#and 2) Nikolai was never scared of her powers or of who she truly was and he never made her feel like a piece of trash | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

missmarquin · 4 years

Text

Wild, Interlude: Tiger

Yuri on Ice | Otabek/Yuri, Victor/Yuuri | Fantasy/Fairytale AU |

This is the story of a nomad and the unusual tiger that he meets, and how relationships can be built on something far more meaningful than just words.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

This is the second part to Wild, my current Otayuri Fairytale!

Read on AO3 for better formatting! And don’t forget to follow me on Twitter! :D

# # # #

Interlude: Tiger

Nikolai Plisesky wasn’t the kind of man to go down without a fight. The chase had been long and arduous, but satisfying in a way. His old bones ached, but he felt more alive than he had in decades, his entire being brimming with energy. He teetered at the edge of that power, blood on fire and hands tingling, ready to explode. Magic was like that sometimes. Wholly consuming, itching to be released.

“Think you’ve won, have you?” Nikolai yelled, chest heaving as his breath puffed out in clouds before him. Winter was bitter cold in Rus, even when you were used to it. “Do you think that this is the end just because you’ve backed me into a corner? Ha!”

“That’s it, old man,” said a voice from behind. Willful. Cocky. Young and inexperienced. Really, the child had no idea who it was that he dealt with. Part of Nikolai pitied him, for it wasn’t his fault that the Crown had sent him to meet his end.

Nikolai finally turned to meet the other sorcerer face to face, throwing his hands up in a motion of peace. And to be prepared, just in case he had to weave a quick spell. “You’ve found me,” he said.

The younger man was typical really, with wild, unkempt hair and dark eyes just the wrong side of mad. Black sorcerers, Nikolai mused with a grimace. Nasty bunch. “It was a good hunt,” the man said to him. “I thank you for not entirely wasting my time.”

“Get it over with, then,” Nikolai said back. They stepped closer to each other in tandem, closing the distance between them. “Put me out of my misery.”

“Oh you have it all wrong,” the other man said. At that, Nikolai paused, eyes slowly narrowing. He hesitated. “I’m not here to get rid of you,” the black sorcerer continued, “I’m here to bring you back.”

“I won’t do it anymore,” Nikolai said. “Forty years of doing their bidding and I’ve done a lot of questionable things. I’ve grown weary of hurting others and I draw the line at outright murder.”

“You know too much.”

“Which is how I know that they would never ask me to work for them again. So do it then, put an old man out of his misery,” Nikolai said.

The man looked cocky, mouth spread wide into a shit eating grin. Nikolai hated it; to be hunted down and ended by such a brat. It was an unbecoming end for a man as powerful as he.

“Where’s the fun in that?” the sorcerer asked him. “Where’s the satisfaction? No, I like my plan far better. You’ll live on as they curse your name. All you’ll be able to do is relive those memories as you are paraded around like a pet.” His fingers crackled with energy as he took his stance.

A well-recognized spell. “That’s it, boy?” Nikolai asked him with a booming laugh. “That’s all that you have? What will you turn me into?”

“You underestimate me,” the boy replied. “This isn’t a curse upon just you, but also every generation that will come henceforth. You are nothing but a beast, and so a beast you shall be. Shackled and paraded around, as will your kin to follow for the rest of time.”

“Or until the curse is broken,” Nikolai said. “There’s always a work around.” But still, Nikolai worried; a curse on a family line was high level magic.

“It’s too late, Nikolai,” the man said. “You can’t escape this time. The Crown considers this a mercy, really. You should be thankful.”

Nikolai watched him for a long moment and then he sighed. Nikolai was old and tired-- too tired to keep pushing back against the Crown of Rus. Too tired to push back against anything. He hoped that his daughter would forgive him for his next action. He hoped that his bloodline to come would understand. When he dropped his hands, the sorcerer smiled wide in triumph, as if he’d won.

But then, Nikolai spoke, powerful words that would change the future of the Kingdom and its Crown for a long time to come. Power surged through him as he called upon a counterspell. He felt it well up within him, magic thrumming through his bones. Nikolai didn’t need to fling it with his hands, no, his words held the power alone, as he spoke clearly and concisely.

“I accept your curse, because I am an old and feeble man, but heed my words. I curse the Crown back,” Nikolai said, lips quirking into a smirk as he watched the man pause in his own spell. “I curse this land to fester and rot, and the longer it rots, the further it will spread. I curse for my hatred and anger to sink deep into the soil, leaving in its wake petrified crops and fetid game.

“The Rot can be undone, but only by the hands of my line. You wait and see; Rus will crumble before your eyes and before long, you’ll come crawling back to a Plisetsky to fix it.”

The man’s gaze hardened as he finished his own spell, but Nikolai didn’t care anymore because what was done, was done.

Nikolai laughed and laughed, even as he felt his bones shift and break into something anew, the opposing spell burning through his veins as--

Yuri pulled back like he had been burned, eyes wide and chest heaving.

Seeing was an easy task and one of the first things that a sorcerer learned, but it could leave one tired and chilled to the bone.

“Shh,” Yuri’s mother crooned. Her hands were cool against his forehead, as she smoothed his bangs back. Yuri reached out, fingers curling into the fabric of her dress, trying to find enough purchase to ground himself. “Relax,” she said, leaning over to press her forehead against his. “That’s it, little one.”

Then she pulled back, moving to grasp Yuri’s face gently between her hands. “You are young, but old enough to learn,” she said to him. “Old enough to try and understand why we are here, and why we have to stay.”

They lived in the harem at the palace Rus, but his mother wasn’t one of the ladies, she was a servant. Low of station, low of rank. Quietly forgotten, despite her heritage and abilities. Despite their proud bloodline. It was meant to be an insult. The women housed there had always been kind though-- sympathetic even-- and they doted on Yuri as well, even if he didn’t get along with the other children.

He preferred to be alone.

And then there was his grandfather. The Pet.

Yuri turned to where his grandfather sat next to them. He wasn’t scared, not like the ladies of the harem. Even though Yuri had never known him as a man, he knew him. His mother had made it known that the lion wasn’t actually a lion at all, but holder of their name and magic. The man who had taught his mother everything that she knew, and in turn Yuri. His family.

Growing up, Yuri had accepted it, but never truly understood. Now he did, eyes burning as rage welled up within him. Young enough to have child-like innocence, but old enough to be told. Old enough to learn.

Old enough to feel the pain.

“Yurochka,” his mother said, and he looked back to her. “Do you understand?” she asked him.

“Yes,” he said quietly.

“And you understand that this is my fate as well, yes?”

“Yes,” Yuri said.

She paused before saying, “As will it be yours, in time.”

Yuri’s eyes darkened in anger. His mother didn’t judge him though, she only pressed a hand to his cheek, smoothing her thumb over the soft skin there.

“I’ll stop it,” he said to her.

