his pillow, and then he was laid out on his back staring up at the wooden beams of the ceiling. He was in a feverish haze and then he was slightly lucid. He wasn’t aware and then he was. He wasn’t aware and then he was. He wasn’t - and then he was - and - and - 

 Leo Vincini was sick.

 “It is not the plague,” Doctor Quinn stated firmly. The go-to doctor for all of Valentine, for she’d lived in Valentine her whole life. She’d tended to and nursed nearly every person in Valentine at some point or another. She’d turned down opportunities that went from becoming a royal doctor in Windmire, to learn healing arts in Hoshido’s heart, to traveling the continent. All to stay and tend to Valentine.

And now she tended to the boy her own mother had been at the birth of. 

Knelt by his bedside - a bed built into the floor like the beds of Hoshido, like an animal’s nest - and reaffirmed her findings to her Lord Alistair kneeling opposite her. When he looked to her for more reassurance, she showed him Lord Leo’s fingertips. Showed how they were not blackened as if stained by soot. Showed how he had no rash by lifting his shirt. Showed how there were no boils either, and that while he was pale? It was a typical, flu-like paleness. No deathly pallor.

Heartbeat; a little fast but not fretfully so.

Throat; tender, sore, but not swollen up.

Fever; concerning, especially for somebody nursing two small children, but manageable and likely to break by the following day. 

Her assistant brought a bowl and a rag to wipe his brow, while she offered Lord Alistair a medicinal bottle and instructed him on what to give the young lordling. Indeed, to the relief of her and all of Valentine she was sure, her prognosis wasn’t of the deadly sort. Nor was it the plague they heard rumors of reaching into southern Nohr. No.

 “It is nothing more than winter sickness, milord. Now, I shall check the children and then I shall go. As long as you follow my instructions, I should not be needed to be called on again.” 

 Doctor Quinn cooed over the tiny, tiny ones born of her Lord Leo and his consort, a consort who hovered protectively as she listened to each of their heartbeats and worked around their whimpering and wailing. Similar to wolfskin cubs. She’d seen to enough of the wolfskin packs that she wasn’t bothered, but it wasn’t healthy for young shifters to be taken from their mothers. 

 In this case, however? 

 “You’ll have to help with the nursing, of course,” she told Valentine’s now Lord Ryoma without preamble, shoving her hands into the pockets of her skirt as she relaxed with the dangerous possibilities behind them, “They can still be nursed by Lord Leo, but outside of nursing I would highly recommend them remaining in a separate room. It’s actually a good way to build up their immune systems. Nursing from sick mothers - though some will say otherwise.” 

 “My younger sister would give the same advice, so I trust that it is sound,” the poor man, a young father and husband, looked positively wrung out, but he held his sons so tenderly as he was told that they were well that the doctor was proud of him by principle; Valentine still did not know entirely what to make of their new lord.

 “Yes, Princess Sakura knows her way with such things, I’d imagine. Lord Alistair has already received instructions on his medicine and care, so simply follow that and he should be well by the morning after next.” 

 Winter sickness was hardly a rare thing in Valentine.

 They lived in snowy mountain valleys in the middle of winter, after all.

 “Thank you,” Lord Ryoma exhaled, his shoulders losing a level of tension to them that Doctor Quinn hadn’t noticed, and then the man shook himself out to ask, “Do you know if anything specific might’ve brought it on?” 

 Anything specific?

“Well,” she mused, hands going deeper into her pockets as she did, “maybe stress? Unless he’s spent a prolonged amount of time out in the snows - of which I doubt - lack of sleep, stress, a general lack of activity to shake the sickness from his lungs. Those could’ve brought it on.” 

 The brunette man’s face pinched at her words, and she knew right then that their Lord Leo would be bedbound and restful for quite some time after he recovered.

 My, he’d snagged himself a good’un.

 Doctor Quinn and her assistant, her niece, were greatly thanked for making the trip up to the manor. As if Vincini Manor was days of travel away and not just up the road! Well, everyone knew how the Vincini family was all about…family. She had to turn down a frankly ludicrous amount of coin in exchange for her visit, and then she was off back down into town. 

 Hopeful that her mama was looking down on her and proud. Proud that she’d tended to their Lord Leo so well, and that their Lord Leo was finally surrounded by folk who cared for him. Who put him first. The young generations may not know, pray will never need to know, but she knew. 

 And she was so grateful for the kindness Lord Ryoma of Valentine had for their Lord Leo.

 He faded in, and somebody was dabbing a wet rag across his forehead.

 He faded out, and it was just the throbbing darkness of his achy head.

 He faded in, and he saw golden-brown hair lit by sunshine, tawny irises as pretty as a daydream, and…his nightgown’s top was pulled down? 

 He faded out.

 He faded in, and shifted with a surprised groan at how suddenly aware he was of the suckling of his kits at his chest. A voice. Or, more a hum. It was muffled by the thick feeling in his ears. Hands. Helping. Holding his sons up to his chest, thumbs pressing down to knead his milk out, and Leo’s own mumbles were muffled as he swatted them away to do it himself. 

 Shiro latched on greedily, and his big boy wasn’t crying? Had he been crying? 

 Jewels latched on too, his ears flapping up and down as he suckled, the vibrations of his purrs his mama could feel on his ribs.

 He faded out before he felt more than just the relief of knowing his kits weren’t crying.

 He faded in, patting at the furs swathing his body, his too-sweaty a body, and he keened for his kits who were nowhere within reach. Papa’s silky-white hair was in his peripheral vision. The low hum of his voice was there…but Leo faded out before any of his father’s reassurances had an effect on him.

 He faded.

 There was a wet rag being dabbed across his forehead.

 The wet was chilly. Leo shivered and scrunched up his nose, then sneezed, and the rag went away from him. There was the sound of water droplets falling on water. Of cloth being submersed. It was muffled, but it was there. 

 His eyes were sticky when he forced them open, they ached, and those wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling went blurry once he’d gazed up at them for a few seconds too long. He shifted. He stiffened. He groaned, and tried to relax back to his boneless state from before because every bit of him ached. He blinked. He blinked.

 The sticky feeling stayed.

 The blurriness too.

 The achiness too.

 His nose was stuffy and he felt gross, and he whined for his mated because this was just awful.

 Warm, brown eyes answered his whining by appearing above him in his line of sight. Pinched. Worried. He would recognize Ryoma’s worry anywhere, that worrywort. Knit brows and thin lips. There were also…bags beneath his eyes. Leo’s whining ceased immediately. 

 He lifted a shaky hand to cup Yoma’s cheek, upset for a new reason.

 Before his mated might reassure him, he faded out. Out, to the feeling of a warm hand closing over his, cradling it against his cheek with care. To the shivers wracking his body, and to the achiness of being alive, and the pains of not being beside his kits when this world was so terrifying. 

 Now, Leo remembered far too clearly why he’d hated winter sickness as a child. 

Chapter Text

 A low tenor. 

 “...’so they embraced, without care for the scandalized gasps that erupted from the crowd, without care for how forbidden it was, without care for how wrong all others they loved would see it as. To them, it wasn’t wrong. No. It was the only thing that was right. It was the only thing that would make their hearts beat day after day, after that. So they held each other, so utterly in love that even if the gods struck them down that very minute they would never apologize’...” 

 He knew the way that tenor felt, rumbling in the chest of his husband, when they were pressed flush together and naked. He knew whose voice that was. He knew what that voice sounded like when Ryoma Vincini was happy, when he was worried, when he was afraid, when he was sleepy, when he was aroused. Like he knew the lips of his mate, and like he knew his tongue and his kisses and the heart that beat faster with every moment they shared.

 There was a heart in that tenor.

 There always was. For Leo, there always was.

 Royals were taught how to speak, how to mask, all but as soon as they could speak. They were taught how to lie with a smile. They were taught how to lie with their eyes and with their voice. There were never any lies in Ryoma for Leo, though.

 Ryoma was always, always honest and open with the boy he taught the meaning of a healthy relationship to. 

 Even when that boy was barely awake, waking, and rousing from a sick coma? There was that honesty. There was that openness. In every syllable. In every letter. There were emotions there, as Ryoma read aloud to Leo as if he were a child who’d asked for a bedtime story. There was a palm splayed out on the younger’s lower stomach, and legs tangled up in his, and breaths tickling his cheeks like a light breeze in spring.

 What a way to wake.

 So he woke.

 Emerald eyes were slow to open, still almost sore in a way, but he managed. And the world still existed outside of his feverish haze, it seemed. Their bedroom was full of dimmed light as if the curtains were drawn shut, there was an odd absence of sound where the fireplace should be crackling, and Leo was covered only by a light, lap blanket. He blinked. He was on his side, nuzzling into the corner of a pillow he knew to be one of his darling’s favorites.

 His skin felt sort of…too tight. Grimy. His mouth still felt like it’d been stuffed full of flower petals, and his throat was sore when he swallowed slowly and shifted. And shifted a little more. A dull throbbing was still there in the front of his forehead, behind his eyes, behind all of him; an ache - 

 He remembered - or he thought he remembered - waking up in far worse a state.

 And somebody with a messy bun and a patient smile poking and prodding at him.

 And his father spoon-feeding him some sort of medicinal…liquid? That tasted awfully bitter but effective. The worse it tasted, the more effective it usually was, he knew as an alchemist. It must’ve been moderately effective because it’d tasted moderately bad, and…and…

 Blinking with the care of somebody who expected pain from the action, Leo sniffed to snuffle a sneeze. His nose tickled. He left it. He nuzzled more into the corner of his darling’s pillow that smelled like cherry blossoms just barely through his stuffy nose, and, why. How he adored the man he’d wed, by accident or not.

 Ryoma’s tenor continued to drone on, in that storytelling tone.

 He was laying parallel to Leo, in their nest stripped of most of its covers, its quilts, its layers of furs. On his side. Head pillowed by a hand of his, a book open beneath his fingers, flipping pages idly as he read through each one. Those tawny eyes had yet to look away from the book, the story, a tale of forbidden lovers he seemed enraptured in, tone rising and falling with the tensions and reveals, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

 He looked tired.

 He looked happy.

 Leo was both at that moment too.

 So he simply closed his eyes, and smiled, and snuggled into his husband’s pillow to settle down and listen. 

 The story was a lovely background to being awake, sick or not. His teddy bear made for an excellent storyteller.

 “...’and would they truly make them choose? If they did, Orion knew who he would choose, but would Epona choose him in return? He should not doubt her. Did not. What he doubted was the lengths that family of hers would dig down into to keep her locked away and unhappy for their own, selfish benefits. If he could just take her and run, he would, he WOULD.’ I would. I did. Oh, Leo.”

 Startled by being addressed, he was going to open his eyes, when fingers worn by swordsmanship touched just under his eye. Touched him like he was so special, all the stars in the universe could never outshine him. Touched him like he was loved; the only way Ryoma knew how to touch him. So he stayed carefully ‘asleep’. Evened out his breathing. 

 Relished the touch of the man he loved, brushing along his cheek and caressing his neck. Down. Down. To the matemark scarring the crook between his right shoulder and ear. A thumb rubbed at it, and lights lit up behind Leo’s eye.

 He barely kept from keening and turning to goo at the touch.

 “I know you’re going to be okay, but I worry anyways,” Ryoma went on, in a whisper, so much emotion there that the feverish boy was dizzy hearing it turn his heart upside-down, “You know that. You’ve always said you don’t mind my worry. That it shows I care. I do. I have, since the moment we met. But I still worry when I know you’ll be fine.” 

 Since the moment they’d met, when they were just strangers of the same woods.

 A boy on a black mare, and an unnamed soldier.

 Princes of two kingdoms.

 Now the Lords of the Green Halidom. A land they would found for themselves and for their family.

 “Our sons are so worried too - they get that from me, your father keeps joking,” a puff of laughter, “As if he isn’t always by your bedside almost every turn of the hour. He has reason, I know…He keeps bringing tomatoes, as if that’ll wake you up faster. As if they are some secret cure-all for you and only you. Rose too has been by twice. Scared a maid something fierce when she pranced straight on up to her. The whole manor is in a tizzy. We’ve had people from town trekking up here to offer every remedy they can, asking after your health, it - they love you, Leo. They love you so much. I love you so much.” 

 As if Leo Vincini could let that go without a response.

 “As I…love you.” 

 “Leo - ?” 

 Finally opening his eyes, emerald eyes like his mama, like his son, like Brynhildr’s magic. The Vincini boy smiled tiredly up at the mate of his soul, who was grinning now. So hopeful. Lit up like an excited puppy you’d see chasing chicks on the farm. Such a beautiful sight.

 Such a welcome thing, when there was sickness clouding Leo’s mind, but he could still see his Ryoma clear as day. As dawn. 

 “‘M…gonna go back to sleep now,” he rasped, now noticing and truly feeling the soreness of his throat as Yoma cupped his cheek and beamed at him like he’d made a dream of his come true by simply waking up for a moment, “Make sure…our kits are okay? ‘N keep readin’. Is so nice...”

 Winter sickness was a pain in the everything, but if it got him such nice, sweet alone time with his dearly beloved? Maybe he should get sick a bit more often. 

 Not that he would, but, well - Ryoma gave him a light kiss on the bridge of his nose, and giggled so adorably as he pulled back to gaze lovingly at him, and, yeah.

 He had his priorities straight. Definitely. 

He’d set up a schedule for getting not deathly sick during their less busy months, just for this. The winds were still howling. But his heart was already slumbering, so he followed suit, to the tenor his husband reading aloud to him a romance. It was a wonderful way to fall asleep. He barely even felt sick. 

 Leo just felt loved.

 The next time he woke up, sleepy and sweaty and icky?

 There was a bath prepared for him. A nice, not too hot and not too cold bath, with completely clear waters and one of the windows cracked open so Leo could breathe in some of that fresh, winter air. There still wasn’t a fire in the fireplace.

 Ryoma was wrapped up in a thicker-than-usual yukata.

 If he wasn’t sick, he would’ve kissed his beloved right then and there.

 Instead, he let his beloved have the role he so loved having handed to him; the role of a caretaker. Of a provider. Of a dutiful husband, darling romantic that he was. He let Ryoma undress him, let him slip his nightgown’s silk off of his body, to be carried over to the not-steaming but not-chilled tub. Yes. He let Ryoma handle all of it. Let him wash his body, let him hold him above the waters. 

 Let himself doze as Ryoma did all of that with so much tenderness he felt tears pricking at the corner of his eyes.

 It was nice and cool and calm.

 And even sick, he felt safe and comfortable right there under his mate’s care.

 He kissed at the underside of Ryoma’s jaw when he couldn’t possibly take it anymore, mumbling I love yous and oaths to his husband as he mouthed down to his matemark. As they reveled in one another. In everything they were to each other.

 The sound of water droplets on water was like music to them.

 And Leo Vincini dozed off, held above the waters by his darling doe, knowing he’d feel better when he awoke again.

Chapter Text

 It smelled…snowy. 

 Somebody had left a window open?

 Except there was no chill in the air. No cold. No, there was instead the crackling of a winter, ever-lit fireplace like Leo had grown used to. There was the scent of evergreen logs, some sort of minty tea, and the musty yet comfortable smell of furs. Freshly fluffed furs. His nest felt softer under him than the last time he’d woken up. Those two things seemed to be connected…but the snowy smell was stopping Brynhildr’s wielder from connecting them.

 He huffed, exasperated, then sniffled loudly because his nose was still a bit stuffy and huffing took too much air when one could not simply breathe in through their nose.

 Still, he smelled snow. 

Snow that fell on the sea.

Leo Vincini knew that smell like he knew his own magic. 

Letting lose some sort of squeaking noise he’d deny repeatedly later, the bedbound boy’s eyes opened. He blinked them rapidly, already mid-struggle to sit up when weighed down by quilts. Many quilts. Under which his hands grabbed at nothing, seeking somebody he’d missed, he keened, seeking, seeking - 

And still bleary-eyed, still barely there, still hardly aware of more than the smell of somebody who’d been by his side for so many years - 

Leo felt a hand slither around the back of his neck, cup his nape, and then tug his upper body forward until his forehead was thumping lightly against a chest. 

A shirt. With an open collar, and strings barely hiding anything that his face was pressed against, and caramel skin and the smell of a snowy seashore all salt and cold and the musk of dank waterways -

“My~ So eager. So desperate,” a voice he’d missed purred all but against his ear, and he shoved wildly at the covers to get his arms out from under them so he get them around him instead - 

“Tell me now, no teasing…have you missed me, milord?” 

“Niles!” 

 The throaty hum was all the reply Leo needed from his elder brother. Oldest of his brothers. Most loyal of his brothers. Most devoted, most protective, most dear and first of the brothers he’d chosen by his own guiding heart. A hand cupped the back of his head, held him there, to his chest, fingers carding through his hair as Niles hummed, chuckled, then so easily drawled, “I’ll take that as a yes. Would you like to know a secret?” 

 The capability to respond wasn’t Leo’s at the moment; helplessly nodding into his brother, his kin’s body to memorize his scent somewhere in the haze of a fading fever. 

 His brother was here! His brother had returned to his side! 

 “I missed you too, Leo.” 

 Niles had promised. He had promised and he had kept that promise to the Vincini boy. In the dead of winter, he had returned to him. He had come back. He had come home to Leo. He was here, and he was just like he’d been months ago when he left, and Leo hadn’t realized how terribly large the chunk of his heart his brother had taken with him when he went was but now he did. Because it was back.

 And he felt so abruptly like he’d found something he’d lost and had given up hope of ever getting back.

 Was it mid-month already? Niles had promised he’d return then - then it had to be, right? 

 Leo hadn’t a clue. Hadn’t a care. All he cared about, all he was capable of caring about, was his brother, his retainer, had returned. Was holding him. Was home with him in Valentine. Niles hadn’t been tempted away by wherever he’d gone, whatever he’d seen. He hadn’t forgotten his younger brother. He hadn’t broken his promise.

 “I hear you were sick, Lord Leo,” Niles purred, and even that simple, hushed purr of a voice was enough to make Leo feel like a small child again who finally had a guard he could trust at his side as he trembled in his hold, “How naughty. Hadn’t I told you to take care of yourself while I was gone? You should expect punishment for this.” 

 His Niles had come back to him.

 How selfish of him; he’d said he would let Niles go if that was what he asked of him.

 But here he was, acting like a child who’d never feel safe without him there at his side.

 “Easy, easy, easy,” smoothing a hand along his shoulderblades, carefully avoiding the length of his spine, Niles tucked his head under his jaw and just kept holding him, thank Brynhildr, “So overstimulated~ Have I kept you on edge for too long, milord? I’m here now. I’m here.” 

 He was here. Home, in wintry Valentine. Here, in Vincini Manor. Here, in Leo’s nest when he needed kin the most. Here, holding the blonde boy as if he were a small child again terrified after an assassination attempt in Windmire. Really. How could he ever let Niles leave him again?

 He started squeezing, making unhappy, little, breathless noises to get his point across. 

 Pretending his eyes weren’t burning.

 “Oh, Leo, I’m so sorry,” Niles breathed against his ear, too quietly for all the rest of the world to hear, only for him, only for him, full of emotions his liege couldn’t begin to imagine but it made him cling to him even harder. 

 It had hurt, he realized now, to have to let them go the second his heart had begun to heal. It had hurt more than he could bear. But he bore it because he’d owed his chosen brothers everything that he was. Everything they’d helped him withstand. Survive. He bore it, as they had bore so much for him, and he’d let them go because it would’ve been selfish to not to. 

 Now he couldn’t bear the idea of them going far from him ever again, and he wanted to be selfish. Just this once. Forgive him for being selfish, Mama.

 There was the soft murmuring of voices. Other voices. Voices outside of the two brothers embracing as they were reunited after months of being apart.

 “ - is still slightly feverish,” the low tone of his papa was there, somewhere in the fire-warmed room with them, “and he’ll need his next dose of medicine soon - “ 

 It was warm, and safe, and it still smelled like a snowy seashore.

 “ - can stay, of course you can stay, I would never separate the two of you,” the low tenor of his husband was there too, closer, closer, warm with emotions as he watched the reunion, “The boys won’t need nursing for another two hours, so actually if you could help him relax until - “

 His brother had come home to him.

 The fever that had ravaged Leo Vincini for two days broke that afternoon, when he fell asleep with his head on his brother’s chest. As secure as he could be. The tang of medicine on his tongue, the ink of a butterfly tattoo under his fingertips as he hugged Niles’ waist, the relieved whispers of his family as his winter sickness faded away. 

 The babbling of his boys, his sons, his beloved kits, as they met their uncle while old enough to actually see and be fascinated by his snow-white hair and darker skin tone…and old enough for Shiro to try and snatch his eyepatch with a curious bit of babbling.

The winter sickness faded.

But his winter-haired brother was back at his side, and Leo was so grateful to Brynhildr for bringing him home safely.

Once a Vincini imprinted on you, you never, ever stopped being loved.

Chapter Text

There were sprigs of monkshood sprouting around the nest of Leo and Ryoma Vincini. Poisonous flowers. But oh, they were such a lovely, deep blue shade the poison was almost worth the pain. A death by aconite was a death by beautiful blue petals, wolfsbane - they called it. Wolfsbane for how it was used long, long ago against wolfskin. No longer. The name stuck, its poisonous nature was unchangeable, maybe - 

 But those blue petals just made Leo think of his chosen brother’s lone eye, when he woke up and saw them growing from the floorboards surrounding his nest.

 Naturally, he willed Brynhildr to take them away. To take every bit of them away.

 He would not risk poisonous flowers near where his sons slept most nights.

 The sentiments remained. Alongside the waking knowledge that Leo’s pillow had been Niles’ chest, and his brother was smirking down at him as he woke. His snow-white hair falling loosely around his face, his eyepatch missing, and his heart beating slowly under Leo’s ear. His smile less meant as anything flirty and more…just, fond. 

 Which wasn’t something Niles’ would’ve openly shown to his liege going back a year or even just slightly less, but here it was.

 Free for him to see, as he yawned, rubbing at his eyes and resting his chin on his brother’s chest as he wiggled around to be able to look at him properly. Not just upside-down.

 Striking Leo again that his retainer was here, was home, had come back to him, he hummed. Nuzzling at Niles’ very low-cut collared shirt to satisfy some leftover instincts of his, to the amusement of the man, it seemed. Or so his smirk widening seemed to mean. 

 “Mornin’.” 

 “Why, a good morning to you too, Lord Leo,” there was his chosen brother’s typical drawl, an underlying purr to the words that was never really necessary, and by Brynhildr had he missed it to the heavens and back, “Tell me, in my absence have you decided to let your Valentinian accent return? I imagine your husband finds it quite, quite charming if you have.” 

 Pursing his lips, Leo dug his fingers playfully into the flirt’s hips to get him to jump. To chuckle.

 How rude. How Niles. Ever since returning to Valentine, yes, as a matter of fact, the Valentinian boy’s accent had been coming out more and more. The accent wasn’t so far removed from a central Nohrian accent, it just dropped a few syllables and rounded off a few words. 

 There may also be more than an average Nohrian’s amount of swears and darnations involved, sometimes, but Leo knew how to watch his mouth.

 With kits, especially.

 “I’ll have you know he does find it quite charming,” he huffed, somewhat wondering where Ryoma was as he got comfortable wound up with the eldest of his brothers, blue petals ungrowing from sight fully as he pursed his lips, “But is that really what you want to ask me first of all after returning?” 

 “Hmph.” The archer arched a brow, his smirk though softened into something small and sincere as he asked, “I have gotten your letters, you know. But how are the babies, then? How is parenthood treating you? Long nights, I’d imagine. And not in the fun way.” 

 “Oh, but they’re wonderful,” cue gushing from a proud, proud mama fox, all happy purrs as he melted onto Niles at the thought of how incredible parenthood was, “Shiro is already bigger than Jewels, which is to be expected, but they’re both already so smart! And they’re able to wiggle around! Not crawling, and they struggle to roll over on their own sometimes, but Shiro loves to help his brother do so in their crib, and Jewels always calls for him when he needs something and they -!” 

 A lot of gushing.

 “Shiro may actually be something of an artist! He loves to make pretty patterns with his building blocks, and even though he’s young Ryoma has been talking about getting him some sort of baby-safe paper and ink material to play with. Jewels - Jewels loves to curl up and nap on Ryoma’s novels though! It’s so cute, Niles, you have to see, he just uses them like beds! Just the other day - or the other day when I wasn’t sick at least - when Yoma set down his novel for a split second Jewels squirmed onto the pages and laid down for a nap for hours and - !” 

 A lot of gushing.

 A lot of gushing that Niles patiently listened to. With a soft, icy-blue eye that looked like it had thawed out while the two were apart. His fingers with the blisters of an archer carded through Leo’s golden ruffles, then rubbed at his nape, then slipped down low to rest on the small of his back. On the base of his spine which was only allowed due to Leo’s comfort level at the moment.

 It stayed there, an anchoring weight, as Leo kicked his legs and happily filled his brother in on so much of what being a mother had been like.

 So much of what his life had been like, since Niles had left for Hoshido and wherever else he’d ended up in the last couple of months.

 There was a snowstorm outside. The Vincini boy noted that distantly, in the form of howling winds hitting the windows and a curtain of white swirling by them. But they were lounging in his nest for kin and mates and kits. The fire was burning hot, and Leo was feeling less sick than he had in…a day? Or two? Or three? He wasn’t quite sure how long he’d had winter sickness for.

 He had to sniffle every once in a while as he gushed, but that wasn’t so bad.

 Being with his brother again wasn’t so bad, even if all of his gushing about his sons really, really made him want to go find them. 

 “Ah - “ He faltered, realizing he’d gone roughly…twenty minutes? Gushing endlessly. Realizing thanks to how his voice cracked, and his throat suddenly felt bone-dry and worn out, and he felt worn out, “Sorry, Niles. I didn’t mean to go on like that.” 

 “Hush now. No apologies,” reaching for the nestside, Niles’ hand came back carrying a cup of fresh water that felt so good to Leo’s sore throat, “and in what world do you think I enjoy a partner who is quiet, milord? You underestimate me.” 

 Rolling his eyes, Leo drank.

 “Besides, you…seem happy. And in what world would I want you to apologize for that?” 

 A droplet of water slipped past Leo’s lips when he started in surprise, looking up at his brother. With wide, emerald eyes that were as new as his happiness. Niles brushed that droplet away before it could slip down his chin, slowly, smiling, eye still so soft that Leo suddenly found it hard to breathe.

 He wasn’t the only one who had tales to tell of their months apart, was he? 

 “Niles,” he said softly too, feeling indulged in the way he tilted his head to listen to him, “how was Castle Shirasagi? Did you…find what you were looking for?”

 ‘Did you find your butterfly, and your reason to live beyond myself?’

 Humming low, low in his throat without answering, Niles thumbed at his younger brother’s jaw. Brother by choice, never by blood. Or brother by the blood he’d spilt in his name. Brother by the blood he’d been bleeding that day he decided to take a chance on the stray nearly beaten to death in front of him, for no reason other than his own curiosity and hopelessness.

 Brother in weapons, brother in secrets, brother in subterfuge and wartimes and loss.

 But brothers in peace? 

 Could they be that? 

 “I did.” They damn well were going to try.

 Because that’s what family does.

 “Laslow has returned to King Xander. Not forever,” he clarified, when Leo unwillingly tensed up with worry, “but for a year. Maybe more, maybe less. Until Nohr is somewhat settled, at least. With Peri’s death, he is that man’s only remaining retainer, and Laslow still has his loyalty. Plus it seems our mysterious trio isn’t in as great a hurry to leave as they thought they’d be.” 

 Niles had left chasing Laslow, who’d been accompanying Odin and Selena to Hoshido so they might break the curse over the two who hadn’t yet sat on the Sunburst Throne.

 They’d thought they’d leave as soon as that was behind them, but if they weren’t? 

 “Odin and his princling’s relationship is blooming nicely,” his eldest brother told him, staring up at the wooden beams crisscrossing the ceiling as he told him of his days like it were some report, “I am not so sure he…intends to leave, given how much effort he’s putting into their courtship. They were working to get it recognized by the new Hoshidan Royal Council when I left.” 

 Well, that was surprising. But Leo thought of matching bracelets, of slipping into each other’s war tents, of Takumi’s obvious care for his younger brother.

 And it wasn’t so surprising, after that.

 “Selena, as I understand it, struck up something with Princess Sakura’s remaining retainer - Subaki? That perfectionist pegasus knight?” It was Leo’s turn to arch a brow as his brother went on, “Of course, that was before her curse was broken and her true form as a fourteen-year old girl was revealed. I do wonder if they’ll work that out. It was an amusing encounter to see, nonetheless.” 

 Amusing was a word for it. Not Leo’s, but a word for sure.

 But Niles was also very blatantly avoiding somebody, and he continued to do so until Leo made him look him square in the eyes while frowning. To which the snowy-haired man sighed and shifted a bit.

 Leo felt his hand go under the covers to his hip, where a butterfly tattoo hid under his shirt, and he wanted Niles to have hope in this.

 He wanted Niles to have a love as wonderful as his was, with Ryoma.

 “Laslow wants to be with me,” he said, with a sigh, almost sounding put out by that good news to which Leo was so surprised he snorted, “He wants me. He wants what we’ve had. He wants what we could have, as he put it. When he is done with his duty to King Xander, when the man has new retainers he can entrust everything to, Laslow says he’ll choose me for the rest of his life.” 

 Less put out now.

 More, just, in awe.

 So Leo wrapped his arms around his eldest brother who deserved good things in his life, and said, “I’m so happy for you, Niles.” 

 “Yes, well…that’s enough of that - “ It most certainly was not. He’d listen to Niles gush about Laslow as much as he could, if he could, but it was enough for the flirty man who wasn’t used to such devotion, clearly, so Leo dropped it.

 “Tell me, have you and your hubby tried any new positions of late?” 

 “Niles!” 

 A pillow was thrown. Maybe a cup of water was spilled. Maybe a few guards came to worriedly investigate, and it turned into a minor pillow fight on Leo’s orders. What can he say? Seeing his chosen brother flip out of the way of pillows thrown at him by his guards, as they all unwound and laughed while a snowstorm raged outside? Was really, really, just, nice.

 Maybe the first of his retainers was trying to distract him. To stop him from asking more, from making him analyze this good, good thing that he had that he couldn’t believe he had.

 Clova’s son would let it go, because this was his brother.

 And that was just another thing that family does.

 “Hello. Yes, hello. Yes.” A snort into his steaming cup of tea earned Leo a nudge from his father, but really. How was he supposed to not laugh when Niles was staring at Shiro like he was some wild beast about to tear his throat out if he said the wrong thing? His brother was all but leaning away, smiling politely, downright timid for who he was, and he was supposed to not think it was adorable? 

 Impossible.

 Catching up with Niles had turned into catching up with his whole family, as Lord Alistair and Ryoma eventually joined them with the boys, and they all ended up lounging or sat in Leo’s half-disassembled nest, drinking tea and also properly introducing his brother to the boys.

 He may have been there when they were born, but he’d left so soon after they were born.

 Now, it was becoming more and more of a realization for Leo that he’d never seen his eldest brother interact with babies before. Ever. Not a single baby. 

 He wondered if that had anything to do with how mild-mannered and subdued he seemed, staring wide-eyed at Shiro who was staring right back, while Jewels snuggled into her papa’ neck to nap instead. He hardly thought his sons were intimidating - even Jewels' fangs weren’t sharp enough to pierce skin.

 Then again, watching Niles back away from Shiro suddenly lifting a finger to point at his uncle with a loud, rambling babble? 

 Maybe babies were his brother’s weakness.

 Leo Vincini laughed, Alistair Vincini politely didn’t but also didn’t hide his grin, and Ryoma Vincini seemed rather proud that their sons could scare off Niles himself.

 Of course, by nightfall and the end of that snowstorm, they had given Niles the boys to babysit for half an hour while they made sure Leo truly was well again and the winter sickness was behind him…and they came back to the snow-haired archer sound asleep in their nest, with one of his nephews tucked under each arm, also sound asleep.

 Looking more relaxed and sound of heart and hope than Leo had almost ever seen him.

 He kissed his big brother goodnight, and he and Ryoma enjoyed a quiet evening of cuddles, even if Leo kept sniffling still.

 “I’m so glad you’re okay,” the man he’d married murmured, as they laid wrapped around each other in front of the blazing fireplace, enraptured by one another in firelight, “I worried. Leo, I worried. Please, rest plenty in the week to come, at least?” 

 “I will,” he promised, then smiled knowingly and made a wish of his husband he would never be denied, “Ryoma, will you tell me the rest of the story? Of what you were reading to me when I was feverish.” 

 “You remember that?” 

 “Some. I liked it.” 

 “Well, my tomato, let me start from the beginning…” 

 All was well again. No.

 All was better.

Chapter Text

 
 A quill in hand, the pheasant feather quivering as he wrote, Leo scrawled words across the piece of paper pressed over his knee. Over the book propped there, to be exact. The words were legible. Of course they were legible. One did not simply spend years writing royal reports and sending out official missives without learning to always, always make one’s writing neat and tidy. 

 Just, some of the words were a bit slanted because of how he was writing it.

 The Winter Solstice was going to follow a week after the Winter Gala. 

 That would require a bit of preplanning. He couldn’t very well let the whole winter season be sacrificed for one ball - even if it will be the halidom’s first ball and an official welcome to all the lords of the land. There was Valentine’s Winter Solstice festival to consider, not to mention the other traditions of the season.

 Hoshido had never celebrated the Winter Solstice; it being a Nohrian holiday and the Dawn Kingdom putting far more of an emphasis on the summer months instead.

 So he couldn’t very well ask Ryoma to plan it, and he couldn’t let his papa plan it alone.

 Valentine may not celebrate the solstice as faithfully as central Nohr. Those who tied it to their Dusk Dragon, those who saw it as a religious holiday as well as the height of winter. Those who spent long nights praying inside the great cathedrals of Nohr, singing hymns and holding banquets on the streets. 

 But Valentine did celebrate the height of winter. 

 There were barns and the local warehouses that would be cleaned and opened to the public, full of stalls and games and foods. Music and dances. Bonfires roaring. Families attending together as they celebrate nearly the end of another year, before returning to their homes for a close-knit meal and usually an exchange of presents.

 The Winter Solstice hadn’t slipped Leo’s mind, precisely, it was more that his bout of winter sickness reminded him how close it was. And how he’d been spending more time worried about the Winter Gala than it. 

 Even if the solstice was a celebration organized by the people, he and Lord Alistair still had duties to fulfill regarding it. 

 So with the fire burning low, crackling, logs smoldering in the fireplace and their smell in the air and the bedroom warm, his nest carefully remade to sooth instincts that were less intrusive now - 

 Leo was leaning back on his hubby’s hoard of pillows, a book propped up on his knees so he had a flat surface to write on.

 A quill quivering as he wrote.

 And with a son tucked under each of his arms, snoozing soundly. So happy the last two days to have their mama back. 

 By Brynhildr had he missed his babies.

 Humming, he lifted the quill, the feather tickling his lips as he thought more on possible present ideas…but before he might scribble down another? The doors opened. 

 In walked his darling, carrying a tray of tea and very carefully focusing on keeping it balanced. His hair down, his yukata loose and comfortable, his eyes bright. Ryoma looked lovely, so Leo smiled and hummed approvingly. Which made those bright eyes shift to him. To the quill and the paper and his husband gave him a fond smile even as he shook his head.

 “I believe you promised me you’d rest, my dear.” 

 “I am resting,” the blonde boy said, prim as could be as he used his quill to motion to where he laid, “I am resting, in our nest, while our sons nap. I am not standing nor doing anything that requires exertion, and I have let you spoil me these last days. Is that not resting?” 

 Ryoma let out a muff of laughter, which turned into a grin so beautiful, which turned into him nodding towards Leo’s quill and paper anyways to say, “You’re working.” 

 As if that was so dreadful a thing. If somebody took his quill and paper away what in Brynhildr’s name would he do? The ancient presence in his mind laughed at him and sent a small hum of magic his way to show he was being silly. As it was? He raised his brows at his dearly beloved and nodded down to the boys.

 A silent reminder to keep their voices down, even as his darling doe brought the tray over to set it beside their nest. Still grinning. 

 “I am thinking on the Winter Solstice, if you wish to know,” he took the time to explain, yes, setting his quill down for a moment as Ryoma poured steaming rose tea into two cups for the both of them, “While we don’t have to manage it nearly as much as this upcoming gala, we still have to make sure the people will be safe while they celebrate and maybe offer some resources for those celebrations. Like food, decorations, donations - the like.” 

