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SAE IS SO RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH

=͟͟͞͞ ★ ... ITOSHI SAE : DEVOTION

tags: gn! reader, religious imagery (ish), prince! sae and knight! reader, strong pining, implied relationship (what kind? that’s a secret :3) summary: your loyalties belong to the Itoshi's but mainly the eldest son, and most remarkably, your prince. extra: yoooooo i just wanted to free this from my drafts. this was a draft of my prev fic affections of a prince which IS INSANE because i scrapped this, anyway enjoy reading ppl!

Your knighthood is legendary, you serve the eldest prince of the eastern kingdom. Itoshi Sae is both your rock and your home. He shelters your battleworn figure and sees past the chainmail, the heavy sword and the flush of battle on your face. The prince knows that you are tired, and that you are scared deep down. He calls you home, tells you that not every battle is one you must fight, tells you that he will always stand by you.

You are solely loyal to the Itoshi’s. This is no secret, you wear their livery, you wear armor forged by their smiths. You know the small tilt of Sae’s head from where he stands with his family in court as he looks at you, is a sign of his silent approval. He never tells you outright that he likes it, but you know the lingering gazes and the endearment in his eyes are no illusion.

Sometimes you think that you are devoted to Sae like he is a man made god. That he can be put on altars and celebrated in revered spaces. That your love and loyalty can be equated to pilgrims longing to be with their god, to travel far and wide to serve them wholeheartedly. Ignoring the ache of sore feet and weary hearts missing home, because your home is with Sae, and the pilgrims with their god.

Everytime you are instated elsewhere other than the castle they say the elder prince is caught in his temper. He does not venture out when you are missing from court. A solitary man, your god is, you love him no less for it. You tell him that he cannot keep hiding when you are out, but he insists that there is no use if you cannot be there with him.

Your grip on the reins of your horse weakens at his words.

“Please my prince,” you plead, your armor is heavy but you are used to its weight. 

Prince Sae is beautiful, he has eyes of aquamarine, and he has hair like pink quartz. He has heard this plea from you many times over, he must be tired, but he never relents. A prince is not born to give into the pleas of those around him, he is born with the knowledge that others must give into his wishes.

“You mustn't,” he says, his gaze is fierce and it burns you. “Stay, you are loyal to me, not my father.”

Your horse whinnies, and your frown. A hand of his comes up to touch your cheek, you try and dissuade him, your hand trying to pull his back down and away from your face. His grip is strong and you wriggle like a captured beast under the skin of his palm. Warm and alluring, you feel drawn to the sensation but you are a knight, you serve for the purpose of your prince’s safety.

“I serve the kingdom too,” you say, feeling the soft pad of a finger rub a shape into your cheek. Tracing over a faint scar somewhere along the way as it wanders. Free and unashamed as he feels the figure of your jaw and the apples of your cheeks. 

Prince Sae is stubborn, he always gets what he wants. He pinches you, oh so lightly before huffing. How unbecoming of your prince, but you love him for every oddity in personality. You see something flash in his eyes, the plea to stay with him here, and avoid harm and be of good health.

He has always said that given enough time, when he is king, he will take care of everything for you. No more days spent over horseback and draped in angular armor and thin chainmail. Your time will be spent alongside him, in court, in whatever position you desire. He will keep you closest, that is how dear you are to the eldest prince. 

“The kingdom is my birthright,” Prince Sae fusses, face curdling the longer he has to force you to stay.

You feel around the side of your saddle, there is a small hunting knife tucked into the worn leather. You slip it out and hold it in one hand before presenting it to him. It is sheathed in leather as well, but clearly unlike your saddle, it has rarely been bitten by the elements and is clearly well taken care of.

“Your safety is my oath,” you pull away from him and press the knife into his free hand. “I swear to words older than both of us that I will keep you safe. Let me defend your kingdom, let me defend our home. I swore to rites ancient and redundant, you must always come before me as the prince.”

Your prince is amused, “And what will I do with a knife?”

“Defend yourself,” you say, moving his hand in a way that allows you to close his fingers over the hilt of the dagger.

He chortles, a rare display and one so tempting to dream of over and over again. 

“So be it,” he takes the dagger and turns it over in one hand. “You may go.”

Painstakingly you pull away from him, and he watches you vanish into the distance. The stables behind you shrink and vanish into nothingness. The further you venture on horseback, the smaller and smaller your prince grows. You don’t have it in you to look back, your courage would diminish had you seen the look of yearning in his eyes. 

Knights rarely have any reason to be impeded by their foolishness, there is little room for any doubt if you are that dedicated to your chivalry. But, on occasion, when you are worlds apart from your prince— in the near future, your sovereign, your only king —you feel your heart tremble and sway at the thought of him missing you just as hard as you do on travels and expeditions.

Sometimes, you feel more tied to your prince than you are to the mantra and dogma of your knighthood.

You still feel his hands on your face when night has fallen and when the distance is too great to fathom.

/

If a god can be worshiped anywhere as long as he has his devoted believers then worship can take any place.

You sit beneath the stars, in front of a fire, and you think of Sae. It is hard to think of anything else when you have him, in soul and in heart. Your bond is more than that of a knight and their prince, you feel like dog and master. Seldom can one doubt the loyalty of a dog, when it sleeps at the feet of its master and it waits unyieldingly, there is nothing else it knows but the feeding hand of its master— owner, if intended lovingly.