His mother smiled at him then, patting his cheek. She didn’t believe him, Yuri realized. She wanted to, and maybe she had said the same thing when she was young, only to be thrown into the harem as a servant instead. She had never gotten the chance and she didn’t think that Yuri would either.

Yuri was determined though; he was determined to end this, to right the wrongs that had been done to them. He turned to his grandfather once more, who was sitting on his haunches next to him, russet fur gleaming in the low lamplight. Honey-colored eyes look back at him, burning softly like soul-fire.

Yuri reached out, sweeping his fingers along the lion’s powerful jawline. Then he pressed his forehead against his grandfather’s, fingers moving to slip into his mane. “I’ll fix it, Grandpa,” he said, tugging at the fur gently, before combing through it. “I’ll end it, I promise.”

There was a low rumble in Nikolai’s throat, as moved his snout, nuzzling the side of Yuri’s face. Acknowledgement and agreement. Maybe annoyance or disappointment; it was hard to tell.

Yuri sank into the earthen scent of the lion, not really caring what his grandfather thought in the end.

He’d made a promise and he always held those true.

When Yuri was fourteen, his grandfather died.

Like every day before, they had said their good nights. Nikolai then nestled into the soft pad of pillows that he’d been allotted, chained to the far corner. Yuri slid into a cot with his mother. It was cramped, but Rus had bitter winters, the kind that killed with their cold. And even if a bit embarrassing, it was easier, tucked next to her, radiating heat as they tried to sleep through the frigid night.

When Yuri woke the next morning, he was warmer than usual, cuddled against something soft. His nose was tickled by musky smelling fur, but it was so warm that he just wanted to sink into the comfort of it--

He opened his eyes blearily, because something was wrong.

Yuri was tucked in next to an unusual cat, its body stretched out lithely beside him. It had soft red-brown fur, speckled with black spots. Dread settled deep as Yuri pushed it away, before he shot upright in the cot. There was an angry yowling sound, but then it cut off.

The creature paused, looking around, before dropping its gaze to its paws. It shifted from side to side, like it was testing its gait, stumbling slightly like a newborn kitten. Its ears stood tall, pointed tips ending in soft tufts. They twitched, as the cat’s face screwed up slightly, shaking its head, whiskers fluttering as it tried to gain its bearings.

The pit in Yuri’s stomach just fell deeper and deeper. Then the cat looked at him, eyes green like the rolling grasslands, but sad and knowing because--

His grandfather was dead, and his mother had fallen to the curse.

There was a commotion as one the concubines came into space, screaming at the sight of the unknown animal. Yuri’s mother hissed at the sound, darting to the side wildly. She was uncoordinated, not used to her low stature or walking on four legs instead of two.

But then there was a gasp, as the woman’s eyes roamed the room, before falling to the corner where the lion lay dead. A hush fell across everything as Yuri’s mother padded across unsteadily, stopping just before the long chain across the ground. She leaned over and butted at Nikolai’s face, but the lion didn’t budge. Or breathe.

His mother made a pitiful sound and the concubine covered her mouth in horror as she realized exactly what had happened.

Nikolai Plisetsky wasn’t a secret within the palace. His fate had never been explicitly stated, but everyone knew. Why else would you chain up a lion and call it Izmennik?

Eventually, guards came to take his grandfather away. His mother shrieked at them, hissing as they began to haul him off. Yuri just watched silently, quietly, hands folded in his lap as he sat on the cot.

The death of his grandfather hurt, but as much as Yuri had loved him, he hadn’t truly known the man, not like Anya Plisetsky.

It hurt more to see what had been done to his mother.

Barely a day had passed when Yuri was shuffled out of the harem by a palace guard.

He didn’t want to go quietly, but he also knew what would happen if he fought back. So he walked alongside quietly, head held high and fists clenched tightly at his side. He wouldn’t show weakness, no matter how tired he was, or how red-rimmed his eyes were.

Yuri was led into an opulent sitting room, trimmed with the finest of furs and silken furniture. Gold gilded the ornate crown moldings and granite floors were polished with such perfection, that Yuri could see his face in a clear reflection.

When the crown prince of Rus swept in, Yuri realized exactly where it was that he stood. This was the parlor of Victor Nikiforov himself. Yuri had seen the king more times than he could count, half-drunk and stumbling through the harem rooms in various states of dress, but this was his first time ever meeting his son properly. Victor didn’t peruse the harem to Yuri’s knowledge.

Victor was talking to a personal guard, a man of relatively slight build and feathery black hair. The guard was flustered, glasses slipping down his face slightly before he moved to adjust them, but he nodded along as Victor spoke a furlong a minute.

Victor paused when he caught sight of Yuri, cocking his head to the side.

“Why are you standing?” he asked, visibly confused. “Sit, sit! There’s a seat for a reason.”

Yuri didn’t at first, staring awkwardly at the armchair next to him. Victor sighed, running a hand through his silvery hair as he fell into the one opposite him.

“Please, have a seat,” Victor said, a polite and formal request this time.

This time, Yuri did as he was told.

The guardsman flanked Victor, moving to stand behind him. A servant brought over a samovar and tea cups, arranged neatly on a tray. Yuri eyed it warily, but Victor paid him no mind, motioning for the servant to pour them each a cup. Yuri watched as milk was added before the cup was handed to him. He took it carefully between his hands, because the gilded porcelain was likely worth more than his pathetic life.

“I understand that you are hurting,” Victor said to him.

Yuri knew the rules and stared at the liquid swirling around in his cup instead of looking up. He could feel Victor’s gaze on him, running the length of his figure. Then the prince sighed again, not out of annoyance, but out of exhaustion.

Yuri was surprised by that.

Victor decided to try another tactic. “What is your name?” he asked.

“Yuri,” he said clearly, and probably with more diction than the prince would expect. A dumb thought, because the Plisestky’s were educated and once even renowned. Their fall hadn’t affected that one bit, not with his mother’s insistence of learning to read and write, and speak like a person worth something.

“Yuri,” Victor said. “Please look at me.”

Yuri did. Victor sat across from him in all of his princely finery, fingers curled gently around his own little teacup. His face was finely made, with high cheek bones and a well-cut jawline. His hair sparkled like silver moonlight.

But his face was sad. He regarded Yuri with genuine sympathy and for a fleeting moment, Yuri thought that maybe the some within the Nikiforov line weren’t as bad as he’d been led to believe. But that couldn’t be. It had to be wrong. His grandfather wouldn't have lied to him.

The things that he had seen had been true.

Still, Victor cut an odd picture as a whole and it put Yuri on edge.

Always watch for the kind ones, Yurochka. Sometimes they are the nastiest of them all.

For once in his damn life, Yuri decided to listen to his mother’s advice.

“Things will change in the harem,” Victor said. “With your…” The prince trailed off, before he settled on, “Your mother’s primary function was to protect the women of the harem.”

Yuri cocked his head to the side at that and before he could stop himself, he blurted, “My mother was a servant.”