 “It sounds very similar to Hoshido’s own summer festivals,” a cup of rose tea was pressed into Leo’s hands, and a kiss was pressed to his cheek as well before Ryoma settled on his knees to savor it as they spoke, “I still wish to take you. But maybe not while the boys are so young…ah. But I got another letter from Sakura. She says her hellos. She’s looking to accept another retainer into her service, as is Takumi. Hinoka too…Corrin and Azura too, actually.” 

 A frown touched on his husband’s mouth, and Leo reached over to put his hand on his thigh, smoothing down the yukata’s blue fabric, tracing the dragonflies embroidered in it as Ryoma thought for a moment.

 For more than a moment.

 And he sighed, sipping at his tea the same as Leo.

 “You will also be needing retainers, Yoma,” he reminded the mate of his heart as delicately as he could, and he nodded, though he still looked unsettled by the idea. Of course he did. Leo had no doubt Niles’ return had reminded the man of such things - of retainers and oaths and the intentions behind such things. Clearly his sister’s letter had reinforced those thoughts.

 “Let me think on it? A little longer at least.” 

 “Take as long as you need. Anyone in Valentine would be lucky to be in your personal service.” 

 They sipped their tea in silence for a little while. Leo’s hand stayed; settled itself on Yoma's thigh. Rubbing up and down. Up and down. The tea tasted like nostalgia, like happy moments with his mama and papa, so it was easy to let the conversation slip away - but it was a conversation they’d have to have eventually.

 A lord needed retainers. No differently than a royal. A royal may have more retainers, may have anywhere from two up to two hundred if they so desired, despite that being was excessive. A lord typically had at least one. One to entrust anything and everything to. One meant to attend to them always, and see their every order fulfilled to the best of their abilities. 

 Now that Niles had returned, Leo had him. And unless or until Odin said otherwise, his liege also still had that ball of drama in his service as well. 

 For his husband, however, both Saizo and Kagero had returned to Igasato following the end of the war. They had left his service. For he was no longer the Crown Prince of Hoshido, abdicated as he had. And he no longer lived in Hoshido either, of which Igasato was a vassal land of. It was understandable, and they’d seen the ninjas off fondly. Saizo and Orochi had wanted to stay in Igasato as he understood it. To raise their son. 

 But really, the whole of the Hoshidan royal family sought retainers with peace returning.

 Hinoka’s retainers, if he remembered correctly, had both been severely wounded during the ambush near Bree. Maybe wounded badly enough to warrant retirement, if she was seeking out somebody new.

 Takumi had cut Oboro from his service after Ravenswood, so of course he sought another.

 Sakura had lost Hana during that same ambush near Bree, and as the newly named Crown Princess, heir to Hoshido’s Sunburst Throne? She’d need a new retainer sooner rather than later. Somebody trustworthy. Somebody experienced. 

 Azura had no set retainers, as he understood it, but maybe she sought to change that? 

 While Corrin…well, he’d thought Kaze, Silas, and Jakob all acted as her retainers in some form, but Kaze had returned to Igasato as well. To raise his daughter. Silas had become disillusioned by his lady during and after what happened to his hometown, Ravenswood, and though Jakob was likely to stay beside her? He really was trained more as a butler than a full time retainer.

 What a mess logistics were. But such was the bane of having responsibilities.

 “If…you have any specifications?” Leo probed gently, after the silence had smoothed out moreso, “Anything you would be looking for in your would-be retainers, do let me know. It could help you narrow down the options from all of the guards to just a few.” 

 There was his beloved’s beloved smile, and Yoma rested his hand over Leo’s on his thigh.

 “I will do that, I think,” he squeezed the boy’s hand sweetly, but all of him was just…bittersweet. Which was understandable. Retainers…became like family when they’d served for years. Became a piece of their liege or lady. Leo knew that well, with Niles back at his side, “I definitely would need more experienced ones, I believe. And ones who know Valentine well. Preferably companionable ones. Ones who do not mind me being not from here.” 

 The Vincini boy frowned a bit at that.

 “Has anyone been giving you trouble, Ryoma?” The idea that some of his guards might have been, Brynhildr forbid, scorning or insulting his husband behind his back for any reason suddenly made this very, very dark feeling sprout in his chest and his magic buzzed - but his dearest was shaking his head quickly. Laughing it off.

 “No, no. I just meant people who would be patient with me as I learn more of Valentine and the west. Our halidom is far newer to me than it is to you, my love.” 

 “Oh. Yes, that can be arranged,” the dark sprout withered, died, and was buried thankfully. Due to how much trust he placed in Valentine as a whole, Leo had never even considered his husband might not be received well - the guards seemed to like him, they even trained with him some days in the training hall, and the servants seemed to find how willing he was to take on work admirable. Papa had likewise grown to like him much more in recent months, and the people seemed to be fond of their new Lord-husband as well…

 Well, so long as Ryoma said all was okay.

 “At ease,” a kiss to the tip of his nose, and Leo giggled down at his teacup as he felt their sons begin to purr at the sound of their papa’s voice so close, the vibrations ticklish against his ribs, “Your people treat me well, Leo, my dove. Our people.” 

 “Yes. Our.” 

 He sipped his tea, his plans for the Winter Solstice forgotten as his darling took the paper and quill and book - flat writing surface - from him to place elsewhere. 

 Curving along his side, an arm resting across Leo’s stomach, his face pressed into the blonde’s blonde hair as they both leaned back into the many pillows of the man he loved, Leo smiled. Leo closed his eyes. Leo tipped his face into the hollow of his husband’s bare throat.

 Leo dozed off, to his sons’ happy purrs and the presence of his mate wound protectively around their family.

 It seemed Ryoma Vincini would have his way after all.

 Leo Vincini would rest.

Chapter Text

 Ryoma was training with the guards of Valentine in the training hall of Vincini Manor, and Leo was really, very, hopelessly - biased. Very much so. He loved his guards! He loved the seniors who had known him for years and the in-training teenagers who’d grown up hearing stories about him, and he wished them well, of course, all in the spirit of good sportsmanship.

…

 But Ryoma was wearing a thin, loose cottony top with no sleeves that he kept using to wipe the sweat from his forehead as he grinned broadly and worked his way through the ranks of the Vincini family’s best.

 Brynhildr above, or below, in the earth, whatever - how was he meant to not cheer for his husband? 

It had begun as banter; Leo wanted to stretch his legs while Ryoma wanted his little husband recovering from winter sickness to not leave their bedroom, so they compromised.

Ryoma also needed to stretch out a little.

Ergo, the pair of husbands ended up in the training hall. Where the snowy-sunshine was glittering as it shone through the tall windows, where several guards had already been running through basic exercises, where they’d been greeted warmly. Not only by the warm wooden tones and the complimentary tiling, but by many, many guards who wanted to challenge his husband. Their Lord-husband.

 This sort of thing had already happened several times, by Leo’s understanding, but he’d never actually been present for Ryoma’s training sessions with his guards.

 So he sat himself down on one of the benches along the wall, Shiro and Jewel each in one of his arms, snuggled close, somewhere between snoozing and gaping around curiously at all of the movement and action of the hall; poor things didn’t want to leave Leo’s side now.

 But as it was, Leo sat, Leo rested so his beloved wasn’t worrying unduly, and Leo watched.

 And oh, he enjoyed watching.

 There was a window cracked open so the wintry breeze kept the training hall cool, otherwise it would surely be too hot. That didn’t stop the men from sweating though. Vests and tunics were shed in favor of undershirts or simply going shirtless, arching, stretching, the banter of them all just adding to the warm atmosphere.

 Emerald eyes stayed on Ryoma Vincini, however.

 On his grace. His poise. The way he gripped Raijinto’s hilt and all of his calluses fell flawlessly into the blade that had made them. 

 His grin grew as he moved from some brief meditation to stretches, to straightening up and turning expectedly towards the guardsmen of Valentine. Who lined up to challenge him in good spirits. 

 It was fun to watch his darling send each of them flying one after another.

 No disrespect to the guards of his family - none whatsoever. Their guards were all but a private militia serving them as a lording family. They were well-trained, well-disciplined, they knew how to take hits that would knock out soldiers and stand back up without hesitation. They were definitely more equipped, and more specially trained than most forces that could dwarf them by sheer number. If it was one of his guards up against most opponents they might face? 

 Leo would put his gold on his guards.

 But not when they faced his husband, the wielder of Raijinto, General of Hoshido’s armies, bringer of lightning - no. Not ever.

 They were good, they were great, but they weren’t on his level.

 Sir Faronis realized that when he swung at Ryoma, and ended up getting the flat of Raijinto to his gut and flung aside. Sliding several feet across the tiles until he slowly came to stop at Leo’s feet. Blinking up at his liege with a toothy, if pained, grin and a, “Well, hiya, Lord Leo. Sorry to slide by.” 

 Then he was up and tossing himself back into the fray to actually join Sirs Joey and Caelum at the same time.

 Ryoma had to put a little additional effort in getting all three of them, but he managed it, and he managed it well. 

 The differences between Valentinian and Hoshidan swordsmanship was on full display, and while it lent to a few openings those of the same swordsmanship wouldn’t get? Things remained pretty evenly matched. Valentinian swordsmanship stayed fluid, soft, lots of flexibility and dexterity involved. Actually, it was really very similar to the sort of swordsmanship Laslow had taught Leo.

 While Hoshidan swordsmanship most often was specially tied to katanas; longer, thinner blades  less suited to quick jabs and cuts and meant to sweep down upon your opponents.

 Ryoma knew how to move, even on the tiles. His sandals slid smoothly back and forth with every swing, his center of balance rarely shifting, Raijinto slamming into guts broadside or swinging down the blunt edge onto shoulders or into torsos. There would be a lot of bruises on their guards come the morrow.

 But it was certainly an attractive afternoon.

 “Look!” Leo whispered to his sons, scratching behind Jewels’ ear and laughing when his youngest purred, “Look! There’s your papa! There’s Papa! Your papa is really, really strong! And you’re going to be really strong too one day. Both of you. Can you cheer for your papa, sweethearts?” 

 Shiro began to do human-howls immediately, squirming in Leo’s arm and shaking his small fists in Ryoma’s direction.

 Jewels started actually howling, a little, a bit more shyly, with his brother’s encouragement.

 When their mama raised his head to watch some more, he blinked at the sight of Ryoma’s tawny eyes caught by him. Glimmering in the sunshine of the hall. Panting, staring, grinning this grin that made Leo want to laugh because that was the feeling in the air between them as they stared at one another for a moment - 

 And then a rather bold guard took the chance to slam the broadside of his sword into Ryoma’s hip, sending him stumbling, sending him down to one knee with a bark of laughter as all the guards of Valentine - onlookers and participants - broke into wild cheers, lifting the victor onto their shoulders to parade around as their lord kept laughing. Their lords.

 “By the dragons, I love you, Leo,” was what the blonde boy got when Yoma had collected Raijinto and headed towards him.

 “I love you too.” 

 Ryoma took Shiro, who seemed really excited to congratulate his papa, and Leo kept Jewels, and together they played with their sons for a moment as it felt like the whole world was cheering for them. For their happiness. 

 “Take a bath with me after this,” Leo said slyly after, flustering his husband who still had more than an hour of training ahead of him, and he smirked at his mate in a moment where it was just them alone in that cheering world. Just them. Just them, and nobody else, for that one minute of holding one another’s eyes.

 When it was over, they had something to look forward to.

 A nice, steaming bath shared in the middle of winter that involved many kisses and many more roaming touches.

 But until then, they had this peace, that they’d fought so hard for.

Chapter Text

 In the light of a lone, flickering candlestick, there was a letter that Leo read. He stood by a window in their study, frost on the glass and snowy-white moonlight outside on the snow…and the letter crinkled a bit. He smoothed out the crinkles with his thumb. He read it again, slowly, then reread it after pushing off of the windowsill and walking back towards his desk.

 It wasn’t that the letter bore bad news.

 It wasn’t even that the letter’s contents were frustrating.

 It was confusing, for lack of a better term at the moment. 

 Receiving any of Xander’s letters always was. Granted, there had not been many. No. There had been very, very few. Between the busyness of becoming Nohr’s King, trying to organize the kingdom enough to survive winter, trying to weed out traitors and the corrupt and settle his family as vassals of Hoshido now - Xander Windsor had scarcely had time to simply write letters for personal matters. Let alone to people as contentious as the new Lord-heir of the Green Halidom.

 Regardless of them being half-brothers.

 Letters from King Xander simply weren’t personal; hadn’t been for months. And Leo was fine with that. He could handle that. He was more used to that. This letter strayed. 

 This letter asked him how he was. This letter asked how Ryoma was without naming the former-Crown Prince of Hoshido. This letter was a soft sort of congratulations for the birth of his sons, despite them being months old now. This letter complimented him on the swift growth of the halidom, apologizing for not writing sooner, telling him things he’d never asked about.

 Camilla was seeking help, mentally, from the Dusk Dragon’s main church following the war.

 Elise was crying less these days, seemingly learning to accept that her family would be different from here on out. Though Xander wrote of how this youngest princess spoke of wanting to return to the eastern coast and the Nohrian palace there. Wanting to escape.

 Xander wrote that his people were starting to well and truly starve. That the plague was being burned away from the bigger cities and towns, but small homesteads were dying out along the roads and out in the woods of Nohr. Xander asked Leo if they were suffering similarly? If they faced the same problems? 

 Xander wrote that the throne of Nohr was removed to make room for one not so…historied.

 He wrote that he well and truly had lost all use of his left hand. The scrawling, messy handwriting of the letter had told Leo that long before he reached that point. His elder brother never would’ve written something so messy unless he had no other option. There was no mention of how he struggled to wield Siegfried now, but it had to be so.

 The letter was on ornate paper, written by a doubtlessly luxury quill and just as luxury of ink, but it was messy.

 And it made a mess of Leo’s heart too.

 He sat to outline a reply…and sat there…and sat there. Listening to the crackle of the fireplace, and the faint murmurs of Ryoma talking softly to their sons as he read them their baby storybooks. It was a sight for sore eyes; that, when Leo glanced over to savor it. 

 Lounging in front of the fireplace on the rugs there, Ryoma had a storybook propped up and the boys were tucked under his chin, both listening with wide-eyes and he read the stories in those pages aloud. Making sound effects and talking animatedly. Pressing kisses to the twins’ heads, tickling them, laughing when they did. But keeping quiet for the sake of Leo who was thinking.

 It was a dream come true.

 It was a heaven Leo wanted to stay in forever.

 So he picked up a quill, and he dipped the tip into his inkwell, and he began to tell Xander about precisely that. They weren’t…okay. They may never be okay. Xander was his older brother, sharing just the one parent or not. And he’d made mistakes he could never take back. Done things he could never apologize enough for. Hurt Leo in ways maybe not physical, but still - it had hurt, and that wasn’t okay.

 But this, this one letter that would travel the winter roads between them, this was enough of a baby step forward that Leo was willing to take it.

 ‘Dear Xander,’ he started, ‘It is good to hear from you, and I’d ask you do not worry. I am well. Better, even. I…’

 It was a letter he folded up, placed in an envelope, and stamped with his family’s seal with pride. Maybe it was also a bit bittersweet, and maybe there was a part of the former-second prince’s heart that worried about Nohr. About how it would withstand a winter like this. But it wasn’t his place, not anymore, so he’d simply send his prayers.

 Unaware of just how precious his prayers were, when he was in the land of Brynhildr.

 When he was so close to her roots.

 His prayers would plant a seed, and he wouldn’t even know it. But Xander would. Oh, Xander would. Before that letter stamped with the Vincini seal ever even reached Windmire’s gates, the King of Nohr would know. Because come the morning after that snowy night when Leo answered that letter? 

 Xander found the royal gardens of Castle Krakenberg to be in full bloom, in the dead of winter. 

 The soil rich like it had not been in decades.

 And he plucked a single rose from one thorny bush. He placed that single rose in a vase beside his bed, so he would not forget that there were those in this world who were not his enemy. Those in this world that didn’t want him dead. So he might have a bit of strength, just a bit more, each day he dragged himself out of bed to try and grapple a kingdom away from the brink of ruin.

Leo Vincini sent the letter the next morning.

But his message had already been received, by the time he was waking up in the arms of his husband.

Chapter Text

 More letters.

 It was really very fortunate that Valentine had had its own mail company that managed the western lands before they split off as a halidom. Without that? Communication would’ve been severely limited in the weeks, months, perhaps even the year following the war’s end. Establishing companies took time, after all. Especially land-wide companies that would need to be trusted with something as important as managing the mail of an entire region.

 Winter or not, Valentine’s mail company had been very, very busy.

 And had made many visits to Vincini Manor in those final months of fall and these recent winter months.

 There was much communication to be done. Between the creation of the Green Halidom, the process of Nohr becoming a vassal-kingdom, Nestra’s repayment, and Hoshido’s actions since the war’s end? Messengers were riding in and out of Valentine daily. Messenger birds were always on the winds too, for those more urgent messages in need of delivery. 

 Leo himself received letters frequently, not just for business, from those like Xander. Camilla had tried to send him a letter and he’d…well, panicked a bit and perhaps his magic had torn the thing to shreds. Elise’s lone letter he’d guilty shoved in the back of a desk drawer and had received no others since. Then there were the few ‘allies’ he’d had in Nohr who he’d either cut off or politely responded to.

 There were similar letters from Hoshido.

 Letters from the newly appointed advisors he’d helped Advisor Yukimura choose after suggesting the former royal council retire. Letters from Second Kazuha and some of the generals he’d spent time with during the war. Some of the soldiers too. Obviously he’d gotten a few letters from Hinoka, asking after his sons mostly and telling him the harsh reality of how Hoshido’s people were responding post-war.

 Takumi had sent him more letters than any of his siblings, more than once to ask his advice on how to handle Odin being Odin at times, and how to be the younger brother at others. Also to gently tease him about any number of rumors he’d heard that he felt were light-hearted enough to pass along.

 Sakura wrote to him the most just after her brother; talking about her duties as the new Crown Princess, Heir to Hoshido. Giving him suggestions for how to handle any hormone imbalances or health concerns he might have after giving birth. Polite, sweet, short. A lot like the princess herself, her letters were.

 Azura had sent him a single letter, alluding to something about the day King Garon had lost his head, asking if ‘he was real?’.

 Ryoma took that letter rather quickly when Leo wondered aloud what his first sister meant.

 Curious. So curious. But…Vincini, though he was, Leo had his sons to consider so he chose to trust his husband when he pleaded with him to let this one odd occurrence go. He did so. For the man he loved, he did so. For his sons. And the first of all his sisters never wrote to him again in the months since.

 Corrin never wrote him a single letter either.

 Otherwise? Leo had gotten letters from a number of the towns and villages and forts they’d all spent time at during the war. Thank yous and questions and requests for aid that he answered whenever he could.

 Aunt Reina sent him many, many letters, now watching over Princess Sakura in Hoshido and helping lead the Dawn Kingdom into mayhaps more open-minded times? Her letters were full of the memory of his aunt holding him as they flew on her kinshi across endless fields, the whole world at their fingertips; soft retellings of their days together and her favorite parts of her day now, at Castle Shirasagi. 

 His grandfather, Thorin Fortuna, likewise sent him as many letters as he could. Not as many as Auntie Rei. Nestra was quite literally across the mountains, after all, and he had a kingdom to run too. But Grandfather promised a springtime visit, since his daughter was already all but ready to run Nestra herself as its Queen and it was only his refusal to retire that meant he couldn’t return to Valentine posthaste.

 Kaden and Barrow sent him updates from the Hamlet, inviting him and his mate back whensoever he wishes to visit. Declaring him kin.

 And so declaring him to have a home with the kitsune, always. With his protectors.

 The wolfskin, despite being just up the mountain, also sent him letters about pack business. Usually that meant it was just an overview of all the drama happening between pack members, sent to him by Nita, who had yet to really show her face around him much after…what had happened when they reunited. 

 She did speak, however, of her elder brother. Who was intended to take over as a pack leader, and how he - Keaton - was actually residing in Nohr now because he owed his life to a human there and wolfskins were not permitted to shake off life debts.

 Letters from Kaze, letters from Kagero, letters from Saizo and Orochi, letters from Hinata, letters from Silas who was traveling to try and find his place after Ravenswood was destroyed, letters from Charlotte and Benny who wanted to settle down in Nalina, letters from Anna who still wanted that business deal with his family, and more and more and more - 

 From all the hearts he’d touched with his during the war.

 There were more letters.

 And Leo accepted them all, because for so many years he’d been terrified to receive such things, and now he marveled at how he looked forward to just about every single one.

 Time would only tell if that change stayed with him, but it was one he hoped would.

 Being able to open a letter that wasn’t full of curses, or enchanted, or death threats, or blackmail - it was incredible.

 So yes, he hoped it would stay that way; all of his letters.

Chapter Text

 “My, haven’t you grown.” 

 Rose had never aged the way a normal horse might. In her thirties, forties, fifties, she was still in her prime and then was reborn, and as a filly again she grew. Far, far faster than a normal filly. Fine by Leo. The sooner she grew, the sooner they’d be riding together again. The sooner they’d be flying free across Valentine’s fields - again.

 As much as Leo loved the domestic life, he missed riding free.

 During the long nights. After a tiring day in the study. After picking through report, report, report. 

 That was when Leo Vincini missed riding free. 

 It was a winter day. The paths between the manor and its outbuildings were shoveled thanks to Head Guard Fern making that one of the guardsmen’s daily chores, and the Vincini heir had taken the chance to pay a visit to Rose. 

 Visits had been few and far between this winter, with the twins still learning to be separated from Leo and Ryoma for long periods of time. Most of his time spent with his precious filly was due to her visiting him, but otherwise he gave very, very specific orders to make sure she was given the height of luxury in the manor’s stables. As if he’d allow anything less.

 Rose was too special, to both him and his mother, to not give his all for.

 Especially after…she’d died for him, and returned just to save him.

 Rose was now as tall as his ribcage, and her rider had the sneaking suspicion that she’d be grown enough to ride by spring. Summer at the latest. Meaning they’d be able to attend the summer festivities and rule the race tracks together! Leo had just barely been old enough to remember those when he was taken from Valentine, and now he looked forward to being able to compete himself.

 But only if it was Rose he was riding.

 No other horse compared.

 Not even Ryoma’s Ghost, as much as he loved the white stallion who had a stall next to his mare. Filly. Almost-mare. 

 The Vincini Manor’s stables were warm. Well insulated, despite the horses of Valentine being heartier anyways, compared to other lands’ breeds. Bigger, broader, thicker in every way. Rose stood out far less in Valentine than she did during the war’s travels. The horses here were easily all taller than Ghost, with visible muscles and thick coats. He stood out like a foal amongst them. It was almost adorable.

 Lanterns swung from the rafters, hay was swept to the sides, and horses snorted and whinnied in their stalls as the lordling of Vincini Manor stepped out of the snow and into the warmth of the stables.

 The stableboys, girls, and a handful of guards even were in the stables too, that wintry day, but they all left their liege alone.

 His time with Rose was special, and everyone in his service knew that.

 She snorted, tail whipping despite how short it was in her ‘youth’, and his partner turned her soft, super soft, uber soft, pink nose up at him. Making her displeasure known over how little they’d seen of each other of late. She may have come to see him when he was sick, but she still maintained her sass about the otherwise lack of visits.

 A juicy, red-as-could-be-in-winter apple smoothed over some of her frustration.

 A few pats smoothed over more of it.

 Leo summoning her favorite grooming brush and comb from his magical storage smoothed out the rest, and Rose whinnied cheerily, instantly turning her flank to him, Nodding at her coat. Illustrious and as shiny as a polished bit of ebony, but clearly not up to her standards. The blonde boy laughed, then did as she demanded.

 Grooming her to utter perfection. There was not one hair of Rose out of place by the time he was finished with her.

 “Missed that, haven’t you girl?” 

 The lanterns swaying from the rafters, paired with the squeak of wheelbarrows going up and down the stables, and the bustle of the rest of the horses and their caretakers was nice. It was a reminder. Not just of Valentine, of his youth, for once. But of his best moments in Windmire - of which there’d been very few. But, well, most of them had taken place in the stables, with Rose.

 Like now. Like they always were. Together.

 A mare and her rider.

 “I can’t wait to teach the twins to ride you,” he chattered at her while she was groomed, earning snorts or huffs mostly as responses, but for this he earned an approving nod of her head, “I’m sure Ryoma will have a heart attack - oh Brynhildr - but they will be learning with you and I. Just like my mother did. I know you’ll be gentle with them, Rose. You always are with us.”

 With the Vincinis.

 Thus far, Rose’s interactions with his sons came down to her few visits to his den and her sticking her pink, pink nose into their bassinet to snort at them curiously. Shiro had yanked on her nostril one of those times, but she’d been so, so gentle with him. Letting him be curious about her in turn. It had been wonderful; a dream coming true before Leo’s eyes.

 Like his mother, like him, his sons would have Rose in their lives.

 “I just need to find some way to convince Ryoma…”

 There was a human snort, in response to his aloud pondering, and Leo flushed as he remembered there were others in the stables. As he noticed there were several guards leaning against the stall door and walls, smiling softly at him. Old guards. Guards from his childhood. All looking…so unspeakably fond.

 Ignoring them, Leo went back to his soon-to-grow mare.

 While he had the time, he was going to enjoy it.

 This freedom tied to his Rose.

Chapter Text

 “Busy, milord?” 

 “Niles, I have a gala in less than two weeks to worry about. Do I seem busy?” 

 “Not in the slightest!” His returned-retainer purred, plopping himself down on the rug right next to Leo’s chair. Leaning a head of snowy hair back onto his thigh, and humming. Positively mischievous. Making Leo positively fond of his brother as he sighed and tangled his fingers in that snowy hair as if it were a feline disturbing his work. 

 Truly, he’d missed his brother those months that they’d been apart.

 “Oh, but the gala will be fun,” Niles chuckled, with all the false innocence of a brothel worker, “I haven’t been around so many drunk lords and ladies in ages! So many loose lips, and looser coin purses, and so many egos to bet with! I look forward to it, milord.” 

 Rolling his eyes, his liege, nonetheless, gave a warning Niles wasn’t likely to follow.

 “Niles, do not turn this gala into an underground betting game. Not again,” taking his quill, he tickled Niles nose with the feathery end until he sneezed, pouting up at the blonde in blatant disappointment, “It will be the first ball Ryoma and I attend as husbands, the first ball for the Green Halidom as a whole, and the first ball for our sons. Not to mention these lords and ladies, as you say, are ours. Not Nohr’s. Most of them will be more mild-mannered than what you expect.”

 Niles arched the brow of his only eye at that, and Leo coughed a bit under his breath.

 “At least…I hope they will be.” 

 In all honesty, he did not know all of the nobles of the halidom as well as he would like to. Which was why they were hosting a gala! Middle of the west’s winter or not, it would be a chance to get to know the lording houses of the towns and villages under his family’s flag. He may know Delgo well enough, Nalina he may trust in, but Wuthering had its obvious issues and there was talk of smaller villages and towns being founded with the halidom’s coming spring.

 More work, more work, Leo carded his fingers through Niles’ white hair as he began scribbling even more of a list down to remember what needed doing.

 Again, he was glad to have his brother back with him.

 Ryoma poked his head into their study somewhere around…lunch, maybe?

 “Have you eaten?” Of course his mate asked, worried, as ever. Making sure Leo ate a healthy amount each day had become routine for him. As routine as him practicing his swordsmanship five times a week, or practicing dancing with Leo five times a week, or meditating before and after big bouts of paperwork, paperwork, more paperwork - 

 “I’ll have the kitchens bring me something,” he, of course, promised. Waving off his husband’s worrying. Had he eaten? Yes. Breakfast with that husband of his. A really, really yummy apple and cinnamon pastry with sausages and freshly pressed orange juice because they were very spoiled. See? He’d eaten. It was fine.

 Now, to sort out the matter of the frankly ridiculous amount of guards the Wuthering families wanted to bring to the gala…

…

 “Here, my dear. Put aside your work for a moment.” 

 Emerald eyes flicked down at the plate sliding between him and the fifth catering outline he’d been preparing for the Winter Gala. He blinked. He blinked again. Cucumber sandwiches? 

 He blinked up at his husband, who had a look of exasperation to him that was so cute Leo wanted to kiss him. 

 He set down his quill to do exactly that.

 “Why the sandwiches?” He asked, feeling it was a very good question; why would one replace his work with cucumber sandwiches? Probably yummy sandwiches, but the question stood! Pressing a peck to his Yoma’s cheek, another to one of his bigger freckles, then another to the corner of his eye just because he could, he paused.

 His stomach growled, and he stared down at it. Remembering it existed, and it hungered.

 “I knew you’d forget to send for food from the kitchens,” Ryoma stated simply, fondly, and ruffled Leo’s golden hair a little as he leaned in to return the kiss to his cheek, “Eat. The boys have been keeping themselves busy in the nursery. Niles is good with them, if…terrified of actually handling them. For once they’ve hardly noticed it’s been hours since you held them last.” 

 “Oh - I’ll have to nurse once I’m finished eating,” the emerald-eyed boy hummed, reaching for his sandwiches and shifting already at the thought of nursing. Used to the tenderness of his chest by now. It’d been months of breastfeeding. Months of many, many nursings. But the bigger they got, with Shiro starting to have his first teeth come in and Jewels’ kit-fangs getting sharper and sharper, it was becoming…a bit more of an ordeal.

 He forgot his ideas for catering, for the moment.

 In favor of a late lunch with his darling, sat in the window of their study, wound around each other and eating sandwiches. His shoulders safe against Ryoma’s chest, his spine, his heart shielded by Ryoma wrapped his arms around him and burying his nose in the nook of his neck.

 Nosing at his matemark.

 The bond between them flared up, soft, warm, like a hot spring with petals floating on the surface of the steaming waters.

 It was something that kept them heated, even in the midst of winter. 

 This winter had been a collection of days. Day after day, in domestic bliss. Busyness and learning the ropes as lords, of Valentine and of the Green Halidom. Slow and sluggish; the snows made his magic. Made Brynhildr’s Wielder at time. They were as if stuck in time, nonlinear time, moment after moment, growing. They were a frozen seed waiting for their spring, and they didn’t mind the wait. 

 They adored it; every moment…after moment, after moment, after moment.

 Like this.

 Maybe not every one would shape their lives as a whole, but it would shape their day, and that was enough to keep them in the here and the now.

 Even if the here and now was just sandwiches and snuggles on the windowsill, as they watched the snow fall across Valentine’s valleys together.

 Lifting a leg leisurely, water droplets dripped off of it. Falling back down to the steaming surface of the bathtub, and Leo sighed. Letting his head fall back against the rim of said bathtub. A towel had been folded up and laid there, to make it more comfortable, and by Brynhildr was he comfortable. Being able to bathe whenever he wanted was one of the best outcomes of the war ending, truly. He would take it over so many surrenders.

 More droplets cascaded down, and he listened to the tink tink tink of water remeeting water.

 His magic relit the candles burning around the bathtub, and he purred. Pleased. 

 There were white petals floating on the water’s surface. Daisy petals. 

 There was a bathroom in Vincini Manor, and maybe eventually Leo would take his baths there, but for now it was simply more convenient to have a tub brought to his den and take his baths in the comfort of his private space. 

 In the space where he could still watch his sons as he bathed. 

 Shifting, the blonde boy peeked over the lip of the bathtub, giggling when he found both Shiro and Jewels there. Lying on their backs on a towel that was spread out for both of the boys to play on. He’d bathed them first, then taken the time to enjoy himself. So both of them were just two naked babes staring up at him, who babbled and yipped excitedly when he appeared over the rim of the bathtub that had hidden him from their sight.

 Their eyes, so big, so wide, so sweet.

 So loving, lighting up like fireflies when they saw him again.

 His children.
 
 His babies.

 “Hi, Shiro. Hi, Jewels.” Both of the sweet things made really, really happy noises when he simply said their name, grabbing at the air, laughing, so innocent. He loved them. He loved them so much. He folded his arms along the rim and rested his chin in them, smiling down at his sons. Making funny faces and calling their names in a sing-songy voice just for how they loved it.

 “Would you like me to dress them for dinner?” Lifting his eyes, from sons to husband, Ryoma was already dressed and was tying his mane back into a lustrous bun to keep out of his face as he walked over, beaming. Always beaming. What a wonder. What a fantasy they lived in; that they could be happy so often that it became their normal. Their always.

 What a wonder.

 “Your father has invited us down for a proper dinner in the dining room. I believe he finished the documents needed to provide lodging for the lording families and wants a break outside of that study of his, so - “ 

 Oh, how Ryoma Vincini beamed at his husband when he shifted upwards with intent.

 Oh, how sweet was his kiss when he swept down to gift Leo one.

 “Dress them. I’ll ready myself when the water cools.” 

 “As you wish, my lovely Leo.” 

 Dinner was enjoyable. Dinner was a feast, with stomachs full of laughter as well as food. Dinner was hearts hurting from how they swelled up with love and happiness, and cheeks sore from their smiles, and dinner was him and Papa standing to sweep into an impromptu dance because one of their guards had brought out his lute, and dinner was Ryoma gushing about their grace to their sons as they watched.

 Dinner was Alistair Vincini plucking up both of his grandsons, to sway with them to the sound of the music.

 Dinner was Ryoma up and following suit, offering a hand to Leo, blushing even though they were husbands, and adding this to their weekly dance practice.

 Dinner was the Vincini family filling the manor’s halls with laughter once again.

 Dinner was the servants watching around corners with tears in their eyes from sheer happiness, and guards clapping along to the lute’s song, and somebody else pulling out a pocket karimba and Niles pulling out his flute to the cheers of the other men. 

 Other men who joined in, offering their hands to their brothers-in-arms and the servants hiding around the corners.

 And the Vincini family dining room became a lot like a lively tavern that evening. 

 And they loved it.

 Bedtime was all too soon and all too late. Too soon with hearts still pounding from the party dinner had all but turned into. Too late with the young parents yawning as they had to settle their twin sons before they’d ever get to sleep. Too soon with Leo still wanting more of his husband, so selfishly wanting more than just them embracing in a dark hallway after the sun had fallen and they’d slipped away for just a moment. Too late - 

 With the moonlight reflecting off of the snow layering the ground outside, and both of them worn out, and both of them falling into bed in just their underclothes because they hadn’t the energy to dig out proper sleepwear from the wardrobe.

 Too soon, too late.

 Too in love to care.

 “Goodnight, my tomato,” Ryoma whispered just as Leo was about to doze off.

 And he suddenly cracked open an eye.

 Huffing. So annoyed so suddenly.

 “Now I want a tomato, Yoma!” 

 Bedtime came after Ryoma crawled out of their nest choking on hearty, hearty laughter that shook his shoulders, off to fetch his little love a tomato despite the late hour, for Leo wouldn’t be able to sleep until he shook the craving off. Even if it was midnight. Tomato cravings at midnight was just another part of being married to Leo Vincini.

 And Ryoma wouldn’t have it any other way.

 “Now goodnight, my love.” 

 “Goodnight, Yoma. I love you.” 

Chapter Text

 A snowstorm without, fires within, Vincini Manor was warm and wrapped in safety on a snowy day. As ever. And Alistair Vincini was standing behind his would-be, should-be son in said son’s study, peering over his shoulder and smiling as he checked in on him.

 “How goes it, my boy?”

 “Startlingly smoothly,” his boy muttered, rather flatly, staring down at the pile of papers he’d accumulated almost with suspicion. As if expecting the pile to turn into a paperwork monster and lay waste their weeks-worth of planning for the Winter Gala. Valentine’s first and pray only Winter Gala. A similar social engagement for the summer months may be considered later, but no more winter celebrations that involve traveling to Valentine.

 On Valentine’s snowy roads.

 During snowstorms.

 All parties involved were in agreement to that, at least.

 Summer months were far, far easier for organizing celebrations and the like! Far more welcoming of months as well. Would they not rather travel on days when the sun is bright and golden and shining? Would they not rather be able to walk where they wish, without ice forming on the hems of their clothes? Without their noses turning red and dripping from the frigid cold? Without their fingers being threatened by frostbite? 

 The Vincinis were of the opinion that nobody had really thought out how Valentine was snowed in during the winter - let alone the HEIGHT of winter - and were now pretending that they had thought out that and merely waved off the worry for the sake of their pride.

 So long as nobody died or lost any bits of themselves to frostbite, it would be amusing.

