A/N: I slightly underestimated the length of this story. Instead of being 5 chapters and an epilogue, as I'd thought, it'll be six and an epilogue—I split this one in half. Izumo took more time than I was expecting, and I didn't want the chapter to feel too heavy. So two more updates to go.

Ramix: In the question of Jeanette's motivations, I'd say it was roughly equal. She did genuinely have feelings for him, but greed/jealousy twisted that and were definitely a big factor in her decision to betray her oaths and arrange for the murder of his wife.

Trigger warning: the latter half of this chapter contains an instance of bullying which might hit a little too close to home for anyone who's actually been bullied in real life.

The vantage position offered by the wyverns afforded Garon a splendid view of Izumo, spread out beneath him, as they flew over. The medicinal country was beautiful in this stage of fall-winter, the trees full of red-and-gold leaves and the ground covered in white snowflowers. As they approached the capital, the wide fields made way for simple Hoshidan-style buildings, with a large and luxurious palace overlooking it all.

They landed in the courtyard of the palace and dismounted the wyverns. After delivering specific instructions to the stable boys about how to keep the animals warm—Izumo's winters weren't as freezing as Nohr's, but cold-blooded was cold-blooded—Garon grudgingly turned to face the front of the Izumite castle. He couldn't see Hiromi yet, but the Hoshidans had arrived before them, unsurprisingly, and were waiting at the bottom of the steps with unreadable expressions.

Sumeragi looked well, Garon noted sourly. He and his whole entourage had the glow that came with full bellies and safety, the soft glow Nohrians rarely enjoyed. He'd brought three of his children—the eldest two and the bastard, clinging to his mother's kimono with a curious look on his face. The new queen was a delicate-looking woman with raven hair and wane eyes, adorned in white. The sort who would never last a day on a battlefield. She caught her husband's arm when he made to step forward, whispering something quickly in his ear before letting him greet Garon.

They stood before each other, eyeing the other man with the sort of enmity that could only be born of politics and racism. "King Garon," Sumeragi began, voice overly polite. "A pleasure to see you."

"King Sumeragi," he returned. It was petty and childish, and it was too soon for this, but he couldn't stop his next, bitter words from leaving his mouth. "I see you're still profiting from my people starving in the streets."

The Hoshidan king's eyes swept once over his concubines, judgmental. "And I see you're still attending to your personal desires, rather than to your people."

Fury swelled in him. Forgetting himself and where he was, Garon made to grab Bolverk, and it was only the timely intervention of the eccentric Duchess Hiromi that stopped him.

And then it was time for pleasantries—Hiromi, being Hiromi, started fawning over Sumeragi's coat and his own cape. One hand rose, touching the fabric as she praised the mink fur, and he was barely able to answer over the lump in his throat, "it was a gift from my late wife". He may have moved on from Katerina's death, but that didn't mean he would ever forget her.

At Hiromi's curiosity about his new wife, Garon waved Arete forward, presenting her proudly, daring Sumeragi to say anything about his remarriage when he, if the rumors were correct, had barely waited the appropriate mourning period. Now that she was afforded a clearer view of the Hoshidans, his wife's face warped in surprise. Sumeragi's expression was unreadable, while the new Hoshidan queen had stiffened, staring down at Arete with blatant shock on her face. Garon didn't have time to wonder why as Sumeragi brought her down the steps, introducing her as Mikoto. And that was the final introduction that needed to be made.

It was with relief all-around that the formalities ended, and Garon followed a servant to the quarters he'd be staying at. Arete trailed him, Azura's hand clutched tightly in it, looking a bit out-of-sorts and overwhelmed.

They were shown inside and informed the meal would be ready in a few hours, and then the servant left. Garon sighed, unclasping his cape and hanging it carefully on the back of a chair. The quarters were Nohrian-style—the Izumites saw so much traffic from both major countries, they'd refurbished a wing of the castle entirely to be more convenient for them—and much lighter than Castle Krakenburg's. Arete wandered over to their bed, sitting on it with an almost dazed look on her face.

"Something seems to be bothering you," he said conversationally as he went about pulling his boots off.

"It's fine," Arete said, distracted. She rose suddenly. "My legs are still a bit cramped after sitting on that wyvern for so long—I think I'll take Azura for a walk and go stretch them."

