Rei found that, while they were in Sólstaður, he needed to be reminded to get out of bed. Then again, in Sólstaður things felt a bit more…lax. Being there worried him but comforted him at the same time. Half a year had passed since they arrived.
If it wasn’t for the fact that Taiyo wasn’t here, he might have believed the war never happened.
It was colder than he liked—the warmth from the inner fire helped, but only if he had the door open. And, unfortunately for his plans on staying underneath the blankets, he didn’t close the door the night before, thus allowing whoever wanted to just wander in without feeling obligated to knock.
He knew someone came in, but didn’t particularly want to get up to check. He knew who it was anyway after they poked him lightly and spoke.
“I know you’re a warm weather kid, but come on! You can drag all your blankets with you; we’re only going over to the Rokens’ house.”
Rei opened his eyes, smiling a little at Maeko. She was still making sure he talked to people.
“Give me a few seconds to prepare myself to be cold,” Rei said. “Then I’ll get up and get dressed.”
Maeko feigned some form of annoyance. “Fine, fine. We’re eating breakfast here anyway; you have until it’s done before I come back in here.”
“All right, I get it. Close the door on your way out.”
Maeko nodded and left, doing as he asked. He had been awake for a while—just didn’t want to get up—so he took a second to prepare to be greeted with the chill outside his blankets before standing. He quickly got dressed into something more decent for the weather, then left his room. The house, all things considered, was roughly the size of the Fujita’s; in a way, it almost felt like they were just on extended vacation.
Rei sat down at the little table in the kitchen, and for a few minutes watched Maeko help Kyoumi with making breakfast. For the first couple of weeks, Roken-Imia Lizette—Kasper’s grandmother, who still lived in the Roken house despite her husband having left the village—offered food for them, but the Nesshin family started helping instead. Kyoumi allowed them to help, but refused entire meals.
He nodded his thanks to both Kyoumi and Maeko when the latter sat the food down. Maeko sat down to entertain conversation, but simply explained that she had already ate. The conversation itself was just a confirmation of what they’d be doing—everyone wanted to know where the others were, even if they haven’t left Byen Roken for a while. Once Rei finished eating, Maeko practically dragged him out the door, only pausing so he could put on a coat.
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The Rokens lived farther in the village, close to where they held the meetings; it was marked as the current one with a feather hung near the door, so the foreigners knew where to go if they had any problems. There wasn’t anything blocking it—Rei visited fairly often, if only so he wasn’t sitting at the Gin-Fujita’s house all day, every day—so they got in without any trouble.
The first person to greet them was Roken Emelie, who just happened to sit in a good spot to see the door. On her other side was Kasper, who offered a little wave.
“I’m still not used to the cold,” Rei murmured. The center fire of the home was warm enough that he could take off his coat and stay warm; both him and Maeko sat their respective coats near the door, then joined the Roken siblings near the fire.
“Mother took a year or so to adjust,” Emelie reported. She partially nodded to the drawings hanging up on one wall—not unlike that of the portraits of previous rulers, albeit coincidentally—of Kuro-Masaaki Miya. Rei didn’t actually realize the Roken siblings had royal Kuro blood in them until he first saw the drawings and asked after it.
Maeko cast him a teasing look. “Nah, I think Rei’s just spoiled since he’s a summer kid.”
“I don’t mind it though,” Emelie mused. “It’s just that you guys are used to warmer weather than this. The only bad thing is that we don’t get sakura petals up here.”
“I could probably make due without seeing them again,” Rei admitted. “They always…frustrated me. Now I have an actual reason for it—that battle was in spring.”
They all fell silent for a moment, for varying reasons; the battle meant different things to each one of them. Kasper awkwardly tried to bring back conversation after Lizette emerged from the kitchen, offered some explanation to Kasper and Emelie, and left after the two murmured their understanding.
“Speaking of sakura petals,” Kasper said, “There are still a few people who are trying to trade with Kuro and Gin.”
“I can’t imagine there’s much people left to trade with,” Rei noted, successfully pulled out of his thoughts and memories. “I know Kuro gave up once they saw the kitsune-advisor leave.”
“A few of the merchants actually came into the meeting,” Kasper continued. “Not a lot of people are left in Kuro anymore—they panicked and left. There’s a few ships left in Gin, but no one was willing to trade.”
“I’m still amazed how quickly everyone cleared out,” Maeko said. She leaned forward towards the fire for a moment before pulling back again. “I mean, it hasn’t quite been a year since the war ended.”
“Gin, at least, tried to recover too quickly,” Rei replied, shaking his head. “They wanted us out, saw an opportunity, and took it without thinking.” He sighed. “Still… I wouldn’t mind going back—if only just to get the records and all the pictures. We only have Taiyo, Utaka, and Erize.”
“Ideally, there would be a time for everyone to go back and collect what they might not have,” Kasper said. “It’s hard to say when that time will come, though.”
Rei murmured some agreement. There…wasn’t much anyone could do about it. What was done was done. Most of the people from Gin and Kuro understood that by now.
There was a chance it could have ended differently—accepting that was hard, especially for his family. At this point, though, it was actually easier to acknowledge everything. Rei had less to worry about that way. Maybe, when everything else felt real, he’d go back to reassess his opinions. For now, he was satisfied with what he had.
And one day, he’d be able to talk about Taiyo and that last battle without falling silent to entertain the persisting ‘what ifs.’