 Yes, well, regardless. There was about a week’s time between them and the Winter Gala now, and they were, in a way, excited!

 Excited to see their hard work pay off.

 “By now, in Windmire, somebody would’ve been brazenly assassinated during the planning,” his boy went on flatly, tone clear on what he thought of that, “Over cake flavor or the invite list. Something silly. Something inane. And somebody would’ve ended up dead, and the spirits dampened but the party would’ve went ahead anyways.” 

 Yes, Alistair had always hated Nohr’s blaise attitude about death. 

Even his beloved Clova had been somewhat desensitized to the dead and dying throughout her years in Windmire with her elder sister’s family.

 Still, for his boy - 

 “If it is a murder mystery you want for, dear boy - “ Alistair began with a big puff of inspiration, spring-blue eyes sparkling…but no. Leo shook his head without hesitation, tapping at the desk to bring his father back to the present’s present.

 One knew how Nestrans get about mysteries.

 One may not know why. Maybe it had something to do with their innate love for the dramatics of it. For the performance, the mystique and the romance of such a notion. The thrill of the chase, of every clue, of parsing out the culprit from the innocents - 

 “Please Papa, save that for another month. A slow month. A very, very slow month,” his and Clova’s son carefully collected his papers; a collection of all their plans needed in the next week. Work had already begun to ready the ballroom and kitchens, and they expected guests to begin arriving by mid-week or so. Some may choose a fashionably late arrival, some may choose an earlier one out of preparedness - 

 They were ready for either, expecting both, and rather done with their planning for the Winter Gala.

 It had proven useful to learn that Sumeragi’s son wasn’t one for party planning, but he’d proven equally invaluable keeping the guards busy these last weeks. As well as equally invaluable as a father. Tending to the twins often, more often than many unfortunate fathers might. He even seemed to enjoy it, so very much, and that certainly made Alistair far more favorable of his son’s husband.

 Not that he wasn’t in favor of the man his son had wed, of Sumeragi’s son, it was just…complicated.

 After the war, after that blade, after his lightning, after nearly losing his boy - 

 After the battle of Valentine, it was complicated.

 “No mysteries until we have a slow month,” the silky-haired man swore, offering a pinky and a small smile to his son. Who glanced at it, giggled a bit, but sure enough locked their pinkies together. Perfect. He knew their boy loved a good mystery, when nobody was actually in danger. Why, when Leo was younger? He’d plan out miniature mysteries and puzzles for him to track around Valentine. So curious. So genius. Always so eager for the next adventure his papa planned for him even if Alistair was just ‘Head Guard Alistair’ then.

 It had been years since he planned a good mystery! What fortune. He was going to need a goose, and lots of feathers, and -

 “Papa, a slow month!” Leo chided him, helping him catch himself, and he chuckled as he was caught mid-plotting.

 “Right, right. A slow month,” a nice treat for the family, when the weather warmed perhaps? “Still, what I came to ask was if you’d be interested in joining your husband and myself for a nice lunch with Sirs Fern and Alexander?” 

 “Lunch sounds lovely, Papa. Thank you.” 

 That collection of papers hadn’t turned into a paperwork monster, and were neatly put away in Leo’s well organized desk before his boy stood. 

 And when he stood, Alistair offered him his arm because he was a gentleman. 

 Clova’s son took that arm, giggling. So much like his mother, and so much of the stress draining out of him as he leaned into his father, trusted his father, and the Nestran man would never take that for granted.

 He escorted his son not by blood but by love to lunch.

 And it was, indeed, lovely.

Chapter Text

 The hoot of a snowy owl was loud on a winter night, and somewhere out there? Over the moonlit snows? The shadow of that owl was dancing as it flew on its utterly silent wings. Whatever prey it had locked in sight would not survive to see sunrise…but Leo may. Stay awake to see sunrise, that is. Because Shiro was being fussy.

 These sorts of nights happened.

 But it was still exhausting every single time.

 Shiro refused to be put down for bed. He refused to nurse. He refused to be coaxed into laying down and closing those tawny eyes he’d gotten from his father, for even a moment long enough to get the fussy kit to sleep. Brynhildr grant him patience - but no, Bryn simply laughed at his exasperation. A laugh like a spring breeze through leaves. So much like his mother. He shook his head, thanking her anyways, then went back to hopelessly pacing and rocking his son who seemed to think being fussy was funny.

 Giggling, being so adorable and such a menace all at once. Honestly.

 “I love you,” Leo grumbled down at the giggling bundle of all his father’s teddy bear energy, then leaned down to aggressively rub their noses together. Bringing about more giggles, “You are as energetic as your father, aren’t you? Silly Shiro. Hmph.” 

 “I’m a morning person, my love,” Ryoma said, tone so tired, from where he was lounging in their nest still. Jewels sound asleep for once, cradled against his chest.

 It seemed their twins had decided to switch temperaments for the night. 

 “Well, maybe he’s going to become a night owl,” Leo sighed, pausing in his pacing. His nightgown billowing around his legs as he came to his stop. Rocking Shiro. Smiling, despite his exasperation, because his baby boy was giving him this big, toothless grin and he loved him so much.

 “Dawn Dragon, I pray not,” the mock horror in his husband’s tenor made Leo laugh, and then sigh. And then stare into the dancing flames of their den’s fireplace.

 The emberish glow illuminated them both.

 Illuminated all of the love shining in little Shiro’s big, big eyes.

 Eyes that had never known horror. Eyes that had never seen the cruelty of this world. Eyes he got from his sweet, sweet papa. Big, brown, and as beautiful as a doe of the forest’s would be. Dear Brynhildr above, he wanted his son to be able to keep those eyes even as he grew up. 

 “You definitely have his energy,” he whispered to his eldest son, and Shiro did a big wiggle that he seemed really proud of doing as he clapped, then stuck his stubby fist into his mouth to drool on. Giggling somehow around the thing. Silly child. His child. Leo pulled his fist out of his mouth and shook his head.

 “No, Shiro. You can’t eat your own hand. Wouldn’t you rather have some of my milk? Would that settle you down for bed?” 

 More babbling and big wiggles that he seemed very proud of.

 “No? Why not? You know, usually it’s your little brother doing this. And if the music box isn’t working, if you won’t accept nursing, if you won’t settle for anything, then what am I to do?” 

 More, bigger wiggles. Definitely a proud boy. His precious baby boy.

 “You do know that you’re going to be tired and grumpy tomorrow if you don’t go to sleep, don’t you, Shiro? This is just going to make things harder on yourself, my son.” 

 A final, very, very big wiggle that made Leo roll his eyes and then gasp, dramatically.

 Odin would be proud.

 He feigned dropping his fussy, fussy son, with a big WHOOP and a gasp and then a hearty laugh like only people of Valentine can laugh. Like Shiro then laughed. Bounce-bounce-bounce went the brunette baby, and the young mother shot his mate a look of surrender.

 “Go. Save yourself. It’s too late for me, Yoma.” 

 To which Ryoma laughed himself, softly, so as not to wake Jewels who was busy drooling all over his papa’s sleeping yukata. As if it were a pacifier. Well, whatever worked? Neither of the young parents wanted to deal with two fussy sons. Not with the guests for the Winter Gala due to begin arriving by the next day and on. They were going to be so tired, ugh.

 But it was part of parenthood.

 “Perhaps a lullaby, my dove?” His dearly beloved suggested, still so softly, inclining his head towards Jewels. Still drooling on his sleeping yukata. Whom lullabies worked wonders on, but could the same be said about his elder twin? 

 “A lullaby…” Emerald irises stared down at the culprit of their late night, still as giggly and wiggly and bubbly as before, squirming in Leo’s arms like he wanted to plummet to the rug below his mama’s cold toes. Silly thing, “What lullaby would make our little warrior sleep, hm?” 

 A lullaby less about peace, and more about promise?

 A lullaby for their little warrior.

“Find your way on winding roads, homeward through the fading light, shade is falling far below, the time has come to sleep now.” 

“See the starlight oh-so bright, see the sunlight oh-so warm, see the moonlight oh-so white, lightning strikes tonight.

When the sunlight leaves your face, rays of hope will take its place, the time has come to sleep now.

Cheek to cheek come close my love, and rest your eyes on skies above, the time has come to sleep now.” 

 Earth-sister, lightning-love, all the world is yours.

 Maybe the lullaby was altered somewhat by the Vincini boy. Maybe the lullaby Brynhildr whispered like that spring breeze in his ears wasn’t entirely suited for a child still so innocent. Maybe the promise of peace was better than the promise of an honorable fight, an oath of them against the world. Whatever the lullaby may be - ? 

 It, sang in a soft, gentle voice by Shiro’s mama, was enough to lull the fussy boy into a state of dozing. He’d gone still. Staring wide-eyed up at Leo somewhere in the midst of the sonnet. Startled, as if. Sweet thing. Dear gods, the boy constantly couldn’t help thinking about just how darned sweet his boys are. Clearly they get that from their papa.

 Shiro yawned; a big yawn, almost too big for him.

 He squirmed a bit. Wiggled a bit. Contained squirms and wiggles, that is. Just getting comfortable against Leo’s chest.

 And then his little brunette son rested his head on his shoulder, yawned a final time, and dozed off. Listening to the lullaby Leo was dedicating to him. On his fussy night.

 “Beautiful, Leo,” Ryoma said from their nest’s furs, and he flushed a bit.

 Finally, they could rest.

 They’d need it, for what comes next.

 But first, they both needed their goodnight kisses more than anything.

Chapter Text

 Guests for the Winter Gala began to arrive by midmorning the next day. Their wagons were rumbling - or rather, crunching, as their wheels flattened the snows - their way up the roads from the east. They were covered wagons, of course. Covered wagons flying the flags of Nalina; as close to sapphire-blue as a settlement only on the border of Nestra could get away with. Nalina. Known for its fresh springwater and livestock and free spirits.

 Nalina. A place Leo had passed through during the war.

 A place with smoke curling into the skies.

 A place with nooses swinging in the winds.

 A place of rot…at the time.

 A place which he’d escaped with Benny, Charlotte, and Anna. Two of which had written to him to tell him he was a fool to hold a ball at the height of winter. Or, he assumed Charlotte had had control of the quill for the most part, considering the letter devolved into foul language barely a line in, insisting he was insane, and declaring they would not be risking their lives on the roads to simply party.

 Benny’s part of that letter had been small, and neat, and mostly a single line near the bottom of the parchment. 

 ‘We are enjoying our honeymoon, Lord Leo, so we will have to politely decline your invitation.’ 

 He was glad they were settling down so well. Even if they’d been mostly hired mercenaries during the war, he owed the pair his life, and he’d noticed them falling for one another in-between war meetings. Their absence was no great insult. Truly.

 Anna, meanwhile, was very eager to accept the invitation - because it was such a great business opportunity!

‘Just think - the NETWORKING OPTIONS!’

 It certainly was a letter from the Secret Seller, to be sure. She also mentioned wanting to discuss further business deals with him, and alluded to him accessing her information network…but Leo wanted to enjoy his own honeymoon. Since that was practically what this winter in Valentine was. His and Ryoma’s chance to enjoy pure, unfiltered, domestic bliss. With a hint of child-rearing thrown in for good measure.

 Sure enough, right behind Nalina’s wagon caravan? Was a small wagon, full of various sacks, piled high enough Leo could see it clearly from the bailey’s balcony. With a woman with apple-red hair at the reins, all but cackling on her way into town. 

 Brynhildr, protect them from Anna’s business practices, please and thank you.

 A vine was summoned to wrap around his ankle and tug in response to his exasperated prayer, and he laughed at Bryn’s huffing.

 Valentine may have its own livestock trade, and definitely may be the best source of crops in the halidom as of now, but Nalina’s livestock were essential. Their cows were meatier, their milks more nutritious, their wool thicker, their eggs less likely to be rotten - not to mention the products they made from such things. Their cheeses and creams and the like. 

 They were sure to be a beneficial partner going forward for the Green Halidom. 

 When Leo was a child, his mother would bring him occasionally to the grassy fields of Nalina while she negotiated as the Lady of the Vincini House ought to do.

He remembered rolling hills of green, grasses taller than he was. He remembered his chest vibrating as he giggled and giggled and giggled and got lost in those grasses as his guards frantically searched for him. His little head of golden hair bouncing in and out of sight for them - the poor, overworked men. He’d loved to play back then. He still did, just in more subtle ways mostly.  

 He remembered ‘helping’ the herd dogs do their jobs, pretending to be a shepherd.

 He remembered how fresh the waters felt.

 He remembered being set on a bull’s shoulders by a chuckling farmer, and nearly scaring his mother to death by riding around on the thing as just a little six-year old boy full of smiles and unaware of the danger.

 Nalina only had two lording families. Opposing families, technically. One owned the best well lands in the region, one owned the best livestock farms in the region, and there were a few feuds to be wary of but they’d both promised to behave while visiting Valentine. Not in so many words. That would be tacky, to say the least, even for simpler lords like they all were out west, but their correspondences definitely implied as much.

 So long as the Spirrows and Farrows behaved, there would be no trouble from Nalina.

 Their wagons looked very, very snowy, however.

 It was the two lording families, their guards, and their personal servants and most prominent owners and business-folk of Nalina. And Leo watched the wagons roll on into town. Tracking snow onto shoveled streets. Off to the inn that had offered to put both them up for the week of the Winter Gala. For a hefty sum. Which Leo had happily paid, after getting into a few hours-long conversation with the kindly inn owner about the herbs that grow best in Valentinian gardens.

 Ryoma had watched on with such patience - for all of those hours! He’d felt so embarrassed after, and had peppered his darling in kisses to make up for it.

 “So, it has begun,” somebody said in a low tone from behind him on the snowy balcony, and he gave a hefty sigh.

 “Must you make it sound like you still want a mystery to take place, Papa?” 

 Lord Alistair laughed heartily at his son’s side-eye, patted him on the shoulder, then together they looked out over the snowy valleys that were theirs to love. Theirs to nurture. Theirs to defend. From the distant hills, to the isolated farmsteads, to the snow-covered rooftops of town. And every person and creature contained there. The Vincini family’s to protect.

 As was their duty, and their utmost honor. 

 “I get something of a feeling that there may be a mystery, whether I ask for one or not, my boy.” 

 He scowled at his father figure in every way, sniffing indignantly, not wanting a mystery. At all. Unless it was harmless. Then maybe. And unless it didn’t disturb his boys’ first social engagement. Otherwise, no. 

 Brynhildr have mercy, why did it feel like he’d just jinxed the Winter Gala? 

 “I could easily make a few bodies appear for you, milord,” that drawling offer announced Niles’ appearance on the balcony, crouched on the railing, smirk deadly with promise as he twirled an arrow between his fingers, “I’ll even make sure they’re clothed this time! Just for you~”

 Utterly ridiculous man…and he was so fond of him anyways.

 The guards who had been accompanying Lord Alistair sputtered, hands half-gone for their swords, half-not. Aware of who Niles was, yes. But that was still the normal reaction for just about all of them when their lordling’s retainer appeared out of thin air the way he tended to do. With an inappropriate comment to follow nearly always. Understandable.

 That was a very common reaction to the being that was Niles.

 “No bodies, Niles. No mysteries!” Both his father and his eldest brother laughed at him, both with very different tones of doing so, and Leo worried about the catastrophe that would be the two of them learning to work together. There would be no safety, then. None at all.

 “A slow month, Papa!” He reminded said papa not for the first time, and Alistair’s laughter cut off abruptly. He turned the sound into clearing his throat, and nodded. Summoning his serious face. Too late. Too much of a Nestran for Leo to believe he wasn’t now plotting entertainment for the gala.

 Great. Another potential concern for him to worry over.

 “Leo, the boys - !“ His beloved husband called for him from indoors, and he gave his conspiring father and brother matching, disapproving looks before answering that call. His sons needed their nursing. And he did not need the hassle that was acknowledging the troublemaking his family members could cause working together.

 Maybe he should cast an enchantment over the ballroom. Just in case.

 If they try to cause mischief, they get tossed out by the seat of their pants.

 Then again, chances were, some of the guests were going to get tossed out either way. 

 Leo Vincini was not fool enough to think that just because they were nobles of the west and of the halidom, that they would not be like Nohr’s most corrupt too.

 A pair of petitioners were outside of Vincini Manor by early afternoon. Earlier than one would think. Before teatime, early. Which was ridiculous, and bordering on rude, because Leo needed his porcelain teacup of rose tea before he wanted to have to deal with the heads of the Spirrow and Farrow families of Nalina. 
 
 The men weren’t unpleasant, it was just the business.

 The business was unpleasant.

 But Leo Vincini had actually been spared a majority of the in-person business dealings ever since the Green Halidom was founded. Due to his state of having just given birth and being a hormonal mama fox, and the chances of him mauling anybody who tried to get him out of his den at the time. Understandable, really. His husband and father had worked together to deal with everything at the time. It wouldn’t be fair for him to run away now, right? 

 Leo still looked longingly towards the door to the boys’ nursery when the news was delivered to him of who wanted an audience with him.

 Business was a part of his duty as the Lord-heir of Valentine and the halidom…but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

 But it was important.

 It was also, most often, headache-inducing.

 The desire to send for his father to deal with the family heads was almost overwhelming - no. No, Clova’s son was an adult. A maybe not well-adjusted adult, but he was a seventeen-year old mother in partial command of an entirely new halidom with a wonderful husband and so much loyalty backing him thanks to his people. 

Besides, his father was currently in town, checking on the local bakery charged with baking the gala’s cake.

 “Send them to my study, if you’d please,” was what he ended up sighing in defeat, face in one hand, asking Brynhildr for the strength needed to deal with people from outside of his homeland for the first time in months, “Then, send for my afternoon tea from the kitchens, please. And maybe alert my husband; I believe he’s training with one of the guard rotations in the training hall.”

 “Right away, Lord Leo!” Sir Jeralt said faithfully, a fist over his heart and a bow later and he was gone down the hall; a wink thrown back over his shoulder at his lordling too, old and gray and still the same as ever. 

A senior guard with a heart of gold.

 Who left his liege standing there, head tipped back to the ceiling, wondering if it was too late to start another war.
 
 But he shook that silly thought off, checking a final time in on his sons, asleep in their crib in the nursery. Unaware of anything as mundane as business even existing! What a strange concept. Leo wanted them to keep unaware for as long as possible. They were twined around one another in the blankies of the crib their father had made, snoring soft snores, safe as could be, so despite the still-somewhere-inside-of-him voice that whispered not to ever part from his kits?

 The Vincini boy closed the doors to the nursery, motioned to some of his most trusted guards to stand guard, no matter what, and then walked a door down the hall.

 Into his and Ryoma’s study he went.

 Where he’d be hosting his first meeting as a returned-member of the Vincini family in Valentine.

 The fireplace was stoked. The fireplace was actually smallest in their study, built into the wall, but warm. He tossed another log in to stoke it further. There was frost on the windowpanes, there was a light snow falling - snowflake by snowflake - past those windows. A light snowfall that made the lighting of the study almost a soft blue, so soothing. Leo would enjoy having his tea here, but again, business.

 There was an appropriate seating area in their study. Ordinarily he’d rather use a less personal space, but, well, obviously he didn’t want to go far from the nursery.

 Aside from the wall-to-wall bookshelves, their personal desks, their cabinets, his alchemy station - 

 There was a corner near the door arranged comfortably with a center table, three sofas arranged in a three-side square around said table…and also lots of his beloved’s spare pillows which could not fit in their nest despite attempts to do so. Leo took the opportunity to move those pillows behind the sofas, then sat down with a sigh that had a lot of emotion pent up behind it.

 He really wanted a kiss from Ryoma.

 Maybe a forehead one.

 And maybe a bit of praise.

 …He had become very spoiled by his husband.

 A knock at the door to the study him and Ryoma shared. Short, sharp, proper. Definitely not one of his guards or the servants. So he straightened himself up properly too, pulled together a semi-courtly mask, not entirely sure what to expect, straightened out his shirt and called out, “You may enter.” 

 Two very cheery men entered the study. 

 They glanced around, and it took them a spare second to notice him and the seating area to the right of the door. A spare second Leo used to examine them more closely. Niles had taught him young and taught him fast that your eyes can discern plenty about a person, and taught him that well. Which he used now. Easily picking apart which man was which, thanks to the insignias embroidered on small bits of their clothes, the colors they wore, their attitudes cheerful and…cheerful? 

 They seemed genuinely delighted to lay eyes on him.

 They were round men. Plump with cheer, but not with laziness. Like they’d lived a good but fulfilling life. Both had silver in their hair, both weren’t nearly as dressed up as a Nohrian noble would get themselves. Lord Farrow was wearing a cloak, Lord Spirrow was not. One wore blue and one wore a deep, earthy bronze tone. Both beamed at him and walked so spiritedly towards him the floorboards creaked from the force of their steps.

 But rather than feel uncomfortable like he would with most of Nohr’s drunken nobles in the past, the Vincini boy felt…

 Companionable?

 Baffled. Definitely baffled, as both of them bounded right up to him - somehow bounded with canes they both leaned slightly on as they walked - and bowed deeply to him.

 “It is a relief to see you home safe, young Lord Leo,” Lord Farrow, wearing a cloak, wearing blue, head of the family that owned Nalina’s springlands said cheerily.

 “The greatest of reliefs!” Lord Spirrow, without a cloak, wearing the earthy tones, head of the family that owned Nalina’s best livestock agreed, and - 

 Definitely baffled. 

 Brynhildr laughed at him.

 “I - I thank you for coming,” there was a stutter there, at the beginning, and without intending to Leo flushed from having done so. Almost putting a hand to his mouth. Almost forgetting everything he was ever taught about courtly manners, his mask see-through, gods above, had he really gone so long without business dealings that he was this daft, it was just the two heads of their houses reminded him of his grandfather, “I know a winter celebration wasn’t the most inclined engagement, for any of us, but - “

 Lord Farrow waved off his roundabout apology with a hearty laugh, tapping his cane to the floorboards and saying, “It is alright, dear boy! It was those folks up in Wuthering wasn’t it?” 

 Lord Spirrow nodded in a conspiring way and leaned in to whisper kindly, “They are always going to bite off three-fourths of the carrot even if you tell them to nibble, dear boy. You need a firm hand with those ruffians.” 

 “Well not ruffians!” Lord Farrow drawled, and Lord Spirrow laughed.

 “Well, perhaps not. The people are fine enough, it’s those lording families who are trouble.” 

 This. Was not. What the lordling had had in mind when he tried to imagine what Lord Farrow and Lord Spirrow may be like. At all. He was utterly wrong-footed, and trying to find his tongue which a cat seemed to have stolen, staring at the two with wide-eyes. Two grandfatherly men who seemed so…fond of him.

 And all at once remembering they were a lot like this when he was a child too, accompanying his mama to Nalina.

 “It…was their insistence, yes,” he hedged, admitting that would do no harm, and he tried to resettle himself back into the sofa as both of the heads of their houses took seats across from him, not at all seeming like feuding lords in the least, “The roads really aren’t the safest this time of year, so there were concerns, but a celebration would do the people good. I hope it didn’t cause too much unrest for Nalina?” 

 “Not at all!” Lord Farrow bellowed, a very loud man it seemed, but also kinder. Than Leo had misremembered him being, “As a matter of fact, it gives Nalina plenty of good spirits going into the Winter Solstice! A celebration shared by the whole of our new halidom!!!” 

 “Exactly,” his counterpart agreed, far more calmly, picking a piece of hay off of his trousers as the both of them beamed and just seemed comfortable.

 Leo felt like he was halfway into a magical trance, all floaty and disillusioned, but that was just him.

 “Besides, I’m sure all of our lands will be celebrating with us this whole week leading up to the week of the Winter Solstice,” Lord Farrow continued, bright blue eyes shining as he leaned in to say slightly quieter, “I’d bet a barrel of our finest springwater that the inn back home is missing five barrels of mead by the time we get home. The good stuff. The stuff we buy from Nagano.” 

 He nodded, rubbing at the silver top of his cane, eyes a bit dreamy, and Sir Spirrow swatted him. And Leo suddenly, abruptly, wanted so much to laugh. 

 “You know what Julita said about no more betting, Farris!” 

 “Ah - it’s just a small one, old friend! No harm. No harm at all. Our little Lord Leo would never dream of betting anything serious, I’m sure. That’s a terrible habit to get into.” 

 “Pot meet kettle.” 

 “Why you - !” 

 Speaking of a pot, thank Brynhildr - who was laughing constantly, softly, in the recesses of her wielder’s mind - there was a quiet knock at the door right around the time Lord Farrow and Lord Spirrow began to banter like the dearest of friends. Like brothers. And in swept the maid Rebecca, who had a tray with a teapot on it, and who took one look at the bickering lords and snickered. 

 He thanked her profusely for the steaming cup of tea she poured for him. He needed it. Very much so. He added some honey and some sugar and then some more sugar, then stirred it silently as she swept back out of the study. And neither lord ever noticed her enter in the first place.

 They only noticed when they both humphed at each other, turned back to Leo, and then did a double-take at the steaming cup of tea he was peering at them over.

 “My, you have good maids if they managed to slip past my senses like so!” Lord Farrow bellowed, and without really thinking about it, Leo burst out laughing.

 They seemed confused, but delightedly so.

 And just as delightedly so, Leo suddenly didn’t mind this business at all.

 Lord Farrow and Lord Spirrow of Nalina both just wanted to catch up on his life, as it turned out. There was no hidden agenda. No double-meaning offers. No snidely spoken insults, blatant or not. There were just two cheery men, in their silvery years, who’d known Leo as a child and were as happy to have him come home in their lifetime as Valentine and Delgo had been. 

 It was a ‘business’ meeting full of refilled teacups, bright, cheery laughter, and banter between ‘feuding’ lords.

 A meeting full of compliments, and questions about how he was, and no courtly masks whatsoever.

 A meeting, as if, between kinsmen. 

 For they were all of the west, after all, they said when Leo shyly asked. They were all under Brynhildr’s protections. They were all of the Green Halidom. In a sense, they were all kin now. And they had been for a long time, even before Nohr cut them loose to try and survive a terrible winter after war. And Leo saw that now. And he was glad for it. He was so glad.

 And grateful.

 And he hoped Mama was looking down on them, proud of the lands they’d loved together, and how they welcomed her precious boy home.

 They were so understanding about Sir Rainier interrupting to summon him to his sons’ sides, who’d woken up hungry and whining. They were so kind. They were the sort of men who laid their hands gently on his shoulder, and welcomed him home with shining eyes full of pride and glee, the hearts of the west there in them. They were the sort of men Leo wanted in the Green Halidom. Trusted to be so.

 They were off to find his father to heckle afterwards, in their own words, and Leo was wrapped around his baby boys nursing them in slight shock.

 But lots of joy.

 Maybe the Winter Gala would be better than he ever imagined it being.

 Maybe it really would be okay.

Chapter Text

 Creaking floorboards stirred Leo from his dozing with his kits, in their nursery crib. He shifted. Blinked slowly. Himself and his magic curling around his sons in that moment between being awake and being asleep, ready to protect, ready to slaughter in their defenses…but the creaking floorboards? Were a result of his mate stepping carefully into the nursery.

 He saw a brunette mane and a sword sheath of gold and white in the corner of his vision.

 He relaxed once more.

 Returning to his half-dozing state. Letting his mated approach with a hum, a purr, a promising flutter of his eyes as he snuggled with their sons into the cushions of the crib. Shiro and Jewels snored softly on and on, and Shiro kicked Leo’s cheek a bit with his tiny foot, but all was well. All was right. 

 Ryoma knelt outside of the crib, disheveled, in that way that said he’d just returned from the training hall. Wet stains of sweat on his undershirt, hair frizzy, face flushed. Raijinto present. Raijinto set aside, away from Leo and their sons, with its dangerous, dangerous lightning too set aside. 

 Ryoma reached through the bars of the crib, and his calloused fingers delicately tangled in Leo’s hair.

 Brushing some of his bangs away from his eyes.

 He blinked in lazy contentment at his darling, darling doe, and Yoma smiled softly at him.

 “The meeting went well, I hear?” He asked, tenor low and rough from the exertion of his training still, and Leo nodded down into the blankies he was tangled up with. 

 “I want…forehead kisses.” 

 Those tawny eyes widened, those tawny eyes shone in the afternoon, winter sunlight - 

 The man he loved chuckled, then pressed his knuckles to his lips like he was stopping the chuckle from getting louder, getting out of hand, too loud for their napping kits, eyes still shining. And his darling nodded. Seeming quite amenable to such a request. Amenable enough that Yoma withdrew his hand, and stood, and carefully swung a leg into the crib he’d crafted with his own two hands.

 Then the other leg. 

 And then his dearly beloved husband was in the crib with him and their kits, and lowering himself to his knees, to his side, furling around Leo as if they were as one furled around their kits, and leaning around his shoulder to give him his well-deserved forehead kisses. 

 Butterflies filled Leo’s stomach, and he kept on purring.

 He kept on humming.

 And he dozed off, to the wonderful feeling of Ryoma kissing yearningly up and down his nape, down into the curve of his collarbone, over the crest of his shoulders, back to his nape, up and down his spinal cord - shivers wracked him and his heart wept with love.

 And he dozed off.

 Dilly dilly, in love.

Chapter Text

 Nalina’s noble houses of Farrow and Spirrow were invited to dine at Vincini Manor that evening. An olive branch, in a way. A symbol of their family’s welcome to Valentine proper, and to the Green Halidom as well, after months of communicating only through letters and delegates. It was important. It was important, to Leo, it was so very important. The unity of these lands that he loved. It was what made his heart skip a beat in hope and in fear, hope that it was possible - 

Fear that it would all fall apart, despite their best efforts.

He needed this. Needed like he’d rarely needed in his life, since Nohr at least. He needed his home to stay safe. He needed it to have allies. He needed it to have its hope.

 For himself, for his family, for his family’s memories, Clova’s son pleaded for this.

 And deep in the snowy forests, where a great tree was still in full bloom despite winter’s hold on Valentine, Brynhildr heard his pleading. Heard it loud and clear. And Brynhildr lent her own pleas to her wielder’s, because it was what would make him happiest. 

 The Farrows and Spirrows jovially accepted the invitation to dinner, and the rest of the families joined their heads at the manor by the time dinner was nearing. Big families. Quite big families. As was typical in the west; Leo’s own mother had had four siblings after all. There was some banter with their arrival. Some friendly feuds between family members that seemed more like an old, familial fondness rather than true rivalry so Leo felt comfortable allowing them in his home.

 They gathered in the foyer, stomping snow off their boats and removing their fur-lined coats, all dressed up for a proper dinner.

 Even with the frost shimmering in their hair and their red noses, they were nobility.

 They were just the halidom’s sort of nobility.

 Loud and cheery and bright, bickering but also thanking the servants who took their coats, shoving each other around and as hearty as any Valentinian. Nothing like Nohrian nobles. Nothing even like Hoshidan nobles. They were solely Leo’s nobles, so he greeted them as such. 

 Stood at the top of the grand staircase, with his family’s new portrait hung behind his shoulders, he greeted them. Accepting their bows and their curtsies. The giggles of the daughters and the curiosity of the sons. Or vice-versa. There was a healthy mix of the two, when each family had at least eight children, and several of those children had their spouses and their children with them - 

 By the Dragons, they may need a bigger dining table.

 “Thank you for coming to dinner,” he told them, descending the stairs, now dressed in some of his more fanciful wear as well and far more relaxed than he’d been during the afternoon’s meeting when he could see that these were truly his people, “If you’ll all come along with me, we can head straight to the dining room.” 

 Two rotund and red-cheeked women halted him at the foot of the grand staircase with big, big smiles on their faces.

 Ladies Farrow and Spirrow. As distinguishable as their husbands.

 “Welcome home, dear boy!” Lady Farrow cheered, reaching out too quickly for him to flinch from, to squeeze his cheeks so much so that he squeaked like a startled mouse.

 “Oh, Julita, you’re smothering the poor thing, let him go,” Lady Spirrow gasped, waving off her fellow lady’s hands…just to immediately frame Leo’s cheeks far, far more gently in her place and smile softly at him, “You look so much like your mother, Lord Leo. And she would be proud of you.”

 A startled-mouse-squeak for a second time. His face was tomato-red by the time he was released by the gushing grandmothers, from a mixture of embarrassment and said startlement, but he managed to clear his throat and retain some propriety. His husband’s Hoshidan-ness must be rubbing off on him in that way.

 He was able to lead them through the halls to the first floor’s dining room.

 Eventually.

 After many more up-close curtsies, and firm handshakes, and otherwise welcome homes.

 By the time they’d arrived at the dining room proper, a feast was set out on the long table, and both Ryoma and his father were already waiting by one of the windows. A twin in each of their arms. They seemed rather…serious, talking about some matter Leo couldn’t overhear, but that stopped when he entered with their guests.

 And so dinner with Nalina’s noble houses began.

 Different. That was a word for it. It was far, far different from the stately dinners he’d attended as Nohr’s Second Prince in the past. There were no assassinations for one. Not even by the time they reached dessert. Nobody was insulted so terribly that they fled the dining room in tears, nor did anyone challenge anyone else to a duel to the death. There were no courtly masks whatsoever either, as if the Farrows and Spirrows dined together regularly and were one, combined family as a whole. Entirely comfortable with one another. Meaning there were no awkward silences - 

 There were no silences, actually. Whatsoever. Not a once during dinner was there a lull in conversation. There were no insults hidden behind hands and sweet smiles, no snide whispering in your plate-neighbor’s ear, no mocking glances, not even any sucking up or flattery. It was just. Dinner. So very like dinner when they dined as a family with their guards and servants. Or like dinners and meals during the war.

 Flying bread rolls sent at siblings’ heads, showing off new weapons, and sharing gossip included.

 Somebody tossed a butter knife at one point, to which Shiro squealed happily and nearly fell splat onto Leo’s dinner plate, trying to chase the shiny metal sent flying across his field of view.

 Jewels saw the shiny too and joined his brother in trying to get it, albeit more quietly, and Leo began to worry about the sort of trouble the kitsune instinct to seek shiny things might cause in the future.

 Him and Ryoma were subject to many.

 Many.

 Many cooing compliments towards themselves and their sons. Both houses seemed very interested in getting to know the former Hoshidan Crown Prince, and the mothers and grandmothers seemed ready to honorarily adopt the twins as Nalina nobles by the time the appetizers were being taken away. Jewels especially. There were many squeals about his ears and his tail and how fluffy their youngest son was, though those squeals quieted when they scared the kit so much that he ended up burrowing into his papa’s yukata to hide.

 Cue more cooing, and many compliments towards their parenting for how healthy and happy their sons seemed to be. 

 To which Leo preened like the proud mama fox he was, earning more cooing, but better to enjoy it than to fluster so bad he couldn’t even speak. Like his mate did.

 Indeed, dinner was an…event.

 After dinner, after dessert more like, the families didn’t simply return to Valentine’s inn though. Oh no. They were welcomed to stay a bit longer because of how well the whole night was going. Leo was enjoying his talks with two of the Farrow sons who had attended one of Nestra’s colleges, and Ryoma had taken up with one of the Spirrow daughters who was actually a published author, and Papa of course was getting on well with the heads of the houses as always.

 They moved from the dining room to the game room to get out from underfoot of the servants cleaning up their feast. The game room was immaculate. And ornate. It had obviously been deep-cleaned that day, for which Leo would thank the maids later, full of far more opulent furniture and several games and seating areas - as the name implied. Meant to show off to visitors and guests, but in this case it was simply a comfortable place for them all to settle after a hearty meal.

 The Vincini boy ended up asking for a bit of advice from the mothers of the families, and found himself and his sons surrounded soon enough and absolutely swamped by the advice he asked for.

 His darling was trading stories of swordsmanship with two accomplished fencers and a daughter who wielded a greatsword Leo couldn’t even imagine lifting, let alone swinging.

 And Papa went in and out of the game room multiple times, with several of the Farrows and Spirrows, to show them various things elsewhere or to discuss business or to simply get some air.

 Maybe smoke a pipe or two.

 Teas and cakes were delivered, and conversations quieted. People sat. The children dozed off in armchairs or while curled up in front of the game room’s fireplace. Hot cocoa with marshmallows and peppermint were likewise brought, and the air swirled with the jovial atmosphere of it all.

 The sun had set.

 The snows glowed with moonlight.

 And Leo only realized he was half-asleep on a sofa when somebody shook his shoulder gently, and he started. Shiro and Jewels each tucked under his arms. His beloved crouched in front of him. Sighing. Smiling. Reaching forward, to cup his little husband’s cheek and enjoy the way Leo leaned into his touch. 