A bit off-put by her shifting attitude, Garon asked, "Do you want me to come with you?"

"Oh, no, you relax—you've earned it. We'll be back soon," she promised, and, pulling Azura from where she'd been peering out the windows, practically fled.

"Soon" turned out to be an exaggeration; Garon did not see hide nor hair of them for two hours, until the royals were settling down at the great hall for the first dinner. He was just about to send someone to find her, concerned, when she came rushing in through a side door, out of breath. Queen Mikoto followed behind at a somewhat slower pace, both their children in tow.

"Where were you?" he asked, frowning at Arete as she took the seat next to him, still breathless. Hiromi's ability for diplomatic hospitality was admirable—she'd set up the hall with low tables and cushions, to give some level of comfort to both nationalities. Chopsticks, forks and knives were set out at every place, and the food looked to be a mix of Hoshidan and Nohrian.

Before his wife could respond, Queen Mikoto stepped in smoothly. "A few hours ago, Kamui and I were exploring the gardens when we ran into the queen and her daughter. Kamui immediately dragged Princess Azura off to play games, and we couldn't bear to ruin their fun, so we agreed to just let them be. As we waited, we got to talking, and, well, it seems we lost track of the time." She smiled.

Garon glanced at Arete, who nodded in confirmation of the story. "I see." It seemed odd that this Hoshidan was willing to allow her son to sully himself with Nohrian friendship, but perhaps she was simply being diplomatic.

He'd forgotten how crafty Hiromi was. She kept them constantly busy throughout the week—when they weren't feasting, she was taking the royal families on tours around the city, hosting grand hunts, or doing other fun activities, in the hopes the bonding would bring them together again. It was an admirable effort, but relations were still—and, Garon privately suspected, always would be—tempestuous. His children barely got along with each other, much less those of a nations they'd been raised to believe was evil. Fortunately they were still so young their misbehavior could be waved off as simply childishness, but it reflected the tense attitude among the adults well.

Currently, they were outside in the palace grounds, watching what Hiromi swore was "the finest fireworks display in all of Izumo!" She wasn't lying; the explosions of purple, blue, red, gold, and other colors were a spectacular sight—and Garon did find some amusement in how the loud noises made the Hoshidan ninjas, with their keener ears, flinch.

Still, pleasant as it was, there were still things weighing on his mind. Garon glanced to his left with a scowl, to where Azura was clapping her hands next to Prince Kamui and Queen Mikoto. He'd thought the initial playdate had been a one-time thing, a token of pity from a high-and-mighty queen who saw the Nohrians as a charity case. But over the past four days, it had become recurring for her and her son to spend time with his wife and step-daughter. It spoke volumes about the level of trust Arete had for Queen Mikoto to let Azura sit with her and her son, even if only for a few hours, without her.

He couldn't help having doubts, though. "She shouldn't be getting mixed up with their kind," he grumbled to his wife. "Hoshidans are nothing but troublemakers and oath-breakers. She's just going to get hurt."

"You should give them a chance," Arete said calmly. She had turned her attention away from the show to fiddle with a round stone in her hands. "His mother's not that bad, and he's not even five—what evil could he be plotting? Besides, she's been lonely ever since that mess with Josie and Jeanette. It's good she made a friend."

"I suppose," Garon relented. Azura did look a lot happier than she had in the past few months. He threw a curious look at the rock his wife held; she'd been tinkering it almost ever since they'd arrived in Izumo. "What's that you have there?"

She started, made a motion like she was going to put it away; hesitated, then held it out for his inspection. "I was trying out a new spell," she stammered, "Just a personal side-project."

Garon frowned down at the stone. There were some scores that, if he squinted and turned his head, appeared to form some sort of design, but other than that it was just a stone. "No offense, but it doesn't look like much."

"Well like I said, I'm trying out a spell." She smiled wryly. "It hasn't had much success yet."

"If anyone could get the hang of it, it's you," he said sincerely.

"Flatterer." Arete took the stone back and pocketed it, then dropped her head against his shoulder. For a time they sat, watching the show, Garon enjoying the ocean scent of his wife's perfume. It had been too long since they'd had a moment for just peace.

