Work Text:
It is snowing when they set forth from the palace, a single steed of feline grace and steaming breath leaving trails of clouds along their path. Great claws digging into the snow and ice of the lands, kicking up powdery debris which makes the little one who is settled against Mobei Jun’s chest gaze with awe. Their face bright with sharp blue pigment as the excitement bleeds into a flush across their cheeks. Navy-black hair braided back and away from their eyes so when the winds whip around them the small silver medallions laced through their locks chime like bells and they seem to gawk all the more to the world of their birth.
The Northern fortress is settled by the edges of manic forests lush with black wicked trees and even crueler beasts that wind their path through such treacherous a maze. It is no place for a child but Mobei Jun snaps the guiding tether at the mount’s hip, urging it faster into such perils and his heir squeezes the saddle ropes with a look of grit and certainty. Whether they are afraid or apprehensive, Mobei Jun cannot tell. He hears the pulse like butterfly wings even through the charging winds and sudden echoes of black trees. Their horrid shapes rise like a vicious army on all sides as they ride further into the dark woods - and even the beast beneath them begins to whine in hesitation. Animal instinct tells it that soon they will be prey if they travel much further.
Mobei Jun stops at a certain point, beneath a fixture of broken stone coated with dark-colored ice. Extending an arm so the Prince might use it to ease themself down and they make too much noise when hitting snowy terrain with new boots gifted for this rite of passage. They flinch but Mobei Jun does not scowl or hiss at the disruption. Plucking the fine but modest sword from the saddle and speaking to their mount, giving it permission to return to safety with haste.
“Father?”
Mobei Jun has yet to harden himself against the delicate voice. The round eyes which shine like obsidian as they meet one another’s gaze. The flecks of blue darting back and forth as the little one does their best to comprehend their surrounding.
“Mo er.” Mobei Jun speaks low, cautious of the wind and the beasts he can hear - can smell the blood of monsters already lurking closer by their presence in this sacred place.
“I’m ready!” They speak too loud and at the quirk of their Father’s sleek brow do they hush themselves, bringing fingertips to their mouth like an admonishment.
“Remember what I taught you.”
The little Prince stands at most to his hip and is many seasons from the restless years of budding horns and developing true demonic arts. But they have been training since hands were strong enough to lift a sword, since they could sit still to concentrate - focus their inner song and manipulate their qi to benefit their craft.
Little Mo , of Mobei Clan, heir to the North. A wire smile across their face which reminds Mobei Jun far too much of their other Father and truly it only made Mobei Jun adore his child more.
“Yes Father.” They reach for the sword, and accept it with a bow. Securing the sheath to their waist belt and keeping a hand on the hilt to be prepared.
“By your lead,” Mobei Jun commands and there is hesitation. The smallest flicker of pointed ears as the little one dawns the weight of this task and gives a firm and confident nod.
“Yes My King.”
They travel through the dark forest for some time. Mobei Jun is alert for any dangers a young one might miss and only glows with pride when his heir detects crawling things in the trees and swimming beasts beneath the soil. They are quite impressive, face not even twisting with concern when they come across a kill barely frozen. Torn apart by something dangerous and half eaten by nature’s course.
“What did this?” Mobei Jun asks, watching the little body dart about in examination. Their urge to touch everything coming through as bones are picked and a stick is used to examine further.
“Dire crow?” They ask, awaiting confirmation.
“No.” Mobei Jun shakes his head. “Too many claw marks.” He points out the deep lacerations along the flank. “And Dire crows don’t kill alone, they flock. There would be pieces strewn about were it a flock.”
“Ah,” Little Mo agrees, mind turning with the volumes of knowledge supplied by an extensive education. Made up half by the ramblings of a doting parent and the traditional guide of another. “Wretched Three Fanged Dogs?” They answer and Mobei Jun nods.
“It is their hunting season.” He confirms further and doesn’t tell his child that two of such bloodthirsty creatures are watching them from the hill. But these creatures will not dare to come closer, not with Mobei Jun there. Merely watch the intruders at their kill and wait until the greater danger of a Northern King passes. “Come, this is not our intended prey.”
“Yes Father.” They hop away and follow, taking the lead as expected on their first hunt.
The two continue to travel, Little Mo catching the signs of their quarry in the imprint of snow, or the smallest disturbance of trees of something passing through earlier. Watching the young demon examine and calculate and hum to themself with surety before guiding their Father deeper into such terrible woods.
Only twice does Mobei Jun step in, to offer a guiding hand when the tracks vanish and Little Mo seems perplexed. Another time it is due to a deep fracture splitting the terrain in two, a jump the little one simply cannot make and pridefully tries anyway.
Mobei Jun is there, nothing will happen to his child while he is present. But that does not mean his heart doesn’t nearly give out watching the little body of deep blue robes and silver crown slip. Impacting with the ravine’s opposing side and nearly slipping down the shadowy depths before their Father snatches them with a single hand. Scruffed as they are returned to safe ground and it takes a great deal of strength not to snarl in upset.
He is not upset.
He was terrified for merely a heartbeat - and that is too long.
“Know your limits..” Is all he says, resting his hand on the back of Little Mo’s skull and smoothing down a fray of black hair which had fallen loose in the drama. Thumb passing the ebbing demon’s mark as his child’s emotions swarm beneath.
“I’m sorry Father,” The Prince whispers as they continue, rubbing the back of their hand across their eyes and Mobei Jun huffs with fondness.
“You are not feeling sorrow, you are feeling embarrassment.” He explains, realizing he is quoting something his fallen Uncle once said to him. “Sorrow is all-consuming. Embarrassment is personal. Do not let it distract you, instead focus on what you will do better. Understand?”