 “Time for bed, I think.” Ryoma said lightly, to the sight of Leo nuzzling his palm, barely able to keep his eyes open. He wasn’t the only one. Several of their guests had already left, nearly asleep on their feet after such an energetic evening.

 Now it was their turn. Lord Alistair would handle those who remained after they went.

 “Do you need me to take the boys?” Lord Alistair indeed offered, sipping a small cup of coffee and seemingly intending to stay up far later than them to talk to his old friends and allies from Nalina. An offer that Ryoma shook his head to.

 In one movement, he easily lifted his little tomato from the sofa he had curled up into a corner of, an arm under his shoulders and another under his knees, and Leo took their sons with him.

 So Ryoma was holding all of his boys at once. Leo nosing at his collarbone, and their sons cradled in the cavity between their bodies. All so light. So easy to lift. The brunette barely felt like he was carrying anything, and he resolved to get Leo to eat even more - 

 But for the time being, he bid his father-in-law and their guests a goodnight, then carried his beloved off to their bedroom.

 He hadn’t even made it up to the second floor before Leo was snoring soundly into his neck, their sons too, and he chuckled.

 Stopping in the moonlit hallway to smile tenderly down at them.

 His husband. His children.

 Alone for a moment, he exhaled all of his stresses. He bent down to kiss his dove’s forehead. He forced himself not to think of Lord Alistair asking him when he’d be telling Leo…of what had occurred the day the war ended, in Nohr’s throne room. They had time. He had told himself that, he’d insisted as much to his Leo’s father, they had plenty of time. Why spoil his husband finally being allowed to be happy? Finally being allowed to be free? 

 He kissed Leo’s forehead again, then again, then kissed the corner of his closed eye, then kissed his cheek, then kissed the part of his jaw where scars just barely began to curve onto his face - 

 He took a deep, shaky breath, and rested his forehead against Leo’s. Still just snoring soundly, safe in Ryoma’s arms.

 This night had been really, really good. For all of them.

 He wanted it to stay this way forevermore. He wanted it like he’d wanted so little for himself his whole life. He wanted, and wanted, and wanted this peace, this life without fear or conflict or fate’s next surprise. He wanted this simple life, as husbands and parents in a halidom that was already so beautiful and being built up from his dearest Leo’s heart. 

 And it hurt to know they couldn't have this forever.

 So Ryoma held his husband and his children while he could. As firmly as he could. And he whispered of how he loved them. And he brought them back to their den, back to the nest his little love loved to fluff up and rearrange, and he dressed all three of his boys for bed and he stoked the fireplace to keep them warm and he sent the guards home to their families and he joined them in their nest - 

 And he just held them tight.

 Wanting more than anything to be enough.

 To be enough to protect them.

 It was a long night.

Chapter Text

 It was a slow morning…and Leo was rather sure that he was waking up from a dream about a neverending tomato feast. 

Because, well, he woke up nibbling on one of Jewels’ ears. 

Just the tip. But the tip was enough, and he spat it out slowly as he realized it was not a tomato. At least, he was pretty sure it wasn’t. The fluffiness felt weird to his tongue. So he instinctively stuck it out and made a blegh noise, sleepily looking around in search of his tomato feast as he did. But no. There was no feast. There was no neverending table brimming with every sort of tomato platter in the world, both known and unknown. There was no heaven of the sort to be found by him.

 There was the nest he shared with his mate and kits, the fur caught by his toes as he curled them while stretching, and there was Jewels purring from - presumably - being groomed by his mama the natural way for once.

 Not that that had been intentional; he’d thought Jewels’ ear was a golden tomato.

 No tomatoes, he confirmed in a glance around him, then slumped down into his quilts and furs for a second time.

What a sad reality. 

 Feeling distinctly as if he’d overdone being social the evening prior, the boy of Valentine snuggled into the many hoarded pillows of his mate, licked the bridge of Jewels’ nose as an apology, and then licked the bridge of Shiro’s nose to make it fair. Before simply lounging there and marveling. At the silky-smooth slide of fur under the soles of his feet as he lulled, staring up at the wooden beams of the ceiling after flipping onto his back, then staring out the snowy-bright windows after turning onto his side, then snuggling back down into his pillows after flipping again onto his stomach.

 The hungry yips of his sons kept him from dozing off for a second time too. 

 They weren’t hungry enough to be pawing at him and whining, though, so he was in no hurry to surrender his chest to their hungry, hungry little mouths. Jewels’ kit-fangs especially. Kit or not, tiny or not, those were pointy things.

 He let himself be nice and lazy there, reveling in the crackling of the fireplace, the distant whistling of winter winds outdoors, the soft sigh of his husband as he was admired in the morning light - 

 Ah.

 Cracking open one of his emerald eyes, just a sliver, Brynhildr’s wielder took in Ryoma equally bathed in the morning light. Curled onto his side. That mighty mane a mess from how he tended to cozy into his pillows as he slept. Eyes bright, and bought by Leo it seemed, for they were glued to the blonde as he peeked back from the darkness of smothering himself with a pillow.

 “Mornin’.”

 “Good morning,” as warm as the fireplace was, Yoma’s tenor managed to come across as even warmer, and left pleasantly hot shivers slithering up Leo’s spine as he continued his peeking. Feeling seen. Specially so. It was wonderful, because it was his lover who was seeing him. Seeing him with his equally messy hair and rumpled nightgown, so cozy he was drooling on a pillow. 

 That? Was only for his Ryoma. 

 “Your feet are cold,” Leo whispered, cheek squished up against his pillow and his toes curling away from his husband’s feet under the covers.

 Of course, his husband immediately pushed said feet between Leo’s calves to steal his warmth and get him to squeak.

 “Give me some of your warmth?” His dearly beloved asked, so mischievously, as Leo continued with his squeaking and trying to shift away from the cold.

 “Mercy! Mercy!” 

 Roses bloomed in the cracks between floorboards.

 And their kits’ hungry yips turned into whines between them.

 “Time to nurse,” his darling said the obvious aloud, snorting a little, shifting because the boys nursing was usually a sign for Ryoma to fetch a tray of tea from some passing maid. Or to go stoke the fire. Or to go give orders to guards. Or some such thing - 

 But this morning? This slow, lovely and lazy morning? The Vincini boy reached for his darling consort, caught the collar of his sleeping yukata, loosened the scanty thing by tugging, and therefore tugged his Ryoma into a kiss over their twins. A slow, languid kiss. One meant to give him time to admire how velvety-soft his husband’s lips still were in winter, if a bit chapped, and sink his hands into that tangled mane and sigh into his mouth as he pulled back.

 Reaching for the straps of the nightgown his husband had dressed him in the night before while he slept, to slip them down his shoulders and expose his chest, and snuggle around their sons in a way that allowed them to squirm up to his chest and latch on to suckle.

 It was all done so swiftly that he left Ryoma still hunched over them afterwards, trying to catch his breath, flushing a lovely strawberry color, staring down at Leo with these wide eyes that made him so very adorable.

 That made Leo giggle, as he hummed and got to feeding the boys.

 That was their slow morning. Complete with Ryoma stumbling unsteadily out of their nest, barely remembering to fix his untied yukata before heading for the bedroom’s door - thank goodness Leo called out a reminder, lest his mate wander around the manor disheveled in a state of blushing undress - and was off.

 To bring back teas and breakfast; pastry strudels of the sweet raspberry sort that were just delicious with frosting drizzled over them.

 And to receive another kiss. One that tasted like raspberries and frosting and rose petals this time, bathed in the snowy-sunshine of their slow morning that they shared after a long night. 

It was all they would ask for if only they could.

 It was what they loved.

 As they loved one another, with all their hearts, in the light of their days in a wintry Valentine.

Chapter Text

 Plenty of tomatoes were brought to Leo Vincini when he voiced his desire for some within earshot of a few of his guards. Plenty. As in, plenty. 

 Meaning no less than a whole basket full, that Sir Rainier was struggling not to snicker at as he handed that woven basket to his Lord Leo. A craving satisfied! Leo went on a little traipse through the halls with his sons and his basket of ripe tomatoes - even in the middle of winter, thanks to Valentine’s greenhouses - to begin his morning. Followed by guards who barely muffled their amused noises.

 They could be amused as much as they like. That wouldn’t change the fact that Leo had a basketful of tomatoes.

 Niles even joined him on his traipse, and he showed off his prized basket proudly to his brother before anything else.

 The tomatoes, after all, were prizes. Worthy of ribbons should they be brought to the fairs of harvest season. They were big. They were round. They were plump. They were juicy. Their skins were the most perfect ruby-red shade that any tomato farmer could dream of getting. And they all tasted fantastic. 

 Leo tried cutting one in half with his dagger and offering the fruit to Shiro.

 His elder son wrinkled up his nose and turned away from the treat.

 He then tried offering the fruit to Jewels, and his younger son gave it several suspicious sniffs, ears fluttering…and then? He leaned in and lapped at some of the juices. Letting out a curious purr. Emerald eyes wide, like he’d just made some great discovery from his point of view, and Leo lit up like the lights of the Starfall Festival. 

 “Remember - you can’t pick favorites, milord,” Sir Alexander reminded him swiftly, all of his fellow guards echoing the sentiment, and Leo nodded.

 Not really listening.

 Too busy cooing at his kit, licking his forehead and nuzzling him, so proud. So very proud.

 Maybe tomatoes really could be introduced to a baby’s diet - ? 

 “Lord Leo, I feel inclined to remind you not to drop little Lord Shiro?” Sir Joey snorted, then, making his liege startle. And making him also realize Shiro was about to fall to the floor because he was wiggling about jealousy over his brother earning so much attention.

 Shiro tried to lick at the halved tomato too, seemingly deciding that was what had made Leo so proud of his brother.

But him lunging for it only made Leo gasp and drop it in favor of keeping Shiro from toppling out of his arms.

 All of them stared in silence at the slice of tomato on the floor for a moment. 

 And then Shiro’s eyes began to shine with tears, and his mama panicked.

 “Oh no, Shiro baby, oh no. It’s alright! It’s alright! Mama has more - do you want more? Do you want a slice for yourself?” Niles plucked Jewels out of his arms, Rainier plucked the basket out of his hand, and then the blonde boy paced back and forth, rocking his eldest. Trying to stop the tears before they could fall with hushed comforts and lots of kisses.

 The other half of the tomato was offered, but Shiro was already balling up his hands into small fists and on the verge of bawling so it went nowhere.

 Tears? Tears from his son? It felt horrid to see them coming. It felt like a failure on Leo’s part as a parent. He’d managed to stop outbursts thus far, these last few months. Even when the boys got upset they never got upset to the point of tears because he or Ryoma tended to them diligently. Seeing tears turning his son’s tawny eyes so bright? Felt, just, so simply horrid. He let out a wounded noise at the sight of tears beginning to touch Shiro’s eyelashes, and he panicked more.

 He leaned against a windowsill, and then stuck his whole face in Shiro’s tummy and nuzzled. 

 Humming.

 Kitsune instincts or not, it helped him feel less useless. Nuzzling, nuzzling, nuzzling Shiro’s tummy through his mini yukata. Humming. Not quite a melody, but the human mimic of a purr. He felt Shiro’s small hands fist into his hair. Felt him hiccupping. Felt him curl over his head like he were a plushie in the nursery’s crib.

 But he never felt the wetness of tears.

 They stayed that way for a while; Shiro on the verge of bursting into tears over a slice of tomato and Leo shaking from the panic of expecting his son to cry.

 Shiro did not cry. There were no tears.

 Eventually, there was the young parent straightening up and settling his kit back in his arms. Licking the tip of his nose and staring into big, tawny eyes. Those he got from Ryoma. They weren’t bright with tears anymore. They were a little red, and a lot tired for one so young, but that was fine. That was better than Leo’d feared seeing.

 Tears were…something he still did not want to see his sons shed.

 Worse yet, he never wanted to see his sons lose the ability to cry, as he once did.

 What else was a parent’s job, other than to protect their child from such things? 

 Feeling winded, almost, the Vincini boy sighed heavily into air that was filled by an evergreen scent. Even out in the hallways of the manor. His guards shifted closer, seeming wary, to him. As if they expected to be mauled should they get too close. Smart. They all knew how a wolfskin mother would respond to such things, why would a kitsune mother be any different? But they did not get mauled. And they seemed to take that as invitation to clamor a little closer, checking on lord and lordling, with wide and worried eyes.

 Niles stood in the background of them all, with Jewels in his hands.

 Literally in his hands.

 As in, he had his hands outstretched, and he was holding Jewels under the kit’s armpits, staring at the kit with his eye looking distinctly unimpressed.

 As if he didn’t love his nephews. And Leo would trust few more than him with them.

 “No tears,” Sir Alexander said, sounding startled, “My daughter would’ve wailed for hours at his age should such a thing happen to her, milord.” 

 “My brother as well,” Sir Joey agreed, leaning in close to make funny faces at Shiro, earning a few giggles for his silliness, “Ma’s barely slept a wink in the last fortnight ‘cause he keeps waking up and wailing at all ends of hours for no reason!” 

 Praise Brynhildr that the twins weren’t like that.

 The occasional fussy night here or there Leo would gladly take over wailing day-in and day-out. His heart wouldn’t be able to handle the constant tears.

 Most babies were like that though, were they not? Maybe it was that Shiro and Jewels were kitsune kits. Half-blooded or not, evident through ears and a tail or not, they were kitsune-born. Did that have an affect on their temperament? More and more, as the months passed by, did Leo wish he’d spent more time in the Hamlet with their kits. Or that Kaden had been able to stay longer following the war. Their occasional letters were informative, and it was good to hear from his kin.

 But if he had questions, he had to wait upwards of a week and a half, or two, sometimes more to receive answers. And then again to receive clarification. 

 The wolfskin helped where they could, but there were differences between shifter races and not all of their advice applied. Besides, Leo’s relationship with the packs still seemed…strained.

 Or at the very least, the packs seemed too ashamed to face him. Ashamed of both Nita’s actions months ago, and also the more recently-revealed fact that one of their future pack leaders had sided with Nohr during the war and still resided in Windmire even now. Wolfskin took loyalty seriously, so that was viewed as a betrayal so great they struggled now to make amends in their own eyes.

 Kits. Cubs. Either or, Leo just wished it wasn’t so hard to raise his own sons.

 “All a part of parenthood,” a welcomed voice commented, and Leo raised his eyes to greet his father warmly. 

 His father who was eyeballing Niles, Jewels still held aloft like a barn kitten, and looking as though he were debating between snatching up his grandson or laughing at the clearly uncomfortable man.

 “Thankfully not their childhood. Or not so much as of yet,” who knows what the twins will be like as toddlers? 

 And if they have more children by then…

 “Here, let me,” Lord Alistair finally took pity on Niles and reached out to snatch up his grandson after all, immediately doting on Jewels like he’d obtained a great treasure worth all the worship in the world. Gushing at him and peppering him with kisses, his glasses askew and a smear of ink on his nose and just so Papa that Leo loved to see it.

 “Join me for a walk to the ballroom, my boy?” Papa then offered, all rainbow-y in the snowlight of winter there by the windows, “The decorators are trying to figure out final placements for the gala, and want our opinion before anything is set in stone.” 

 “Sounds delightful.” 

 And so off they went, and off Niles went in another direction, and off some of his guards went in yet another direction.

 And Leo Vincini doted on his sons all morning long, stuck wishing so badly that they would never need to cry.

 While knowing that was impossible.

Chapter Text

 Inevitably, Leo found himself in the familiar coziness of the manor’s stables by end of day. 

 They had guests after all.

 He had nothing against any member of the Farrow or Spirrow families. Less than that. Hells, he liked the families to a decent degree now. But he felt like he’d spent too much time socializing already the night before, and the idea of doing so more just made him feel tired. 

 Also, though he liked them well enough…they weren’t shy about bringing up his mother. Brynhildr knew his mother deserved it. Would always deserve it. Clova Vincini deserved to be remembered by those who didn’t curse her name unrightfully. But that was exactly it - he was used to hearing her name cursed.

Even if they recalled her fondly, telling him stories they thought he’d like to know and acting as if they’d been friends of her because they sort of had been and he’d just been too young to realize it - 

 Each time his mama’s name was brought up, he sort of…sank. Into a darker place inside of himself.

 It was the bittersweetness of hearing her complimented, hearing her loved.

 Overlapped by the memories of slurs spit her way and insults following her heels as they walked Windmire’s halls together.

 It wasn’t something he had to handle, so he did not. Leo Vincini left his sons to their father, left their guests to his father, and left the manor to take a breather in the stables. Time spent with Rose was never stressful nor wasted. In his opinion. 

 Time spent in the stables as a whole, really, was never wasted.

And the manor’s stables were as spic-and-span as ever. The stones were swept, the lanterns were all painstakingly kept contained and away from flammable hay, the stalls were cleaned or in the process of being cleaned by the stablehands, and the horses seemed in high spirits. Being turned in and out to the paddocks in pairs; the whole stables was on a schedule that was written onto mounted chalkboards near the feed rooms, and Leo always felt a thrill to see that schedule.

 It hadn’t changed by even an hour since he was a child. The whole of the stables hadn’t changed. The smell of the hay was the same; musty and like dried grass. The sounds of horses wickering, the soft chuckles of hands as they worked with the horses, the shuffling of boots kicking aside piles of hay in need of mucking.

 The smell, the air, the atmosphere. 

 The hayloft with the mousing cats scurrying across beams that crisscrossed overhead, the squeaks of mice fleeing them, the barking of a hand’s hound or the thumping of hay bales being thrown.  

 Life as a stablehand was simple. Hard work, but simple. Same as being a farmhand.

Life was on a set schedule most days. You woke up and you went to work. You kept your routines because they worked, you kept your small pleasures because they hurt no one, you lived each day thinking of naps in fields of tall grass, and tossing hay bales, and chasing around those mousers leaving their prey everywhere and startling the horses. Having kittens left and right. Having bowls of fresh milk left out each night.

 You snap up a carrot to feed your favorite mare.

 You offer an apple straight from the tree to your favorite stallion.

 You haul water in pails, and you break the ice in water buckets with an axe, and you work until your eyelashes are frosted over and you’re out of breath but you’re smiling all the while.

 If…if Leo had to be anything other than his mama’s son, he would’ve chosen to be a farmer’s son maybe. Hopefully a farmer with a big garden. 

 It wasn’t that it was Leo’s day off, or even that it wasn't inconvenient to the stablehands, but being in the stables was what he needed at the moment so that’s what his afternoon wound down to. To him trudging his way to the see Rose on snowy paths, warming his nose by blowing into his hands, greeting the stablehands happily even as he shivered, heading for Rose’s stall - the finest of them all, with a gate carved full of roses and painted damask-red during Mama’s time - and saying high to his darling mare.

 She turned her tail to him with a huff.

 The blonde boy laughed, kicking at some hay near his boot, and beaming at his Rose.

 “Come now, are you really so upset? You could’ve come to see me if you wanted.” She, as always and like her riders, did not appreciate being told she was wrong in any way. She stomped one of her hind hooves and huffed again. 

 Whatever magic was woven into his midnight mare, she was now closing in on being the size of a year-old shire horse. Meaning nearly as tall as Leo. Her ears had maybe a centimeter of height on him. Her pelt was shinier, thicker. Her mane and tail both longer since he’d visited her such a short time ago. Surely the stablehands had questions? 

 But this was Valentine, and who really questioned magic in Valentine? 

 The point was, Rose was tall enough to glower at him at eye-level, and it was mildly…strange, to stare straight into her starry eyes and see how frustrated she seemed with him. Her rider.

 “Oh, Rose, come now,” sighing, reaching out, he grasped the rose-carved door to her stall and gave a little tug, “You know you’re always welcome in the manor, and your stall door is never - “ 

 The door didn’t budge when he tugged on it.

 He stopped abruptly and stared down at it. 

 Somebody had locked Rose’s stall.

 Since her rider had finally noticed the problem, Rose stomped her hoof and let out a far mightier snort now. One that sounded thunderous. One worthy of his husband, and the Vincini boy wasn’t very far behind. Oh not far at all. Somebody had locked Rose in? How bold. How utterly unhealthy for them.

He took a very careful, considering breath, and slid the bolt so that the stall door could swing open, before stepping to the side as Rose marched out imperiously.

 “Rose, I am so sorry,” he told her calmly, or as calm as he could be as he was suddenly stressed in the stables. Stressed enough that tiny sparklets of magic started to pop around his fingers that were clenching and unclenching into fists. Locking his mare in - 

 “Let’s go have a chat with the Stablemaster, shall we, girl?” 

 Rose led the way. Her hooves loud on the stables’ stone flooring. Clop-clop-clop. Loud and intentional, with other horses whinnying questions and stablehands peeking out of stalls and side rooms wondering what was happening.

 “Stablemaster Dennet.” He was calm. He was completely calm. His voice wasn’t even raised. He was quite sure of those two facts.

 Yet as he approached the Stablemaster’s office, Stablemaster Dennet - a kindly, able man in his silvering years with skin like an acorn’s shell whom Leo had always liked - rushed out in response to his call like he expected the stables to be aflame, or like he expected a stablehand to be kicked in the skull by a stallion, or like he expected to be told a horse had collicked.

 Maybe his voice wasn’t as calm and even as he believed it to be.

 Master Dennet looked at his lordling, then looked at Rose standing imposingly at his shoulder like a furiously, furiously wronged mare, and swallowed. 

 Considering he knew the Stablemaster to be a man with a spine as thick and strong as an ancient tree branch, that was saying something.
 
 Leo Vincini pointed at his beloved mare, and then pointed back down the stables towards her stall’s direction where stablehands were all poking their heads out to watch whatever this was, and then asked calmly, “Why was Rose locked in her stall, Master Dennet?” 

 Maybe not so calmly.

 The horsemaster wasn’t so crass as to let out a string of curses in front of Leo, and wasn’t so much of a weak-willed sort to pale, but he was the sort to spit out a few choice curses, loudly and angrily, and toss down the rag he’d been wiping his hands with and stomp his way down the stables looking like he wanted to hammer a horseshoe into somebody’s arse.

 “Which one of ya horse codgers locked Rose in ‘er stall?!?!”

My, the man had a bellow that made Leo wince a bit. Unused to anyone, anyone at all, raising their voices in his presence considering how often his papa and mate made sure nobody dared. But he straightened up before it became a thing and there were too many eyes on him and Rose; petting at her soft, pinked nose as she snorted in righteous indignation.

 Because - well.

Because for both of them, her being locked in reminded rider and mare of Windmire. Of stablehands who weren’t careful, who weren’t kind. Of poisons slipped into her grain, of rotten apples they tried to force-feed her, of small cuts stablehands thought they could get away with but ended up with cracked skulls for, of breaking down the stable walls trying to get to his mother but being unable to because the stall was locked - 

 Far, far before Leo’s return home to Valentine was it known to not lock Rose in her stall. 

 Who had dared to forget? 

 Of course, with his arms crossed and Rose furious beside him, it was a small, small thing that stepped out from behind a hay bale in response to Master Dennet’s demand. They instantly softened. She was maybe no older than six summers, in a hay-strewn shawl and looking close to tears as she approached the horsemaster who’d gone quite quiet, clutching and unclutching and clutching her pants like she expected to hear more of the man’s bellow as she neared.

 “Ith…ith wath me, thir,” the young girl sniffled, she was missing her front teeth, all of her words were a bit slurred, and suddenly Leo and Rose weren’t mad at all. 

 How could they be, with a child who had probably done it by accident?

 “Ain’th…ain’th I thuthppothed tho lock the thall doorth, thir?” 

 A stablehand - of several - who had poked their heads into the stalls from outside in response to the yelling gasped, a woman, her mother he presumed. She ran to her daughter, quite clearly putting together the situation from Leo, and Rose, and Stablemaster Dennet glancing back at his liege in question. 

 “Lord Leo, I am so sorry! She ain’t mean no harm, she was just a’doing what we taught ‘er; always keep the stall doors locked! She musta thought she was helping!” 

 For a moment after the mother spoke, shushing her daughter as she sniffled, letting the poor girl bury her face in her pant legs, it was like everyone was waiting to see what Leo did.

 Leo turned to Rose and placed his hands on his hips, sniffing. 

 “Did you not see that it was a little girl responsible?”

It was a rhetorical question. Not because he never expected an answer from his mare, but because his mare now seemed thoroughly bashful about making a scene in her special, Rose-way. Pinning her ears back and bowing her head away from him with an embarrassed snort, “Really Rose, you were probably dozing and never even noticed until you went to actually leave!” 

 She lashed her tail balefully at him, but never denied it. So her rider sighed heavily and returned all of his attention to the stablehand and her daughter, no longer angry.

 “No harm done,” he told the little girl, so little, and still so much bigger than his own kits. Seeing her shiny, tears-bright eyes made Leo want to lick her nose so badly, but he settled for stepping close enough to kneel down eye-level with her and smile. Her braids were very well done, “For all of the other stalls, you did right. They should remain locked unless somebody is doing work inside of them. But for my Rose, there are special circumstances. She doesn’t like being locked in, you see.” 

 “O-oh,” she said, slowly, slowly unfurling from the state of expecting to be scolded for just doing what she was told to do because of his gentle tone, and then she looked regretful and up at Rose who towered over her.

 Rose who walked over, and bowed her head to be right next to Leo’s shoulder.

 “Thorry, horthey,” she whispered shyly, wide-eyed, mystified by Rose’s beauty. 

 Rose exhaled, hard, and the little girl giggled when the warm exhale blasted her straight in the face. Rosy-cheeked and bright again, tugging on her mama’s sleeve and pointing at Rose excitedly. Crisis averted. Tears averted.

Leo stood and let her and her mother admire Rose a while longer, heading for where Master Dennet stood off to the side now.

 Glaring stablehands into returning to their work, he greeted his liege with a hearty clap on his shoulder and a crooked smile as warm as the stable’s air.

 “All’s well that ends well,” the experienced stablehand himself said, at ease, as if he’d never bellowed at all and Leo relaxed in turn, “Good of ya to be so understandin’, Lord Leo. Molly brings ‘er girl ‘round since her husband died to an ail last winter, an’ we’ve all grown soft on ‘er. Guess we never got ‘round to explainin’ Rose’s special case. Our bad, that is.” 

 “Like you said, all’s well that ends well. I was just surprised, and…” 

 A bit worried, but he wasn’t going to say as much because it wasn’t the manor’s stable that made him so worried. It was the stables that had housed Rose in the past.
 
 “Rose and I are going to go on a walk around the bailey,” he changed topics to let Master Dennet know where she’d be instead, the man had run the stables for more than three decades after all, and had an eye he kept constantly on his horses at all times, “any chance there could be a small pile of apples waiting for her when she makes her way back?” 

 “Of course. Always happy to spoil the ol’ girl.” 

 “Don’t let her hear you call her old,” he laughed, then immediately heard an angry trill from behind him, and they turned as one to see a frankly offended look on his beautiful mare’s face, “Oh, whoops. Make that pile a little bit bigger, I think, Master Dennet.” 
 
 “Of course, Lord Leo. Nobody wants ol’ Rose to be upset with ‘em ‘round here.” 

 Truer words had never been spoken in Vincini Manor’s stables.

 “Come on, girl.” 

 On a snowy day, Leo Vincini took a walk around the manor’s bailey to avoid entertaining guests. Accompanied by his dear Rose. His oldest of companions. His oldest family member, almost. She was still too small for him to swing up onto the groove of her back, but she wasn’t too small for him to play with. Chasing her with snowballs and laughing as he ran from her trying to shove him into snowbanks. Summoning vines from beneath the snows to stop her in her tracks - 

 Then yelping as she bowled him over anyways because she was still strong, even as a yearling.

 They made snow angels together.

 Well, a snow rider and snow mare.
 
 And they were joined by the stablehands and guards who overheard them.

 By the time they eventually trudged back to the manor’s stables, they were a snow rider and snow mare brought to life, shivering and covered in snowflakes. But the stables were warm. The stablehands had hot cocoa brewed up in one of the storerooms, there were sticks of cinnamon too, and Rose had a small mountain of juicy apples waiting in her stall for her.

 And somebody had removed the lock entirely from her stall, to which she pranced around like the victor of some great contest.

 Leo shared some of his hot cocoa’s marshmallows with the littlest stablehand who was missing her front teeth.

 And it was really, a very good day, in the manor’s stables. 

Chapter Text

 
 An afternoon in the stables, afternoon tea with Lord Alistair once their guests had departed, a dinner shared in the dining room with just family this time.

 Ryoma and him walking back to their bedroom, hand-in-hand, cooing at their kits.

 A kiss at the door as if they were going to part. As if. 

 They entered together. They had their final cups of tea together. They played with their twin sons together, and ended up preparing for bed without having finished a bit of the paperwork they’d laid out for after dinner. Ryoma was finished preparing for bed long before him, and already relaxing in their nest, and neither of them minded because this was the time when they shared how their days had gone apart.

 And it was Leo’s turn. Which meant it was one of Ryoma’s favorite times of day.

 “I won that snowball fight,” his small husband insisted, slipping into a favorite nightgown of his, white with lace trimming - loose and flowy; how could it not be a favorite? - and Ryoma hummed in acknowledgment. Amused acknowledgment, but acknowledgment nonetheless, “If Joey says otherwise, don’t believe him. I have witnesses!” 

 That final snowball was thrown after Leo had turned his back to his childhood friend.

 It did not count.

 At all.

 The hot cocoa he was bribed with afterwards wasn’t enough to keep his silence - he’d survived Windmire’s court. Nohr’s ire. As if hot cocoa could meet his bar for being bribed. Head Guard Fern had seemed ready to put Sir Joey on shoveling duty for the rest of winter, seeing his lordling faceplant after being hit by that snowball. A very unfair snowball.

 That did not count!

 “Beat him extra hard in training, Ryoma darlin’.” He’d talked Sir Fern out of that equally unfair punishment, but he’d never said he’d stop Joey from regretting throwing that snowball. Oh no. His husband would avenge him! “And make sure to mention the snowball. I want him to know it was me that sent you to kick his arse. I want him to wallow in it. I want him to regret that snowball like he still regrets making me kick that beehive when we were children!” 

 Sweetheart that he was, worrier that he was, his mate’s eyebrows shot up in a, ‘What was that about a beehive?’ Sort of way.

 It was neither a long nor interesting story, but for Ryoma’s sake?

 “Suffice to say, Joey and I were grounded from daring each other to do anything for a year, and it took hours for my guards to remove all of the bee stingers,” he shrugged at Ryoma’s, ‘Is that all?’ Expression. So expressive.

So expressive that the blonde boy couldn’t resist leaning in to press a quick peck to his beloved’s lips as he passed him, headed for his vanity to wash his face and detangle his hair. Snow and frost freezing his hair into ruffles and then melting did not leave him looking anything short of wild, as it turned out. He needed another trim soon.

 “Oh, but Rose was in such a better mood after that pile of apples Master Dennet gathered for her. I really must thank that man. He was so patient with me and Rose. Has always been. I suppose he’s worked as the Stablemaster for - what? Going on thirty years now? Maybe I’m just used to other Stablemasters calling me crazy for caring for Rose so much.” 

 As if his beautiful mare didn’t deserve that care.

 She definitely did.

 “Really though, Piper is such a sweet girl, and I think she’s going to visit Rose’s stall a lot more often going forward. Oh, and - “ 

 Turning, mouth open mid-ramble, the words fell silent before they left him. Leo blinked his emerald eyes. Then closed his lips. Then let them curve into a smile as soft as his dearest Ryoma deserved. Sufficiently stopped. And with just a glance too. Just a glance of Ryoma lounging in their mated nest. Staring at Leo across the room, sat on his vanity’s stool, with such attentive eyes.

 Such an invested, indulgent, and easy smile at his mouth.

 The pastel yukata he wore hung open across his chest, and his hair was pinned up messily in pins Leo had gifted him, and he seemed so relaxed with the twins playing with their toys right on the furs in front of him. Their father would occasionally reach out to pet them or play with them, but then he gave his all back to Leo again, and - 

 “What is it?” The Vincini boy asked, somewhat shyly, always struck.

 By the lightning that was his husband’s attentions.

 “You’re so happy,” and my, was that wonder in Ryoma’s tenor? But of course. Wonder and awe and the joys of a husband with a happy spouse, “So…expressive. So talkative, here, in Valentine.”

 “Careful,” he warned, flushing up to his eartips and turning a shoulder to his darling doe so willing always to flatter him, to be in awe of him, “I may just think you want me to be less so when you say it like that.” 

 As if.

 “Never.” 

 Never, indeed. For the both of them. Why would he ever want to go back to being the scarred, fearful boy who was Nohr’s villain? Who snapped at anything and everything? Why would his dearly beloved want that for him? He didn’t. He wouldn’t. They were in agreement, and so happily so. 

 That Leo Vincini could be a name smiled at. That he could be a boy, as Ryoma was just a man, who were husbands. That he could be happy. That he could feel safe. That he could bloom in his homely garden. That he could unfurl and sprout and never hesitate and never flinch and never know fear for - for whole months of time. Wasn’t that incredible? 

 To this pair of husbands, it was.

 “You are happy?” Still, if it wasn’t reciprocated…

 “I am.” Except it was. And it was easy to trust that it was because Ryoma refused to lie to him. His answers were always honest. As honest as his heart, which he offered to his little love day after day after day, “How could I not? When you are happy, when our home is thriving, when we are building something so great and wonderful? When our sons are our joys.” 

 Shiro let out a loud sneeze right on cue, and his papa chuckled before grabbing a handkerchief to wipe his leaky nose.

 Jewels then keened and made sniffing noses. His nose wasn’t even leaky.

 But he wouldn’t calm until Ryoma had folded the handkerchief over and wiped his button nose too.

 “Our pride and joys,” their mama repeated, more for himself, as he rose from his vanity’s stool. Finally able to fully understand that saying parents used in regard to their children. The white fabric of his nightgown swept around his legs as he crossed the room. His magic extinguished the candles lit elsewhere. A few wisps of it kissed Ryoma’s lips for him as he lowered himself to crawl into their nest.

 They were left in only the light of candles lit beside that nest, and the fire crackling in the fireplace.

 The howling winter winds outside. The taste of a final cup of tea on both of their tongues.

 For Ryoma, cherry blossom tea, which Leo tasted when he kissed his husband properly.

 As his tongue probably tasted of rose tea.

 Resting his forehead on the cleft of Ryoma’s collarbone, he sank entirely into his mate. Lounging on him, who lounged in their nest. Relishing the way every one of his muscles loosened and how his entire body felt safe enough to unwind and relax on his mate. It was exactly how he wanted to end such a wonderful day. If a simple one.

 They may have four days left until the Winter Gala, but even so, he was relaxed like he’d never been before a social engagement in Nohr. 

 “Careful,” Ryoma’s low, low tenor rumbled under his ear as he began tracing patterns down, down, down his chest. Fingers brushing through the curls of hair between his pecs. And admiring those pecs as well quite, quite ardently. Especially when one of his husband’s big hands splayed itself across his lower back and he leaned down to kiss him even as he said against his lips, “The boys are right behind you, my love.” 

 “So I cannot even give my husband a goodnight kiss, is what you’re saying?” He pouted, and let his lashes flutter because he had learned several things - intentionally or not - from Niles throughout his life.

 The way he felt Ryoma’s breath catch in his broad chest counted as his reward. 

 “I…wasn’t saying that,” his teddy bear denied, all breathy now as Leo’s fingers dipped into his already loosened yukata. Running so, so tantalizing slowly down his abs. Practically breathing one another’s air as their lips brushed with every shift they made, “I, of course, love your…goodnight kisses. I’m just saying we should put the boys to bed before we - “ 
 
 Reason. How dull.

Leo cut off that line of reason by dipping his fingers so far down that they traced the dip of his darling’s navel, emboldened by the strangled noise his Yoma let loose in response and the way he went to grip Leo’s thin wrists like he was desperate to stop this before it went too far in front of the children. As if it would. Neither of them would do anything while the kits were awake.

 Once they’d tucked Shiro and Jewels in for bed, however?

 “A few kisses should be fine, no?” The younger suggested coyly, snuggling in close, closer, to his beloved husband and all but offering himself to the man. Chest-to-chest, hearts pounding, heated by one another’s presence.

 “A few kisses sounds…reasonable,” Ryoma rasped, finally giving in, and leaning in too - 

 And - 

 Jewels whined.

