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forgottenvice · 7 months

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Feathers in a storm

Finally my Fic for the Moshang Events Big Bang 2023 Take a read if you're so inclined

Ao3 Art

The sharp cry startled Shang Qinghua, warning him of the oncoming onslaught. He'd been trying to look inconspicuous but it didn't matter, the white crows descended upon him. He tried to ignore the incessant squawking by staying perfectly still but as more of the foul beasts joined the flock he was forced to flee.

Whoever decided that a group of crows was to be dubbed a murder must have been well acquainted with their enmity. Having to endure the amassing harassment forced Shang Qinghua to give up his perch, taking to the air with just enough of a headstart to avoid a chase.

He chose a path letting out his own screech of discontent, since the beginning of his short tenure in the north the native snow crows had taken quite personal offence to his presence.

Apparently crows didn't like ravens all that much, not that Shang Qinghua was actually a raven. He was, but he also wasn't. Sure he had the feathers, the talons, the beak, but he hadn't been born with them, nor had he particularly wanted them, but he had a mission. When that mission was complete he could shed his fowl features and move on with his life.

Though ‘complete’ was feeling farther and farther away. After three days it had become clearer that his mission would not be quite as simple as he'd been led to believe.

Go to the north, spy on the crown prince.

An easy task for any talented spy, especially one in the form of a raven. Who would notice another bird flying around the palace? He'd figured he'd be practically invisible as he watched over the man. His arrival at the palace had not been quite so easy.

Shang Qinghua was used to breezy buildings with open air walkways and large paper windows. The perfect environment for spying. The Northern palace however was not so easily infiltrated.

Instead of winding walkways there was tightly packed stone, instead of paper screens, thick glass, instead of clear views there were dozens of chimneys filling the air with smoke and steam. It was as if the place was tailor made to obscure his vision and get in his way. Something made even more difficult with his lack of thumbs and his newfound inability to open doors on his own.

And then, there was the rookery.

The castle kept the ivory coloured crows to deliver their mail. They were hardier birds more suited to the northern climate than the common pigeon. Of course that made them more aggressive than the common pigeon, and by himself Shang Qinghua was a prime target. He couldn't blame them, not completely, they were just animals, and he wasn't particularly enamoured with his current state either. But it wasn't his fault and the constant shrieking and air bombardment was rather rude.

He had spent so much time dodging crows that in the three days he'd been there he'd yet to even catch a glimpse of his target. The elusive crown prince was nowhere to be found, not even on the lips of the common gossips at the river; far from the palace rookery. The dying king was all they seemed to talk about, that and his brother. A loyal man who never seemed to leave his side as his health deteriorated. The only mention of the kingdom's heir was to remark on his conspicuous absence.

The whispers stopped there, the king's illness seemed suspicious and the ruthless prince was suspect but suspecting him without proof was treason. There were rumours the man had a secret guard and had killed servants for less in the past. To the washerwomen speculation was hardly worth dying for.

A smart stance for servants to take, but it was useless for a spy like Shang Qinghua. He'd tried to follow the kitchen staff back in an attempt to gain entry after that, but had barely dodged the cook's broom.

He circled the palace for the hundredth time, finally used to letting the wind lift and guide him around the structure. He had hoped to find an advantageous location to spend his nights, the weather was worsening day by day, so there were no windows left open for him to eavesdrop on. Plus there was his own comfort to consider.

While the chimneys and smoke stacks were warm, the constant steam irritated his lungs and eyes. He'd spent the first night in a tree beyond the palace walls, but it made him feel too removed, like he was going to miss something.

He'd eventually found a rather isolated courtyard; far from the tower of crows, with a gnarled old tree protected from the chilled wind with a comfortable perch just outside one of the palace's many windows. It wasn't a particularly useful window, but having a sightline into the darkened antechamber eased his nerves even if it was empty, as if the wing of the palace had been abandoned.

It was honestly a relief, with no one to see him he wasn't forced to pretend that he was a normal bird. What sort of things did ravens normally do? He'd never studied birds or their habits. Resting free of an audience was truly his best option. His chosen branch was even long enough for him to waddle back and forth in a manner similar to how he used to pace.

The movement helped him think, that and speaking aloud to empty air. While as a bird he couldn't exactly talk, but the chirps and chitters he let out served a similar purpose while he familiarized himself with the north and its political climate.