Victor let out a small laugh. “Yes, well, that is true. But she was also a carefully trained and highly skilled sorceress. Despite your grandfather’s indiscretions, your mother hadn’t done anything wrong. We offered her the honor of at least redeeming part of the Plisetsky name.”

They hadn’t offered her anything. The crown had forced her into servitude, but Yuri wasn’t dumb enough to accuse them of that outright. He took a sip of his tea instead, fingers so tight around the handle of his cup that his knuckles were white.

Victor watched him carefully and then said, “Which brings me to why I’ve brought you here. I understand that you are grieving and I wish that I could have waited, but--” He paused, leaning over to serve himself more tea.

Yuri wasn’t sure what surprised him more, the fact that he did it himself or that he handed the cup off to his guard. The quaint man behind him accepted it quietly. Sharing his teacup with an underling, how absurd.

But Victor didn’t look remotely phased, folding his hands across his lap as he looked to Yuri again.

“Your mother was the primary bodyguard of the harem,” Victor said to him. “We both know that that isn’t the case anymore, regrettably.” Victor didn’t seem regretful about it, not really. Only that his grandfather had passed away and that Yuri was grieving. “Which is where you come in.”

“Me?” Yuri asked, a little bit indelicately.

“Yes. Surely she was teaching you?”

Yuri hesitated. His mother had and even his grandfather to an extent, showing him what he could with sight. Yuri was good, fantastic even, well beyond decent and mediocre. He was a force to be reckoned with.

That being said, it wasn’t like they were public with these little lessons. The women in the harem weren’t known for being quiet, but they’d treated his mother kind and often turned a blind eye. Now it made sense. They protected their protector, even if it was only in a small and quiet sort of way.

Yuri had newfound affection for the concubines that occupied the harem.

“Yes,” Yuri finally said, knowing that there was no point in lying.

“Good,” Victor said with a nod. “Then you will assume her position.”

Yuri blanched at that, because that meant only one thing. “Aren’t men who work in the harem-- um--”

Victor blinked and thought for an excruciatingly long moment, baffled. Yuri could feel himself turn bright red, as he motioned vaguely to his crotch with supreme embarrassment. Ridiculous, Yuri thought, that it would be his main concern.

“Oh!” Victor said, mouth popping open into a small little circle. “Oh. Well, yes, usually.” Yuri felt himself squirm at the word usually, and Victor must have seen it because he immediately continued with, “But not in your case, I would think. You’re still young.”

“And virile,” Yuri said testily, unable to help himself.

The guard behind Victor still held his cup, but stood alert at the casual comment. The prince waved it off with a small laugh. “I have no doubt, Yuri.” And then Victor leaned forward in his chair, a shadow falling over his face as his expression changed just the slightest bit. “Surely, you know what the punishment for sleeping with a member of the harem is, yes?”

The crown prince didn’t look like an awkward goofball anymore; Victor looked like a wolf carefully stalking its prey, entirely at ease with slipping into the role quickly and efficiently.

Yuri swallowed. Yes, he knew the punishment. He’d seen it carried out in person. “Death,” he said.

Victor’s mouth curved into a cruel looking smile. “Yes, death. You would be no exception to that, do you understand?”

“I have no interest,” Yuri finally said. It was true. Even at fourteen, there’d never really been the desire to seek out one of the ladies and fall into her arms. In fact, Yuri had never posed much interest in anyone for that matter. Not the luscious curves of the concubines, or even the taut and hardened muscles of the men that stood outside the Pavilion entrance.

Victor looked at him, really looked at him, eyes sweeping over his form as he searched for a lie. Then he leaned back again, goofy little smile plastered across his mouth again as his more cheerful persona returned.

“I believe you,” Victor told him. “Your mother has served our ladies well. I trust that you will do the same.”

“Of course,” Yuri said, “but there’s a condition.”

Everyone in the room paused and Yuri cursed his stupid, dumb mouth for its impulsiveness. The man behind Victor held his cup in one hand, the other already on his sword, thumbing the hilt from its sheath in a maneuver so quick, that Yuri wondered where the bumbling fool with glasses slipping down his nose had gone.

Victor put his hand up. The guard paused, his almond shaped eyes narrowing slightly. “No, I’m curious,” he said. “Go on Yuri, speak freely.”

Well then. The prince had given him a rare opportunity to speak his mind, so Yuri took it for all that it was worth.

“Promise me that I’ll never have to see your naked ass streaking through the Pavilion. His Royal Majesty is bad enough and I could live an entire life without seeing you as well.”

Victor’s lips curled into an amused smile. “You won’t have to worry about that, I think.”

Yuri didn’t quite understand, but the prince didn’t seem annoyed one bit. It seemed more that found the mere thought of it funny.

“Yuuri will escort you back to the Pavillion,” Victor then said, waving towards the guard. For a moment Yuri was confused, because that wasn’t how his name was pronounced and the inflection was all wrong. He knew that he wouldn’t ever be allowed to go anywhere within the palace alone.

But then the guard let out a soft sigh from behind Victor. He rounded the chair, placed the teacup by the samovar carefully and then turned to Yuri.

“After you,” he said quietly as he motioned to the door. Yuri had known that the man was a foreigner, but his accent wasn’t something he’d ever fathomed. His mouth curled around Russian with elegance, everything carefully pronounced.

Not very guard like and more like an educated nobleman.

Yuri stood from the chair and placed his cup down as well, but then paused. “Actually, I do have a serious request, if you’d allow it.” Victor motioned for him to continue. “Can I get a zoology book or something? Whatever my mother turned into… I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Victor was surprised by the request, blinking slowly as he considered then. Then he said, “I think I can manage that. Yuuri, if you please?”

Yuuri nodded slightly and they both looked to Yuri. Waiting. Right. Yuri bowed with an exaggerated flourish, because he had the distinct feeling that it would probably piss off Victor. And Yuri, being an admitted brat, just couldn’t help himself.

Victor huffed out a little laugh, but Yuuri’s mouth tightened the tiniest bit. There it was again, that tiny little crack in his shy, nervous demeanor. Yuri didn’t know how, but he could tell that Yuuri was the kind of man one shouldn’t cross, which was probably why he had been handpicked as the personal guard for the prince.

Yuri shot the guard an insufferable grin. “After you,” he said, motioning to the door.

Yuuri regarded him coolly, before he pressed a hand against the hilt of his sword casually.

Right. Yuri shouldn’t piss the man off. He left the room first, Yuuri close on his heels.

“Are the women tucked away?” Yuri asked.

Georgi’s mouth tugged into a frown, like he was offended that Yuri had even bothered to grace his presence. Yuri shot him a nasty glare right back, because even if Georgi was part of the prince’s guard, Yuri technically held a position higher than him. If you squinted.

But he was also a Plisetsky, so it didn’t fucking matter.

Eventually, Georgi answered, looking down at him from atop his horse. “Yes, they are.”

Yuri huffed in annoyance, but bit back a retort. There wasn’t a point in fighting with the man. “Alright then,” Yuri said, grabbing the reins of his own Bashkir. He pulled himself up elegantly, knowing that it would piss of Georgi.