 So before he’d even fully thought of doing so, Leo had shoved his palms against Ryoma’s chest so hard that his disheveled mate toppled back into the nest with a startled squawk so unlike himself, and the young mother had turned over. Had Jewels tucked into the crook of his neck, and was checking on his kit with his every attention. 

His nose found the problem very, very quickly.

 A dirty linen was an easy problem to solve, and so he was off, out of their nest, to change Jewels and settle him and Shiro down for bed.

 By the time he returned to the nest, a while later, he found Ryoma lying flat on his back, arms spread out on either side of him, grinning helplessly up at the ceiling and so much the image of a fool in love that Leo felt twice the fool.

 “Yoma?” He asked softly, their sons slipping off to sleep and the firelight having died down low around them and the candles extinguished. 

 And Ryoma accepted the kiss he gave him with still that foolish smile Leo so-loved.

 “Goodnight, my Leo.” 

 He blushed, and returned the wishes for a night without nightmares. 

 Their sons came first. Always.

Chapter Text

 Waking up before one needed to was both a blessing and a curse.

 Oh sure, it granted one the chance to laze in bed. Eyes closed. Dozing. Tiptoeing along that very fine line between being awake and being asleep. Still so relaxed. Still so at ease. But, on the verge of not. 
 
 It also meant one would be stuck in that state until they committed to fully waking up, and who really wanted to do such a thing in the morning? 

 Excluding his silly, silly husband.

 Waking up in the morning, meditating, doing what needed doing for their little family unit; that was Ryoma’s bread and butter and Leo was hardly going to deny him his happy rituals. His need to provide for them. His role as a mate and as a husband. But still. Waking up. Ugh. Even in Valentine, he liked it no more than he used to. In Nohr. Less because of extreme trauma and more because…

 Ugh, mornings.

 Yes, that summed it up quite nicely.

 So he lazed about that morning, because he’d woken up before he needed to. Woken up before even his beloved. Ryoma was still and snoring across from him in their nest, and he could feel the warmth of morning’s sunlight on his cheek, and he didn’t bother peeking because he wanted to stay in the soft darkness of being half-awake. Half-dreaming.  

 Leo would’ve gladly stayed like that.

 If it weren’t for a tiny, teensy thing then.

 Jewels yelped.

Yelped.

 It was not a soft whine, it wasn’t even the quiet whimper of Shiro having accidentally rolled onto his brother’s tail in his sleep. It was an honest-to-goodness yelp of fright that had Leo’s eyes snapping open between heartbeats and him jolting up and towards the sons cradled between him and Ryoma without hesitation. Magic whipping.

 Ryoma was up and grabbing Raijinto from beside their nest as well, and both of them had the boys in their arms in a breathspan - 

 And?

 Heart pounding, so hard and so loud it was deafening in his ears, Leo exhaled very, very slowly. Jewels trembling, tucked against his neck. His small arms wrapped as best as they could be around his mama’s neck, still letting out high-pitched keens and small yelps in a warning, a kit crying for help, for help, and he barely felt sane between the burn in his matemark and the fox inside of him snarling.

 His mate had Shiro, was clutching him close, was panting a bit, and Raijinto was half-drawn and both parents were crouching in almost-prepared-to-kill positions above the nest.

 And there was a spider crawling through the furs.

 Leo wheezed his next exhale, so hard he felt like he’d knocked the air from his lungs, and he sank so abruptly back onto his heels that he hurt from how fast his muscles had gone from tense and prepared to defend to just - limp. With the relief of it not being needed. Not needed at all. By Brynhildr; the whipping vines, thorned, behind him vanished into wisps of magic unwoven. Jewels was still yelping into his neck.

 Ryoma hesitated to fully sheathe Raijinto even after, still clutching Shiro to his chest, still panting.

 Staring at the small, barely the size of a coin, spider. That had gone still. Next to where they laid their sons each night to sleep.

 It seemed Jewels hadn’t liked his first encounter of the arachnid sort.

 A fist pounded at their doors.

 He flinched.

 Ryoma was upright in-between one pounding heartbeat and the next, and at that door, still shushing Shiro and still with Raijinto in his grip. The worried guards he opened the doors to had mind enough to not storm in, and not shout, and listen to their Lord-Consort…and Leo let out a very broken breath and tipped his head towards the ceiling with all of its familiar wooden beams.

 Tracing the wood grain with his eyes, he placed a hand around Jewels’ neck and hugged his kit to his neck. Hugged him tight. Heart still beating way too fast. And it was a spider! A spider. 

 But that tiny voice inside of him whispered it could’ve been so much worse, and he hated that he couldn’t help but listen to it. It could’ve been worse. It could’ve been something so, so dangerous. In their den. Stalking their nest. Stealing away with their sons as they dozed, no longer worried about such things. About the shadows. He dropped his eyes back to the small, harmless little arachnid very slowly making his way off their furs and towards some knot in the floorboards - 

 And thought of how it could’ve been everything he feared.

 He swayed a bit, back on his heels like he was. Rocking the youngest of their litter. Back. And forth. And back. There was a prickling in his eyes. And his throat felt…tight.

 His skin felt too hot.

 He reached back with a single hand, barely willing to relinquish that much of Jewels, and placed his palm on Brynhildr’s cover. Always resting beside his nest. Always within reach. Still thrumming with the promise of protection, of magic; never leaving him or his family defenseless. Never again. She promised, in his mind, a breath, she promised. If it had been something truly dangerous, a true threat - 

 Brynhildr would’ve woken them in an instant.

 The threat would’ve never even gotten close. Not to their kits.

 Not in their home.

 Not on her soil; snowy or not. 

 Never where her roots lay. Where the Vincinis shall always be safest. From the moonstone in the center of her cover, a magical wisp emerged. It curled. Took shape. A butterfly as green as Leo’s and his mother’s eyes. As green as Jewels’ eyes. Just like when he was born. And it fluttered up, up, up, into Jewels’ eyesight. And his son saw it, and squeaked in his small, excited way. Stopped yelping. Reaching for it. All of his fears fading.

 Forgetting he’d even been scared in the first place, purring and batting at the butterfly that fluttered around him. Just out of reach. Wings shimmering in the morning light, their dust like starlight that fell and sparkled and faded to the sound of Jewels’ sweet giggling.

 He thanked Brynhildr.

 And kissed Jewels’ cheek, loud and sloppy and full of love, and then shifted his gaze almost guiltily to where his mated still stood by the door. 

 Guarding.

 Guards behind him, Papa behind him, watching Leo and Jewels with such care and concern…and shame. As if they could’ve stopped this. What? A spider? A single spider? They took shelter in the manor from the winter. It was nothing new. It was just the first time one had woken up the boys. Had caused quite a stir. No - they were ashamed that they couldn’t protect their lordling from being so broken by a single yelp - that wasn’t it.

 The Vincini boy held his baby boy, and pretended not to see that shame. 

 Staring at the spider. Making its escape like an innocent in all of this. Such a simple, necessary critter. Such a small thing. Causing so much heartache, so early in the morning. Was that what it was? Heartache? Well, Leo’s heart ached, so perhaps.

 Staring at it, crawling away, its little eight legs working towards a crack in the floorboards, the boy sighed - 

 Then squeaked.

 When a tiny bolt of lightning arced through the air and hit just that spider.

 And suddenly it was a fried little critter, with its legs all curled in and smoking slightly. Dead on the floorboards. 

 He - not just he, all of them - turned his eyes slowly, disbelievingly, to his darling Ryoma. Standing at the door. Raijinto actually drawn now. And sparking. A very disconcerted expression on his face. Frowning at the spider he’d just ruthlessly murdered, and bouncing Shiro on his hip. Sleeping yukata disheveled. Hair a mess worthy of professional detanglers. All around his dear teddy bear, as always, but also. An arachnid murderer.

 “...Yoma.” He said finally, unsure what else he was supposed to say, seeing his dearly beloved smite a spider with his legendary sword like that.

 And immediately, immediately, Ryoma drew into himself in a defensive sort of shrug, making a strangled noise in his throat, motioning towards the smoking spider corpse with Raijinto in a, ‘I regret nothing.’ Sort of explanatory way.

 Which explained absolutely nothing.

 Except.

 “Darlin’,” Leo went on, tone verging on incredulous as he stared tiredly at the man he loved and asked, “do you happen to be afraid of spiders?” 

 Another, longer strangled noise. Holding Shiro very close to his chest indeed. 

 Oh my.

 “If somebody wouldn’t mind,” Leo now addressed those gathered out in the hallway, halfway to passing out now that his heartbeat was slowing, feeling so very tired all at once, “Please fetch me some peppermint oils and watered citrus fruits? Thank you.” 

 Both were spider deterrents, and Ryoma seemed extremely aware of that fact since his expression shifted to one of great gratitude, and he easily stepped aside when one of the guards laughed and pushed past him to come clear away the corpse his lightning had left behind. Poor smoking thing.

Leo had never had anything against spiders. He was so used to seeing them, and even played with them growing up.

Garden spiders especially were friends of his, for obvious reasons. Valentine had many critters of the many-legged sort, so as a boy of Valentine he'd never considered an outsider's reaction to them. Then again, his husband had once been horrified by the explanation of what a woodtick was, so maybe he should've predicted this. Spiders were a common fear, he was told.

 It seemed not only was his doe afraid of them, but their sons may have gotten that from their father too.

 So their den was now a spider-free den. Effective immediately.

 Ryoma was blatantly avoiding coming near their nest, so Leo found the incredible willpower necessary to stand. To go to him and to Shiro. And to ‘oof’ and faceplant against his very sturdy spouse, grumbling and sniffing and acting very unhappy with the whole being awake ordeal he was enduring. It worked. Ryoma distracted himself by comforting his grumbly husband, the corpse was safely cleared away, nobody else was struck by lightning, and Raijinto was sheathed.

 None of them liked seeing it drawn in Leo’s presence.

 “What a morning,” his father said entirely tonelessly, in that way that said he was trying not to sound amused, and he excused himself to check on the kitchens’ progress with breakfast.

 “What a morning,” Leo repeated his father’s words just as tonelessly, but his just sounded so tired, the smell of lightning mixing with the evergreen scent in the air.

 “I…apologize,” his Yoma started, which he cut off by picking his head up to kiss those pursed lips. Very, very gently.

 “No apologizing for what you feel, Yoma,” he whispered, the two of them rocking together with the twins in their arms, the morning rays falling all around them in shimmering glory that warmed them and was a better way to wake, “or for your fears. You’ve never mocked me for mine. I will never judge you for yours.” 

 Fears? Leo had few tangible ones. Mostly his fears were nightmares. What-ifs.

 Possibilities. And the horrors of knowing how many there were.

 Except there had been that one night in the Hamlet, hadn’t there? Where they spoke of scars? Of old wounds? And ever since then, ever since Ryoma had traced and kissed the scars on the backs of his heels? Just who had stood between him and dogs - even the soft, fluffy herding dogs of Valentine’s own farms? - whenever dogs were around? Who had never mocked him for tensing up at the smallest woof of a hound?

 He could never make fun of or think less of his mate for a fear.

 Ever.

 By the time breakfast was ready, there was peppermint oil dabbed in every corner of their den, and bowls of cut citruses sat on each of the windowsills and at their nestside and even as the centerpiece of the tablet.

Ryoma blushed a bit, but seemed so relieved he didn’t even try apologizing for a second time.

 He was sure there’d be more spider deterrents spread throughout the manor by late afternoon.

 And more than anything had struck him, more than the lightning had struck him? The way Ryoma seemed shocked by how supportive everyone was of this struck him. And Leo saw it through until the end because this was the man he’d married and the father of his children and if he was afraid of spiders then spiders were now a declared enemy of the Vincini family.

 Never again allowed within their walls without being relocated. Peacefully, if possible.

 Or, if Ryoma had his way, smited by lightning of legend.

 Because his teddy bear had his fears too.

Chapter Text

 Insofar as the topic of spouses goes, what can Ryoma say? 

When he was a Hakuryuu, he knew what was expected of him. He had his duty. As it was the honor of a Hakuryuu to do that duty, the eldest son of King Sumeragi never doubted that he would do so. Never even entertained a thought to do otherwise. He lived, breathed, prayed and trained with his honor and duty in mind. He let it enlighten him. He took up Raijinto in its name, he worshiped the Dawn Dragon as he was raised to, and he swore the oaths of a samurai to bring honor to his father’s memories.

 To continue to defend Hoshido’s dawn.

 As the future King of Hoshido.

 Ryoma knew his siblings still hadn’t entirely forgiven him for abdicating. Knew they likely wouldn’t for many years. They were still young. More importantly, they were their own people. The sort of people who probably could put the needs of Hoshido above the needs of all others. Ryoma Vincini was not that sort of person. 

He was a good man, a bitten mate, who tried to be a good husband and father. By abandoning his role as the born-King of Hoshido. 

If need be? He’d realized he would. He had. He continued to do so. 

 Insofar as the topic of spouses goes, what can Ryoma really say? 

 As a Hakuryuu, he knew his mothers always wanted him to have an opinion, if nothing else, of whom he’d marry. Maybe even choose for himself…in a different world. It was a pretty promise. For his siblings perhaps it was even true. Not for Ryoma. He knew what was expected of him - to marry somebody suited to him. Somebody of good breeding, somebody Hoshido’s Royal Council supported. Somebody likely trading power and influence for him. Viewing him as a prize and as a source of pride, but not a love.

 They would have an amicable relationship, he was sure. They would be polite spouses, if not friends or partners. Perhaps if he was extremely lucky and blessed by the Dawn Dragon, they might even somehow find a sort of love to foster between them one day.

 They would bear the children expected from Hoshido’s King. Heirs. Judged; each and every one of them.

 He and his future spouse would be symbols for Hoshido to look to, as a sign of how their kingdom fared. In good times and in bad. Always meant to keep face, always meant to uphold propriety, always meant to act in honor and grace. As was the Hoshidan way and Hoshidan expectation. 

 Oh yes, Ryoma knew what had been expected of him.

 None of that left room for his Leo.

 In the end, there truly was no other option for them but to remain in Valentine, was there? At a point in the past they’d thought of a life shared in Castle Shirasagi. In the heart of Hoshido where Ryoma had grown up. And it’d been a wonderful thought. A passing one. That passed further and further out of sight the longer the war dragged on. Ryoma had fallen so fast and so hopelessly for his little love that he’d felt what it was like to be struck by lightning for the first time in his life.

 And for the first time in his life, his eyes were opened to a very simple truth by the boy he loved.

 Ryoma wanted things for himself.

 How dare he? 

 He wanted - he wanted love. Gods, he wanted romance. He wanted to live out those lives written in the pages between his books’ covers. He wanted to believe the fantasies he had could become his reality. That he could have those things. A spouse to love who loved him, one he could adore who adored him, a life they lived together in peace and in harmony, always supporting each other over the entire world. 

Children, maybe. Which had happened so much sooner than he expected but still he regretted nothing.

 He wanted. Desperately. And for the first time in Ryoma Hakuryuu’s life he’d actually let himself reach for the things he wanted to hold onto. Which meant for the first time in his life, he failed the expectations set for him. Was scolded. Knocked down, by disappointed sighs and scandalized gasps and shoulders turning from him like he had brought shame upon his family for falling in love.

 For daring to desire.

 Ryoma Vincini was who had emerged from the war that upended generations of foundations in all sorts of different ways. Like a butterfly from its chrysalis. Ryoma had refused to let go of his Leo, and their Valentine, and their sons this time. Even when his mothers’ advisors had come to try and drag him back personally without even realizing they were driving in the final nail that would knock the crown from Ryoma’s head.

 He would never leave his mate. Especially never so close to the birth of his kits.

 So he’d made his choice.

 And so he’d changed history by falling in love.

 To stay. And who knew staying meant so many good things for him? Ryoma had, on some secret level, been sure Valentine would fail to accept him. And yet? Where he expected scorn, or glares, or even mistreatment because Nohr so rarely gave anything less even to his little lover? 

 Where he drew his shoulders back braced for all of that, he…received warm, welcoming pats on his back.

 And kind smiles.

 And curious questions from all sides, but none intrusive.

 He received care of the finest degree possible, out of pride and genuine welcome wishes rather than duty. Ryoma received - was received - like he was one of Valentine’s own, coming home alongside his husband. They were patient with him. Gentle too. There was no burying him beneath expectations, or impossible trials to somehow overcome to gain respect, or oaths to prove he would do his duty as Leo’s husband.

 There was just an innate trust in him.

 In his heart.

 In whom Leo Vincini had chosen to spend the rest of his life with.

 There was a rocky, uneven cropping to pass with Lord Alistair, and plenty to adjust to, but Valentine was like a home he’d been looking for before he ever even knew of it. Valentine was like that place he’d always come back to, when he wandered, without even meaning to. It was where his heart had put down roots before he’d even realized it. From the first moment Leo had opened up to him about his homeland - 

 To the day he had helped bring Leo back home. 

 By the Dawn. How was it so much a surprise, now months after accepting Valentine as he’d been accepted, that he was accepted as he was? 

 Ryoma’s fear of spiders went back to childhood, and it was a rather silly story, and it wasn’t proper in the least. From what he’d gathered? The people of Valentine definitely weren’t frightened of such things either. 

And yet he’d been on the receiving end of not one disappointed frown or mocking laugh since that morning. 

 A fear of spiders had seemed so inane and shameful that the man had never bothered to bring it up with Leo. Until he saw one of those creepy, eight-legged and too-many-eyed things in their nest. Where they and their babies slept. Raijinto had reacted before he’d really thought about containing his reaction, and his husband…had just accepted his fear.

 Had immediately ordered spiders no longer welcome in the manor, and had gone about trying to ensure there’d be as few as possible in the places Ryoma frequented most often.

 Without even hesitating.

 Leo. Oh how he loved his mated. How he adored him. How he wished to continue doing so. 

 There’d been a clap on his shoulder here or there, and there’d been several servants in the halls with their hands closed or carrying glasses that probably contained dreaded spiders that they’d caught and were relocating that they hid from his view…but there’d been nothing meant to shame him.

 How surprised he’d been.

 Needing to shake off the memories of the creature that had invaded his nest with his mate, a nest he was sure Leo was reweaving as he stalked the halls at that very moment, Ryoma had taken up Raijinto and headed for the training hall. Where he could meditate in the sunlit hall, think on how much he loved his husband -

 And also, do as he’d promised.

 As in, when the guardsmen of Valentine stepped in to invite him to practice with them? 

He singled out Sir Joey. His husband’s friend from childhood.

 To very swiftly and very surely put the flat of his blade behind the teenager and send him sprawling not once, nor twice, but thrice. Until his wooden training sword had clattered to the tiles forgotten and he was panting horribly. Lying there spread-eagle and breathless and staring up at Ryoma all huffy-like.

 Asking, “Is it just me, Lord Ryoma, or are you, uh, upset? With me?” 

 Upset? No. 
 
 He was just trying to be a good husband.

 “You shouldn’t have thrown that snowball,” Leo’s teddy bear said simply, unable to contain a smile at the thought of his tomato, and Sir Joey squawked.

 His fellow guards burst out into bellows of laughter, clearly having heard the tale of the unfair snowball fight, incredulous and delighted by their Lord Ryoma’s actions, and Ryoma easily resheathed Raijinto. Relishing in the laughter as much as he did the sunlight in the training hall. 
 
 So very glad that he’d abandoned his duty, and the expectations that came with it, in the end.

 Because then he got to have Leo Vincini to love forever, and the whole of Valentine to truly call the home of his heart. 

Until the day he died.

Chapter Text

 Four days until the Winter Gala, and Delgo’s own representatives reached Valentine.

 How early they were was admittedly a surprise to Leo, when a guard rushed to inform him. In the middle of weaving his nest together again after picking it apart. Piece by piece. Obviously the pelt touched by a spider was removed and replaced with a nice, thick-furred bear pelt that his mate would hopefully appreciate. That the twins definitely appreciated, since after nursing they’d curled into two tiny balls in the sea of black fur and started napping immediately.

 But back on track - Delgo being the closest of all the towns of the halidom, the Vincini heir had been expecting them to arrive much, much closer to the gala.

 Four days early? When it was just barely more than a day’s trip from Delgo to Valentine with the deep snows? That warranted surprise.

 When he was informed this party of representatives seemed to only include three people, Leo was doubly as surprised.

 A bit worried.

 Had something happened on the road? 

 Leaving his twins in the care of Sirs Rainier and Alexander, whom he trusted, old guards of his as they were and even older brotherly figures, Leo went to join his father in the foyer. Waiting on the single, simple wagon seen on the snowy hills to the east. Delaying anyone who tried to summon his husband because - 

 Well, if it wasn’t truly a worrying matter, he didn’t want to make his worrywort of a Ryoma to worry.

 Anything, anything at all, could happen on the roads at the height of winter.

…

 And nothing had happened.

 “Oh, I was just far too excited ta rest for four more days!” Lord Delgane waved off the worry of Lords Alistair and Leo, his cane clicking on the foyer floor. Entering with a few pats to his robe that knocked snowflakes from its fabric, two guards in Delgo’s colors on his heels, “And how could I not take this chance ta see ya both again? Home! Finally.” 

 Simple, was the explanation.

 Welcomed as well.

 Delgo was a small village, with even smaller ambitions, and with the least amount of details to work out between it and Valentine. The Lokni family - of which Delgane Lokni was the head - was the sole lording family of the village known for its orchards and pies most of all. There were no feuds to manage. No great taxes to raise or null. There was just Delgo.

 Who had declared their full support and loyalty to Leo and his family before news had even broken of the halidom’s formation. 

 They had their loyalty before they had that loyalty to themselves, and the Vincinis would remember that.

 If Grandpappy Delgane wished to attend the gala as a polite nod politically, and as an old family friend visiting personally, they would not turn him away. Even if he brought only two aging guards to accompany him. And even if he seemed more interested in meeting Leo’s children, and being oft as a grandfather is over teatime and Valentine’s pies. What was the harm in any of that? 

 He and his guards would be offered guest rooms within the manor, for they truly were allies of the Vincini family.

 And until then? Why - off to that teatime with pies’ sweet cream to lick off their lips.

 And to introduce Shiro and Jewels to a man who was almost, in some ways, like a grandfather to their mama.

 A simple day’s time. But a worthwhile one that would be remembered fondly.

 Worthwhile for Grandpappy Delgane and his care for the Vincini family despite his great, great age…and for afterwards. When Leo went back to his den with his exhausted kits; worn out from playing with the grandfatherly man. He may need a cane and may be older than even Grandpa Thorin, but he had energy to spare for small children! For sure. 

 But the afterwards of returning, and smirking as he gave the boys to Niles who held them perfectly fine but also stared at them like he still wasn’t sure what they were - 

 And going to where his Ryoma was laid out in their freshly rewoven nest, very appreciative of the bear pelt indeed, reading one of his novels. 

 A novel he set aside to fit Leo under his arm instead so they could kiss and cuddle while Uncle Niles babysat.

 Very, very happy with one another.

 With everything.

 So sweet on each other and the tea and the pies, that their teeth ached with it.

Chapter Text

 “...Ryoma?” In the quiet of their bedroom at night, his voice sounded noisy.

As if it didn’t fit. 

Tucked under his husband’s arm, however, was precisely where Leo Vincini was born to be.  
 
 “Yes, my love?” Tucked under his husband’s arm, his husband’s fingers carding gently through his golden-blonde hair, able to feel his tenor all throughout his chest as he called him ‘his love’ like only Ryoma ever had. That was precisely where he was born to be. Where he wanted to be. Nowhere else. Nowhere else in the world, with the night theirs, and their sons snuggling up somewhere around their legs that were tangled up together, and - 

 Well, they had ‘gone to bed’ hours ago. Neither of them had fallen asleep though. Leo had wiggled into his mate’s arms, and Ryoma had hugged him around his waist, and they’d laid like that. For hours. 

 In a nest composed only of their soft breaths, their sons’ snores, and the distant whistling of winter winds outside.

 The crackling of a low-burning fire.

 Their heartbeats, beating in time with one another, a spark like lightning and magic in the air.

 It had been such a simple day.

 And so?

 “I love you,” the Vincini boy said softly, nuzzling into his love’s chest. Into his thunderous heartbeat. So loud, where his was so quiet. His mate was warm. Was sweet with his scent, and the happy chuckle that rolled through him was deep - deep enough to give him shivers. Sleepy and loving. Loving him.

 “I love you too,” Ryoma squeezed his waist lightly, and the shivers were such a pleasant, felt thing.

 He felt…felt. His matemark throbbed faintly.

 “...Ryoma?” 

 “Yes, my love?” 

 He nosed his way to his mate’s matemark, a bit deeper than his, a bit differently shaped because it was the fangs of a kitsune who had given him it, but it was still his also because he’d reopened the scar as a human. Made his mate his more than once. He felt it. Ever-tied to him. Wound around him like a string of fate forever knotting them to one another.

 And he very delicately opened his mouth and placed his teeth on the imprints of where he’d bitten before. 

 A very strong shudder ran through his beloved husband, who gripped his smaller body tight to his and groaned and grasped at him afterwards. Breathy. So happy and so breathy and practically kneading at Leo’s spine with his big hands, his knuckles. Ducking his head down into him to press a kiss to his matemark of only human teeth - 

 And the shudder wasn’t as strong, but the action left him seeing stars.

 Left his magic fluttering around them in the form of luminescent butterflies of all their colors. Pale and glowing in the shafts of moonlight.

 “I love you,” Leo sighed, soaking in his Ryoma with everything that he was.

 “As I love you,” his Ryoma sighed in turn, folding around his little mate and his legs around his littler sons as they settled down for bed. Again. 

 Mates of the heart, forevermore.

 Blessed to be able to have these moments.

 These small, itty-bitty moments. In the place they had made their home. In each other’s hearts, and all that that entailed. Leo loved Ryoma as Ryoma loved Leo. And months and months ago they had been enemies from birth. Enemies through circumstances, in a way. Enemies that had never even laid eyes on one another. 

 And the first time they did, in a way, lay eyes on one another? 

 They were already in love.

 How far they had come. How simple their days were now, compared to the days of war and conflict and worry. They preferred this. They far preferred this. It hit them, late at night like this when it felt like they were a family alone in the world and they were okay with that. They preferred the quiet, simplest life they could get. Living in domestic bliss. Without really needing to wonder what tomorrow would bring.

 They preferred the mornings of waking up in the same place each and every time instead of a new camp every morning, and the cuddles, and the comfort of being surrounded by people who cared for them whom they also cared for.

 They preferred the afternoons sometimes full of paperwork, and the afternoons definitely full of tea, and the evenings spent as a family.

 They preferred this. What they had.

 So they wound around each other and enjoyed it, long, long into the night.

 This blessing Brynhildr helped to give them, weaving her magic in their names, every single day.

 Every day, another one they enjoyed. Together.
 

Chapter Text

 Awakening to giggles? What a wonderful way to wake.

 Ryoma was shushing the boys, even as he beamed and tickled their tiny feet. His own low chuckles were things of beauty. Shiro was the loudest. Giggling and giggling and giggling, and sticking his whole fist in his mouth when his papa shushed him. Feet kicking.

Jewels was quiet by comparison. Always was. Squealing each time his papa would so much as touch his feet; no tickling required.

 Then Jewels would sneeze and his ears would do a wild flutter of fluff, and Ryoma would give him kissies until he calmed down from scaring himself like that.

 Still shushing them intermittently, like he was remembering too late he had a mate who was still asleep.

 Leo didn’t mind.

 Leo didn’t mind at all.

 This was the scene the blonde boy awoke to. His husband, playing with their sons, giggles and chuckles and shushes to be heard. Yoma was tucked up around them, paying full attention to them, practically aglow in the morning light. His mane sticking up in random directions and his big, brown eyes so warm and - 

 And Leo just snuggled into his pillow that smelled of both of them, all of them, to watch for a while longer. Lips tugged up into a sleepy sort of grin. Heart pounding. Because how could it not, when he loved all of his darling boys? Even if they’d woken him up so very early in the morning. 

 It went on for a while, and resulted in Jewels sneezing again and Shiro going to defend his baby brother before Ryoma glanced up mid-hearty laughter.

 Glanced up at Leo, then down at the twins, then straight back up at Leo with a surprised ‘o’ to his mouth.

 He blushed. He brushed some of his bangs behind his ear, just for them to fall helplessly back into his face, and their sweet sons squealed as they realized their mama was finally awake too. Which meant nursing for them! Oh yes it did! Shiro and Jewels made grabby hands at him, and he complied with his own helpless sort of smile and laugh to rival his husband’s.

 Shifting, to curl close around his kits, he slipped the straps from his shoulders to loosen his nightgown’s lacy top. They latched on before he’d even gotten it fully tucked down, making him hiss at their eagerness.

 Jewels’ kit-fangs just kept getting pointier.

 “Good morning,” Ryoma rumbled, still a bit red, still blushing a bit, still entirely adorable. And such a truly darling mate; shifting around him too. To curl against his smaller mate’s spine. To frame all three - mother, son, and son - in his arms in the morning rays of light.

 “Mornin’ to you too,” Leo sighed, sinking into the silky furs and his sons’ nursing, but most of all sinking into his beloved’s hands rubbing at his hips. Sinking into Ryoma’s lips that pressed up and down his neck in slow, loving kisses that lingered.

Like flower petals on his skin.

 “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

 “Don’t mind.” 

 Turning his head into those kisses, a flower petal ended up on his lips. A nice, slow, chaste flower petal. Those lips of his husband’s. It was just…nice. And a reminder. Of the two of them lying together beneath a flowering cherry blossom tree, a long time ago now. Petals falling all around them. In their hair, on their clothes, on their skin. Pretty and pink.

 A lot like his Ryoma when he blushed. 

 Leo leaned in first for the next kiss, just as nice and just as slow…maybe not as chaste. He nipped the brunette’s lower lip as he pulled back. Taking it with him a bit. Making Ryoma gasp, grow bashful, blush again in the morning light and - yeah. Pretty and pink. His husband could be a cherry blossom when he wanted to be.

 “Yoma,” he breathed out, the name, just the name, as they pressed their foreheads together. Adjusting the kits even as they suckled at his chest. Grinning through the messy, messy mane falling all around them because of how Ryoma was above them. Honestly -

 “I want to brush your hair.” 

 A cute, honest-to-goodness roar of laughter escaped his husband in surprise, and Leo grin widened. He opened his eyes to see Ryoma fall back into the furs and pillows of their nest. Laughing. Laughing. Somewhere behind him. Somewhere behind him in a ray of morning light, his beloved was clutching his stomach and laughing.

 But he really did want to brush his hair.

 The kits made happy purring noises in response to their father’s laughter.

 And Ryoma Vincini came back to Leo Vincini, to wind his strong arms around his waist and press a thousand kisses up and down his spine, his shoulders, pushing his nightgown lower and lower so he could kiss every inch of the boy. 

 And it really was an early morning Leo didn’t mind.

 He got to brush his mate’s mess of a mane sooner rather than later. He got to get ready with him and their sons, eat breakfast with them, have a cup of tea while they received reports on the gala preparations. Three days to go until the set date.

 He got to smile back at all of his guards who came and went, looking so amused at their Lord Leo and Lord Ryoma. Cooing over the little lordlings too in their basket bassinet.

 He got to hug his husband tight and spend much of the morning lounging together, talking about final matters for the gala.

 He got to kiss his husband softly as morning transitioned into day.

 The pair of husbands tangled up together on the sofa, so much so it was difficult to tell where one husband began and another ended. 

 He got all of that.

 And then he got a nice, steaming bath on top of it all. Petals scattered across the surface. But no bubbles, because the twins were joining him. Oh Jewels made a cacophony of noise in complaint. He still hated water. And Shiro made a ruckus trying to protect his baby brother from the wretched stuff! But with a little help from his husband and a lot, a lot, of splashing water over the edges of the tub? They managed it.

 After they were washed and tousled off with a towel and laid down for a nap following that terribly scary experience?

 Well, the man he loved was already quite wet. So Ryoma stripped off his yukata and stepped into the tub with Leo, to truly enjoy the heat of the waters together.

 And it was a very, very, very lovely morning.

 With plenty of blushing involved.

Chapter Text

 Snow laid atop snow laid atop snow, and Leo extended a hand to brush some of the topmost layer off of the railing.

The manor had multiple balconies. Only the one, grand one overlooked the bailey, and it was the one he preferred. He could see all of the bailey, most of the northern and southern gardens, plus the barracks and the main gate. All snow-covered at this time of the year. Winter fully embracing Valentine. 

 Stepping out onto the balcony for a breath or two of fresh air in-between other matters was nice.

 Was something Leo had started to do more often, wrapping a cloak or shawl around his shoulders and stepping out. For just a moment.

 Today, very few things had strayed from his routine. His morning had been very enjoyable and very telltale. His day turned into a flurry of small matters. Be it visiting the kitchens who had questions about the feast for the gala, or visiting Head Guard Fern to check that he had patrols arranged for that night - both in town and in the manor - or even paying Niles a visit where his brother had taken over a spare quarters in the servant’s wing. 

 His eldest brother had wanted his opinion on the dress he intended to wear for the gala.

 Leo had unfortunately had to demand that it wasn’t, well, see-through. The gown Niles had held up with a smirk to show him had practically been lingerie. 

 If need be, the Vincini boy had offered Niles access to the family’s tailor for a proper gown, just keep the scandalizing to a lower level than he would usually. After all, Leo liked his guests…for once. Nalina and Delgo’s lording families were allies. Friends, he’d almost dare say if it weren’t for his past. Wuthering’s representatives remained to be seen though. 

 His snowy-haired brother had seemed honestly interested in his offer, so he hoped Niles would find a dress he liked in time for the gala.

 From there it’d been off to see his father who was babysitting the twins while he and Ryoma ran around organizing final details. In the future, they’d both be getting advisors and delegates for these sorts of things, Leo was going to see to it. But for their first social engagement as the Lord-Husbands of Valentine? It was only fitting for them to do it all themselves.

 He’d crossed his darling Ryoma in the halls, and had been swept into a sweeping hug that lifted him off his feet as a matter of fact.

 He’d kissed his darling before he went.

 He checked in on the boys, he sent for tea, he peeked in on the orchestra practicing their pieces for the gala in the training hall. A hall that certainly had good acoustics. 

 The maids were in a tizzy, trying to clean every corner of Vincini Manor before it was filled with a modest number of guests. The ‘modest’ part hardly seemed to register for them though. Leo passed maids and manservants carrying buckets and brooms with all of the seriousness of soldiers going to war. The head servants were giving orders like generals would to their men. 

 It was a matter of utmost pride to the servants of the Vincini family; making this gala a success. 

 He was honored, so he ended up stopping by many of these platoons of cleanliness-soldiers to thank them personally. Still…not quite used to the kindness he was shown by his own people compared to what he was shown by Nohr for years. It flustered him. Still, he found the words, because they deserved the words.

 The thank yous of their lordling.

 Up and down staircases. In and out of room after room. Leo was winded in no time at all, and reminded of how little he himself had trained since the war’s end. Unless dancing with Ryoma counted. It was a long, long day that involved a lot of going from one end of the manor to the other. And a lot of being chased by folks who needed him.

 Either needed his input for something, or needed his signature, or needed coin for some of the payments for the gala, or needed him to slow down.

 His guards were that last one.

 Lunchtime was a rushed, on-his-feet affair. A sandwich and a tomato that he munched on happily as he walked. Filling out papers even as he went. Very used to this song and dance by now. 

 Returning to the nursery to nurse. Then nurse again. Then nurse again.

 Shiro and Jewels were growing well, and they also seemed to need more milk than ever from their mother.

 All of that - 

 Left Leo Vincini with an afternoon where he stepped out onto the bailey’s balcony for a breath of fresh air. Brushing a layer of snow off the railing. Just breathing in the cold, snowy breeze, with his breaths these visible puffs at his lips. Nose rosy. Cheeks reddening. It drove his guards mad; him being out there with only a cloak he’d tugged out of his magical storage.

 A red cloak. A very dear cloak.

 From the balcony, Leo could see far across the rolling and snowy hills of Valentine. He could see all the puffing clouds of smoke above chimneys from both homes in town and out on the farms. He could see animals loose in their paddocks, dark specks against all of the white - piled on branches of trees and on rooftops. The road a slightly flattened, beaten-down line headed for the horizon that was a snow-covered forest.

 He could also hear the bickering of guards at the barracks, and a howl or two from up the mountain. The wolfskin. 

 He heard a whinny from the direction of the stables, and glanced that way to see Rose.

 Whinnying up at him as if to ask, ‘Where is your coat?’ 