A loving husband has taught Mobei Jun to soften his words and it seems to work as Little Mo nods with newfound vigor, squeezing their sword hilt like they are some heaving chest warrior at the cusp of battle.
It makes Mobei Jun proud.
Not much further is their prey, and when the Prince spots it they almost give a bright shout of excitement. Smothering their face with a silver vambrace etched in the depiction of mountains, moving to signal to their Father that they were ready.
In unison they sink low to the ground as their quarry remains unaware, shifting through the fauna of this evil wood while hunted by Mobei.
Little Mo makes a gesture, guiding their Father to flank and Mobei Jun obeys, allowing his child to take command and gives a passing stroke of a pinned braid before moving out of the crouched position. Steps soundless in the snow which was as much his blood as what coursed through his veins. Staying low and silent as across the way a little Prince did just as well. Eyes lit in the same focused stare as their Father. Trusted implicitly to take down their prey alone - but Mobei Jun is near just in case.
Such a moment thrusts him back to his own childhood - a fledgling awaiting attention by a distant King-Father and standing awkward in the shadow of Generals as none paid him any mind.That was until a sleek shape poured his way through the crowd and lower to offer Mobei Jun a hand. Linguang Jun smiled when he offered to take Mobei Jun to his first hunt - and left him at the mercy of mortal cruelty.
Mobei Jun is no longer a child, and this is not his past. This is his heir, his precious one moving with learned steps of stealth and poise as they draw closer to their mark. Body liquid and dark against the contrast of pure white and for a moment Mobei Jun is so consumed with pride, he shakes the shadows of the past and what if he hadn’t despised me and can only see his child.
Joy takes the place of old wounds and Mobei Jun feels himself smiling.
The pounce is perfect .
Little Mo moves like cold lightning across the snow and their quarry has no chance to fight back as a Prince attacks and a cry rings out from the clearing.
Shang Qinghua falls back, their child colliding into his chest and the basket of collected plants fly through the air. He shouts, cursing up a storm and rambling on in that nonsensical way which he has since the day they met. Legs thrown high when Little Mo lands on their parent’s chest and pins him with two stretch hands no larger than a blossom.
“Caught you!” Little Mo cheers and recognition fills Shang Qinghua’s gaunt face of horror. The Steward of the North flashing between relief and sudden shock before letting out a mangled cry and falling “lifeless” to the snow.
“Oh no! The Cruelty! I was so young! I had so much to live for!” He whines and brings their child to laugh, small hands shoveling snow across their parent’s hair in a mockery of burying him. “I haven’t even confessed to my sweetheart! Life wasted by the cold, merciless strands of destiny!”
“What sweetheart ?” Mobei Jun growls from the shadows, rising to full height and watching Shang Qinghua twist backwards to greet him.
“Oh, there he is.” He smiles as Little Mo begins to pinch and squish their father’s cheeks. Stretching the warm flesh as far as it will go and will likely leave bruises. “OWowowowowowowowow precious one! Why must you hurt me?!”
“Papa, you’ve been caught, prey don’t flirt when caught.” They glower and pout when Mobei Jun crouches nearby.
“Some do.” Shang Qinghua answers. “Especially if they’re not killed right away. Some will absolutely flirt and throw themselves before the feet of their attacker - willing to trade their honor for servitude in exchange for their life. Especially if their attacker is quite handsome, even a bad attitude can be forgiven for a nice face.”
“That’s not very noble.” Little Mo complains and Mobei Jun flicks Shang Qinghua’s forehead.
“You talk too much.” He shakes his head. “Mo er, I do not think this prey’s meat will be any good.”
Shang Qinghua opens his mouth to counter, Mobei Jun’s eyebrows shooting up with a look of I dare you to say otherwise in front of our child , and just as quickly he shuts down.
“This Father is slaughtered, ended. No more. What happens to me is at the mercy of such a greater warrior - for I have been proven the lesser in such a grand field of battle!” He plays dead again and Little Mo tries to shove snow in their father’s ears. Eliciting a terrible cry and a surge of strength from the man. “My ghost demands vengeance!” Shang Qinghua proclaims, pushing his fingers into the child’s waist, tickling them with fury as Little Mo is left to cackle and cry out in giggling agony. Overturned by their father’s strength and kicking out for mercy.
Mobei Jun watches them wrestle. Watches Shang Qinghua let Little Mo slip away and chase them with handfuls of snow. Follows along their rambunctious path as parent and child dash about twisted, haunted trees with no fear. Grabbing and shoving frigid ice and snow down one another’s collars. The imaginative threats and squeaks as Shang Qinghua is overwhelmed and is once more sat upon, kicking his legs and crying for aid.
“Husband! Husband save me!”
“Father no! Be on my side!”
He cannot hide the dreamy nature of his adoration, watching his most precious play without a care in the world.
“Husband!”
“Father!” Both demand and Mobei Jun rises from the snow, staring across the distance to those blinking eyes, those expressions shared, and the ones who bear his absolute love.
“This King apologizes,” He says, hands twitching as both are distracted. “But the Northern Kingdom takes no sides.”
“Mo! Run!” Shang Qinghua warns the child away just as Mobei Jun’s hands swing, the rush of snow like a wave which charges in their direction. Laughing as he dashes forward and gives chase, the snow falling from the trees as his chest swells with a welcome warmth which feels uncontainable. Shang Qinghua and their Little Mo in his sights, and both their hands reaching for him in return.
And this dark forest is brightened.