Once rabble, always rabble, was the man’s generously used motto, and it didn’t matter that Victor expected him to behave. Georgi did, he just did so with complaint.

“I’ll fall back,” Yuri said. “Ride alongside the carriage. You stay up here. As long as we’re alert, we should be fine. Especially with that idiot up there.”

“Watch your mouth,” Georgi snapped. “That’s His Royal Highness.”

Yuri smiled back at the man, amused and not caring one bit. Of course it was Victor; The crown prince insisted on overseeing even the most innocuous missions personally, to his detriment even. He was a never ending annoyance for his royal guard, and it was the one thing that Yuri liked about the man.

Yuri also knew that despite Georgi’s threats, he wouldn’t actually do anything. The curse of the Plisetsky name came with nasty sneers and name-calling, but it also with a weird brand of protection. There wasn’t any point in harming him. Eventually the curse would get him. And because of Rus’ fucked up sense of revenge, that meant more.

So, Yuri pushed the limits when he was in the mood. Georgi’s dour demeanor never failed to put him there.

Finally, Georgi let out a long sigh. “Do what you will,” he said. “But heed your own words and keep alert. I know it’s been years since you’ve left the palace proper, so don’t get distracted by the grandeur of Rus.”

“Grandeur,” Yuri repeated. “Right.”

The thing about it was there was no grandeur in their homeland, not anymore. Not since his grandfather had cursed the land to rot away until their name was redeemed. Yuri had never seen the worst of it, but there were little signs.

A tree, pitted with black rot and decay. Festering patches of bare prairie, where grass refused to grow. Occasional game, walking stilted and stuttered and foaming at the mouth, until a bowman shot it dead.

Grandeur.

Yuri drove his horse around, doubling back to trot alongside the carriage. Concubines didn’t usually leave the Pavilion, but Victor was travelling west to settle a dispute with the neighboring Khaganate. Yuri didn’t like the idea of bargaining with the lives of women, but he had no say in the matter.

And so, the three most beautiful had been picked, dressed in finery and loaded into a carriage to head West. To head to their doom. Or grace. Yuri didn’t pretend to know anything about the Khan, or the kind of man that he was aside from the knowledge that he liked women and alcohol. Yuri flashed a look at the second carriage, chock full of their finest vodka.

Three days on the bumpy road, and Yuri hoped that it wouldn’t be for naught. His ass was sore from the saddle, he hadn’t slept well and he was exhausted. And there was still a week left, if everything went their way.

A horse parted from the front of their group, winding back. Victor’s personal guard, whom he irritably, shared a name with. Yuri was still annoyed by that, even a few years later.

“Boy,” Yuuri said. Boy. He said it softly, lips curling around the accented word. It was condescending as hell, but Yuri knew better than to comment on it. Of all the men in Victor’s cadre, Yuuri was by far the most deadly. His calm and unassuming demeanor belied his carefully honed skill, and Yuri had learned a long time ago that it wasn’t worth poking the hornet’s nest with a stick.

Yuri looked at him but didn’t bother answering. Yuuri looked tired, dark shadows under his thin rimmed glasses, but he held himself straight and relatively alert.

“His Royal Highness is concerned about bandits,” Yuuri said. “Will you send her to scout ahead?”

“He has the power to command her himself,” Yuri said to him, sounding only a little bit bitter.

Yuuri blinked slowly, before straightening in his saddle, hand slipping to his sword hilt casually. It wasn’t a threat; it was something Yuuri did when he was annoyed. Yuri being cross with him was always at the top of the list.

“You know as well as I do that she won’t listen to him.” A pause and the downturn of his lips. “Even if is expected.” The because he’s the crown prince was unspoken, but Yuuri leveled him with a heavy stare.

Yuri was the one to eventually back down, waving his hand. “Fine, fine, I’ll send her ahead. But next time, he rides his ass back here to tell me himself.”

“Boy,” Yuuri warned. There was the tiniest crack in his carefully crafted shell, and Yuri wondered if he’d finally pushed just a little too far. But Yuuri didn’t say anything else.

“Pah, whatever.”

Yuuri’s hand left his sword, but he watched him for an uncomfortable length of time, calculated and pondering. Just as Yuri was about to say something, the guard turned away, leading his horse back to the front.

Yuuri was a mystery. He was from the east, could read, write and speak Russian with impressive ease, and Yuri wasn’t sure that his shy and demure attitude wasn’t entirely an act. At the same time, he was a highly trained soldier with skill unlike Yuri had ever seen.

Being a Plisetsky was likely the only reason that Yuuri hadn’t killed him yet, with as much as he willfully disrespected Victor. There wasn’t any point in dwelling on it.

Yuri left out a loud whistle. A moment passed before a lynx came running from the underbrush to the east. Short in stature, but fast and quick, with thick and powerful legs of russet fur and black spots. The lynx moved to walk along side the company as they moved on, stretching its legs out.

He looked down and said, “Mom.”

Her large ears twitched as she regarded him, green eyes expressive and aware. Yuri sighed at the sight because he hated seeing her like this, reduced to such a thing, as magnificent a creature she was.

“His Royal Pain in the Ass is worried about trouble. Will you scout ahead and see if you can sniff anything out?”

His mother let out an amused huff at the nickname and then with one last little shake of her hind paw, she shot back into the brush.

Yuri stared after her, before turning his attention back to the slow crawl of their company. The carriage rolled alongside him noisely. Soldiers joked from behind, and if he squinted, Yuri could see Victor far ahead atop his horse, Yuuri just a hairsbreadth away.

Yuri let out a long and tired sigh, settling in the rest of the day.

Yuri was yanked awake. His mother hissed by his head, his sleeve ripping slightly as she pulled harshly at it. Yuri was still half-asleep, batting at her blindly. His mother let go of him to hiss properly, before biting at his shoulder.

“Okay!” he snapped, sitting up, trying to rub away the sleep in his eyes. “Okay, I’m--”

Their camp was in chaos. Yuri could hear the slide of cold steel as soldiers barked orders around them. And then more yells in a rural dialect, clearly not their men.

“Shit,” Yuri hissed, throwing his blanket back and jumping to his feet. His mother bit at his heels, trying to urge him to move on. “I know,” he snapped. She wouldn’t like it, but he would would deal with it later. Yuri had one job and one job only, and it was to help prevent exactly this kind of thing.

Despite the din around them and the camp alight with fighting, the carriage seemed unharmed when he reached it. Victor’s guards were mostly meatheads, but they had proven themselves somewhat worthy, as whoever had attacked their company hadn’t made it far into the camp.

Yuri threw the door open to double check. The three women cowered together in the corner, but were unharmed. “Stay here,” he told them. “Do not leave, no matter what you hear out there. Do you understand?” One nodded, the older one with pretty red hair, and all three stayed wisely quiet. Yuri let out a sigh, before pulling back and closing the door to the carriage.