The prince wasn't very well liked, a tyrant in the making if the washerwoman were to be believed. He didn't seem to care for his father's illness the way his uncle did. Nobody had said it out loud but it seemed in public opinion the uncle was favoured over the actual heir to succeed the throne. While that sounded good on paper, the compassionate uncle taking the throne would cause more problems for Shang Qinghua.

He didn't want to get involved, but he didn't have nearly enough information that he could successfully report back. He'd not even caught a glimpse of the prince, if he returned with so little information he could kiss his humanity goodbye.

He'd slept fitfully, curled into a ball of feathers dreaming of a time when he had none.

The horn called loud enough to startle him from his perch, he tried to reach out and grab the branch but only had feathers where fingers should have been. He barely managed to spread both wings and break his fall. Thankfully it wasn't a particularly tall tree.

A second call sounded louder than the first and the harsh caws of the rookery greeted it.

Shang Qinghua sat in the grass, shoulders hunched wondering if he really had to check out the commotion or if he could just sleep where he'd fallen. He was still mad about waking up as a raven and didn't have any desire to get any closer to the crows.

Eventually he let out an angry caw of his own, he'd dreamt of human things, walking, writing, opening doors; truly a lovely dream, spoiled by noisy fucking crows. What were they even worked up about anyway? They had a nice warm tower to sleep in, why did they have to disturb the little comfort he'd managed to find?

Busy grumbling, the third horn blast startled him, almost as much as the first. He took to the air instinctively, eventually gaining just enough height to see the parade of hunters entering the far gate. It was a rather large retinue carrying with them all sorts of game.

He flew a bit higher before coasting downwards for a closer look, he wasn't familiar with the wildlife of the northern forests and was curious. A new group of people entering the palace meant new opportunities for him, this may have been what he was waiting for.

He pulled right as quick as he could, barely dodging the arrow as it whistled past, nicking his pinfeathers as it flew. An unflattering squawk left him as he pulled up only to see a man holding a bow and staring him down.

The man was tall, taller than most of his compatriots, holding himself with the practised ease of a hunter. Shang Qinghua would have stared longer except with the way the man slowly reached for another arrow he knew the next shot would likely not miss. It was a tactical retreat.

His wings pumped trying to get out of range as fast as possible until his thoughts caught up with his wingbeats. The hunter had been tall, well dressed with an expensive looking cloaked trimmed with fur. He had sharp features and cold eyes.

It had to be the crown prince, Mobei Jun.

He altered his trajectory, circling back behind the incoming retinue. He stayed low, landing on the far side of the stable and crept slowly up until he could peek at the incoming hunters, and most specifically, their leader.

The prince had lowered his bow once Shang Qinghua had left his line of sight, speaking to a retainer at his side. A curly haired youth, who seemed to be the only person who'd dare approach him. Most of the other hunters gave him a wide berth, even the servants who attended the caravan did so warrily, deference tempered with something else.

Fear.

"Nephew, it seems your hunt was successful." A charming voice called out and the crowd parted immediately as someone new entered the courtyard, Shang Qinghua crept closer.

The prince towered over the newcomer but his height did nothing to overwhelm the other man's presence. He walked with impunity, dressed in embroidered velvet covered in jewels only a royal could afford. Despite the difference in height and the older man's greying locks the resemblance was unmistakable.

After days of drought Shang Qinghua was caught in a downpour. He was now witness to two thirds of the royal family, Linguang Jun, brother to the king, had left his vigil at the king's side to greet his nephew.

"Our larders will be well stocked this winter." deep lines pulled his smile tight, distaste crossing his expression as he looked at the spoils that followed the prince into the palace. This greeting was his duty, nothing more. Even from a distance Shang Qinghua could see that there was no familial love between nephew and uncle, and only the latter was willing to put up the pretence.

Mobei Jun didn't even try to hide his animosity, his brows dropped and his chin tilted up as teh other man drew closer, clearly on the defensive.

"Uncle." he stepped to the side, intent to walk past, but the other man followed his movement blocking his path. The crown prince pulled back his shoulders, emphasizing his greater stature.

"I must greet my fathe--"

"The King is dead." The sharpness of the words silenced the courtyard, only the cawing of the crows filled the silence. Everyone stopped mid motion at the news.

"He died this morning, in his bed," Linguang Jun sighed dramatically before turning his sharp eyes on Mobei Jun, "Calling out for his son." The prince flinched but the words weren't for him, not really. Several sharp gasps sounded through the crowd, the message hitting its marks.