He is yonder away, but you feel as if he can be felt right beside you. The jut of his jaw and his eyes, the feel of soft skin and his voice like a hymn in your ears. He is vivid in your mind, colors as bright as that of fine silk tunics and dresses, polished gemstones and the shine of gold. He is as valuable as coins and perhaps even more, dare you say he is priceless. 

Maybe this is love, but it feels so lacking to attribute every burning and aching sensation you have ever felt for the prince to just love. It has to be something more, something grand and fitting for his status. Spun of stars and honey and all the wonder you have yet to experience in the universe, you think that sometimes this is more affliction than affection.

You rest your head on a makeshift cushion and you fall asleep.

In dreams he does not evade you either, should you accuse him of the occult and witchcraft, he seems to haunt you. There is nothing unpleasant about it though, you do things of mundane nature and of adventure and bold euphoria that strum you like a well oiled and magnificently crafted instrument. 

Tonight he spirits you away into the ballroom, no longer a knight but a regular individual. A peasant, sometimes royalty, sometimes you are just yourself. A plain knight, but regardless of how you present, he is always pulling you into his arms, his hands cupping your calloused palms and twirling you around. In other dreams, you dip him and you both laugh under the chandelier and candlelight.

“Dance with me?” He says, dressed immaculately and he extends you his hand.

Graciously and more delighted that you possibly can be, you accept and your dream is full of waltzes and other dances he knows. You have never been taught to dance, all your childhood went into shaping you into the perfect soldier, so you sparsely know the steps or when to turn. But your prince is patient, and he teaches you, guiding you and ensuring you don’t step on his feet.

When you wake, you go without any kind of noise and you hope to return sooner.

You yearn to return to where the land is holy and where your god rests. 

/

You return to your quarters after a month. 

Duties of protecting the people and upkeeping the peace is a taxing job. But a rewarding one nonetheless, so despite your exhaustion, you are aglow with joy and gratitude for being able to give aid and protect. You dwell little on your deeds when you enter your room and dispel yourself of your armor.

Each metal piece is taken off with deliberate care. The helmet, the chest piece, the boots and your cuffs. You strip them all and leave them on your worn armor stand. Your absence has left it slightly dusty and noisy when you fit each piece onto it as if you were putting it on yourself.

Once you are freed, you lay on your bed and you fall asleep.

Your dreams are garbled, they lack any kind of direction and you scarcely remember them when you wake. The first thing you register is the fact that you have a blanket thrown over you, and that your prince sits to the side of your lowly bed with a large pink fruit in his hands.

“My prince,” you say, voice hoarse from having woken up and you attempt to stand.

He nods, he passes the fruit into one hand, and the other stops you from standing up. It gently pushes you back to the place you lay and it leaves your skin warm. His touch feels like pure sunlight and it makes you feel aglow with how intimate it feels. In all your time as his knight, you have rarely made yourself seen to him without your armor. To have him touch you, and for his hand to only be separated by a blanket, makes you reel and sputter.

“Good evening,” he greets, scanning you from head to toe before relaxing his expression.

“I am unharmed,” you say, “just tired, my prince.”

Sae begins to break the skin of the fruit slowly, the pulp parts to reveal shiny red pieces. Small and vibrant, he breaks off a few from the white flesh and presses them to your lips. Obediently, though confusedly, you part your mouth and accept.

“This is a pomegranate,” he says, picking some of the red pieces and feeding himself. “And, please, it’s just Sae. Only and always for you, my dear.”

The flavor is unique but you find yourself enjoying it nonetheless.

“Thank you,” you say meekly. “You could have come later, Sae.”

He shrugs, and pulls his chair closer to you. Feeding you more of the pomegranate and beginning to recount any entertaining event that had occurred in your absence. You feel rather endeared by how he allows himself to loosen his personality and shed any kind of appearance he makes. 

It’s oddly intimate, to be fed fruit. To have someone willingly stain their hand with juice and pulp and desecrate the body of a fruit. Pomegranates are sweet yet tart, like fleeting kisses tinged with something unfamiliar. Maybe the desire to stretch the moment so long it eclipses a lifetime.

Sae stays with you until he starts to become sleepy himself, and despite your energy from having fallen asleep earlier, you move to make space in your bed and he lays beside you. Face pressed into the crook of your neck and arms around your waist, it is remarkable how humans fit together, and even more so when you pull him into your arms and play with his hair until his eyes fall shut.

Pilgrims are happiest when they are recognized by their god, happier when they can exist with them. 

Mortal beings are not intended to be found with their god pressed to their side, but perhaps an exception can be made for you. There is some kind of reward for such persevering and sustaining loyalty. 

You look at him where he lays and you can't help but stare.

“One day,” Sae whispers, “I’ll give more than pomegranates.”

“I thought you were asleep,” you laugh softly.

He grunts, inching closer to you despite there being no more space between you.

“You need not, all you are is more than enough for me.”

He smiles, and you return to playing with his hair and admiring him in the lowlight of your room. For as long as you are his knight, he will always be something akin to the divine and you the undying and relentless devotee.