 Sounding just as frustrated with him as his guards. 

 About to answer, Leo was about to answer her, was leaning forward over the rail to do so -

 When there was a whistling.

 And he turned his head to the side just in time to see an arrow. 

 Caught in Brynhildr’s vines that were like pitch against the snow’s whiteness. That were tightening, tightening, splintering the arrow’s shaft into so many tiny pieces. The arrowhead fell uselessly to the ground and slid towards his boot. He stared at it. Blinking. In a state of shock that made the whole snowy world seem frozen. 

 But like the first thaws of spring, when the snow was broken through, everything happened fast afterwards.

 Leo made a startled noise as he was dragged back by the hood of his cloak, yanked into the arms of somebody wearing the rose-gold armor of his family’s guard. He nearly tripped. Still staring at the arrowhead all innocent and dark against the snowflakes on the ground and that could’ve been his blood all innocent and dark against those snowflakes - 

 Brynhildr was grumbling in his mind.

 But she didn’t sound furious? More frustrated? 

 Her vines vanished into wisps of green.

 He was indoors, and there was shouting, and there was his magic taut under his skin. Two separate instincts warring within him. Fight? Or defend? Fight back - or defend his kits? 

 His kits.

 “No, Lord Leo. Easy. Easy.” The arms around him were hindering him, so he glared at the one responsible, glared and growled, unaware that his eyes were glowing with his rage. His worry. But the arms remained loosely caged around his. Keeping him in the hallway. Keeping him from his children - 

 “Lord Leo, it was an accident. You’re safe. You’re safe.” 

 An arrow had been shot at him, and, and his fingertips reached for his chest. For another arrow that had hit its target. That would never happen here. Not with Brynhildr’s magic beneath their very feet every step they take, but, but - !

 “Leo!” Papa.

 The rose-gold gauntlets keeping him caged finally let him free. So he threw himself towards the incoming footsteps. A little sight-blind. Still only able to see that arrow less than a pace away from his neck - 

 Papa smelled like ink and like snow and like Mama. And being in his arms meant being doubly protected. Magic of Leo’s was whipping around in small flashes of light, and he still wanted to go to his kits but now Brynhildr too was trying to calm him down and since he’d almost been assassinated that felt a bit strange and he sort of felt like he was walking on a rickety bridge over the Bottomless Canyon - 

 It was hard to breathe.

 “Take a deep breath, my boy,” his father said, a hand smoothing down his back, mindful of his spine. His cloak had been removed by somebody. Father’s voice filled his head, his real father, not - never Garon, never again - that man’s, “Take a deep breath for me. Just like that. Just like that.” 

 Why were they so unbothered by - ? 

 “Alistair!” Ryoma.

 Fisting his hands in his papa’s shirt that smelled of home but not his mate, he went tense trying to let go of him but also keep him close but also…Ryoma wrapped his arms around Leo even as he hugged his papa. Suddenly he was squished between the two people he trusted to protect him the most.

 Suddenly, Brynhildr’s soft reassurances seemed more believable.

 He took a deep breath. Then another. Then another.

 A deep, desperate portion of the wired mage wanted to go to his kits still. A larger portion than that now wanted to know what the hells had happened here. For once? Curiosity had competition. Because he was a mother, and his kits may be in danger, and - and he took a very deep breath.

 Blinking into the fabric of his father’s button-up. Blinking at the wedding bands of his parents’ that hung around his father’s neck. 

 Blinking at the sound of shouting without the manor.

 It wasn’t…the sort of shouting that came from battlefields. More like, just, furious shouting. 

 Like somebody was being scolded within an inch of their life.

 “Wh-at - ?” His voice cracked over the question, he was trembling, and Ryoma was pressing kisses down onto his shoulder. Holding his hips so tightly he might bruise. Papa was carding his fingers through his hair, over and over to soothe him, but, “What happened?” 

 An arrow had been shot at him.

 Leo was supposed to be safe in his home.

 “A training accident, my boy,” Lord Alistair answered, since Ryoma was too busy pressing kiss after kiss down to do so, both of the older men feeling so shaky against him, “From what I’ve been told, they were practicing archery and one of them…missed, the target.” 

 “...Facing the manor?” The blonde boy croaked, an uneasy shiver crawling up his spine.

 “A dumb accident!” His dearly beloved spoke up and oh, Ryoma sounded beyond furious, still pressing kisses down across his love’s neck and shoulders between words, “But it seems, yes. An accident. And there will be consequences because you were - you were almost - !” 

 Almost shot through his neck with an arrow.

 “...Brynhildr protected me,” he found his voice enough to say, aware, on most levels of himself, that he wasn’t truly in the peril they believed he’d been. Because Brynhildr would never let them be killed here. Especially not like that. But it didn’t seem to fully be getting through to his father or husband…or himself.

 It just came so out of the blue…

 “Ryoma, take him to the nursery,” his papa commanded, pressing a final kiss of his own down onto the crown of Leo’s head, starting to pull away, “I will go out to the bailey and sort this out. Of course somebody will be getting punished for this. If Brynhildr wasn’t - or if somebody who hadn’t her protection had been standing there instead? No. This will not just be let go. Even if it was an accident.” 

 But was it? That quiet, used to assassination attempts part of Leo’s brain asked. 

 Brynhildr swore to him in whispers that it was.

 But was it? 

 “Come on, my dove,” a long, lingering kiss was pressed to his matemark then as he watched his father storm away, and he turned completely pliant in his mate’s hands, “let’s go to the boys, hm? Let’s go check on them. Let’s make sure they’re okay.” 

 Focusing on his kits was easier than focusing on how spacey he felt. How it still felt like one instant, suspended in time, where he turned to see an arrow stopped seconds before it would’ve ended his life. It just - came so out of the blue. Leo never saw it coming. They were supposed to be safe in…in…

 He gave a tiny gasp when Ryoma simply lifted him off his feet because he wasn’t quite listening to him.

 He wrapped his arms around his lover’s neck, trying to blink away the memory, but it refused to fade.

 It felt like he was stuck there. In that moment before he would’ve died.

 Before he would’ve lost everything he loved.

 Never even suspecting it would happen, because in Valentine they were supposed to be safe.

 They were supposed to be safe.

 In a nursery, where the walls were painted in the likeness of a forest, and a painted golden fox lay snuggling two kits? 

 Leo lay, curled in a protective crescent moon around his two sons. 

 Somewhere else in his mind.

 In another war.

 When Ryoma had carried his little love to the nursery, Shiro hadn’t so much as sniffed at his still mam being set in his and his brother’s crib. He’d simply stayed asleep as his papa shifted him close enough to be held. Jewels had woken up during the same process, snuffling at his mama’s jaw like he sensed his distress, but he’d fallen asleep eventually.

 The afternoon light through curtains left them all in the din, shadows crawling towards them as the sun fell further towards the mountaintops. And Leo just stayed there. Curled around his kits. Eyes closed. Eyes open. Heart in the middle of a war they’d ended months ago.

 A single loosed arrow had dragged him back by the throat.

 Ryoma was helpless when it came to pulling him gently back to him, so the warrior without a battle to fight was stuck just sitting closeby in the crib. Back to the bars, knees bent, Raijinto propped up against his shoulder as he kept guard of them. Even when it was confirmed it had been an accident. He did not move, he did not try to take Leo from his head.

 The most he did was place his hand on Leo’s head as he lay there, playing with strands of his golden hair and running his fingertips over his cheek, his ear, down his neck.

 A soft display to show he was there. To remind his sweetheart of a tomato that he had someone to come back to, when his war was through.

 The light faded from rays of pale daylight, to pink pastel shadows cast on Ryoma’s cheeks, to glimmers of gold.

 Twilight was turning the skies over snowy Valentine gold by the time Leo blinked. Turned his head into his husband’s touches. Laid there. For a long, long, long few heartbeats, he laid there. Eyes open. Open and emerald and they caught the golden light of twilight so prettily as if they were made to have always done so. 

 But he was staring through Ryoma. Through the ceiling. Through the roof, to something beyond that nobody else could see.

 Ryoma had patience.

 He had sat many times with victims of war like this.

 He just hated that this time it was the boy he loved who was the victim.

 His patience was rewarded, when those emerald irises sharpened. Focused. Still filled with flecks of gold that made them look otherworldly and worthy of worship. They fixed on his face. Stared at him, rather than through him. And Ryoma slowly ran his thumb over Leo’s cheekbone in a tender gesture that encompassed all that Leo loved about him.

 All that they had gained when their war had ended.

 One arrow alone wasn’t enough to take that from them.

 “...Sorry,” when Leo spoke, there was still a small crack to the words. He winced. Ryoma shushed him so sweetly, “I…I don’t…” 

 “I do,” his love’s tenor was strong where his was weak, and he sank into the sound, sank into the cushions and his sons who he was wrapped around, “I don’t mind. Do not apologize for this, Leo. Please. Please.”

 Please don’t apologize.

 Because apologizing for this would require apologizing for a lot more of his life.

 And neither of them wanted to pick through Leo Vincini’s story when they already knew enough to know it wasn’t a book they wanted opened.

 “We will carry the scars of our fights forever,” the man he loved went on, still running his thumb back and forth across Leo’s cheek, his tone that of somebody repeating what they’d been told in the past verbatim, “On us and in us, and sometimes there will be phantom pains. Sometimes there will be ghosts of memories. But we have to remember that the scars are not our present, and we will always have the future to look towards when our past is a place the dawn cannot reach.” 

 Their dawn here was Valentine’s twilight.

 And Leo was smiled at, a small, fragile smile that was more hope than confidence.

 So he found it in himself to smile back. For his husband, who was also clearly hurting.

 Shifting, he very carefully placed his sons in their own burrow of blankets together before he sat up. He crawled towards Ryoma. He tucked himself where he was welcome; under the wonderful man’s chin. Chest to chest. Heartbeat to heartbeat. 
 
 He let Ryoma’s arms close around him like he’d clearly been wanting to do, the two of them melting together against the bars of the crib. Shown in gold. 

 That heartbeat beat like a thunderstorm under Leo’s ear, and he nestled into it. Trying to overwrite the memory of an arrow whistling towards him with its melody instead. Running his hands up and down and up Ryoma’s chest between them, in a reminder. He was there. He was moving. He was well. 

 He was there, up, he was moving, down, he was well, up.

 He was breathing, a shaky exhale as he kissed Ryoma’s arm where it was wrapped over his shoulder.

 He was fine, a second kiss up higher, on his collarbone.

 They were safe, a third kiss that came after a second of them staring into one another’s eyes, still, holding themselves in that moment -

 Before they surged together and kissed even more desperately than they had that morning, making love in the bathtub. Ryoma’s hands gripped him even tighter. The kiss marks hidden just under their collars sored all the more. They felt cold. So cold. So they clung to each other for the heat of what they shared through their bond.

 And it ended with Leo able to breathe a little easier. Slumping into Ryoma’s chest. Laying there.

 Staring to the side, where their sons were burrowed in blankets together.
 
 Still some of his old scars hurt.

 But accidents happen.

 So he breathed through it, and tried to let it go as Ryoma hugged him tight.

 “Talk to me,” his mate splayed his hands out, one across his lower back and one across the back of his head and he felt so safe so suddenly, all at once in Ryoma’s arms, wrapped in his pleading tone, “Talk to me. Or talk to somebody else, Leo, but we have to get it out. We can’t let this fester. It cannot be a thorn stuck in us that gets infected. We have to be better than that. For the boys.” 

 “It was just an arrow,” Leo said, the former Second Prince of Nohr, twisted up with those thorns from his younger years of saying such a similar thing.

 After each assassination attempt he sometimes only barely escaped.

 “It was an accident.” It wasn’t an assassination attempt.

 “But - ?” He hesitated at his love’s leading question…choosing to answer, in the end, because Ryoma was correct.

 They had to be better.

 “But it yanked me back to the war, and I couldn’t breathe because suddenly I remembered what it was like to have my life on the line,” he’d gone months free of such a risk, after spending years living with it, and it had been, “I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t move - and the arrow didn’t hit me but it hurt like it did, Yoma. It hurt.” 

 Both of the hands splayed out on his body applied more pressure, more weight, connecting them and their heartbeats and Ryoma pressed a fast kiss to his forehead as he sucked in a deep breath.

 It had hurt.

 Old scars did that sometimes, but still.

 “I understand.” He said it so soothingly, Leo could fall asleep to the words as if they were his lullaby, “I understand. When the guards came running, yelling about what had happened…even though they told me you were unharmed, I - I thought I was going to summon another storm. I was so worried.” 

 Closing his eyes, his lashes brushing against his beloved’s yukata, Leo breathed in the smell of cherry blossoms. Of evergreen beyond that. Of home, of the nursery where the fireplace was the smallest. Of everything that wasn’t tied to the war. Which took the place of that acrid, burning in the back of his throat like soot and ashes and blood. Metal and iron.

 Fisting his hands in Ryoma’s yukata, he exhaled. Exhaled. Exhaled. Then took a deep breath and recalled how Brynhildr’s vines had saved him.

 “But I’ll be okay,” he whispered, in a watery tone to the gold of twilight falling all around in glimmering sparkles of dust, “We’ll be okay. It’ll be okay. It was just an accident. It won’t happen again.” 

 “It had better not.” 

 The pair of husbands didn’t doze off. They gripped each other like they’d lose each other if they let go, and they watched the little blanket burrow where their kits lay, and they let the lighting turn dim around them. But they did not sleep. Not anytime soon. They stayed wrapped up in one another, watching the whole world and waiting for a threat to direct their unease at.

 And then they separated only long enough to nurse the boys, ready them for bed, and to wearily eat the meal left at the nursery’s door.

 There were no less than twenty guards posted out in the hall plus Niles and Lord Alistair, and yet.

 And yet, the scars hurt, late into the night.

 They would for a while.

 Because that was what war had done to them.

Chapter Text

Lightning.

A scream.

And heartbreak.

Ryoma woke up with a scream of his own strangled by his throat. Blinded by the rawness of his panic, he would’ve been on his feet in a heartbeat.

 If it weren’t for his living, breathing love, strewn across his lap. Head resting on his chest.

 Staring wide-eyed down at Leo, he…collected himself. Slowly. Swallowing. Blinking away the panic. He made a fist with one hand, debating whether or not his mate would vanish should he touch him. Ultimately? He did. He touched him. He laid that hand gingerly on Leo’s shoulder, staring down in terror at that sweet, sleeping face of his love. 

 Waiting for him to disappear.

 To turn into a puff of smoke.

 To dismantle into a thousand sinews of magic because that was what he was made of - 

 But all Leo Vincini did was keep snoring softly, squished up against Ryoma’s chest, sound asleep. Bathed in the shafts of moonlight that made it through the nursery’s curtains. Pale and small and something so precious, so fragile, so utterly on the verge of shattering like he’d not been in months. 

 Oh, not that the boy he loved wasn’t strong. Strong of heart, stronger of mind.

 No - he could destroy an entire army if he desired to. He could conquer dynasties. He could take the heads off of tyrants. Had. 

Leo just also had his scars, like Ryoma did, and also had days where his heart struggled to bear those scars.

To think. They’d gone from a mere spider startling them back into their wartime mindsets, to a training accident doing the same. One far more dangerous a situation than the other. Ryoma had seen the arrow’s splinters. Had seen how close a single mistake by a young guard-in-training had come to bringing to life his nightmares. 

 It was no wonder that he’d had a nightmare this night.

 Dawn seemed to be hours off. With its promise and its brightness that kept the lurking shadows at bay.

 And here the wielder of Raijinto was. Raijinto, propped against his shoulder, but also his husband and him slumped against the rim of their sons’ crib. Stuck in the present and the past simultaneously. Stuck in the what-if. What if that arrow wasn’t splintered by Brynhildr? 

 Brushing a few strands of golden hair from Leo’s cheek, this Lord-Husband of Valentine framed his mate’s face in the moonlight. He admired how peaceful he looked. Free from the trauma they’d relived during the day’s hours.

 He cried.

 Silently, so as not to wake his love.

 Hugging him, so gently, so as not to wake him. Sliding his palms down his spine. Feeling the flutter of Leo’s heartbeat, puttering against his chest. So faint through their clothes. So he was just as gentle reaching between them to loosen his sleeping yukata. To slip his little love’s shirt down just a bit. To press them skin to skin, and heart to heart.

 So he could feel that magical heartbeat fully.

 Thinking, about what his lightning had done. What he’d asked of Leo during the war. The risks. The losses. The hurt of months and months and months. The uncertainty and the fear and the scars both physical and mental they carried now as young parents building a halidom together.

 Pushing up Leo’s sleeve a small bit, to trace the tattoo wrapping wrist to elbow, and further up under the fabric. Roses and thorns and cherry blossoms.

 What hid what his lightning had done.

 Another thing that would haunt him forevermore, no matter how many months, years, decades of peaceful marriage was placed in-between the war and them.

 Ryoma clung to his brave, little tomato, tears shining on his cheeks as they fell.

 Because if he let go? He may lose him.

 To an abyss he’d never forgotten…an abyss he’d never told his husband about.

 They were soldiers. And they had been since the day they were both born, whether they were aware of that fact or not. Because they were both descended from dragons. Dawn and Dusk. Dusk and Dawn. They were soldiers because their blood roared, and they always would’ve ended up scarred. 

 And maybe it was wrong of them to want a life where they didn’t have to fight.

 But that was precisely the sort of life they would fight for. They had. They wanted to continue doing so. 

 Even if it led to long nights like this. Clinging to each other to remember they had survived, crying tears they couldn’t shed in the daylight, a nightmare on repeat behind their eyes.

 Ryoma’s lightning was a chained up beast nowadays, kept far from the boy he loved and from his sons.

 But even those chains weren’t enough to guarantee the safety of his family. So what was he meant to do? They were soldiers. But Ryoma had nowhere to point his blade when problems like this arose. They were soldiers. But Ryoma was full of tears waiting to be shed the moment he was tested like this. They were soldiers.

 But maybe Ryoma Vincini was no longer a samurai, and was just a man with a blade, and a vow of marriage to guide him.

 Wrapped around Leo Vincini, crying, and waiting for the daybreak that would show him dawn hadn’t abandoned their love.

Chapter Text

 During winter months, it was normal for a wielder of Brynhildr to feel bogged down. Limited by the heavy snows. The ice - the frozen water - layering itself between them and their nature. The nature of Brynhildr. Of the one their family was bonded to. It was normal, and Leo had dealt with it on and off throughout these last snowy months just fine.

 This time, when he woke up feeling…down, just down? 

 It had nothing to do with the heavy snows and layers of ice. 

It had nothing to do with the biting winds, or the snowflakes whirling past on those winds. It had nothing to do with the frost on the windowpanes or the chill that was in the air despite the fires being lit and burning. It had nothing to do with the guards stomping snow off their boots as they came and went, cheeks and noses rosy.

It had nothing to do with any of that. With the snow Rose was slightly damp from when she pranced into their bedroom that morning.

To lay her yearling self down next to Leo’s nest, so he could lay his head down on his beautiful mare’s flank and close his eyes. Not dozing, just…staring. At nothing. Down.

Down.

Down, below, where he knew not the secrets of what lay there.

Leo Vincini was just feeling down, because the day prior had brought memories he hadn’t wanted to remember. They lingered on the edges of his mind; that whistle, the sound of a splintering shaft, the arrowhead in the snow. Being dragged away.

Thinking he wasn’t safe in his home.

Bad memories. Memories he hadn’t wanted. Memories that were housed inside of him now, whether he wanted them or not. He had no choice in the matter. They were there to stay, and after the long night of him and Ryoma tied together to keep each other’s heart’s safe? The long night of dreams that seemed too dark to be his own nowadays? 

Brynhildr’s wielder accepted that he felt down. 

Like he accepted the bleeding heart flowers sprouting around his nest, hanging their dangling little hearts over his pillows. Over him. Over where he and his sons were nestled; in the heart of a manor meant to protect.

Shiro and Jewels were so innocent to the world; he realized, watching over them as they played. Smacking their toys together, and trying to stuff their own toes in their mouths, squealing and yipping and rolling around. Utterly unaware of how uneasy their mama felt.

And why should they be aware? No. No, they should stay perfectly innocent, just like that. They should never have to know they almost lost one of their parents to a stray arrow.

Breakfast was full of little pastry cakes meant to lighten his spirits he knew.

And coffee for once, rather than tea.

And he lay, draped over Rose’s flank, sipping the mug of steaming caffeine to try and stay awake. Staring droopy-eyed down into its depths. Watching the bean-brown liquid slosh and ripple as he tipped the mag back and forth and back and forth and back - 

It was a day of being down. From sunrise to sunset. And that was simply how some days were going to be, but it still…hurt.

Where he had a scar from already being shot by a loosed arrow, months ago, it hurt.

In his heart - 

There were ripples in his coffee. Because his teardrops were falling into his mug.

He set his mug down on the floorboards shakily and then buried his face in Rose’s damp, cold-smelling fur to weep. And weep. And weep. His shoulders trembled as he let the sobs take him, and he bit down onto his own palm to try and keep them from being heard by his sons who were still playing innocently in the furs of their nest.

 Was it too much to ask that they know peace? Was it too much to ask to not know danger? Was it too much to hope he could survive long enough to be a mother to his children? A husband to Ryoma? A Lord of the Green Halidom? Was that truly too much? 

 What would Mama do? 

 Rose let out a sad knicker, and he felt her big, soft, pinked nose nuzzle his bangs. Felt the heat of her snort on his tear-stained cheeks as he lifted his head. Nuzzling her back. Her, so young, so new, growing up so fast. Just like he had been. Just like he never wanted Shiro or Jewels to do.

 Especially without him at their side.

 “Oh, Rose, what am I to do?” He whispered wretchedly, his tears smearing across her cheeks as he nuzzled her back, “I almost…and it was - almost too much - “ 

 One setback, and he crumbled.

 He’d thought his foundations were stronger than this.

 “What am I to do, girl? What would you do?” She nibbled at his bangs and he snorted, laughed, wept, “What would Mama do?” 

 “Your mother would tell you that you are such a brave boy, Leo.” Another. A parent of his by choice and by love, Lord Alistair belated-Vincini stood on the threshold of his den and entered. Ryoma just beside him. Expression panicked when he saw Leo lift a tear-stained face to face them. 

 There was another he recognized at their heels, in rose-gold armor, bowing deeply and looking so apologetic.

 “Your mother would tell you that she is proud of you, Leo,” his papa continued, coming closer, close enough to lower himself to crouch next to Leo and Rose and run his hand down the midnight mare’s forelock, looking thankful when he met her starry eyes, “Your mother would tell you that this never should’ve happened, and however you might handle it is understandable.” 

 Ryoma crouched beside his father, reaching out to likewise cup one of Leo’s wet cheeks and brush away the salty trails rolling down it.

 “Your mother would seek out the truth of what had happened,” Papa finished, tone so soft, as he then framed Leo’s other cheek and did the same as his husband with a final smile to him, “and she would not rest. She would not let it go. She would ensure you were safe, here, in our home. As we have done.” 

 Blinking slowly, the final few tears that fell were brushed away by his family.

 Standing behind them, quick to crouch too, was Joey. Joey Eventides.

 The boy he used to play with as a child. 

 Now a teenager, now one of his guardsmen, now appearing so ashamed he could hardly meet Leo’s gaze. Bowing his head and placing his fist over his breastplate. Mousy-brown hair and eyes a bit blurry from the tears that Leo sniffed and wiped away.

 Maybe he should’ve been the one ashamed. To be seen crying like this while his children played, unaware, in the same room as him.

 But in Valentine it was hard to feel ashamed when he knew he’d never be judged.

 “Joey?” He asked, since clearly he was important here. Lord Alistair and Ryoma shifted to the side slightly so he could face his guardsman head-on.

 A guardsman who looked still so ashamed, as he dipped his head lower and whispered, “I’m sorry, Lord Leo. And my family is sorry as well. You see…it was my younger brother, who loosed that arrow. Who made that mistake.”

 An Eventides had been the one holding the boy?

 Not an assassin then, Leo felt the surety of that settle in his heart, felt his heart lighten a little to know - because the Eventides would never wish him harm. He remembered playing in their farms, and in their barn, and sometimes sharing meals at their home table and complimenting Mrs. Eventides on her homemade jams. 

 They were not assassins of any sort.

 “I’d brought him along to the manor to keep him busy, and he’d been talking about maybe becoming a guard himself in a couple of years,” Sir Joey explained, and his liege relaxed, little by little, “While I was on duty, some of the other guards took to watching him by the barracks. He’d been told not to put the archery targets in the direction of the manor, but he - he thought it wasn’t a big deal, and one of his shots went far too wide, and the timing was - !”

 Absolutely horrendous. A coincidence, and an accident, tied together with a bow.

 So nicely almost ending with an arrow through Leo’s neck.

 “Ma and Pa whooped him good when I brought him home, when I realized what had happened,” it had been an accident, by a boy who’d meant no harm, “Head Guard Fern near-tanned him himself, and Miss Rose near-trampled him too, and - I am so sorry, Leo. Really. So, so sorry.” 

 The fact that Joey meant this and wasn’t just apologizing to spare his own life was appreciated. Was known to his lord, because Leo knew they wouldn’t kill anybody over a mistake.

 A coincidence. 

 An accident.

 Ultimately, nobody would die as a result of this training accident. Leo Vincini was just a little down. A little sad. A little scared, like he never wanted to be again in Vincini Manor. Not like the day Garon’s men had come…or now. But Ryoma was there and laying a hand on his shoulder, and Papa was rubbing at his arm, and Rose even knickered as if she still wanted to trample the Eventides boy -

 And knowing nobody at all would because of this helped Clova’s son feel a little less downtrodden.

 “At ease, Joey,” he spoke as both a liege and an old friend, mostly a friend, since his face was blotchy with tears and he was sniffling and he didn’t feel much like a lord in front of Joey right about then, “It was an accident. We all know that. It was just…a sour reminder. I hope your brother - ?”

 “Oh, he won’t be able to sit until spring, milord!” Joey’s voice was tight still, a little upset still, but he laughed in relief and lifted his head and Leo felt less down then too.

 “I understand,” discipline was discipline, and he was sure Mrs. and Mr. Eventides had been horrified to learn what had almost happened, “If you’d please let your family know there’s no ill will? And that I don’t hold a grudge against your brother?”

 It was a mistake that had to be learned from.

 But in the end, a mistake was something they could come back from.

 ‘No harm done,’ fit well for this muck-up.

 “I will, Lord Leo. And I am awfully sorry,” Joey settled back onto his bum on the floorboards to the tune of clanking armor, light armor though it was, giving Leo a toothy grin just like when they were kids and getting away with trouble that was really no trouble at all. Just a bit of mischief, “Should you actually need anything - ?” 

 “Consider it a future debt.” 

 “That I will, Leo. And - ah.” Joey seemed to cut himself off from apologizing again, then nodded and swung up to his feet. Nodding. Again. And bowing as he was dismissed by the atmosphere that was gradually growing lighter in Leo’s den, “As you need me, I’ll be there, Lord Leo. And I’m sure my ma will be sending along plenty of pies and jams as apologies too.” 

 “Direct those towards the kitchen, I should think,” it wasn’t quite a laugh, but it was amusement, so Leo would take it, “Thank you for your apology, Joey.” 

 Sir Joey left with another proper bow, an old friend now a trusted guard, and the one he was sworn to sighed.

 Still feeling down, somewhat. Was that a failure on his part? 

 “It may take a couple of days to get back onto your feet, my boy,” his papa then said, adjusting those round spectacles of his and brushing a strand of Leo’s golden hair behind his ear as he did so, “Take your time with it. We have that.” 

 “The gala is in three days, Papa. What time?” 

 “And we,” and it was his darling Ryoma’s turn to speak up, brushing his knuckles along his little mate’s jaw to turn him towards the brunette to listen, “have done so much already. Prepared so much. There is scarcely anything left to do, Leo, except wait. And rest. And wait some more. So let us handle whatever is left.” 

 His husband looked tired. He had shadows under his eyes.

 He touched Leo like he thought the blonde boy would shatter if he applied too much pressure.

 But Leo was selfish enough to want that.

 “Okay,” was how he agreed, with Ryoma thumbing at his lower lip, looking tired and like he was praying the Vincini heir would agree and how could he refuse when that was the case? “Okay, I’ll let you two handle the very final preparations. While I…”

 “While you rest, and recoup, and spend time with our sons,” his mate finished for him, finding a smile from somewhere to wear, a smile he then kissed him with. So, so tenderly. So slow. Frowning as he surely tasted salt on Leo’s lips, “You rest and you try to feel better. I’ll take care of whatever else is needed. I’ll take care of you.” 

 The oath of a mate. Who was Leo to refuse? 

 So there were three days left until the Winter Gala of Valentine.

 And a single arrow had been enough to rip Leo Vincini down from where he'd got while healing these last months. But already he was finding the bottom of his heart that had dropped away. And it was stitching itself together again. So he just needed to take deep breaths.

 And be an attentive mother.

 And lay on Rose.
 
 And drink some coffee.

 And rest.

 All he needed to do was rest, until he felt safe again. So that was what his day would consist of, aside from the apologies and the constantly being checked on by his Ryoma.

 He was tired, he was sad, and he was scared. He grabbed one of his dear husband’s yukatas and hugged it tight to his body and closed his eyes.

 He rested, and tried to make all of that bad stuff go away so he could be happy again.

Chapter Text

 There were two days until the Winter Gala of Valentine. The first true event in the history of the Green Halidom following its founding.

 And at Ryoma’s insistence? To satisfy his concerns, Leo Vincini was den-bound for the day. Not that he minded. At all. Nor did he still feel the same sort of…numbness as before. It was more of a mental disconnect. A disconnect between him and the him of wars-past. The training accident - that arrow - hovering on the edge of his thoughts no matter what the did. Never leaving him be.

 So Leo agreed to stay den-bound. He had plenty to do in his den, after all. He wasn’t exactly imprisoned in some castle dungeon again or anything. 

 Oh the horror - his mate wouldn’t stop kissing him and begging that he spend his days lazing about!

 Oh no - he had to lounge like a tragic and misunderstood novel protagonist!

 He had to sit in his comfy den, dozing in the warmth of the fireplace, sipping tea and eating cute, frosted cakes while he read books Miss Belle brought him from the library! He had to take lots of naps in patches of sunlight! And banter with his guards who were stationed inside of his den for once to keep him company - and play with his sons for hours!!!

 Clova’s son had to sit or lay or otherwise strewn himself across surfaces all day long, playing with his magic and chatting with Brynhildr and being entertained by his guards - he’d surely never recover!

 People just kept on bringing him heaping helpings of tomatoes and he couldn’t - 

 Ah, no. Blasphemy. Leo couldn’t even pretend the endless supply of tomatoes was an ordeal. 

 He’d much rather lay in the furs of his nest, kicking his feet happily, munching on his delicious tomatoes like the Lord that he was born to be. Ordering Sirs Rainier and Alexander and Faronis to perform silly little acts for his amusement…at their own insistence. Which they did. It turned out Sir Faronis was rather flexible and Sir Rainier had a decent singing voice.

 While Sir Alexander could moo like a cow rather remarkably.

 Silly little acts, that made their lordling giggle and grin.

 Oh yes, the torture.

 Ryoma returned that evening to find his den-bound mate strewn out, amidst countless tomato stems and leaves like a massacre scene for the many, many, many tomatoes he’d filled his tummy with. Their sons plump on milk and snuggling into Leo’s lap, as he lazed and read a nice novel about a talking mouse who wanted to befriend the barn cat.

 It was just the sort of restful day Leo needed before more troublesome times were upon him, and he kissed his harried husband thoroughly.

 To show how much he minded being nest-bound for the day.

 Very thoroughly. 

 So thoroughly, that they nearly ripped the seams of his nightgown because of how eager they were to rest together.

 It was a very restful day, and by the time night had fallen? It barely even hurt anymore. And the thoughts weren’t haunting Leo as much anymore. The bad thoughts. The sad thoughts. The scared thoughts. Those ones had been buried in tomatoes; such a beautifully tragic way to be buried and die. Leo wanted to be buried in a mausoleum of tomatoes - 

 But, he fell asleep that night, both him and Ryoma in a better mood than they’d woken in. With far more kissmarks upon their necks…and less clothing…and thinking about different sorts of shafts than those of an arrow. 

 They had sex.

 And then they had it again, in front of the fireplace, tangled so deep in and on one another and within each other - and they needed it. He needed it. Ryoma needed it. The lightning strikes of pleasure that they were smote by. So very glad that Raijinto’s lightning had a habit of striking twice.

 It was a lovely night.

 It was another night of lightning in a bottle.

Chapter Text

 A fist pounded on the doors to their den.

 It wasn’t even light out yet.

 Technically, ‘pound’ was a generous way to describe it. Somebody was knocking at their doors. Fast and repeatedly, but it was so quiet it was just this side of polite. And yet. It was far too early. And far too much sound either way. And it counted as pounding because it was sure to give Leo Vincini a pounding headache one way or another.

 Emerald eyes snapped open the very first time that gauntlet hit their doors.

 He was half-upright in a heartbeat, Brynhildr’s cover under his fingers. He heard the quiet clink of Ryoma gripping Raijinto in the same heartbeat. There was no light in their den aside from the low-burning fire that hadn’t even been tended to yet that morning, and they glanced at one another.

 His mate looked just as quietly concerned as him.

 Their sons gave little whines in their sleep.

 Remaining in their nest with magic twisting into braids under his skin, Leo let Ryoma go to the door. Disheveled and undone and armed. There were wisps enough in the space around his beloved that any attack would be deflected by them and returned twofold, so he simply wound himself around his kits. He would’ve been growling if he were still a kitsune.

 In the dimness before dawn, his Lord-Husband opened their doors.

 Sir Rainier was on the other side. There was no blood. Nor the flash of metal that came with a weapon swung.

 He looked apologetic. Upset. His hair was tangled and he was only wearing half of his armor, and he bowed the instant the doors were opened by Ryoma with a muttered apology. A second bow. A look of frustration coming over his face when Ryoma told him to straighten up - not a look directed at the Lord-Husband, but at something else.

 “Forgive me for waking you, Lord Leo. Lord Ryoma.”

 Something had happened.

 Slowly, Leo slunk from his nest. Magic wove vines and thorns around his sons. None would so much as touch them while he was away, and with Brynhildr in his grip he went to stand at his husband’s side. Fixing his nightgown to be seen as Sir Rainier turned all of his attention to him. He was the true lord there, after all.

 “Sir Rainier?” 

 “Milord.” 

 “What has happened?” Ryoma demanded to know, but demanded under his breath because the boys were still asleep, sounding tense. So tense. His fingers were pale from how hard they were gripping the doorframe. He had this…expression. On his face. One Leo hadn’t seen in months.

 The sort of expression he wore whenever they’d stood in a war tent, expecting to go to battle at any second. 

 “Nothing destructive,” was the good answer. Good? Not immediately bad. Leo went tense at the vagueness of that line, and at the way Sir Rainier sounded frustrated for sure now. Giving a report none of them had expected to receive before dawn, “Milords, the representatives from Wuthering have arrived. As in, they’re here. Now. In the foyer. Asking for you.” 

 Clova Vincini’s son blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. Then he turned a very, very, very unimpressed and sour face towards his husband. Who looked utterly exasperated, and let out a single curse word, and slumped against the doorframe. 

 Repeatedly thumping his forehead against the wood, which Leo stopped with a kiss from his magic wisps.

 Wisps that wove through his lover’s messy mane, as he did Ryoma one better. Letting out a whole string of very creative cuss words that showed he truly was born of Valentine. It made Rainier snort a bit, before he became serious again.

 “Wuthering? What, were they attacked on the road?” He found words that weren’t cusses to ask that.

 “Not in so far as they have said, Lord Leo.” 

 “Do they have ill members of their party?”

 “Not in so far as they have said, Lord Leo.” 

 “Did somebody die?” 

 “...No, Lord Leo.” 

 Rainier was trying very, very hard not to outright laugh now, and his liege was abubbling. Bubbling more than his atelier was these days. With the fury of a sun woken up before daylight hours. It was - what - three hours before dawn? How dare they? They woke him up. And for what? What reason could they have to arrive in Valentine closer to midnight than to day?!

 “Then why?!” He finally gave in to his bubbling fury, throwing his hands up, only to be shushed by his love. Who swept him into an embrace that stopped all of that fury in its tracks as he sank into Ryoma’s chest with a long whine. 

 Breathing in the smell of cherry blossoms. Sweet. And soft. And pink. Like Ryoma.

