Setting: 2 years after events of the anime/manga

Spoilers: Potentially up through chapter 99 of the manga, but primarily the anime and manga chapters 82/83 and 91.

Disclaimer: Akatsuki no Yona is the work of the amazing Kusanagi Mizuho. As an adoring fan I claim nothing as my own.

A/N: Revised April 22, 2016. Japanese dialogue removed plus other miscellaneous edits.

"I don't hate you anymore, Soo-won. It's too hard to hate someone I used to love so much. But."

"Yona, arms out please."

She obeyed Yoon's command as he straightened the vest tabard over her shoulders and fastened it in front. The sun slowly sank towards the horizon, casting long golden rays through the quiet house. Yoon worked with efficiency but with the utmost care to detail as he dressed her in the garments he'd specially made for this day—richly colored red fabric down to her ankles, with trim of green and gold. It wasn't silk, but it was soft and beautiful; a precious and unexpected gift.

But— Yona closed her eyes and remembered how Soo-won had looked, standing just beyond reach of the sword sheathed at her side. Draped in robes of brilliant white and gold—all the finery of a king—while he looked at her with eyes devoid of emotion. As if all connection between his mind and his heart had been severed long ago and what remained was the cold, calculating mind and a façade as smooth as a doll's. Cut off from all feeling. It was night and day from the sweet boy she once knew, who held her hand and wiped away her tears. The look he wore told her that he never expected to be forgiven and that he would never apologize for what he'd done.

At her words, his eyes had only widened for a moment. A glimpse of feeling immediately swept behind his stony countenance. Probably guessing what she would say next.

Pity, anger, and sorrow warred within her. Even two years after the act. On some level, she knew those feelings would never fade entirely. Like the sea, they would ebb and flow from high tide, to low, and back again.

Tears had welled in her eyes then, blurring her picture of him. "But. Every time I see you, I see my father, dead on your sword. I see his blood on your face." She had swallowed hard, her hand trembling on the hilt of her undrawn sword. "I can't hate you, but I can't love you like I used to, either. It hurts too much." She tightened her fingers—whether to prepare to draw or to keep herself from doing so, she didn't know. "I've seen enough now to acknowledge that, as a king, my father failed his people. And I can acknowledge your skills as a king and administrator. The good you have done for the people of this country. But I can't go back. I can't—"

"I know, Yona," Soo-won had said in his maddeningly calm voice. He sighed. "You don't mean to kill me, then. Your mercy is greater than mine." The smile that touched his lips had no trace of warmth. "It's alright. I'm sure he'll do it for you, someday. In the meantime, I hope the two of you can find happiness, despite what I've done to you."

Yona sighed, opening her eyes to the small house and to Yoon as he wrapped the black obi belt around her waist, followed by a gold sash.

Yoon paused and looked up at her, his tawny hair gleaming in the dying sunlight. "Something wrong, Yona?"

"Nnn." She shook her head and smiled. "Just a stray thought."

The handsome seventeen-year-old straightened to his full height—which was taller than her, now—and frowned. "Are you sure? Because—"

They were interrupted by light footfalls and a shadow that blocked the sunlight through the doorway. "Because it's not too late, Yona-chan, if you're having second thoughts." The green dragon, Jae-ha, leaned against the wall and folded his arms over his robes. His face was shadowed, but she could hear the smile in his voice. "Come, and I'll whisk you away from here."

"I'm not having second thoughts," she said. That was true. She faced this day without regret, but with the acknowledgement that she had to let go of something in order to step forward. She had to release certain dreams in order to grasp new ones. Her heart was settled. She was neither nervous, nor afraid.

Unless she thought about what would happen after, which she refused to. Those jitters she stuffed down and turned her chin towards Jae-ha.

"Everything is ready then?"

Jae-ha swept into a bow, his robes fluttering. "Yes, my lady, and Kija-kun is already crying."

"Then I mustn't keep everyone waiting."

Yoon snorted softly and returned to the work of dressing her. "There's no need to rush. You'll be ready exactly when I said you would be." He expertly tied the golden sash. "Well then." He reached aside. "For your hair—"

Her chest squeezed with pain when she saw the wooden box he held. She stopped him with a quick hand. "No, it's fine." I don't need that anymore.

He looked taken aback, but didn't question her.

"I can leave it down," she said, fingering the strands of red curls that now fell just passed her shoulders. "It never behaves anyway."

Yoon was digging through his bag. "No, I am a genius after all. I have something else." He produced a length of the green and gold trim that edged her robe, stuck a comb in his teeth, and slipped behind her. She felt him weaving and gently tugging, until— "There!" Her hair was swirled up, off the nape of her neck, entwined with the ribbon.