He turned to come face to face with Yuuri, whose face was dark with a dangerous look, hand clasped tightly around a sword.

“Victor has disappeared,” he said to him, and Yuri barely processed that Yuuri had called the prince by his first name, not his title. His mouth parted, but Yuuri cut in. “Boy! Have you seen him?”

“No!” Yuri snapped. “I just woke and I checked on the women. I have no idea where the prince is--”

“We have to find him,” Yuuri said. “Leave the women for now; he’s the priority.”

“He’s not my responsibility,” Yuri said smartly. “In case you forgot, I owe nothing to the crown.”

Yuuri looked at him, eyes narrowed to tiny little slits, lips pulled into a thin line. He looked dangerous, treacherous even, and Yuri wasn’t stupid. Yuri knew that his head could be gone with a simple movement, rolling across the pavement as Yuuri slid his blade back into the sheath at his side.

But then, there was something that cracked there, a slip in that perilous facade. “I don’t ask for the crown, I ask for myself. Help me find Victor, please.”

Yuri blinked at that. He’d never heard Yuuri say please, let alone speak in such a pleading tone but--

“Fine,” Yuri said, and he hoped to high hell that Yuuri wouldn’t forget it. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Yuuri surprised him by reaching out and grabbing his wrist gently between his cold fingers. “A favor,” he said to him. “I’ll owe you a favor. Anything within reason.”

Yuri stared at him for a beat, before yanking his hand away. “Whatever. Bandits, I presume?” Yuuri nodded, hand falling back to his side. “You go that way and I’ll head the opposite. Maybe Victor hasn’t been dumb enough to pick a fight.”

Judging by Yuuri’s pinched expression, it was more likely than not. Suddenly, Yuuri’s constant attention and close handedness made since; if he didn’t play babysitter so well, the prince would have died years ago with all the trouble he found himself in.

Yuri darted to the left, already conjuring a spell just in case. Energy crackled at his fingertips, ready for a moment’s notice. He told himself that he didn’t actually care about Victor. He didn’t. The prince was an insufferable man, prone awkward bouts of childlike innocence, but Yuri knew better.

Victor was heavily underestimated, incredibly manipulative and freakishly smart. People called him charming, irresistible and loyal. Yuri called him insufferable.

But, despite everything the Plisetsky’s were known for, he’s treated them with an odd brand of dignity that hadn’t gone unnoticed by the court. They had to find Victor soon, because if he wound up dead, who knew what would happen then?

Or what Yuuri would do in retaliation, and honestly, that was a far more terrifying thought.

Yuri skirted the the camp. Their company wasn’t big and it seemed like the bandits weren’t numerous either. Ther camp was chaos, but only because they’d been caught unaware in the middle of the night, not because they were outnumbered.

“Well looksie here,” a man said, just a little too loudly in a rough, rural dialect. Yuri’s head snapped to the side and he ducked, crawling closer. “We thought you were just some merchants, but it looks like we’ve pulled a noble from his bed.”

Shit.

Yuri can just see Victor from his position where he was hidden. The prince was half dressed, but at least armed, holding a decorative sword that was worth more money than the cost of a house. Wisely, Victor didn’t correct the man’s assumption, only held out his blade.

“If you just leave, I won’t kill you,” Victor said. “I’ll even let your men go with you.”

The bandit was an older man, oily hair tied back and his thin body swallowed by threadbare clothing. “Nah, I don’t like that deal. I’d rather off you and steal the goods.”

Vitor sighed and held his sword out, taking a simple form, and Yuri was surprised to find that he seemed to know what he was doing. “Last chance,” Victor said to him. “I really don’t like to hurt people.”

The bandit spat at him and lunged forward. Victor met him in the middle, swords shrieking off of each other before he deflected the blow to the side. Victor was good, practiced even, and he wondered if he sparred with Yuuri. The bandit seemed just as surprised by his skill.

Yuri crept closer, prepping a spell, fingers jittering with energy. It wouldn’t do any good to jump into the fray unprepared and ill timed, so he waited for the right moment. And waited some more. Victor kept pushing the man back, blow by blow, and Yuri crept inching closer and closer.

And then Victor slipped, his boot sliding along a rotted piece of ground, slick with putrid soil and grass. He stumbled and the bandit smiled, raising his sword to take advantage of the moment.

There was no way that Yuri would be fast enough, even with his spell at the ready. The bandit was already closing in, blade parallel as he cut into Victor’s side.

A large blur jumped into the fray, yowling and hissing as it launched into the bandit. Yuri blanched, watching as his mother sunk her fangs deep into the man’s arm. The bandit cursed, trying to shake her off. She eventually lost her grip, dropping to the ground between him and Victor.

Yuri clambered over to the prince as his mother stalked between them and the bandit. They both hesitated, pacing opposite each other.

“I’m fine,” Victor grit out when Yuri reached his side, pale faced and holding a hand to his wound. It bled badly.

“I told Yuuri that I’d make sure you’d get back to him,” Yuri snapped, pulling at his hand, trying to get a better look.

There was something in Victor's expression that softened a bit, something that made Yuri want to pause, but it wasn’t the time for that. “It’s not that bad,” Victor said. “Go help her--”

Yuri was already turning, already prepping a counter spell, about to throw out bolts of lightening to help, but--

They were on the ground, tussling. The bandit had dropped his sword and swapped it for a hunting dagger; a better choice for close combat. His mother had lost the advantage and despite being more powerful, the bandit managed to slip the knife deep between her ribs.

“No!” Yuri yelled.

She didn’t go down without a fight though. With renewed vigor, she jumped high, clamping her jaw around the bandit’s neck, yanking. His shriek was cut off as he fell back to the ground, thrashing and gurgling.

Anya backed off and they all watched the man choke on his blood. Then she swayed slightly, falling to her side. Yuri found his footing just enough to run to her. She breathed shallow and rattling breaths, blood pooling from her mouth.

“No,” Yuri cried, pressing his fingers into her scruff. Her green eyes were clouded with pain as she looked to him and she let out a pitiful sound. Then her eyes slipped closed. “No, no, no,” Yuri said, shaking her. “Wake up. Mom, you can’t, you can’t--”

She was already gone, her chest still. Yuri felt tears slip from his eyes, but he refused to sob, wiping at his face angrily. He was a man grown, and men didn’t cry, they didn’t, they didn’t.

If he had only been a little quicker, a little faster, more prepared; then he might have been able to save her.

Yuuri burst into the scene, sword aloft and ready, immediately startling at the sight of Victor on the ground, pale and bleeding. Then his gaze fell across Yuri, who leaned over his mother, fingers stroking through her blood soaked fur.

And then, something struck through Yuri, a peculiar sort of sensation. Suddenly, he was hyper aware, pushing away from his mother’s body. He turned to Yuuri, who was leaning over Victor. He had pulled open his shirt to take a look at the damage and judging by the look on his face, it was worse than Victor had let on.

“How bad?” Yuri asked, standing back up and hobbling over to them.