Easily manipulated fools. Shang Qinghua could see the quirk of Linguang Jun's lips, and the way he made a very public spectacle of a very private matter, drinking in the attention. At first Mobei Jun appeared stoic, but there were signs of his deteriorating composure. The way his hands curled into fists, the bunched tension in his broad shoulders. Qinghua had no doubt that there was fury coursing under the man's skin, like a raging river below a thin layer of ice.

But to anyone not paying such close attention, they would just see cold hearted stoicism.

The courtyard had become a battlefield and it was clear that Linguang Jun was winning.

The prince took a measured breath before speaking.

"I will see the body."

"The royal embalmer has already been called, there is nothing left for you to do." Shang Qinghua's eyes narrowed. Such quick action was suspicious.

"That was not your place."

"You were not here, and with no knowledge of your return I was simply doing what needed to be done,"

There was a vein throbbing on Mobei Jun's forehead, his uncle was masterfully playing the situation to his advantage. The cautious stares and fearful whispers suddenly made sense. The uncle was far from magnanimous, he was a skilled manipulator working his way towards the throne. Laying all the groundwork to destroy his nephew's reputation.

And it seemed Mobei Jun knew it too, if his clenched jaw and obvious frustration were anything to go by.

"Thank you uncle," he didn't mean the words, they were clearly nothing but a formality. The bitter dance of politics that he'd already lost. "I will make preparations for the funeral."

Without waiting for a response he simply nodded to the servant at his side and swept off into the palace alone.

From a drought to a flood, Shang Qinghua had spent three days scrounging for information about the prince and the state of the kingdom, and in a fleeting moment he'd learned more than he knew what to do with.

He still wasn't sure if it would be of any use to him, so he returned to his tree to try and organize his thoughts. Only it appeared that his lonely courtyard was no longer as empty as it had been previously.

The darkened window was now lit, the glass opened wide to let in the morning's chill. A giant figure stalked back and forth within, moving with the repressed violence of a caged animal.

It was Mobei Jun.

Shang Qinghua watched him cross the room, then turn and cross it again, finally the figure stopped pulling something out from his pocket.

Shang Qinghua couldn't quite identify the object, but the prince stared at it intently, his knuckles paling as his grip tightened. The hand enveloping the object began to shake before the tension finally snapped and the strange object went flying out the window.

Breath came to the prince in heavy pants, his anger slowly dissipating until he dropped into the chair at his writing desk. He looked small, and weary. But it only lasted a moment.

Within the span of a breath the slump left the man's shoulders and he composed himself, sedately grabbing a sheave of parchment and a writing quill.

Curious Shang Qinghua followed the trajectory of the object until he found it lying in the grass a short distance away.

Tilting his head back and forth he tried to figure out what it could possibly be, it looked like some sort of ivory, a horn? Perhaps a trophy from a recent hunt?

The colour was mesmerizing, shifting with the light between a dull tan and a brilliant blue. Whatever the object was it seemed valuable, and the prince had thrown it away in a fit of anger.

If he was being honest with himself he wanted to keep it, it was shiny and drew his eye. The way the colours changed appealed in a way that made him distinctly uncomfortable, like an impulse more than a choice. A distinctly avian one, making him feel like he'd lose a part of himself if he gave in to the idea. So instead he acted.

The horn wasn't too heavy, he managed to grip it in his beak and awkwardly fly back to the window. He landed on the sill, peering into the window wondering how he could return the horn.

The room was large but sparsely furnished. There was a four post bed displayed grandly against the wall, and a writing desk sitting in front of an empty hearth.

Shang Qinghua had intended to place the object on a random surface and leave, instead he was forced to drop it with a squawk as he dodged a flying inkwell.

"Leave!" dark eyes bored into him, weighing his soul for judgement. It seemed Mobei Jun's calm demeanour hadn't quashed his fury and he'd found a new object for his ire, and that object was Shang Qinghua.

He took to the air, manoeuvring back to his perch outside the window, trilling indignantly at the treatment.

The prince approached the window and glared at him.

"Noisy." He slammed the window closed with enough force to make Shang Qinghua jump.

Rude, Shang Qinghua puffed up his feathers squawking loudly. So the prince was having a bad day, that didn't justify bullying a poor bird like him.

Noisy? Shang Qinghua shifted his weight from talon to talon. I'll show him noisy!

He began pacing along the branch, too angry to appreciate the irony of his actions. Every so often he'd glare at the closed window catching a glimpse of the prince through the glass.

It was time to build a nest. Ao3

#Moshang #mebigbang23 #feathers in a storm #my writing #fic link #svsss

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