"Why aren't you willing to negotiate with King Sumeragi?" Arete asked after a while. Garon pretended to be absorbed in the spectacle of the sky, stalling for time.

"It's not that I'm not," he finally sighed, when it became clear he couldn't put this off any longer, "I just don't think it's going to work."

"So there's no point in even trying?" Her voice was sharp with disapproval.

"I did, once before. It didn't get me anything. Sumeragi's just too stubborn."

"Queen Mikoto, at least, is reasonable. She wants peace as much as we do, and she's been trying to get her husband to agree to negotiations too. I'm sure King Sumeragi would listen if you tried again."

He shook his head and sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of Arete's head. "Let's not argue and just enjoy the fireworks. Please."

"…alright," she relented. "But this isn't over. If I don't bring this up again, you know the duchess will."

Arete was correct; the next-to-last day, Hiromi finally decided subtlety wasn't working anymore, and decided to intervene personally.

"…so won't you at least try to resolve things? It's so sad when friends fight," she finished with a pout. She'd called the two of them to a parlor for drinks—tea for Sumeragi, coffee for Garon. In hindsight, Garon should have known something was up by her asking for just them, and not including their wives, but he was mentally taxed. He hadn't paid the mostly empty room much heed until Hiromi had arrived and announced that it was time to start, then launched immediately into her speech about how the gods themselves wanted Hoshido and Nohr to get along.

"We aren't friends," he and Sumeragi responded at the same time. Immediately they threw glares at each other, as if asking how dare you speak in unison as I. It was a stupid reaction that brought Garon back to his days as a young boy, rough-housing with the other nobles' sons. Gods, we are being immature about this.

"Your wives seem to be becoming friends," the duchess pointed out. "And at least two of your children. So it's not impossible for Hoshido and Nohr to get along."

"It will always be impossible for us to get along with those taking advantage of us," Garon growled. Sumeragi slammed his hands on the table.

"Just as it's impossible for us to get along with those raiding us! Hoshido and Nohr have barely had anything more than civil politeness—"

"So how long will you continue to drag an age-old feud out?" Hiromi's voice was stern now, all traces of flippancy gone. "Months? Years? Will you let your loved ones suffer because of your unwillingness to at least try to work together? Your issues are not so insurmountable as to cause a war, yet a war they will cause if you can't overcome them. Is that what you want?"

He thought of Arete, dark bags under her eyes from trying to help run a kingdom that hated her. Of Xander, only now getting the hang of fighting with a blade. Of Camilla and Damian and Josie and Leo and Azura and all his other children, those just barely learning to fight and those not even old enough to start. He thought of things getting worse, of them marching onto a battlefield to bleed and scream and—and die.

"No," he finally said, after a long pause. "No, I don't. If Hoshido is willing to at least entertain listening to our problems with the taxes, I would not be adverse to discussion."

Sumeragi scowled at him, but slowly nodded. "I would be…willing to re-open negotiations as well."

Like a flipped switch, Hiromi clapped her hands together, delighted. "Wonderful, wonderful! Oh, don't you just love happy endings? I'm so pleased my little get-together brought you back together! This calls for a celebration!"

Aren't we already celebrating? But if Hiromi wanted to stuff them with more food one last time before they left, he certainly wouldn't stop her.

The day of the departure came, and was uneventful except for one thing. While Garon and the concubines were saddling up the wyverns to leave, he noticed Arete speaking with Queen Mikoto in hurried whispers. The pair of them had certainly become fast friends. As he watched she clasped the queen's hands in her own, said something in a low voice, then turned away. She returned to his side, taking his offered hand as assistance to mount her wyvern, Azura settled in front of her.

"What was that about?" he asked as Azura waved a sad farewell to her short-lived friend, Prince Kamui returning it from his position on his mother's pegasus.

"Just saying goodbye." Arete's face was closed off, and Garon sighed, wishing he wasn't so used to her secrecy.

His eyes briefly met Sumeragi's across the court, and after a brief pause the Hoshidan king gave him a slight nod. Garon slowly returned it; their mutual agreement to try and reach a compromise was new and fragile. But for the sake of his wife, his children, and his country, he would do his utmost best to ensure it could be kept.