“It’s not--”

“Not good,” Yuuri cut in, pressing his hand harshly against Victor’s side. The prince yelped. “It’s a bleeder and it won’t stop. There isn’t enough time for stitches--”

“Move,” Yuri said to him. Yuuri shot him a look, the one where his face took on a threatening edge.

“Do you want him to die? Move,” Yuri said.

“Boy--”

“I don’t have a lot of time,” Yuri cut in. He could feel it, the curse taking root. His skin prickled and it was like there was a slow-burning fire building in his core. “If you want me to help, I have to hurry.”

“What do you mean, you don’t have a lot of time?” Yuuri asked, resisting when Yuri tried to push past him.

“My mother is dead, which means--” Yuri broke off, annoyed. “Look, I can feel the curse transferring. Let me see, otherwise I won’t be able to help at all.”

Yuuri seemed to finally grasp what he meant and shuffled to the side. Victor was considerably paler than before, sweat beading along his brow. “It’s not that bad,” he said, and Yuri frowned at his instance.

“Stop talking, you idiot. You’ll tire yourself out.”

“That’s Royal idiot, to you,” Victor said, a bit delirious. The cut was fairly deep, but clean. It wouldn’t be hard to fix, but Yuri would have to work fast, because he could feel the magic welling up in him as the curse started to take root.

Victor’s head dipped suddenly and Yuuri caught him.

“Keep him awake,” Yuri said. “I need to focus on this.”

Yuuri shifted to pull him halfway into his lap, leaning over to brush the Victor’s sweaty bangs from his forehead. “Vitya,” he said softly, tapping his cheek lightly. Yuri paused only for a moment, flashing a glance at the two.

Victor mumbled softly, eyes creaking open and Yuuri smiled at him, murmuring something in his native language. Yuri felt like he was intruding, so he turned back to his work, calling forth a spell. He’d always been good at healing, so fixing the wound while a delicate process, wasn’t hard. He just needed to concentrate.

“Yuuri,” Victor sighed, and Yuuri brushed his fingers through his silvery hair, his voice murmuring low in that musical language of his.

The burning underneath Yuri’s skin spread to an itching frenzy. He was almost done, nearly there, just a little bit more. Sweat beaded along his brow as he focused on the delicate work, but it was hard to concentrate with the fire spreading through his veins.

He yelped, surprising Yuuri who flashed him a look of worry. “It’s nothing,” Yuri snapped, but it was everything, it was almost the only thing that he could focus on. Victor’s skin closed over, smooth and pale. He would need water and rest, but he would be fine.

Yuri sat back, grabbing at his arms, nails raking at his skin. “Shit,” he said. “Shit, it burns.”

“Boy--” Yuuri started, but Yuri screamed.

He screamed and screamed and screamed, as the fire consumed him.

It had taken several hours to pile up and burn the men who had attacked them.

Yuri had never felt so useless in his entire life.

It was an odd thing, walking on four legs. His entire center of gravity had shifted and the way that his limbs bent was unfamiliar. The first few steps he had taken, Yuri had fallen right over, tumbling to his side on uneven feet. Yuuri had tried to help right him, but he’d hissed in return, mouth moving awkwardly around a mouthful of fangs that he wasn’t used to.

Fur was hot, but also cool, and it was a strange sensation to try and get used to. And the smells. Yuri had never realized how terrible some things smelled, and how overwhelming other things were. Victor still smelled like blood even though he had changed into clean clothes hours ago, and was now resting quietly on a cot in his tent.

Yuri sat on his haunches by his mother, leg twitching awkwardly as he tried to figure out the best position. She was dead on the ground, body ice cold and lifeless. He stared. His eyesight was amazingly good in the dark, and he marveled at just how far he could see-- but she was the only thing that he could focus on.

Boots fell heavily behind him, crunching twigs and leaves along the rotted soil. Yuri smelled him before he saw him, the scent of warm honey and steel. Not what he would have expected, but then again, nothing was expected anymore. The world seemed utterly different now, the colors more intense and sharper. Smells rich and thick, and almost overwhelming.

All of it without his mother.

Yuuri stood next to him for a long moment and then did something unexpected-- he dropped to sit beside him, knees pulled close to his chest and slightly spread, as he rested his arms across them.

He didn’t say anything immediately, the silence companionable. Yuri realized then, that there was so much that he didn’t know about the guardsman. Despite his annoyance at his half demure, half dangerous personality, he didn’t dislike the man. But the extent of his knowledge was that he’d been brought to the court as a child, and that he was incredibly dangerous. That was it.

And now, he couldn’t ask him. He’d never be able to.

Yuri would never ask a person anything ever again.

It was dumb to think that Yuri had wasted his time, maybe, but it was something that weighed heavy on him. He’d gained so much in his transformation, but he’d lost the things that had made him human. As a child, he’d thought the curse would be fun; having the ability to be different, exploring things that you never would otherwise. Napping in pillows the entire day.

But now it felt like torture.

“I will never forget what she did for him,” Yuuri finally said. His voice was quiet and soothing, like soft river water that smoothed over stones. “For Victor. Or you, for that matter. The both of you saved him. So for that, I will never forget.”

Yuri was still figuring out how to express himself in his new form. He shifted slightly next to Yuuri, paws shuffling against the ground. Staring at his mother unblinking. Yuuri did the same.

Then, Yuuri stood and pulled the belt from his waist. He unsheathed his sword, dropping the blade to the ground. Yuuri then held the scabbard vertical and chucked it into the soil, using his foot to dig it in. He leveraged the thing, breaking into the hard earth that wasn’t yet rotted, trying to till it.

Yuuri wasn’t wearing his full uniform anymore. He’d pulled the jacket off and wore only the linen undershirt, half tucked into his pants. He was quiet as he worked at the ground, and Yuri watched in confusion. Then Yuuri dropped to his knees, dragging the sheath forward as he began scooping the earth away.

He was digging a grave, Yuri realized.

Yuri pulled up on unsteady feet and ambled over next to him, using his thick paws and sharp claws to help. The motion was awkward, but he eventually settled into it, and they worked side-by-side to dig a spot big enough to bury his mother.

Yuuri couldn’t lift her easily, but he managed, settling her into the grave gently. He said nothing as they covered her.

Then they stared at the mound in silence. Yuri couldn’t cry. It didn’t matter how much it hurt, tears wouldn’t come. So he just sat there forlornly. Yuuri reached out and pressed a dirty, soiled hand into his scruff, rubbing at it gently.

“Yuri,” he said to him, the first time he’d ever called him by his proper name. It’d always been you or boy. “I’m sorry. For everything. It isn’t fair. Not to her, and not to you.”

Yuri knew that he meant it. Yuuri was the kind of man that didn’t mince his words; everything that he said, was said with intent. In that moment, Yuri didn’t hate him and he saw why the prince was particularly close to this man.

They sat there and watched her grave until the sun rose.