 “Alright.” Feeling decidedly vindictive in a way he hadn’t since being a Nohrian Prince, the blonde boy pulled back from his beloved and smirked viciously down at Brynhildr, “They want me before morning? They get me before morning. Ryoma, darlin’, please stay out of sight.” 

 “Uh, Leo - ?” 

 Pulling at his magical storage, he heard doors down the hall open.

 And he stepped past Sir Rainier out there, suddenly, magically, dressed in proper lordly attire fit for greeting guests. At this hour or not. His heels clicking as he stalked the shadowy halls, headed for the foyer. As dark and vicious as a rainstorm out of the blue.

 His husband and his father followed him. But they did as he’d asked; staying out of sight in the shadows behind him. 

 Oh, Wuthering’s high-borns believed themselves so precious that they could wake him up in the morning? That they could disturb his sleep after the stressful few weeks he’d been having? They believed they had the right to enter his home while he slept, unawares, and ask for him? Were they delusional in Wuthering? 

 Well, well, well.

 A bit of midnight fun, was it? 

 In-between the shadows of one hallway and another, Leo smirked as Niles slipped out of seemingly nowhere to fall into step beside him. Yawning exaggeratedly. Quipping about how his special him time had been interrupted. Shirtless. And practically pantless because of how loose the ones he wore were. And without his eyepatch. But at Leo’s side anyways, as his brother and as his retainer.

 “Haven’t done this in a while, hm?” He purred, running his hands suggestively along the lines of his body, caressing that butterfly tattoo on his hip, and Leo nodded.

 “I haven’t missed it,” he said near-silently.

 Then, together, they did fall silent as they neared the foyer. 

 There was the sound of chatter. Raised voices. Upset. There was the flicker of candlelight dancing across the walls and banister ahead of them, and Leo straightened up to show all of his royal bearing he hadn’t truly left behind in Nohr as he stepped out. Glaring over the banister down at the cluster of people making far too much noise for far too early an hour.

 The foyer was still bathed only in moonlight and candlelight, and there were servants trying desperately to shush the representatives invading his home.

 This would not be allowed.

 “Would you mind - “ Silence. It fell when he lifted his unimpressed voice above all of their senseless ones and all pairs of eyes turned up towards him in an instant, as he asked his question, “ - telling me what you all think you’re doing?” 

 Even in low candlelight, Leo recognized far more faces from Wuthering than he thought he would. It seemed they frequented Nohr’s court far more than he’d remembered. It wasn’t encouraging. Because he saw far more faces he’d rather not see than he’d been hoping he would. Faces that belonged to people who he did not want in his halidom.

 He knew that before he knew anything else, and all it took was a single heartbeat to cast those stones.

 The eyes on him reminded him of being Nohr’s Second Prince.

 He spat on that reminder and tilted his head, lifting his chin in challenge, on the verge of - really - tossing them all out using his magic.

 “Nevermind.” Making it a point to interrupt the nobleman who primly stepped forward to answer him, he also made a point of using a tone that sounded just as cold and annoyed as he really felt, and then he also made it a point of glancing over them all. He’d forgotten how intentional his every movement had to be when faced with Nohrian nobles.

 Because that was what Wuthering’s nobles still were. Nohrian. He could see it.

 In the masks they were all wearing as they pretended to be welcome, staring up at him. Eying him. Some seemed disappointed to see him - to see him dressed? 

 What - had they hoped to catch him off guard? Underdressed? Unprepared? Too bad for them, Leo was used to being dragged out of his bed at all unfortunate hours and using his magic to fix his appearance right and proper. This night? Was no different. No different at all. Was their extra early arrival intended to be some sort of power play? 

 How foolish.

 Leo Vincini held every bit of power in Valentine. Because he held Brynhildr.

 “I am sorry, but it is still very early. And aside from that, your rooms were arranged in the inn. In town.” 

 “What?!” one nobleman, one he remembered didn’t treat his servants well, sputtered. Mask slipping, “We won’t be staying here, as your guests?” 

 Fool.

 “Guests of mine are guests of all of Valentine, and I should think you were told…” Casting his green eyes to the side, to the frustrated-looking guards corralling their ‘guests’, he got huffs and nods in response. They were all side-eying the delegation.

 This little act had cost Wuthering a lot of Valentine’s respect.

 “There you have it,” Leo declared as more sputtering sounded, “So if you would, kindly return to town and check into your rooms at the inn? Thank you.” 

 Was it rude? Perhaps. By Nohrian standards. But by Valentinian standards, showing up before dawn was ruder. Leo refused to wait. Or to be polite. He simply turned on his heel, and walked away with his heels clicking on the floorboards. Listening to the fading hubbub of noble families being disrespected - oh, the horror.

 Ryoma Vincini stood in the hall, wreathed in moonlight, still wearing his sleeping yukata and looking tired. And annoyed. 

 Wuthering really hadn’t won any favor this night.

 “I’m sorry, my love, I should’ve - “ He cut his darling doe off with a kiss, falling into his arms, and dismissing his finery into his magical storage once more. Replacing it with a nightgown. Immediately shivering because more of his skin was exposed like that. Which meant Ryoma immediately lifted him off his feet and let him cuddle into his sleeping yukata with a sleepy hum.

 He hated working before dawn.

 “The only thing we’re doing,” Leo huffed and puffed and snuggled into his lover, “is going back to bed, Yoma.” 

 Wuthering could play their silly superiority games later. 

 This had done nothing but cost them respect.

 And Leo Vincini some of his patience.

 Patience he got back, just slightly, when Ryoma carried him back to their den. Giving the very strict orders to their guards and to Lord Alistair that they were not to be bothered until noon after that mess. And that if Wuthering sought them before that? They were to send them on a wild goose chase. 

 Before dawn had even come, Leo ended up sighing and curling into Ryoma’s presence. Unhappy.

 Made happy again by the kisses to his nose, as they settled down to sleep. 

 On the morrow, Valentine would be hosting the Winter Gala. Its first party as the capital of the Green Halidom. A party attended by all the lording families of the halidom too. A chance to meet, to settle, and to unite. A good chance. A very good chance. Better than Nohr would’ve ever given. Better than Nohr even could give currently, with the way winter had ruined them after the war. 

 For most of winter they’d prepared.

 And now that it was the day before, Leo wondered what he was feeling towards the morrow. It was hard to tell.

 Was he nervous? To face the lording families he now lorded over? 

Was he excited? To finally have reached that midwinter point they’d been working towards for ages now?

Was he annoyed? To have to hold the Winter Gala at all? 

Maybe he was a bit of all of that. 

 He was nervous to be hosting his first ball by himself, he was excited to see it come to fruition, he was annoyed because Wuthering. Just, Wuthering. 

 Whatever he was feeling, he woke up in Ryoma’s arms. Arms squeezing him so tight. Buried in a mane of brunette hair that he tried to blow away from his face, only to fail. Their legs were tangled up together, their clothing too, and Ryoma’s breaths were warm on his forehead. 

 He was squeezed tighter when he shifted.

 When he groaned, his mate started to wake.

 The Vincini boy kissed Ryoma as he did so, so the very moment he woke to was Leo’s lips on his. Kissing him chastely in the morning light. Daylight. It was nearing afternoon, judging by how bright it was in their bedroom. Their sons were fussing in a small, special nest of vines and roses; hungry. But they still took a moment to love on each other in the daylight before Leo had to nurse them.

 Shiro and Jewels latched on eagerly for their morning milk, suckling away, and Jewels’ small ears fluttered each time he sucked. The both of them purring. 

 In spite of the nips, Leo loved nursing his kits. They were so happy when they nursed.

 “So,” it was appreciated, that Ryoma gave him time to fully wake before he tried to start the conversation they needed to have, “Wuthering’s representatives. My love, you were so very impressive, putting them in their places like that.” 

 The blonde boy flushed up to his eartips. Of course Ryoma’s start to the conversation would be complimenting him.

 “You seemed to know more of them than expected,” he went on, ever-so lightly probing for answers, tenor apologetic even as Leo wilted a bit. Sighed a bit more. Of course he knew them. He’d known of all of them, but he’d hoped - a bit foolishly, he now thought - that perhaps out here in the west that different members of the families would be more prominent. 

 Like if only the troublemakers, the gamblers, the monsters visited Nohr’s courts.

 That would’ve been only too easy for them though, wouldn’t it? 

 “Very few of them can remain in power, Yoma,” the younger husband sighed, a plan already stirring up in his head, “Very few of them are fit or worthy of that power. I had hoped more amiable members of the families would take charge here, in the west, but it seems not. And I will not have warmongers and backstabbers in our new court.” 

 He would not have an unsafe halidom be his gift to his children.

 “The problem will be removing their power,” was how he continued, wiggling a bit to get comfortable as Shiro got over-ambitious with his suckling and some of his milk spilled down his ribs, “They have it for a reason. They’ve bought and lied and killed for it. And with their own private militias? While I could defend Valentine, they could just as easily target anywhere else in the halidom and it would be harder to do anything about it without creating a civil war. A civil war we cannot afford when the halidom is only a few months old.” 

 “You’re right. You always are, my love.” Ryoma shuffled around the nest, grabbing another pillow to shove under his hips so he was comfortable as he nursed, his touch lingering, dragging down Leo’s thighs as he leaned in for a kiss, “Then perhaps we do not remove the families themselves?” 

 The blonde arched a brow.

 “Perhaps we just…root out the less desirable members of the families?” His dearly beloved suggested, slowly, clearly thinking much on this as well. Fortunately?

 “I had had the same thought, darlin’.” Leo Vincini purred. Such a smart husband he had. Sliding his hand around his husband’s neck to cup the back of it and tug him in for another, sweeter kiss. Breathing out the words against his lips, “We will have the court we want for our home, Yoma. And none of these fools will be stopping us.” 

 “Of course not,” Ryoma whispered with power still in his hushed voice, and he kissed Leo back, “because we're together in this. We always will be, my tomato.” 

 Another kiss.

 And so started the final preparations that day.

 For the Winter Gala of Valentine.

Chapter Text

 And so, the day of the Winter Gala of Valentine arrived.

 Remarkably, despite it being the middle of winter there was not a snowflake falling from the sky. Nay. The skies were a brilliant, clear blue color. The clouds that floated in it were fluffy and as white as the snow covering the Green Halidom. The sun was bright, was warm, and it truly felt as though they’d been blessed that day with weather worthy of a celebration. A celebration not only limited to the Winter Gala.

 But a celebration of the upcoming Winter Solstice; a week’s time away. A celebration for the people of the halidom. The people of every rank and ilk. 

 Weather permitting - and it did - the day would be filled with partying. From street to street that had been shoveled in preparation. To tavern to tavern that had stocked up on plenty of mead for the solstice. To the inns overflowing with visiting family members and other town’s delegations. Valentine was primed to let loose and really relish in the day. And the afternoon. And the evening. And the night. 

 There was frost on windowpanes come morning, and icicles hanging from the edges of roofs, and a chilliness on the winter winds. 

 There was shining, shimmering snow blanketing the rolling hills of Valentine - glittering like crystals. Pure and white. Blinding, practically, to those who looked outside. 

 There was a bustle about town, like winter rarely brought forth, because hearty or not? Not even the people of Valentine would willingly choose the cold over their fireplaces full of burning logs. Except? On this single day. Folks were rushing off to get final ingredients for the week-worth of feasting ahead. Calling out greetings and guffawing as they watched their neighbors slip and fall on ice - and cursing when they then did the same in view of them. 

 Presents were collected from the post office, packages were tucked under every arm, and the ends of scarves trailed in the wake of footprints in the snow. Cheery people with rosy cheeks and red noses whistled as they did their errands, waving and nodding to greet all who passed. 

 A bounce in their every step; the spirit of winter’s worth in their hearts.

 It was a morning which disrupted Valentine’s semi-hibernative state. Children ran, squealing in delight as they threw snowballs at one another. Sweet, sweet desserts sat cooling on windowsills before dawn. The local seamstresses? Had never had more business this winter. So many folks were popping by for last minute alterations on their Winter Solstice bests. With appointments stretching all the way into the next week to the day itself!

 Busy, busy, busy was Valentine. The capital of the Green Halidom.

 There were strings of light being strung up across buildings, and shiny bulbs being hung from trees as decorations, and bows being tied around lamp posts, and the traditional tapestries being draped down from bedroom windows. Show your heritage. Show your past. Show your hopes for the future. Show your pride as a person of Valentine. 

 So the week of the Winter Solstice started off right. Right, with a harpist bundled up in pale furs plucking at her harp in the town square. The melodies bouncing from home to home. She played and she sang softly, and so many woke up humming a tune they had heard for years around this time of winter. 

 The tune of silver bells and evergreen trees and snowflakes on one’s tongue.

 The tune of childhood and gifts from your parents and rushing off to show your friends the amazing gifts you received. Of feasting too much, and laying around full afterwards, surrounded by family members you saw only once or twice a year.

 Maybe an uncle got too drunk on mead and you had to cut the celebrations short to go wrangle the pigs he’d let out of their pen, or maybe all of the cousins would decide to go ice skating on the frozen pond, or maybe you were one of those ones who liked just sitting by the burning fireplace.

 Maybe there’d definitely be hot cocoa when everyone stumbled home afterwards whatever their day had been. 

 But all of that was getting ahead of things.

 It was the day of the long-planned Winter Gala of Valentine. 

 The Nalina representatives were absolutely breathing life into their inn’s rooms - outfits flew from door to door as relatives switched and then switched again their tastes. Servers ducked under flying high heels thrown like shurikens, while the buzz of so many family members chattering, chattering, chattering filled the whole floor the Spirrows and Farrows had had reserved. 

Several new family feuds were founded that day, as the washrooms were fought over and somebody’s dress was trampled and somebody else’s pet squirrel was thrown like a projectile weapon too - so things were going smoothly for them all.

The Delgo representatives were likewise, well, preparing. But it was really only Lord Delgane in his guest quarters of the manor. So he was simply drinking some of his favorite tea.

And regaling his guardsmen with tales of former Winter Solstice celebrations too.

 The Wuthering representatives - I think most would agree would be better off elsewhere, another halidom, perhaps? - were far more controlled in the inn they’d been put up in. The inn they’d all stumbled into the day before, before dawn even, indignant and disgraced. Grumbling about who would be stupid enough to organize a ball at this time of year - ? Just to remember.

 They were the ones to suggest the Winter Gala. That kept them quiet.

 The people and the representatives of the halidom’s towns were all settling and preparing well, that was good.

 As for inside the walls of Vincini Manor? 
 
 Hustle and bustle in troves. Beginning before dawn, set to go through long past midnight’s hour. It was a matter of pride and respect for the manor’s staff. To make this gala a successful one. It was the first gala organized by their Lord Leo himself, so they were doubly - nay, triply determined to succeed. The Head Butler, James, waved his cane about like a war horn to direct the chaos of the day.

 Lots and lots of chaos. Of the organized sort.

 In the den of the Vincini mates, the morning was equally chaotic but for different reasons. Final touches on the gala aside, and the fact that the party wouldn’t begin until afternoon - preparations were in full swing. 

 Ravishing described the pair of husbands well, it would later be said. There was no denying Leo and Ryoma Vincini were a handsome couple on any given day, but on a day when they got all dressed to impress? They were remarkable. Hence, ravishing. 

 Ryoma’s apparel was, as a matter of fact, Valentinian. Although Leo pointed out his Hoshidan robes would be no less acceptable. His husband had told him he wanted to show that he was accepting the halidom’s culture, so noble-hearted and earnest. And he looked cutting in it. The tightness of the dress jacket and pants really showed off his beloved’s form. Though he walked a little weird in the boots as he adjusted to wearing them. 

 That wild, wild mane was tied back properly and brushed through and looked under control for once, and still Raijinto was at its wielder’s hip. 

 Leo loved the tamed look on his mate. Because they both knew that wasn’t true to his nature whatsoever.

 Speaking of Leo, he considered his dressing very carefully for nearly an hour. On one hand? A dress coat and pants, with heeled boots and a cape would match his husband. On the other? He had a beautiful dress from his mother’s wardrobe that would accent the embroidery of Ryoma’s outfit. 

 Decisions, decisions.

A decision made, when he held up the two outfits on hangers to show Ryoma. To ask his humble opinion. An opinion very clearly one-sided as he couldn’t take his eyes off of the dress. So be it. Leo put away his proper, lordly attire in their wardrobe and swirled around with his mother’s dress. His now. It was long, with a trail embroidered in tiny groundcover flowers. An ivory-copper sort of blend in color, with sleeves that hung off one’s shoulders. 

 It was slender and elegant and everything Ryoma wanted to see his little spouse in.

 Leo had to bat away his mate’s hands more than once, laughing as he did so, while they readied.

 It was all very proper and very adorable, and they wouldn’t have it any other way.

 My - as for the boys? A bit of a switch up that day. Jewels was the son wearing Hoshidan robes, since he’d be far less fussy with his tail not stuffed inside of dreaded pants, while Shiro wore Valentinian baby clothes that let him match with his papa. He kept wiggling, sure, unused to the feel of them, but he accepted it soon enough. Both of them looked charming. 

 His darling too, he supposed.
 
 Supposed with a kiss, as they giggled and chased each other around their den once they were ready.

 It was a day of Valentine’s guardsmen wearing their full uniforms and looking their best and most proper. And it was a day of the servants and townspeople looking the same. And it was a day where the stables were busy as a bee hive, tending to mounts coming and going, tending to wagons and carriages, tending to pets nobles couldn’t bring into the gala with them.

 There was table upon table upon table full of feasting foods and then desserts. Not to mention the barrels of alcohol broken open for the day in the manor’s cellar.

 The celebrations in town started an hour or two before noon, so the noble houses of Nalina and Wuthering enjoyed those festivities first.

 And in the meanwhile, Leo gushed to his father about anything and everything to get some of the manic energy out. 

 So much to do. So much to see. So much to enjoy and revel in, on this sunny yet winter day. Busy, busy, busy was Valentine. Alive and thriving and lush even with snow covering its grounds. Brynhildr’s spirit was in the air. And sprouts of green poked through those snows whenever laughter lit up a room. The soul of Valentine would not be beaten by winter. Not ever.

 But eventually? Afternoon came.

 Which meant Leo and Ryoma being summoned from the drawing room they’d been delegating final preparations in, because the horns were sounding that announced their guests entering the manor. So it began - 

 The Winter Gala of Valentine, capital of the Green Halidom.

 “If you would, milords?” They were summoned.

 And Leo coyly offered an elbow to his husband. The elbow not holding Jewels, all wrapped up in traditional Hoshidan robes with his tail wagging wildly. His husband took his elbow, but of course. Wrapped it up in his whole arm, and then even intertwined their fingers, and then even brought their joined hands up to kiss Leo’s knuckles tenderly. Kissing his wedding band on the second, then third, then fourth peck.

 By then, Clova Vincini’s son was head over heels in adoration for the man he’d married. 

 And he beamed up at Ryoma as he whispered, “By the gods, do I love you.” 

 “I love you too,” his darling returned, his smile downright blinding in its brilliance, and then he nodded towards the door as if their guards weren’t cooing at them, “Shall we?” 

 So they shall.

 The manor’s ballroom looked straight out of a storybook. The storybooks Clove once read to her son. Of noble kings and gallant knights. Of dances shared with your one true love and kisses shared before the clocks struck midnight. Nohr? Nohr had largely ruined those dreams of fairytales and forever for Leo. 

 But seeing the ballroom now, he thought of his mother, and he thought maybe her storybooks hadn’t been so far fetched. 

 Vincini Manor’s ballroom, in size and ornateness, could never compete with Windmire’s. With Castle Krakenburg’s. 
 
 It was smaller, it was fairer, it was downright modest by most high-born estates’ accounts. 

 But it was a dream come true too.

 Strings of light were strung rafter to rafter. The chandelier was shining, all rose-gold and bronze but still glimmering and worthy of praise. There was the same old wood and old money feel in its walls that the rest of the manor held. The walls were pale cream, the tiles ivory, the grand staircase was scarcely that, was only a few steps down onto the floor proper. But the arched windows glittered, with frost and with their stained glasses of gold and emerald and earthy-tones. 

 Already their guests were milling about. There was dessert and drink tables lining a wall, a seating area, the town musicians gathered into an orchestra in the wings - 

 The melodies of violins and flutes filled the air, delicate. And sweet. 

 And it was all just so Valentine.

 Leo loved it. Right then, right there, standing in the doorway staring out over the ballroom, arm in arm with his husband and bringing their sons with them, he loved it. He loved seeing the armor of his family’s guards shining in the chandelier’s light, and all of the fancy yet far from Windmire-styled of dress filling the floor, The laughter and the people already spinning to the music, how simple and yet how perfect it all was.

 Smiling helplessly, he swayed a bit. Into Ryoma. Away from him.

 Wanting to take it all in and wanting to sink into his beloved, and wanting to live this fairytale to the fullest.

 “What do you think, my love?” Ryoma leaned in to murmur into his ear.

 “I love it.” Was the only answer Leo had for him, paired with his helpless smile, and Ryoma brought him in close with a tug on his elbow to kiss him chastely in that moment before their arrival was noticed by anybody.

 Simple and sweet and homely.

 Everything that the two of them had dreamed about their life together being.

 “Announcing!” Ikarus, the Steward of Vincini Manor, hence announced. Raising his voice above the murmur of the party. Raising every set of eyes to those fine, wooden double doors that the Vincini husbands entered through. Not so many sets of eyes, as it turned out. Not compared to Windmire’s social engagements - 

 “Lord Leo and Lord Ryoma Vincini! And their sons, the young Lords Shiro and Jewels Vincini!” 

 So they were announced. And so Jewels yipped fearfully at the louder-than-typically-allowed-near-him announcement. Burrowing into his mother’s neck in an instant. His ears tickling Leo’s chin, he outright laughed and Ryoma let go of him so he could settle their shy son. There was laughter from their guests too. 

 Far from the parties he had attended as a prince, this gala was a more casual, comfortable thing.

 Leo didn’t mind stepping down onto the ballroom’s tiles with Ryoma behind him. Nor did he mind his father immediately coming to help him with Jewels. 

 Lord Alistair was wearing his finest; the proper dress wear of a lording man. His spectacles were clear, and his pale-silk hair was in a small scruff of a ponytail at the back of his head. He also had his rapier at his hip. But what was important was that he had Jewels’ favorite; his sheep plushie. Which made his son laugh. Again.

 Because the image of his father, the picture of a proper noble, carrying around a big plush sheep? Was rather amusing.

 The plush had been Leo’s first though, so he was just as happy seeing it as Jewels was.

 “Well, he hasn’t devolved into fussing just yet, has he?” Papa said playfully, as the small kit was distracted by his plushie, “I’d say that’s something of a success, my boy.” 

 “Yes, something of the sort,” Leo pressed a peppering of kisses to Jewels’ cheek chubby with baby fat, and his kit devolved into giggles rather than fussing. Clutching his sheep plushie - that was nearly larger than him - close to his chest. Nuzzling into it. 

 Well it was something of a start to the gala, wasn’t it? 

 Most, if not all, galas are cut from the same cloth. It was a party. A celebration. A celebration of the Green Halidom. A celebration of what they had become, what they would become, what they wanted to become. Galas are eating sugary desserts, and sipping light wines, and dancing with your partners, and talking in-between that all with potential political allies. Tonight was no different at all.

 Other than this being a gala held in Vincini Manor. 

 Lord Delgane hobbled up to Leo to greet him heartily, already a little unsteady from the drinks he had and waving his cane around a bit.

 And the Farrow and Spirrow families both ended up as a long procession coming to bow and greet him. To coo over his sons and talk little politics due to those conversations already being done with days prior. 

 Wuthering nobility was where the real work started, since their numbers made up more than half the attendees and guests they had that night. Each separate family was adorned in the colors of their family crests, and were vying individually for favor. The nobles who knew Leo from Nohr carefully approached Ryoma instead, and the nobles who were more sneaky or simply already too drunk to care approached him.

 There were bows, but they wore masks. And it was all a farce.

 And Leo rushed those greetings just to get himself and his sons away from the schmoozing as soon as possible.

 A gala will always be colored the same, even if each one may be different shades. 

 Leo did as he did, and tried to revel in the party as a Lord of Valentine. Talking, eating, drinking, dancing the night away.

Niles made himself known to his liege once he’d greeted those guests of his; guests both polite and cold and simply civil as the line between those two options. And the eldest of his brothers? 

Certainly caught eyes.

 Thank Brynhildr he’d listened when Leo requested he not wear a dress that was nothing more than lingerie; lace, lace, and more lace. And covering nothing. But. Niles still opted to wear a gown. And a gown that suited him so well his liege nearly doubled over chortling at the sight of him. So very suiting.

 Niles’ gown was long in the back, shorter in the front, and it looked as if he’d added to that by asking some seamstress to stitch it up even higher. Niles’ gown was a deep, vibrant blue shade. With a front hem nearly five inches above his knees, and a lengthy trail following him, and the front of the gown’s top had been obviously modified. 

 As in, he’d had it turned into a very low cut that went almost all the way down to his abdomen, showing off his toned chest and dark skin and white chest hair - and really it was an image.

 “Do I want to know how much it cost you to get a seamstress to alter a gown that much?” He snorted into his goblet, then snorted again, amused when his brother did a very exaggerated spin to show off how he looked.

 The heels that were nearly five inches tall really brought it all together. And brought Niles a bit taller than Leo as well.

 “It was worth every coin, I should think~” The man who could never not be flirtatious purred, swaying his hips so very purposefully as he smirked, then sort of sneakily inclined his head to one side, “Plus, I have oh so many admirers here. My bed certainly won’t be going cold leading up to this Winter Solstice, milord.” 

 Leo raised an eyebrow, then looked pointedly at Niles’ hip.

 Under that fabric was the tattoo of a butterfly. A symbol of a promise.

 His retainer held up admirably for a few moments, then sighed and crossed his arms and again so purposefully pushed out his chest and swayed his hips, “Alright! So I won’t be taking any lovers whilst Laslow is away…but I can look can’t I?” 

 “That’s between you and Laslow, Niles.” 

 Well, at least his brother was enjoying himself.

 Leo watched him strut off, and snorted again into his goblet when he saw a few bold partygoers rush after him. Clearly trying to catch his attentions. Well, Niles knew what he did and didn’t want. So long as his ‘admirers’ kept their hands to themselves and kept those selves polite, he wouldn’t interfere.

 His own gown was an equal thing of beauty, and just because Leo wasn’t in the least interested in the admiring eyes on him didn’t mean he was unaware of them. 
 
 Ryoma, however, was the only one he wanted. 

 So he swallowed down the last of his drink and off he went to find his beloved again.
 
 Which. 

 Well.

 Wuthering’s eligible nobility kept trying to flirt with Ryoma too. 

 Eligible as in interested, not as in single and unmarried. Because there were married wives and husbands involved in that crowd clustering around his husband. Commenting on his long hair, on his physique, on his accomplishments. Leo wandered past once or twice - or three or four times, feeling possessive - and overheard them gushing about his mate in overly flirty tones that seemed to just make Ryoma look politely troubled.

 In some ways he was waiting for Ryoma to send him some signal that he was uncomfortable so he could swoop in. 

 In others he wanted to see something that truly couldn’t be mistaken as anything but advances on his mate and then call it out.  

 Kitsune were very loyal partners. And very possessive ones too.

 And he hadn’t dealt with anybody flirting with his husband in such a way ever since the war ended. 

 Thank Brynhildr his beloved was just as loyal; would never even consider being unfaithful. Because Leo eventually stopped his pacing. And eventually ended up by the dessert table, scowling into a goblet with his figurative tail lashing. And around that time was when Ryoma noticed his grumpiness and made some excuse to leave those flirtatious flirts with no shame behind to join him.

 Gazes followed him as he walked away. Looking his backside up and down very slowly.

 And Leo set the goblet down on the dessert table perhaps with more strength than necessary, strength enough to shake it a bit, smirking all teeth and immediately tugging his mate in for a kiss the instant he was within reach.

 Right in view of those flirts.

 It wasn’t the chaste kiss they shared earlier. There was a split second there at the end where Leo nipped Ryoma’s lower lip and hummed sharply as he pulled back. His husband flushing in the light of the chandelier and so pretty and so pink as he cleared his throat. Regained his composure.

 Their onlooking homewreckers looked downright jealous in response, and Leo preened.

 Well aware that Ryoma was his.

 “Well, that’s one way to make a point, my boy,” Lord Alistair hid his snort of laughter with a small cough, Shiro and Jewels each in one of his arms, hooked on his hips as he joined them, “Those Wuthering nobles are nasty bits of work, aren’t they? I’m starting to regret not sorting them out years ago.” 

 Ryoma seemed a tad confused, looking between the two Vincinis, father and son. Sweet, sweet man. Not even realizing he was being flirted with, right in front of his own husband.

 Well, those nobles at least got the message.

 Were shying away now, trying to pretend they hadn’t been seen staring lustfully at Leo’s Lord-Husband.

 “The next person to try and seduce my husband will become a part of my garden,” Leo stated, startling Ryoma just as the man was taking Shiro from his grandfather’s arms, a smile creeping at the corner of his mouth when he noticed several nearby guests around the dessert table freezing in response to overhearing what he’d said, “And should they try to do so while he is holding our children, they will not even get the honor of that.” 

 This was their home, this was their celebration.

 He need not be nice about them trying to seduce his husband.

 “Still as threatening as ever,” said husband’s fond - so fond - response was. Bouncing Shiro on his hip, now glancing back towards the crowd he’d just been surrounded by with more of an understanding and troubled look in his pretty eyes. 

 “Are you bothered by it?” By him being threatening? Leo asked only because this was his beloved Yoma and he didn’t want to be the one to make him uncomfortable.

 He’d only lightly maim those fools if that was where his mate drew the line.

 “Well…” Ryoma cocked his head, thought for a moment, then slowly shook his. Still so fond, “No. Leo, I am yours. And besides, it’s rather…charming. Your strength and confidence, that is, when you take control like that.” 

 Lighting up, Leo stole a kiss just for that. 

 Took control just for that.

 By the end of the night, all of those would-be troublemakers would realize they had no chance at luring his dearest Ryoma away from him. To do so was to bring Wuthering to ashes. To tear down its very foundation; he would do so himself, stone by stone, with his magic. 

 “I find you rather charming too, as it happens.” 

 So the gala went on.

 “If I could have this dance?” Was how it went on. With the orchestra’s song swelling, with Ryoma sweeping into a bow and offering his little husband his hand, with guests turning to them expectedly. 

 “You could.” With Leo accepting that hand, so warm, so big compared to his, but with a wedding band to match his own. Cherry wood and cherry blossoms and roses.

 With the husbands of Valentine finally stepping foot onto the dance floor, stepping into each other’s personal space, and with a hand of Leo’s both on his lover’s shoulder and hip. Ryoma did the same to him. And they swayed together to the song. Losing themselves in one another’s eyes.

 In their touches. In the way the chandelier’s golden light caught on them.

 In the intimacy of them being alone in the middle of a room full of people.

 When the dance ended, the two of them still stood there for several seconds. Breathing a tad heavy. Trapped by one another’s hearts, and eyes, and hands with wedding bands on their ring fingers.

 They only stepped away after they bowed to each other, and even then that was something done with a breathy laugh before they returned to flitting around the ballroom. Talking to various guests. Getting involved in gossip and talking some politics when needed. But they always ended up back at one another’s sides. Even when they had the boys, or when his father had the boys, they were always switching off who had who or stepping off to the side to give Shiro and Jewels some time to breathe away from strangers.

 Leo’s heart had wings.
 
 Late, late, hours into the gala, Leo was holding a half-asleep Jewels. The fluff of his ears tickling his mother as he yawned and snuggled close to his armpit. Where it was apparently warm enough and dark enough for the kit to take a nap. Well. Apparently his youngest was so tired now that he didn’t even have the energy to be shy about their guests.

 Looking around, it didn’t take him long to notice Shiro in his father’s arms across the ballroom. Likewise half-asleep. Dozing on Ryoma’s shoulder as the man rocked him in a quieter corner away from their guests.

 The sun was setting outside the stained glass windows. 

 It was late.

 So Leo made the decision to wave Sirs Rainier and Alexander over, their rose-gold armor shimmering the light of the chandelier. Both of them observing proper manners for once. Bowing. Greeting him. Waiting for their orders. Orders they received as they followed their liege; him, skirting around the lively dance floor to join his husband in that quieter corner of the ballroom. 

 “Take the boys to their nursery.” Was the orders they were given, softly, so as not to stir the already mostly asleep kits sleeping on both their mother and father’s shoulders, “Take six other guards with you. Guard them well. Through the night. Fetch one of us if they wake.” 

 “Lord Leo,” both of his childhood guards intoned respectfully, bowing again to him, really playing their roles when in view of their guests.

 “The nursery, my love?” Ryoma questioned him quietly, even as he handed a sleeping Shiro off to Sir Rainier, his nose twitching as he adjusted to being held in armored hands.

 “We have no way to know when we’ll be returning to our room,” Leo explained, “For all we know, we won’t be tonight. It’s best the boys sleep somewhere they won’t be disturbed and can be guarded well. Besides, they are…getting older.” 

 He thought he managed to pretend rather well to not be bothered about not sleeping with his sons tonight, this first night of ever trying that.

 Not well enough, though, since Ryoma gave him an understanding smile and pulled him into a hug as if to comfort him after.

 Shiro and Jewels were privately seen away from the gala. Their very first party a success. Not one they’d remember, but one their parents would.

 Shiro and Jewels were beloved.

 That was what mattered.

 More drinks, more desserts, more playing host and even a dance Leo shared with his papa later? And he ended up with sore feet, tired eyes, and in conversation with a Wuthering nobleman who’d managed to trap him near the drinks.

 This was also a part of hosting a gala, sadly.

 “Tell me, Lord Leo,” a Wuthering noble who’d clearly had a bit much to drink if his wine-sweet breath was anything to go by said, slurring somewhat, “I had noticed your children were carried about by either you or your…husband, tonight. Has their wetnurse taken ill? Or perhaps were you hoping to open conversations for future prospects?” 

 Leo was wrinkling his nose before he’d even realized it, something inside of that was distinctly fox-like going huffy and offended at the idea that he’d pawn his kits off on a wetnurse.

 And the idea that he was already considering marriages for them he wouldn’t even entertain.

 “Not so much,” he made sure he answered calmly, but also knew from the way the nobleman’s brows furrowed that he was puzzled by his answer anyways, “This is the boys’ first party, so I wanted them to enjoy it to the fullest. Besides, they have no wetnurse. We do our own childcare.”

 “Ah.” The stubby man’s nose wrinkled too, and his eyes very obviously dropped down to Leo’s chest which he very much didn’t appreciate, “I see. I, of course, had all of my children raised and tended to by their wetnurses. The Dusk Dragon knows I couldn’t trust my wife; fool that that woman is.” 

 “Yes. Excuse me.” 

 Rather done with that conversation, Leo left it behind with a polite nod. Gods. He’d forgotten how rude and shameless Nohrian nobility was. And Wuthering was definitely proving themselves to be Nohrian nobility. He didn’t want any of these people to hold a role in the halidom!

 Shifting, feeling that crawling sensation of discomfort crawling up his spine, Leo decided now was the best time to step out.

 For just a moment. Just a breath of fresh air.

 Before he did, he brushed by where Ryoma was entertaining a whole horde of the Farrow family who seemed very invested in his tales of Hoshido. Letting his darling know with a shift of his eyes where he’d be going.

 His darling of course tugged him close for a quick kiss on the temple in-between his words, and that earned them quite a bit of cooing before Leo stepped away.

 Away.

 Out, into one of the edges of the ballroom were a nearly-hidden doorway led into a servants’ passage.

 Exhaling slowly, the Vincini boy fell against the wall. The sound of the orchestra quieted there. The murmurs and mutterings of the guests too. He let his head fall back against the wall. Wrapped his arms delicately around himself. And then he just stayed there. For a long, long minute. Listening to the way his own heartbeat fell into harmony with the music. Smoothing out his dress. Breathing.

 Just breathing.

 And breathing.

 This Winter Gala was such a success. Already it was clear to see that. And it was nothing alike to Windmire’s galas and social engagements and parties. Those parties so big that you could visit three or four different ballrooms in a single night and never run into the same person twice. This? Had nothing on that. This was such a small gathering by comparison. But the sounds, the smells, the atmosphere - especially around Wuthering’s nobles - was a reminder.

 Leo Vincini just needed a moment to remember that he wasn’t a prince.