Yona touched it gently and smiled. "Yoon, thank you! I always wanted to wear it up."

The young bishounen sniffed. "Of course." He stepped back. "As I said. You're ready on time."

With a swell of gratitude, Yona leaned forward and grasped his hands. "Yoon, really, I—"

Yoon's cheeks turned a delicate shade of red. "Eh, don't be so formal, Yona. It's not like we won't see you tomorrow, just like always."

"Hmm, I wonder," Jae-ha said from the doorway. "This is a bear of a man we're talking about."

Yona felt the blush rising in her cheeks. "You two! That's enough."

Jae-ha grinned as he straightened and ducked from the house. "Well then, Yona-chan. Let us escort you."

She drew a breath, happiness welling within her. "Yes."

-x-

They were gathered on the outcropping by the waterfall, the sun kissing the horizon and painting all the land in hues of amber and scarlet. The white dragon, Kija; the blue dragon, Shin-ah; the yellow dragon, Zeno; Ik-soo, the clumsy priest. And him. Hak. Thunder beast. She looked at him last because she knew once she met his eyes she wouldn't be able to look away.

He watched her from the shadow of a tree, his eyes piercing beneath shards of black hair even at this distance. His blue robes fluttered as he straightened from his lean against the tree and walked out into the rays of sunset to meet her.

This wasn't how she thought she'd be married. Not to this man, not in this place. It was supposed to be Soo-won, in a great celebration at Hiryuu Castle, with her father to give her away. But that dream was ephemeral now, a vanishing mist that had long since slipped through her fingers. In its place was the man who had enabled her to walk through the fires of heartache and loss, to grow from a girl merely surviving into a woman truly alive. The man who knew all her weakness, and sheltered and protected her. Who sacrificed his all for her and never once resented her. A man who had loved and respected her father—despite his faults—and who loved and respected her.

It snuck up on her, this love, from one who had been like a brother to her growing up. He would have been there faithfully at her and Soo-won's side, had they wed as she had once planned. He would have quietly stayed at a distance, wishing only for her happiness, and never once giving in to his desires. But they had both been changed that night. Irrevocably. Their hearts, their destinies, were no longer the same.

Her heart pounded as he took her hand and smiled down at her. "Hime."

Warmth welled in her heart, her eyes. Because when he alone called her Princess, it was desperately precious. She threaded her fingers tightly through his. Hak grinned and tugged her forward.

Ik-soo, the priest, smiled as they approached, his eyes ever hidden by a shock of white-blond hair. Tear-trails glistened on his cheeks. "Hime-sama. You are a vision. I am certain that King Il right now looks down from heaven with great pride and gives you his blessing for all that you have become."

Yona drew breath, emotion closing her throat. King Il, her father, who had insisted she never take up a weapon, and yet— The tears ran raw down her cheeks and didn't stop. Hak pulled her close and she choked out her vows between sobs.

With the air so thick with emotion, the moments blurred together. As if in a daze, she heard Ik-soo-san conclude the ceremony, heard Kija's anguished gasp as Hak leaned down to brush his lips against hers. A chaste kiss, though the look in his eyes promised much more to come. Then cheering—from Zeno most of all—and hugs from all, the world spinning out of control until she landed at all once beneath a starry sky, alone with her new husband.

The quiet rushed in—shocking in its own right—and she found herself standing in front of a tent with Hak before her, shadowed in the early starlight.

He was frowning and gently touched her cheek. "Hime? Are you all right?"

She drew in a shaking breath. "Eh, ehh." Unnerved by his nearness, by the heat of his fingertips against her skin. Wanting more, but scared too.

"Ehh?" A glint came into his eyes. "Are you sure? You're shaking."

Teasing her. She glared at him and pulled away. Yona went into their tent and eyed the bedding laid out, her heart pounding.

Hak, seemingly unfazed by her anxiety, moved passed her and dropped down onto the blankets. He yawned and then lay there looking at her, his chin resting on the palm of one hand. "Are you tired, Hime-sama? If you prefer just to sleep, I'll promise to behave myself." He smiled. "For tonight, at least."

Ever waiting on her, her Hak. Reading her feelings, knowing her before she knew herself. (Except for the one time he licked honey off her fingers, ack!) Her dear friend, her bodyguard. The man she loved and no longer wanted to share with anyone else. Of course she was going to be nervous. She'd never done this before. Whether Hak had or hadn't—he certainly acted like he had, but had never confessed one way or the other—she wasn't about to ask now.

Yona drew a breath and kicked off her slippers. She gathered her courage as she stepped onto the blankets, went down on her knees beside him, and leaned over him. His eyes widened. She was sure her face was as red as her hair and her arms, braced on either side of his head, were shaking.