Yuri was bored, he was always bored, but it never seemed like he was aimlessly doing anything. He watched the servants mill about in Victor’s rooms. He watched advisors come and go, and he listened in on their conversations, tail swishing behind him.

Sometimes Yuuri pet him as he knelt beside him, hands combing through his soft fur. Not out of pity, but out of genuine affection.

Loathe he was to admit it, Yuuri had grown on him. It turned out that his quiet demeanor wasn’t an act and he truly was an empathetic man. Just one that could slice a head from a man’s body with barely the flick of his wrist.

Yuri was even more annoyed by the fact that he didn’t hate Victor. He didn’t like him, he barely tolerated him really-- but he didn’t hate him.

And honestly, being chained up in the prince’s personal parlor was better than the harem, despite some setbacks. Like Victor’s intensely passionate relationship with Yuuri. It had come as a shock, but it shouldn’t have, not with how the guard had reacted to Victor nearly dying.

Or the way that he had treated Yuri in the aftermath of saving his life.

Yuuri helped Victor dress that morning. Victor stood half dressed, his jacket still open and chest bared. Yuuri slipped his hand along his side, fingers trailing the pink scar that the bandit had left. Yuri watched in boredom, rolled his eyes as much as a tiger could manage, and then let out a huff.

Both men glanced his way, and Victor laughed. “Alright, alright,” he said, as Yuuri went to button the garment up.

It wasn’t casual, what they had, and it hadn’t been for a long time. They were careful enough, and the servants kept their mouths shut. Victor’s advisors didn’t understand why he wouldn’t take a wife or claim an heir through the harem, but it was only a matter of time until something happened.

The idea didn’t sit well with Yuri. They had worked to hard to keep what they had and while Yuri told himself that his concern was only as someone who didn’t want to deal with Victor in the midst of massive heartbreak-- that wasn’t it. Yuri cared for them, even if it was the tiniest sliver of care that he would never admit to. Ever.

“There, there, Yurio,” Victor said, glancing in his mirror. “All dressed now.”

Yuri hissed at the dumb nickname, but sank into the soft touch of Yuuri’s hand. He knew exactly where to scratch, right behind his ear, and Yuri’s eyes sank half-lidded as he purred lowly. “Let Victor be,” Yuuri said softly. “Let him have that.”

It’s what he always said, so Yuri begrudgingly hadn’t bitten Victor’s hand off yet.

But, as the days wore on, Yuri learned that time flowed differently when you were a tiger.

Servants came and went, as did fashion trends. Victor no longer dressed in blues and silvers, it was now reds and golds, and tassels and chains. Yuri watched the prince dance around a prospective marriage proposal. And then another. And another.

Then one day, he realized that there were silver strands in Yuuri’s soft black hair, and that Victor had soft laugh lines around the corners of his mouth.

Yuri had no idea how much time had passed and it disturbed him greatly.

One night, Victor and Yuuri were having dinner together as they did every night. Yuri was chained up next to them, watching as they laughed and ate. Yuri had been given a meal as well, but he didn’t feel like eating.

He never felt like doing anything lately, it felt like.

Yuuri was the first to notice.

Later, as Victor was dressing down for a bath, Yuuri took the moment to come over to him. Yuri was laying limp, head cradled by his paws as he watched the room with little interest.

“Boy?” Yuuri asked him, nudging Yuri’s side with a slippered foot. When he didn’t answer, Yuuri knelt down to look at him directly. “Yuri?” he asked, the first time he’d used his name proper since Yuri’s mother had died.

Yuri let out a frustrated huff and Yuuri frowned, but didn’t ask what was wrong. It’s not like Yuri could answer him anyhow, not in a traditional sense. Instead, Yuuri just reached out, pressing his fingers into his warm scruff and scratched there for a long moment.

“I wish that I could say that it will get better,” Yuuri finally said to him, “but I don’t like to lie. But know this Yuri; Victor and I care for you.”

Yuri didn’t doubt it. Even as much as they annoyed them with their love-dovey sappiness, or Victor’s childish whining, or Yuuri’s quiet platitudes. Yuri didn’t doubt it one bit, because they didn’t have to treat him the way that they did.

He knew that it wasn’t only because they felt like they owed him something. Over time, things had changed.

Eventually, Victor peeked around the corner, wearing only a robe. When his face fell on them, it fell slightly, lips tugged into a soft little frown as he just watched, Yuuri’s fingers moving through Yuri’s fur with careful intent.

Yuri couldn’t help it, the soft feeling of the touch lulling him slightly. His eyes dipped halfway closed and Yuuri offered him a soft and rare smile.

“That’s it, Yuri. Get some rest.”

He would. Yuuri’s fingers left him as he stood. He heard the hushed murmurs between him and Victor, something something Vitya.

More time passed, weeks melting into each other as Yuri wasted the days away. One afternoon, the advisors of Rus held a small meeting with Victor in his parlor. Yuri lounged along his pillows, sprawled out and belly up as he stretched his back. He only half listened, until certain words caught his ear.

Yuri rolled over onto his stomach as his ears twitched, suddenly more alert.

That day, he learned that seven years had passed.

“Curses!”

Yuri opened an eye groggily, his sight quickly adjusting in the dark room. There was a servant near him, a basket of laundry tucked underneath her arm. She cursed again, trying to make her way through the pitch black parlor.

It was odd, Yuri thought. Usually a few oil lamps remained lit for such a reason.

The woman was young and cute, hair tucked into a neat little braided bun at the base of her neck. Not a new servant, but a kind one who would sneak him extra meat when she brought him his meals. She was trying to find her footing, but Victor wasn’t known for keeping his work tidy. Books and stacks of paper were strewn about with the express demand for them to be left alone.

“Chaos makes the brain work harder,” Victor had once told Yuuri. Yuuri had only sighed in return.

“Oh bother,” the girl sighed, but managed to pick her away across the room. She didn’t even pause to blink in his direction. There had been a time where the servants treated him with apprehension, but over the years he’d gained a reputation for being a lazy pet.

Years. Pet. Yuri hated the mere idea of it.

But then the girl tripped again, ankle curled into his chain as she went down entirely. The chain was pulled taut and Yuri along with it, slightly choked. She wiggled around, trying to free her leg, and the chain tugged a little bit more.

Yuri sat up, trying to move with the chain as she worked herself free.

And then there was a creaking of metal as his collar undid itself. It clattered to the ground, rolling slightly, the chain falling slack. They both paused.

“Oh,” the servant breathed, her eyes snapping to him, like she was suddenly afraid that he might attack her now that he was free.

But Yuri was more concerned with how weightless he suddenly felt, no longer chained down by a heavy metal cuff and lead. They usually checked the collar every once in awhile, but Victor had waved the thought away the last time it was brought up. It must have loosed and the girl tripping over it had pulled it apart entirely.

He stood properly, stretching his long body. She remained frozen to her spot on the floor, eyes as wide as saucers.

Yuri had been given a chance. He could escape into the wild, leave this place and never return. He could be free, instead of chained to the wall, suffering through monotonous routine as he watched everyone else live their lives.