 He was a Lord of Valentine.

 Nobody would harm him here. Nobody would insult him. He wasn’t expected to wear a mask, he wasn’t expected to pretend, he wasn’t expected to manipulate anyone. He didn’t have to be the villain anymore. 

 He could enjoy the party, and take it at face value, delve no deeper. 

 Everything was going perfectly fine. So why couldn’t his heart believe that as well as his heart did? His heart was the footsteps approaching him after several minutes had passed of him staring up at the stone ceiling. Footsteps belonging to somebody his soul knew well.

 “Leo?”

 “Ryoma.” 

 For just one moment, they were alone. In a servants’ passage. At a ball, a gala, a party. Wasn’t that familiar? Leo glanced over at his husband standing there, expression so open and soft and full of an undercurrent of joy…and he thought, ‘Maybe not.’ 

 They weren’t in Cyrkensia this time. This wasn’t the Opera House. This wasn’t them hidden away shamefully, worried, unsure what tomorrow would hold. Ryoma wasn’t wearing a gorgeous kimono this night, and Leo was wearing one of his mother’s own gowns. There were no bruises on his body. There was no fear in his heart.

 There was just him, as he was, and Ryoma would have him no other way.

 There was just them, and the hush of the corridors that muffled the movements of servants, and the music out in the ballroom. The lighting dim around them. Their eyes catching what little light there was, each time they shifted closer.

 Tilted their heads and smiled more.

 “The boys?” Leo asked, the furthest thing from worried, because he knew Ryoma would never go anywhere news of Shiro and Jewels could not reach him.

 “Sound asleep, according to the guards,” and the man who was his mate and so handsome this night confirmed as much. Stepped closer. Swayed into him like this was a dance but they were simply still and alone in the servants’ passage. And the wall was cool and stone behind Leo’s spine. And it scraped, and suddenly Ryoma’s hand was there.

 Splayed out over his spine instead.

 Ensuring he never felt the scraping at all.

 Ensuring he never hurt at all.

 “Are you alright?” And Ryoma’s tenor was so low, so sweet, Leo thought of honeysuckle sometimes when he thought of this man he adored. Honeysuckle. Ryoma’s lips were like honeysuckle…and clovers…and so velvety-soft. And he reached up between their bodies to brush his thumb across his love’s bottom lip.

 “I just needed a moment. To breathe,” he breathed out, emerald and tawny eyes ensnared by one another in the dim.

 Breaths warm, damp, and smelling like frostings and light wines as they stayed like that. 

 Breathing.

 “Are you alright?” He asked in return, still thumbing at Ryoma’s bottom lip. So, so soft. It had always mystified him. How his dearly beloved’s lips could be thin, but so soft to touch. To kiss. His own lips weren’t nearly so. Were usually chapped and a little rough. What an odd difference between them. 

 “I just needed a moment,” the brunette repeated his own words, then added a few of his own as he pulled Leo in slowly so their bodies were flush together, “And you.” 

 “Me?” 

 “You.” 

 “Me.” 

 Kissed. They kissed. They kissed lazily, and leisurely, lavishing each other in it. Lips like roses and clovers when together. Leo gasped and drew his head back. Ryoma followed. Flattening him against the stone wall. Those stones cold where they touched his skin, sending shivers up the spine that his husband’s hands were caressing. It was such a contrast to the heat of Ryoma pressing against his front.

 Such a contrast to the buttons and embroidery and the collar that Leo’s hands worked their ways through.

 Such a contrast; to have Ryoma’s hair tied back instead of tickling his cheeks as they kissed like usual.

 He gasped. His lover swallowed it. He bowed against the wall, moaning quietly to the sudden realization that Ryoma was tugging up his dress. Not to touch him inappropriately. No - to just, to get his hands on more skin. He shoved the ivory fabric up, bunching it around the blonde’s hip, and then groped at his thigh. Squeezing at it.

 Lifting it up to help it hook around his hip.

 Leo did so only too happily. Melting into the long kiss. And into the feeling of Ryoma squeezing his thigh, and - mmmm.

 He was able to count some of his love’s eyelashes as he pulled back. Just barely far enough to press their foreheads together to catch their breaths.

 “I know I said it earlier, but you look so beautiful, Leo.” 

 “I would say the same about you, darlin’.” 

 For a heartbeat - a very loud heartbeat, considering Leo’s heart was pounding - it seemed like they may sweep into another passionate kiss.

 But then the music swelled out in the ballroom, and there was the sound of guests breaking into roarous laughter over some event, and they remembered where they were. They separated. Bit by bit. A kiss or two later. Ryoma’s hand sliding off of his thigh, and Leo unhooking it from his husband’s hip, and smoothing down his dress as they both blushed and returned to a proper distance from one another.

 “Will you be needing more of a breather?” The sweet man asked, sort of offering an elbow just in case the answer was no and he wanted to be escorted back into the ballroom.

 But the Vincini boy shook his head.

 “I’ll be out in a moment.” 

 After that, he needed another breather to collect himself. To which his husband nodded and dropped his arm, straightening out his coat and fixing his slightly muffed bangs as he went to leave.

 While Leo draped himself against the wall and used the coldness of the stones to chill the heat in him. Letting himself go breathless for just a second. One second to himself, and to the memory of his husband kissing him so needily.

 There was a giggle.

 And his eyes fluttered open to stare down the passage, flushing when he saw the skirts of multiple maids disappear around a corner. Their giggles and excited whispers fading in his ears. Brynhildr laughed at his expense as he flushed hotter and hotter. Well. They’d been seen. 

 Ryoma would’ve been mortified to learn that, but Leo didn’t mind keeping the maids and their giggling to himself.

 Straightening his gown again, he tried to look as little disheveled as possible as he huffed. 

 Right. Breather over. Time to go entertain. He was a host tonight, after all. And Ryoma was already granting him so much time to have fun rather than to work. Though…he doubted his husband saw it that way. Ryoma probably was so used to being the crown prince of a ball that he saw nothing wrong with taking on all of the responsibilities of a host while Leo enjoyed himself.

 His silly teddy bear; he’d be giving him lots of kisses later that evening.

 Brushing off his dress’ skirt, Leo lifted up the hem somewhat. Intending to step out of the passage. Intending to. 

 That wasn’t what ended up happening, because apparently some nobles had decided standing right next to the servants’ passage was the perfect place to drink their overflowing goblets of wine and chatter. Leo heard them before he’d even turned the corner.

 “I still cannot believe King Xander gave royal hegemony to such a backwater family as the Vincinis.” 

Leo went very still, eyes narrowing.

He listened.

“Can’t you?” A second, arrogant-toned voice joined the first, “Isn’t it quite obvious that this is all a ploy of the young king’s?” 

“How so?” 

“He gave that power to his half-brother. To somebody who has served him for years. And for all the rumors regarding Leo Vincini, they yet claim him to be subservient to King Xander in every way. Clearly this is all a plot of his, with Nohr unable to handle the strain of our lush lands in its current state. The safest option for King Xander was to surrender them to somebody loyal to him and who wouldn’t be affected by the Hoshidans and their power-hungry ways.” 

 Crossing his arms, Leo casually draped himself against the wall. Equal parts amused and annoyed. He’d forgotten how brazen rumors and gossip could be.

 “...but Lord Leo is married to the former-Crown Prince Ryoma?” The second nobleman sounded confused. Rightly so. Because this was utterly ridiculous hearsay.

 “Precisely why he is so unaffected,” the first jeered, the sound of a drink sloshing accentuating his words and painting a rather complete picture in Leo’s mind of how he was probably waving his hands about self-importantly, “Dear cousin, don’t you listen to me and my great knowledge at all?” 

 There was a mutter, then a mumble in response, then a lull in their gossiping.

 The Vincini boy sighed and straightened up, considering whether or not their reactions would be worth it if he stepped out right next to them and made it obvious he had overheard.

 When the haughty fool went on.

 And this time it was rage-inducing.

 “Besides, Lord Leo with his half-breed vermin is far easier to control. Haven’t you heard the rumors that he was a double agent throughout the entire war? All King Xander must do is threaten to turn those animal pups of his into fur gloves and - “ 

 Ah, what do you know.

 Leo Vincini was furious.

 Brynhildr was right there with her wielder, with her thorns and her vines, that materialized and lashed out. Out of the hall. Out into the shadowy corner of the ballroom those noblemen had been gossiping in. He heard their startled shouting, the outbursts of others shocked by what was happening, but all Brynhildr’s vines did was toss the men out onto the ballroom’s floor properly.

 Leo stepped out of the shadows too, in the wake of them sliding several feet and spilling their drinks, fuming.

 The two drunkards - who had threatened his kits - were Wuthering nobles. And they lay groaning and gasping in the center of a big circle of attendees who were staring down at them in surprise.

 “Right, that’s enough of that,” Leo said tonelessly, prowling out onto the ballroom’s tiles after them, “What did you just threaten to do to my kits?” 

 They were red in their faces and sputtering and had been made a spectacle out of.

 They weren’t even important nobles either. They were third cousins or something similar of their lines, and none were stepping forward in their defense as Leo continued to prowl around them. Heels loud on the tiles. A click, click, click and he let the fury bubble and boil inside of him.

 The thought of his sons - of poachers getting them - of what these men even suggested!

 “Leo?” But his husband was there too, and although he knew not what Leo had overheard he looked just as furious and just as much on Leo’s side as he rushed to stand just there. At Leo’s side. Glaring down at the guests of theirs that had so-offended his mate. Hand on Raijinto’s hilt.
 
 They were shaking now, coming up with all sorts of excuses, but Leo simply told the truth.

 “Ryoma, darlin’, I believe these two men were just alluding to our sons being turned into fur gloves.” 

 A truth that would see them slaughtered considering the two furious parents they were faced with.

 Indeed, in a single heartbeat Ryoma went from supportingly confused to absolutely raging.

 Lightning crackled around him, around them, and the air pressure dropped enough to make ears pop in the ballroom. 

 “Your sword, Ryoma?” 

 Needless to say, Raijinto was already being drawn from its sheath with an unforgiving hiss, and together they stalked the fools who dared threaten their kits in their own home so brazenly.

 “Guards!” Those guards his husband called for were already there, stalking forward with their lords, and while Wuthering nobles sputtered about misunderstandings and mistakes all of their sensible guests backed off. Leaving the arrogant asses to their fates. Whatever two furious parents thought they deserved.

 Brynhildr certainly thought they deserved her thorns. Leo was inclined to agree.

 For once, not because he needed to be a villain.

 But because he was a mother with children to protect.

 Still, it was good for the halidom to learn their lords were not soft by any means now, before they had to butcher an uprising who thought they’d be easy targets. Leo’s vines wound around the more arrogant of the two’s ankle, and gave him a good thrashing where he struck the tile once. Twice. Groaning, Heaving. He was then released to Head Guard Fern and his best who dragged him to his feet.

 His cousin bemoaned what was happening, babbling about how he had no part in the man’s words and threats, but he was dragged off anyways.

 Throughout it all, the orchestra hadn’t ceased playing. They had simply added more percussion to the music, in light of their Lord Leo standing there with his magic in wild wisps that twisted around him. And their Lord Ryoma with his lightning clear to see. 

 Nobody was arguing with them now. Though they were subject to some widening eyes.

 Well, an entirely flawless evening had been a bit of wishful thinking.

 The fact that it was nothing more than gossip - technically - meant it could’ve been worse.

 Those two Wuthering men were dragged off, and the music softened once more, and as if nothing had happened both Lord Delgane and the Nalina families went back to dancing and drinking and chatting while the Wuthering nobility shrunk away from the angered husbands there before them.

 At least that hadn’t spoiled the rest of the gala, but it had subdued Leo’s excitement a bit.

 He ended up in a back corner, lounging in an armchair with Niles hovering to keep unwanted troublemakers at bay.

 The hour had already been late.

 And only an hour more, and the party began to truly wind down to little more than some polite, final conversations before guests departed.

 A long night it had been. A longer night it may yet be. But, the point was, the Winter Gala had reached its conclusion. A conclusion of cheery, slightly tipsy adults heading for their wagons, with guards to escort them back to town. A conclusion of servants sweeping into the manor’s ballroom to begin cleaning, despite it being midnight. A conclusion of Leo feeling tired.

 But so very satisfied.

 Standing in the doorways to that ballroom, seeing the scuffs of dancing feet on the tiles, and moonlight streaming through stained glass windows, and the dimmed glow of the chandeliers and sconces, he felt so satisfied. In himself. In the ball. In life.

 In some ways, the Winter Gala had been a test to himself, and to the halidom.

 And in Leo Vincini’s personal opinion, genius that he was, he should’ve been graded with flying colors. Disregarding a few…altercations, here or there.

 Actually, they were neither here nor there.

 They were nothing but a footnote in the fine night Leo had had. Had organized, had seen through until its end, and had really…not minded. Had really enjoyed, honestly. What a strange concept. To not regret his duties. To not regret the way his day had gone. The way his life had gone.

 And yet, here he was.

 “Satisfied, my boy?” Starting, Leo turned emerald eyes to his father, who looked a little disheveled now and a lot tired, spectacles gone and hair down and coat unbuttoned. But those spring-blue eyes were sparkling in what light remained. As if he already knew the answer.

 Still, Leo stepped up to his father and let himself be folded into a hug anyways, saying, “Yes, Papa. Very much so. This all went very well.” 

 “As I said it would,” they separated, and Lord Alistair rubbed a nose a bit, looking over the cleaning in process for a second before nodding, “You’d best head to bed, my boy. It’s already late. Plus, the twins have been put to sleep in the nursery so you and your husband can…ah, speak more on tonight. And unwind. And relax.” 

 Papa wiggled his eyebrows a bit, making Leo hide a surprised bark of laughter behind his hand.

 Well, if his papa said so - 

 “Goodnight, Papa.” 

 “Goodnight, Leo. Your mother is proud of you.” 

 His smile softened, saddened, for a second. And then he picked up the hem of his gown to properly bow to the man who was his father in every way that mattered. Before turning about and vanishing into the dim corridors of the manor. In search of his husband. A search that ended in the foyer, where Ryoma was seeing off the last of their guests. 

 He looked so strong, so noble, there in the entryway of Leo’s family’s home.

 Their home.

 When the final guest had bade their farewells and gone, the doors to Vincini Manor were shut. And locked. And Ryoma turned on his heel, and took a very obviously deep breath. Running his hand through his ponytail, pursing his lips when he found his hair to still be tied back rather than its usual, frizzy, messy mane. 

 Leo laughed. His laugh echoed like bells, soft and light, around the foyer. Ryoma lifted his tawny gaze to find him up on the second floor. Leaning against the banister. Watching him watch him. 

 “Ryoma,” he said in light of being seen, flattered by the way his Yoma’s whole self simply softened in response to him being present, and offered a hand as example, “shall we head to bed now, darlin’? Our night is at its end, officially.” 

 “So we shall.” 

 He waited at the top of the grand staircase for his handsome, golden-hearted husband to join him.

 To take his offered hand, and together they disappeared down the hall together. But it wasn’t some prim and proper Lord-husbands thing. No. It was Leo tugging his hand free after a few steps, and giggling when Ryoma sent him a look that said he knew exactly what was about to happen, and straight up cackling when his husband got into a running position.

 Leo lifted his dress’ skirt, and broke into a run down the hall.

 Ryoma ran after him.

 Their laughter mingled together into a single sound, joined by the clacking of Leo’s heels and the sound of Raijinto’s sheath bouncing off of a few walls and Ryoma adjusted to running in boots - 

 And in the moonlight shining down through each window they passed, they chased each other.

 All the way back to their bedroom. Where they quieted into giggles and chuckles muffled by their palms because their sons were sleeping in the nursery two doors down. Leo was caught by strong, strong forearms looping around his waist. He squeaked. He tipped his head back to laugh. He caught that laugh in his hand and then let himself be carried into their den.

 Ensnaring Ryoma into a kiss as he set him down. As they settled down. 

 It was time for them to ready for bed. And his husband had a question for him, it seemed.

 “Well, my dear?”

 There was no misunderstanding his husband’s question. Or what lay behind his question. Behind the tilt of his head. The twitching of his lips as he held back a grin. There was no misunderstanding the brightness of his tawny, big, brown eyes. No reading the emotion in them as anything but…love. 

 A question. Or more than one.

 ‘Did you enjoy yourself? Are you proud of this? Are you proud of us? Are you happy? Do you know how much I adore you?’ 

 All questions with the same answer.

 “Yes.” 

 At the end of this long night, that was all the answer Leo Vincini had.

 “Yes, Ryoma. Thank you,” aside from his gratitude, “so much. Thank you for all of your help. And all of your support. And all of your love. I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this without you.” 

 Turning around, a smile tugging at his own lips, he reached behind himself…and was so very much not surprised when Ryoma beat him there. Was standing behind in the span of a heartbeat. Was so tenderly running his scarred fingers over Leo’s shoulderblades, down his spine, down to the back clasp of his dress.

 “Let me,” he offered, so Leo folded his arms in front of his chest instead.
 
 Shuddering at the feel of Ryoma’s calloused fingertips brushing down his spine, undoing his dress’ clasp. Tugging down the zipper. Bit by bit, tugging, and he felt every bit of it like his sensitivity had doubled. 
 
 The gown’s top fell loose around his chest, his folded arms kept it in place, and he kept shuddering - 

 Gasping sweetly, when his mate kissed the back of his neck. When his weight fell over him. When he towered behind him, but made himself smaller, so small, so they might fit together flawlessly.

 “Let it go, Leo.” Ryoma’s tenor was low, raspy, and it rumbled through his chest.

 And Leo obediently unfolded his arms.

 His mother’s gown fell to the floorboards in a lump of fabric around his ankles. 

 His toes curled at the feeling of air free to caress his skin. Wearing nothing more than his short braies. And heels. And even as heat filled his face, even as he blushed, his darling Ryoma stepped around him.

 Circled him.

 Stilled in front of him. Seeing all that he was. His little mate. His pretty, perfect little mate. The mother of their kits. Their matemarks pulsed, claiming Leo’s heart and pulling it along. Pulling it towards its match. That thunderheart of his Ryoma’s. Ryoma. Ryoma, who tucked a crooked finger under his chin and lifted his blushing face to look at him.

 Ryoma whose eyes had gone so dark, because his pupils had blown wide open. 

 Whose eyes were the eclipse Leo would love to be blinded by looking into.

 Eyes that emboldened Brynhildr’s wielder. Emboldened him to, in turn, reach out. To clasp at his dress jacket. To never look away from those eclipsing eyes as he undid button after button after button. One, by one, by one. Until the embroidered thing was open, and he could slowly, intimately push it off his love’s shoulders. Sigh when Ryoma shrugged it off fully. When that jacket hit the floor too.

 Leo repeated that process with the button-up beneath it. Pale. And white. And pure in the moonlight of their room. Shafts of silver and stardust illuminating them. 

 He unbuttoned it, and Ryoma again shrugged it off. It hit the floor too.

 The loose undershirt beneath that, Ryoma took the initiative for and yanked the whole thing off, over his head in a heartbeat. 

 Leaving him bare-chested in the moonlight, so Leo could splay his hands out over his abs and lean in to kiss him.

 Their lips tried to stick to one another as they pulled back, and Leo dropped his emerald gaze to the tight, tight dress pants his doe wore. Tight enough to show…well, how he was feeling. A feeling imprinted in the front of those dark pants quite clearly. Leo shyly reached for it, and cupped it - the outline of his husband’s cock - squeezing. Feeling embarrassed.

 Usually Ryoma made the first moves like this, but Ryoma moaned quietly in response, and he didn’t regret it.

 In the quiet after that moan, they were both panting somewhat. Licking their lips. Their mouths gone dry. Two emerald-green eyes flicked between two tawny-brown eyes, and they stayed still for long enough that it should’ve gone awkward. But it didn’t. Not for them. It just went intimate. So very intimate.

 “The boys are in the nursery tonight,” his mated said then, voice hoarse with something far from exhaustion.

 And Leo smirked. Because Ryoma was right. And also he had a little surprise for his husband.

 So, despite not needing to at all in his high heels, the blonde boy went up onto his tippy toes, leaning on his husband’s broad, broad shoulders. To whisper in his ear, “And I placed that silencing spell over our bedroom yesterday.” 

 When he dropped down from being on his tippy toes, eclipse couldn’t describe Ryoma’s irises any longer. No. The sun had been killed. They were pure black, and his hands were practically pawing at Leo as they slid down his body. Applying pressure then not, then doing so, then not, then doing so - so needy.

 That silencing spell had been a work-in-progress for a while. But a day of rest and spite towards Wuthering had given him the perfect motivation to finish it.

 Nobody would be able to hear anything they didn’t intend for them to hear.

 Nobody would be able to hear them if - say - they wanted to make passionate love all night long.

 On top of that, the twins were under guard in the nursery tonight, by the suggestion of his father. And while they hadn’t really stopped Leo and Ryoma from having sex these last months, they’d definitely…ah, restrained them. Likewise, the possibility of being overheard as they had been several times already had restrained Ryoma a bit due to his shyness. Tonight? Tonight they had no such restraints. 

 None at all, really.

 And that fact hit the husbands at the same time, judging by the way they both inhaled sharply, staring at the way the moon and starlight fell on their faces.

 For a moment.

 Before they fell upon one another, like mates desperate to twine again.

 Kissing. Clawing at one another. Moaning without restraint when they pressed so tightly together that they were grinding against each other’s hip. Leo yanked that tie out of his husband’s hair, and tangled his fingers in his mane while Ryoma hissed and decided the simplest way to rush this bit along was to pick Leo up. 

 Hot palms under his thighs, fingernails digging into his butt, Leo keened as he was lifted off of his feet and fit perfectly with his legs wrapped around Ryoma’s waist.

 Grinding together as Ryoma simply stepped them out of their piles of clothes abandoned on the floor and stalked towards their nest like that. Their kissing was loud. It was hot and it was messy and there was drool dripping down Leo’s chin but he didn’t mind. How could he mind? 

 There was lightning sending thrills up his spine - how could he mind? 

 He tipped his head back and moaned loudly, for once, without restraint when Ryoma trailed kisses down his jaw. Made a home for himself in the hollow of Leo’s neck. Suckling and nipping and kissing. Then he went for that fucking matemark and Leo bucked - 

 Screamed - 

 And that was when Ryoma Vincini was dropping to his knees. Dropping Leo down onto the silky furs of their nest. Laying him down there, pressing him down there, smothering him in kisses and grinding their hips together in a senseless passion they’d be mortified about later. Leo bit back. Kissed back, loved back, drove his heels into the small of Ryoma’s back in a wordless demand for more - 

 More. More. Mate, more.

 We don’t have to hold back tonight.

 His mate bucked into him. Ground down into him. Into him. In him. Inside of him. 

 Inside of him was a fox begging to be given more kits to bear for him. Inside of him was that fox that had had to die so he could reclaim his magic. Inside of him was Poppy, yowling out in pleasure to have this again. He bit down on Ryoma’s matemark and savored the sudden taste of blood - such an abrupt choice that his mate startled. Hissed. 

 Gripped him tight and stilled them. 

 Ryoma’s big, warm palm cupped the back of Leo’s head as he continued gnawing on the reopened wound. He was moaning. Loud, noisy, breathless moaning like he was buried up to his hilt inside of his smaller mate - but no. No. He was still tucked away, straining inside of those tight pants. Leo pulled his fangs loose with a lick at the ruby-red blood there that shone wet in moonlight.

 And he laid back fully in the furs, glaring down at those pants.

 “Remove them,” he demanded. 

 Ryoma wasted not even a second falling onto his side, grappling with the tight fabric, clearly showing why yukatas were far, far superior to pants as he snarled wordlessly and had to rip his boots off first. Then the pants. Nearly tearing the seams with how he yanked at them, tossed them aside with the boots, his undergarments tented with his desires.

 Leo reached down even as he watched, with one hand undoing the buckles of his heels to also toss them aside, and with the other? 

 Palming himself. His braies just as tented with his own desires.

 “Leo,” Ryoma growled when those dark eyes of his were on him again, on him touching himself, and he fell upon Leo again like a wolf would a helpless sheep. Silly doe. Didn’t he know that was a fox he wished to breed? Even if he knew how to pretend to be a sheep, he still could bite back at any time.

 He bit at those soft, plumped lips to show as much. Rolling them between his teeth as they kissed.
 
 As his mate tore his braies from his legs.

 Left them both completely naked in the furs of their nest.

 He panted. Ryoma panted. 

 They paused, for a few breaths. They gentled. They kissed each other with the care expected of husbands whom loved one another more than anything else in history. The string of their mated bond shivered from the feeling, and they followed suit, Shivering, as they framed each other’s faces in their hands and beamed.

 “I love you,” Ryoma told him, so earnestly.

 “I love you too,” Leo tried to be just as earnest in saying so, and they kissed.

 And then they fell back into seeking pleasure.

 Never were they rough with one another. Neither of them could bear that. But they were handsy. And ardent about it. About grabbing as much skin as possible, getting their lips wherever they possibly could, leaving marks in their trails across each other’s bodies. They were also loud about it. And for once? They weren’t forced to quiet each time they realized they were getting loud.

 Which just made them louder. 

 “Oil - “ His mated murmured down, down by his chest. Suckling milk from him and licking the white droplets from his lip as Leo moaned - so tender from how often he nursed. But Ryoma’s suckling was nothing but soft, warm, wet suctioning with no teeth involved. Nor kneading. And it felt like a relief - 

 “Oil?” Ryoma repeated himself. It took the blonde a second to realize he had. Then he reached for one of the tinctures he kept in his magical storage nowadays. 

 The aroma of lilac petals floated into the air when he uncorked the tincture. 

 They’d done this enough times by now to get through the preparation stage smoothly.

 Ryoma settled back onto his heels, drizzling the oil onto his fingers, letting them get all wet and shiny and dripping in the moonlight. Then the tincture was lost in the furs and his husband was getting those fingers inside of him. It was less work to prepare him these days. His body knew his husband. Knew his shape. Knew how to stretch for him, how to fit him, so he went nice and relaxed in the silky furs and groaned at the feeling of being opened up.

Curling his toes in the pelts, tipping his head back, surrendering completely to his mate.

Ryoma’s fingers were easy to surrender to. They were big, long, as warm as the rest of his touch, and textured by callouses and scars. Worn by what he’d lived through. One finger. Two fingers. Three. The sweetness of lilacs in the air. The encouraging hums of his darling over him. Pleasure, starting to tickle at his spine. 

Then, emptiness.

 But his husband was spreading his legs gently, and smiling down at him with such affection he might’ve cried over it once. 

 Now? Now, Leo just smiled back. And arched a bit. And moaned a bit. And batted his eyes, staring up at his husband who was a sun in the night to him. Happy to have all that he would give him. Happy to have his cock press into him with a moan as they tied themselves together again, body to body. Heart to heart.

 Mate to mate.

 To mate.

 Thanks to the silencing spell there no longer existed a reason to hold back even a bit, excluding them accidentally breaking the floorboards. But Leo had faith in his childhood bedroom. It would hold. Even if his husband was powerful, and passionate, and thrusted into him like he wanted to break their nest open with it - it would hold. 

 Maybe. 

 Ryoma was large, and hot, and it always throbbed as it slammed into Leo’s body. And he always gripped his hips to hold him still, and he always groaned so loudly he could’ve been a brothel worker while doing so. Ryoma was not a quiet lover. Not in the least. He was the storm’s thunder, and his voice matched that well. Leo congratulated himself on finally getting that silencing spell finished -

 Because it made his mated even louder. The slapping of skin, the wet suction of the oil being used and used well, it bore nothing against the heaving breaths of them. Or the sounds of pleasure his beloved let out. Or the words -

 Ryoma was such a talkative lover too.

 It drove Leo absolutely mad.

 When he could hardly tell up from down and could only cling to his husband’s broad shoulders and moan, his husband was there speaking poetry in his ears. His breaths so hot, sending goosebumps across the boy’s body, words and words and words. Precious words. Compliments and praise and enough to drive Leo into insanity seeking more as he bore the brunt of his mate’s desires in ecstasy.

 “So good. Feels so good. Leo - Leo, feels so incredible. I shall never have enough of you. You’re so pretty. So pretty. You take me so well. I am blessed by you. You are a gift from the Dawn Dragon - I have prayed for you and here you are better than any divine proclamation. My gorgeous husband. Mother of my children. Mate of mine - mine. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you - “ 

 And on, and on, and on.

 Madness, truly.

 Leo loved being mad too. Surrendered his sanity to those passions. So sweet he drowned in it and his bones ached with it. Crying, begging, pleading, unable to find the words his husband did but still trying as his magic swept from him waves and waves and waves and roses grew in troves around their nest. Plants filled their den. Wisps whispered over his love’s skin, driving him further into his madness.

 To couple with Leo again.

 And again.

 And again.

 Ending hours and hours later, closer to dawn than to dusk. With the both of them naked, catching their breaths in their nest. Leo sighed. In pure contentment. Laying on his mate’s chest. Listening to the thundering beat of his heart beneath his ear. So sore, so pleased, so happy. He lifted his head just enough to look at Ryoma who was grinning up at the rafters.

 Who looked down at him when he shifted, grinning at him.

 “Mmmm.” 
 
 “Hm.” Leo hummed right back in response to that rumble that rolled through his husband, and he nuzzled into his chest. Kissed the skin closest to him. Closed his eyes to the lovely feel of Ryoma carding his hand through his hair, and still rumbling, the both of them worn out but too happy to fall asleep just yet.

 “Today was good,” his darling doe said then, softly, and he nodded without opening his eyes. Breaths slow and relaxed. For the both of them, as they settled, “We did good.” 

 “We did.” Sleepiness turned Leo’s tone into a drawl, and that made his handsome mate chuckle. Ruffle his hair a bit. Got him to arch a bit, their bodies plastered together, sticky with sweat and exertion and their pleasures, and it was really just so very perfect in the end, wasn’t it? 

 It was.

 “Goodnight, my beloved Leo,” the man he loved whispered to the rafters, as they lay there naked and eternally tied together, “I am so proud of us. Of you. And I do love you. I do.” 

 Oh, his teddy bear.

 “I do too,” to all of that, “I am proud of you, and I love you, and goodnight, Yoma.” 

 So ended the day of the Winter Gala.

Chapter Text

 The week leading up to the Winter Solstice was exactly what Leo remembered from his childhood in Valentine. Hot cocoa and gingerbread and snowball fights, all things sugar and spice and snowflake magic. The Winter Solstice was a time for togetherness. For family, for prayers, for giving thanks. The Winter Solstice was a time to not feel frozen in the midst of winter.

 To be warmed by the joys in your heart.

 Nohr celebrated the Winter Solstice as a dusken holiday. Blending the history of their Dusk Dragon into the traditions. The prose. For dusk and darkness, and all of that. In Nohr, in Windmire proper, despite it being damaged so terribly in the final battle and still being damaged so terribly? 

 Flocks of people would be filling up the grand cathedrals. Their singing would be heard across most of the capital. Singing to the Dusk Dragon. Singing their prayers for a year where they would not die starving because Nohr’s lands had been razed and ravaged, and death seemed to be on their horizons.

 In Valentine, however, the small, stone church they had would host a far more modest amount of worshippers. 

 They would click their prayer beads together, and they would mumble their prayers, and then they would leave like they’d come. Laughing heartily. Catching up with family, friends, and neighbors on snowy streets. Snowballs would be thrown. Valentine need not pray for all the things Nohr did.

 Because Valentine lived. Loved to live, held life to its bosom and never feared losing her.

 Because Brynhildr was the protector of these lands.

 And the protector of a boy, nearly a young man, who had a family to celebrate with this Winter Solstice in Vincini Manor. 

 Following the Winter Gala, there was business to see to but it was featherlight by comparison to the weeks leading up to said gala. A gala that had been a blossoming success. With only a hiccup or two, here or there. Valentine had finally and fully been accepted as the capital of the Green Halidom. The heart of the green lands to the west. The home to the Vincinis, the halidom’s rulers, and a place of absolute power that would protect its peace.

 The day after the gala, there were agreements signed. In person. With the noble houses that had graced Vincini Manor for a dance or two. 

 Delgo; Valentine’s closest and most dear settlement in its halidom. Those that had supported them first. Those that held memories of orchards and stars and yummy pies. 

 Nalina; Valentine’s second dear settlement. Those who needed their support the most, after having their fields torn up and burned and their people hung by Nohrian barbarians during the war. Support they offered, as the leaders they now were.

 Wuthering; complicated. 

 Weren’t they always? 

 Four separate guests from Wuthering had been arrested during or after the party. Two? For the obvious crime of threatening to hurt their children. Gossiping about hurting their children, maybe, but Leo and Ryoma were as unforgiving in that gossip as they were as generals in war. And those two foolish gnats had been stripped of their titles by the rest of their house in an attempt to please the Lords of Valentine they’d infuriated.

 Then, two more had ended up arrested due to improper manners towards the manor’s staff. It had only been delightful for Leo to have them booted out on their butts after learning they’d spend the night in the manor’s barracks jail.

 Valentine was not Windmire.

 And Valentine was no longer Nohr’s either. 

 Valentine was the Green Halidom’s heart, and the Winter Gala had made that clearer than polished crystal to the attendees who needed it proven to most of all.

 Delgo, Nalina, Wuthering. Protected under Brynhildr’s Valentine. Perhaps that would change given time for them to stretch out their freshly freed wings. Perhaps they would gain more to protect, if the reports of small settlements and homesteads popping up here or there were to be believed.

 Until then, they would do as their duty dictates.

 But they would also enjoy the Winter Solstice. 

 Their visitors had all departed by the morning after those agreements were signed. Eager to get home, to get back to their own celebrations. For some it was with a stiff bow of farewell. For others it was with a hearty hug and booming laughter. A slap on the back. A twirl before they bowed. Guess who did which. 

 As close to completely peaceful as it could get.

 Now, back to the main focus of this longtime story.

 The Vincini family.

 Oh, the twins finally spending a whole night - an entire night - sleeping in the nursery without their parents gave them a conniption come morning. Their parents. Not them. All of the excitement, the music, the bright lights and brighter fabrics of gowns at the gala had exhausted Shiro and Jewels. They’d slept soundly through the whole night in their crib, never stirring. Never even realizing their parents weren’t there.

 Brave kits. Brave, brave kits.

 Ryoma and Leo, on the other hand, were so unused to waking up without the boys in their nest that their morning’s very first objective was to bring them back. To nurse and snuggle and lick - those silly kitsune instincts - and lay in as long as they could.

 It was good that the twins were losing that instinctual need to always, always be with their mother or father. But right about then was when the young parents learned separation anxiety most ardently went both ways.

 Which was when Alistair Vincini stepped up with a bright spout of laughter, to kiss his own boy and take the twins.

 Grandfather rights, it seems, were very important to the man as he offered to babysit.

 The snow was pure white and laid in layers of blankets across Valentine’s valley. Snowflake upon snowflake fell and piled up, day after day. And at the height of each day the sun was pale gold, melting some of those snowflakes that would be replaced with the next snowfall. And the next. And the next. The trees were covered in frost, the paths swept off by guards doing their chores, the stables were warm and full of the whinny of horses, and Vincini Manor’s fireplaces crackled.

 Their burning filled the air with the thick scent of evergreen that one got used to after months of it.

 The maids brought trays of hot cocoa, topped by whipped cream and peppermint and cinnamon and chocolate shavings, with every meal. 

There were vanilla baths the two husbands shared, and there were music-less dances they shared too. Privately. Ryoma might take his hand, kiss his wedding ring and spin him back against his chest. Leo might let him.

 They might kiss in the pale light of winter.

 And they might snuggle more and more hours that week. Keeping each other warm with touches and warm words. Talking of life. Of their life. Of their children, of the halidom, of this homeland of theirs they now shared. And they might get a tad handsy under the quilts. And they might get a little carried away kissing in front of the roaring fireplace, until they were covered in marks that clearly showed the passion they held for one another.

 And Leo might buy plenty of gifts in exchange for every mark he left on his beloved’s skin; a tradition Ryoma yet was unused to, but was trying for.

 A tradition he would return with small acts and favors and a handmade gift here or there.

 Leo might spend plenty of time in the stables with his Rose, might have her bumping the doors to his den insistently so they might spend time together as they often did this time of year. He might spend time just holding Brynhildr. He might have more tea times shared with his father than usual. 

 Feasts and fairness and friendly greetings all around. All of Valentine was brimming with smiles this week.

 So a week after the Winter Gala?

 When the Winter Solstice actually arrived?