The days after the return from Izumo trickled by slowly and uneventfully. It was as if a little bit of that peaceful atmosphere had wedged itself in the hearts of everyone who had been on the trip, even the concubines; the court seemed almost slowed and less vitriolic than usual. But like all good things, it had to come for an end.

Garon was in the middle of a meeting with a delegation from Mokushu when a servant came in and informed him there had been a bit of a scuffle with his children on the third floor. Nothing serious, no one was dead or injured, but Garon had made it a point to have all incidents reported to him, no matter how big or small. He was about to dismiss this one as just another scuffle when the servant mentioned Azura had been involved, and that Arete was asking for him; it took all of Garon's diplomatic clout to get the ambassador to agree to finishing the meeting later.

"It's alright," she assured as Garon made to exit, "I have children of my own, and gods know I would want to check on them instantly if they got in trouble."

He rushed as quickly as he could to his and Arete's room, dread building in him. Things had been building up for a confrontation for months now, and the tension between his other children and Azura had finally snapped. Only the Dusk Dragon knew the consequences, and he prayed they were nothing serious. He threw the door to his room open.

"What happened?" he gasped, taking the scene in. Azura was curled up on Arete's lap, sobbing into her shoulder. His wife's face was stoically furious as she patted her daughter's shoulder, murmuring soft nonsenses of comfort. For a moment he couldn't see what was wrong—then Azura shifted her head, and he realized her hair, which had once poured down her back, was cut choppily short, barely brushing her ears.

"A bunch of the older kids got it into their heads it'd be fun to cut her hair," Arete answered, her voice tight with barely-restrained fury. "They chased her around with a pair of scissors until they caught her, then forcibly sheared it all off."

"Dusk," he swore quietly, crossing to their side. He took Arete in his arms, feeling her tremble against his chest with rage. One large hand moved to cover Azura's tiny ones.

"That's not even the worst part. Josie was with them."

At the name of her former friend, Azura's sobs grew louder and more heart-broken. Garon's own heart melted for his step-daughter. "Oh, Azura…"

"Why?" she hiccupped, peering up at them, eyes teary and nose runny, "Why was Josie with them? Why are they always being mean to me? Wh-what did I do wrong?"

"It's not you, darling…it's…" But he stopped, unable to even figure out where to begin explaining the machinations of his court's politics to her young mind. Arete stared down at her daughter, a look of determination crossing her face.

"Garon, can you take her a moment?"

He blinked and nodded, but Azura shook her head, clinging to Arete and sobbing even harder. "Mom, no… Mom…"

"It's okay, darling, I'll be right back," Arete whispered to her daughter. Gently disentangling her from her dress, she passed the young girl to Garon, rising. He patted Azura's back as he watched Arete make her way to her dresser, confused as to her intent.

"Arete…?"

She rummaged around through the drawers a moment before returning, a pair of scissors in hand. Grabbing hold of her silky blue hair in one fist, she cleanly cut through it, letting the rest sway back into place as a short bob. Azura stopped her sniffling and gazed at her mother wide-eyed, and Garon could understand why—for as long as he'd known her, Arete had always kept her hair waist-length. Seeing her with short hair was surreal.

"See?" Arete murmured, crouching down to be eye-level with her daughter. "Now we match. Isn't that fun, sweetheart?"

Azura seemed at a loss for words, so Garon stepped in. "Why don't I trim your hair, make it even like Mom's?" he murmured softly, running his fingers through the choppy length. "It'll be so nice and cute, the other kids will be jealous. Would you like that?"

"…okay," she agreed in a small voice, and he stroked her hair soothingly, wishing there was more he could do.

After that horrid incident, he spoke to Raoul about getting Josie to stop hanging out with Azura's tormentors, but his butler protested that Josie barely listened to him or to anyone anymore. All they could do was hope her bout of anger would pass. Regardless, a week had scarcely gone by before the next piece of trouble arrived.

Shortly after their return from Izumo, Garon had written the first letter for negotiations with Hoshido, reiterating his problems with the taxes and asking once again that they be lowered. Just recently he'd received the first reply from Sumeragi, requesting that Nohr hunt down the criminals raiding them beforehand. Then, the king had promised, they would negotiate, and may the gods curse his family name for a thousand generations if he broke this promise.