He took a step forward and her voice hitched. She hadn’t meant to, but he was grateful to her. Yuri bent forward and pressed his forehead to hers. He closed his eyes and just felt, trying to show her his thanks.

Her fingers reached up into his fur. “You should go,” she said. “You should get out of here and never come back.”

Yuri pulled away and gave her one last look, before he quietly stalked through the parlor, leaving the girl behind. Everything was quiet in the dead of the night, as Yuri padded through the rooms.

Then he paused at a door, half open, lamplight flickering low beyond it. Hushed voices and murmurs, and Yuuri sighing a soft Vitya. Victor’s quiet laughter in response.

For a brief moment, Yuri wondered if he would miss them. Victor’s dumb antics, but quiet intelligence. Yuuri’s kind words and scritches, well placed when he needed them. Yuuri had once told him that they cared for him together. As a unit.

It wasn’t that it didn’t mean a lot, it was just that his freedom meant more.

Yuri watched the door for a long moment and then turned to the porch. Like most nights, the doors were thrown wide open to let the cool air. Curtains blew gently with a breeze. Yuri’s heart beat heavily as he neared them. Before he could change his mind, counted one, two, three and leapt.

It wasn’t a far jump to the ground.

Yuri was not prepared for the true devastation of The Rot as he made his way south.

Rus wouldn’t be safe for him. Victor wasn’t an unkind man, but he wouldn’t let Yuri roam free either. He’d allowed him freedom to listen in, whenever he held chambers in his private quarters, likely because he had never thought he’d escape.

Yuri was privy to a lot of private things and not above blackmail, even if he cared for them. The knowledge of Yuuri and Victor’s relationship alone was enough to get the guardsman executed with little thought.

Yuri didn’t want to, but he hold those cards close to his chest. Just in case.

The Rot was the worst near the palace at the center of Rus. The earth was dry and craggy, blackened with fetid soil. There weren’t any crops. The game left was insane with madness, tottering around on weakened limbs and foaming at the mouth.

Yuri had heard of the drain on resources, having to import food and crops from elsewhere, but he hadn’t expected this.

The people were worse. Children skinny and thin boned, and tired parents with dry-cracked hands as they tried to till soil that wouldn’t bloom anything.

Yuri knew how to reverse it, but as a tiger he was utterly useless when it came to casting magic. The Plisetsky line would end with him and Rus would tumble down alongside. Yuri wondered if it had been worth it, cursing his grandfather, and he wondered if they regretted it.

He didn’t linger. He pushed further and further south, days bleeding together with the distance that he put between himself and his home. The Rot lessened, patches of decay here and there, but it never disappeared outright.

Eventually, he reached the Steppe, rolling grasslands against a mountainous backdrop.

The Rot was here too, stretching into land that had nothing to do with a vengeful crown and a sorcerer who decided to fight back. For the first time in his life, Yuri was angry at his grandfather, and he pitied Victor.

He had known that the prince had tried to stop it. Victor was also obstinate though, and he already ruffled enough feathers among his court by not marrying or siring an heir. Even with the chance, he wouldn’t have asked Yuri for help.

Yuri sighed, a long breath that ended in a snort.

He would keep going, he decided. He would go further and further until The Rot was no more. It wasn’t his problem.

Yuri was free.

And then he came across a fetid bear and the dumbest nomad alive.

Yuri watched from afar, lazing about atop a stone outcropping as the man tried to reach for another arrow. There wasn’t one, his hand grasping around air. The man cursed before resigning himself to the end of his life.

Really, who hunted this far out with no help? Yuri couldn’t smell another human for miles, so the nomad’s home wasn’t near. He was alone. The bear ambled closer and Yuri sighed, raising up on tired and weary legs.

He was hungry anyway.

The bear was easy prey for a beast like himself, and The Rot only eased it further. Yuri tackled the bear down, claws dipping into his warm body as they raked across it. It’s throat tore easily underneath his mouth. It tasted sick, just slightly foul, but Yuri wouldn’t waste meat.

The bear wasn’t rotted enough to do him any harm, so he ate, tearing at muscle and sinew. Allowing for the nomad to run away and save his sorry hide.

But the nomad didn’t. Instead, he sat and waited. Watched.

When Yuri was done, he sat on his haunches and went about cleaning his paws. He didn’t like the way that blood crusted his fur, so the sooner the better. The nomad finally moved, slinging his bow across his wide shoulders.

Yuri finally looked at him. He was impressive, despite being short, his body broad with well honed muscles. He wore leathers and an embroidered tunic, typical of the clans in these parts. His hair was long on top and tied back with a simple cord, the sides of his head closely shaved. Well cut jawline and a slightly crooked nose, like it hadn’t healed properly after being broken.

Not unappealing. Handsome even.

The nomad turned to leave, but then paused and shot a wary glance to the bear. Yuri followed his gaze. Surely the man wasn’t that stupid, to think that the bear was worth taking with him. Yuri could stomach the fetid meat, but only barely. It wasn’t worth the risk.

The nomad raised his hands, before stepping closer to the bear, and Gods above, Yuri would have to resort to scaring him off. But he didn’t. Not immediately. He only watched.

The nomad then pressed a hand into the pouch at his side and said something. The dialect wasn’t the high class Russian that he’d been taught, but it was similar enough that Yuri understood. A prayer.

Yuri leaned forward in interest, curious as to what the man would do.

He threw the handful of ashes over the bear and thanked it for doing it’s job. Yuri knew that the tribes of the Steppe were a superstitious lot, but the action made him think of something else. A dark and pitiful night long ago, where Yuuri dug a grave for a woman that he didn’t even know, all so she could be laid to peace respectfully.

Suddenly, the nomad was far more interesting than before, if still the dumbest man he’d ever met.

Yuri followed him and the man let him, only noting that he was an odd thing. The nomad didn’t question him, he only accepted the fact that Yuri was quite the unusual tiger. Perhaps he was just as interested in learning about him in return.

So Yuri gave him the honor of his company.

As time wore on, he learned that the nomad wasn’t dumb at all. His name was Otabek and he was kind, patient and intelligent. He didn’t treat Yuri as something to fear, he treated him like a friend. Like a companion.

As an equal.

“Yuri?” Otabek asked, and Yuri was pulled from his thoughts. He’d done a lot of thinking, as of late. Otabek’s hand was already in his scruff, an automatic and practiced motion, as his honey brown eyes regarded him fondly. “We’ll have to go a little bit further today.”

Yuri didn’t know what he hated more-- the slow heat that built in his heart, or the ache that killed it when he remembered that he would forever be a tiger.

Still, Yuri purred under the touch, tail swishing behind him, before he followed Otabek into the snow.

#yuri on ice fanfiction #Yuri on ice #otayuri #otabek and yuri #Otabek/yuri #OtabekAltin/YuriPlisetsky #Otabek Altin #yuri plisetsky #fanfiction #fanfic

2 notes · View notes