Even so. "Hak, give yourself to me."

His eyes darkened, his eyelids falling to half-mast. "Gladly, Hime-sama." He reached for her and she gasped, the world suddenly inverting.

Then she was beneath him, his lips descending for hers as his fingers—slowly—undid the sash at her waist. In his eyes was not the lust or teasing she expected, but a look that said she was utterly precious to him and as necessary to him as breath. Yona gasped again—softer this time—as a rush of warm sensation traversed her frame. So this was what it felt like, to love and be loved.

She reached up, sliding her fingers along his cheek. "Hak."

He spoke, just before their mouths touched: "All that I am is yours. Hime."

-x-

It was high night when he stirred awake, listening to the sound of the owls and Yona's soft breathing. In the two years since leaving Hiryuu Castle, he'd gotten used to sleeping only a few hours at a time. And even then, only lightly. But tonight—judging from the sliver of moonlight that found its way through the tent flaps—he'd slept several hours, dead soundly. He had only himself to blame for such a lapse, that and the princess who lay naked beneath the blankets at his side.

Part of him expected to wake up in the morning and find this all had been a dream. Her returning his feelings, marrying him, their lovemaking. Of course, everything since the night they'd miraculously escaped Hiryuu Castle had felt like one long, unending nightmare. This was the only good that had come from all that tragedy—his Yona; the woman she had become.

Hak sat up, careful not to wake her, the blankets pooling at his waist. His wife lay on her stomach, her back to him. Where the blankets had fallen from her shoulders, the scar from that bastard Hiyou's blade was visible. Hak felt a pang of guilt—one of a mountain's worth: Times he couldn't protect her, dangers he couldn't save her from, grief he couldn't spare her.

He felt like an imposter, not for the first time, but particularly here in her bed. It was supposed to be Soo-won here, not him. Soo-won as king and Yona as his queen, with Hak never once allowing himself the taste of her lips or the feel of her skin. And he would have happily sacrificed his desires for the sake of their happiness, out of his love for them.

But Soo-won. Hak's blood boiled even as his heart cried out with a sorrow worse than death. Soo-won had stolen, betrayed, trampled on all of his and Yona's affections and shattered their dreams. Whether or not Yona's father—King Il—had indeed killed Soo-won's father, Yu-hon, Hak didn't know. At this point, he didn't think the truth mattered. Soo-won's vengeance—whether misplaced or not—could not change what had been done. What had been broken could not be fixed.

He would never forgive Soo-won. Not even if Yona asked. For her sake, he would stay his hand, but only for so long. If Jae-ha hadn't stopped him in Sensui, he would have killed Soo-won then. As it was, he'd been so close. Inches from laying his hands on the man who had taken everything from Yona and from him. It was likely that Soo-won would die by his hand, some day. But not while Yona needed him. Because he would die killing Soo-won. Punishment for Soo-won's death as well as having the blame for King Il's murder laid upon his shoulders. But even more so, because part of him had died when Soo-won betrayed them, and to betray and kill his childhood friend—the man Yona had so dearly loved—would kill the rest of him. Even if he escaped an execution, he'd be a dead, hollow man inside. Like Soo-won was now.

Was it worth it, my lost friend? To become king this way?

Hak refused to dwell on whatever so-called good had come upon the kingdom since Soo-won ascended the throne. Such things could have been achieved all the same if Soo-won had properly asked for Yona's hand. It made King Il's death meaningless.

Beside him, Yona sighed softly in her sleep.

Except for this. Hak let out a long, wavering breath. What he had lost—King Il, the Wind Tribe, his dear friend—was impossible to measure against what he had gained. Yona. Her love. All the scales made by all the craftsmen of the world could not attempt to weigh such things. His own heart rebelled against the thought. Such tragedy and such joy could never—could not even be gathered to be measured.

The past was the past and the future was the future. Hak could only live in this moment, with his wife at his side.

He crept from the bedding and reached for his discarded robe. He was wide awake and nothing good would come from him further stewing in his thoughts or watching Yona sleep (though the latter was tempting). He might as well keep watch properly.

He'd gotten one arm through one sleeve when a hand shot out and captured his wrist.

Hak raised his brows and turned, a quip on his tongue about her needing him dying on his lips when he saw the fire in her eyes.

Yona was awake, braced on the elbow of her other arm, the covers having slipped down to her waist, exposing her curves, her skin, the once frail body of a pampered princess now muscular and scarred. Utterly beautiful. But she had always been demanding with him and always had fire in her eyes. That fire had always—like now—stirred his desire.

"Hak," she said, and pulled.

Grinning to himself, he dropped the robe and returned to her bed.