Now he found himself at a bit of a conundrum. Nohr had stored enough food from the raids to last them a while, especially given that winter was approaching its end, but cancelling the raids meant putting his full faith in their ability to reach a compromise—as well as Sumeragi keeping his word. He knew little of Hoshidan oaths, but a consultation with his advisors had informed him Sumeragi's oath was one of the most sacred, unbreakable ones they had. He would keep it, they assured. But Garon still worried—he always worried.

It was as he was pondering this that he encountered Bernice, on her way back from her interrogation of a prisoner.

"Your Majesty," she greeted, curtsying low enough to afford him a generous view of her cleavage. "It's always a pleasure and an inspiration to see you working so hard."

"I'm glad I can inspire you to more fruitful endeavors than seduction of a married man."

He could read the words flashing in her eyes: That didn't stop you before. But she didn't vocalize them, and simply smiled in false modesty. "We must all do our part. Especially given your wife's suspicious behavior of late…" Bernice sighed extravagantly.

Despite himself, Garon found his attention caught by her last sentence. "What are you on about now?"

"Oh? You didn't know?" Clearly pleased by the fact she held information he wanted, Bernice twined a piece of lavender hair around her finger. "While we all work so hard to protect our country, it seems our dear queen does not."

"Don't lie to me, Bernice," Garon growled, glaring and taking a step forward. "Arete is not the type of woman to slack on her duties—and even if she were, I'd know if things weren't getting done."

"Oh yes, she does her paperwork and entertains nobles and all that, but I didn't mean the physical part. I meant the spirit of things." Eyelashes fluttering, Bernice cooed, "You see, the servants have spotted her taking Princess Azura out of the castle for a few hours a time, after she finishes her duties for the day. They disappear down to the lake in the back and don't return. No one seems to be able to trail them or find them after.

"And that's not even all. Some say that the queen sometimes sneaks off by herself as the sun sets. And I've also heard that she's been seen hunched over some stave or object or something, crafting and casting in secret. That doesn't seem the least bit suspicious to you?"

"Enough," he growled, but she didn't listen.

"I mean, we all saw her getting along so well with the Hoshidans in Izumo—"

"Enough!" Garon roared, slamming a hand choppily through the air, and the sorceress took a faltering step back. "I won't listen to your poisonous words against the woman I love!"

"I'll hold my tongue around you, if you so order," Bernice said, after taking a moment to collect herself. "But the court's all talking about it. Good day, your Majesty."

Garon watched her sashay off. Once the hallway was empty, he leaned against the wall and pressed two fingers to his brow, eyes closing.

"Nonsense and slander," he mumbled. "It's always nonsense and slander with this court."

But despite himself, a little thorn of doubt wedged itself in his heart.

It was the second month of the new year, and Garon knew it was time he get a second retainer to replace Jeanette. In truth he should have searched for one long ago; part of the reason it had taken this long was because the tournaments did need a bit of time to put together, but part of it was simply because he was loathe to entrust his safety, and by extension Arete's, to a stranger after being betrayed by an old friend.

His requirements were simple. No women—he was beyond tired of giving them chances to claw positions in his court. Other than that, anyone was welcome.

The tournament took several days, and was now wrapping up below him. It had been a popular, fierce event, as always, and the victor was a ferocious warrior. But the winner wasn't the one who had caught his eye; rather, the man in third place. Looking to be in his late teens, with greasy black hair and a lanky frame, he'd proved to be cunning and quick, defeating his opponents with tactics rather than sheer power. What interested Garon the most, though, was his tome—it was a type of dark magic he'd never seen before, unique and powerful. And that was why he picked the mage to interview after.

"Your Majesty," the dark mage said, bowing deeply; they were in the building set aside for the competitors to rest at while waiting their turn to fight. It was normally a bit small and cramped, but had been cleared out so they could speak privately. "It honors me incredibly that you would come speak to me, out of everyone here."

"You fought well in the tournament, despite your loss. What is your name?"

"Iago, your Majesty," the other man said, rising from his bow with a slight smile on his lips.

"A pleasure. Tell me, Iago, how is it you came by such a unique and powerful tome at such a young age?"

"Well, I owe it all to my deity. Tell me…have you heard of Anankos?