He didn’t like fighting; there weren’t a lot of people in Gin that did. Most people were only taught to fight in defense—how to keep their families safe, not how to wage war. They had Tsujihara Seiko’s reign to thank for that; she died young, so she set the best example out of everyone. She was among the youngest rulers and holder of the shortest reign, yet they followed her example anyway. She was the last one left after a long battle, after all; she must’ve had some merit, if the gods spared her life.
Sometimes Utaka wondered if his ancestor would have followed the rest after a while—fought Kuro willingly, maintaining a sword as the diplomatic weapon of choice instead of words—and that’s why she died so young. Most kings—and queens, when they were allowed—wrote journals or memoirs describing the historical parts of their reigns, especially if they knew they would die soon. The only such note that remained from the first queen was something already tucked away near the rest; an apology to Kinjo Asahi for leaving so soon. No one in modern times knew if she had some kind of premonition of her death, or if she had written it during the war in anticipation of a loss.
For now, Utaka was waiting in Hiroki territory yet again; hopefully, Takeo could stay behind to watch Erize and Kyoumi. Even if he never saw them, he would still prefer to be at the palace with them—maybe then these damn thoughts would stop and he could move away from this drinking habit.
The Hiroki men weren’t exactly heavy drinkers, but they didn’t stop Utaka from using up most of their alcohol. He repaid them by staying sober before expected battles, and staying inside if Kuro attacked and he was drunk—the better choice for everyone, since he couldn’t do much but think after a few drinks.
Oddly enough, alcohol made him…reminisce. He thought more about the past than he did anything else—about things he didn’t even personally live through, or things he didn’t remember. Utaka thought about his father, for example—claimed dead after he left by his own request, so he could leave the capital and find love somewhere else. He couldn’t remember the man at all—Utaka was about Kyoumi’s age at that point—but he knew Okimi was upset. She didn’t have the luxury of remarrying—consorts grew out of favor as faithfulness was emphasized in an attempt to separate them from Kuro at some point during the Kokka years—so Utaka was stuck with barely a father figure to speak of.
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Thinking on it…how many kings and queens of Gin remained married into their old age? How much of those were loveless, or only came to be to avoid a scandal? Granted, Utaka’s mind wasn’t quite functioning properly, but he could only name a precious few. Ginshin never actually married; King Tsunkei and his father died prematurely, albeit the latter’s death was somewhat expected. They say that Tsujihara Seiko and Kinjo Asahi were a beautiful example of what a ruling couple should be, except Tsujihara Seiko died when she was barely in her thirties and her husband lived for another three decades in her absence.
That led him to wonder: was it even possible for this family to be normal? It was asking too much—the royal family, being normal?—but he had hoped otherwise for the longest time. In his personal opinion, he was too young to feel like his life was already derailing—yet the thoughts came anyway, making him wish he hadn’t met Erize just so she wouldn’t be dragged into this mess. Now Kyoumi had to suffer with this damn family, too, and for what? A love Utaka couldn’t appreciate anymore?
A Hiroki boy came in, faintly getting Utaka’s attention. “We’re making plans to start an offensive,” the young man reported. “My father wants to know if you’re sober enough to attend without laughing hysterically.”
Utaka considered it for a moment, then shook his head. “No, I’m pretty drunk. Carry on anyway. Have your father fill me in tomorrow.”
The boy frowned, but still bowed. “All right, sir. We’ll be in the main room if you change your mind.”
He left, likely uncomfortable around a drunkard. In that moment, Utaka didn’t really care.
With no one to bother him, he went back to his thoughts. They grew…troubling, after a while. Okimi once told him she didn’t like to drink because it made her hear things—voices that were hidden away while one was sane. To some extent, he heard them, too.
This family—your family, our family—is tainted. We’re all friends until it’s better for us not to be.
It’s a shame you won’t see the person who will end this all, if he listens. The boy better listen…unlike the first queen and those before her. It would be awful if both ended their lives before fulfilling their roles—ending this family once and for all. Or maybe he’ll end the nation instead.
He never remembered more than murmurs when he was sober, and he sounded crazy enough when he was drunk that talking about them was dismissed. As such, that little piece of insanity was also lost.