Chapter Text
Izuku always found that Dagoba Port smelled like shit.
Not that this was new; he spent far too much time in the roughest port town in all the eight kingdoms. His home was and would always be Aldera, the sleepy farm town that it was, but Izuku always got the most business in Dagoba.
Not even bothering to plug his nose, Izuku ducked out of the old woman’s shanty with the fluttering of threadbare curtains, careful to avoid the thick stream of brown that ran outside her stoop. “Thank you, Little Bird!” she called after him, and he responded with a quick deference. The chamberpot river ran all the way down the hill with him, closer to the docks, closer to his next errand for the day.
Izuku continued down the back-alley street to the main street, nearly tripping and stumbling into someone else’s door as he did so. The alleys were as narrow as the slums were cramped, and he didn't feel himself relax until he made it to the airier stretch of road that the radial paths emptied out to. The sun beat down on his dark head of hair, his skin prickling with sweat that dripped from his neck to his knees, every inch of his woolen clothing clinging uncomfortably. Along with the sharp sea breeze, the remnants of the day’s catch wafted in, nearly making him gag. It seemed he wasn’t yet used to all the dead fish. There truly was no escaping the smell.
As he headed into the market district, he bypassed the docks and avoided a few wandering hands; one groping sailor went straight for his ass, and two pickpockets wandered in search of silvers that most certainly weren't there. He kept all of his earnings for the day in a pouch which hung low around his neck, tucked into his grimiest shirt. Izuku did not dress well to his work in Dagoba.
Izuku was fleet-footed if anything, so despite the clutter of the road, he sped toward the Raven’s Den. The Blooming Rose was busy that afternoon with the influx of ships in the harbor, and Izuku had to squeeze past its lively patrons to pass through the next alley, in which Tokoyami’s small storefront made its home. The jeers and come-hithers bounced off his freckled back, which was, frankly, almost too clothed to be anything appealing. The sailors were likely already drunk on liquor and sun. He picked up his speed; the last thing he needed was to be followed, mistaken for a whore.
The Raven’s Den was truly a godsend, Izuku thought, as he stepped through its curtains and closed its heavy door behind him. That Tokoyami could afford a door honestly floored him; whenever he visited, he was one of its very few patrons.
“Tokoyami,” Izuku called out in greeting, raising a hand to wave. His breath left him in a small and relieved sigh, and he left his grimy shoes on the mat near the door. “The Rose is doing good business,” he commented, stretching out his shoulders and walking toward the great oak bar. Tokoyami stood behind it, idly messing with his wares, mystical trinkets which Izuku could not begin to comprehend.
“Good business for the Rose is good business for me,” Tokoyami said, and Izuku raised a brow. The hooded shopkeep tapped a finger on a large jar of witherstalk. Izuku found himself blushing at the implication; of course The Raven would carry such “forbidden” conception preventatives. This was how Tokoyami could afford a door.
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Izuku said. He couldn’t decide if Tokoyami was an apothecary, an occultist, a spymaster, or all three.
Tokoyami let out a small laugh; Izuku must have said that thought out loud. “Lock the door,” Tokoyami said, and pulled back his hood. His black hair was braided with feathers, giving him the appearance of his storefront’s namesake. The nobility called him The Raven, and he was untouchable to all but his patron, the crown’s own spymaster.
Izuku did as Tokoyami asked, and the other gave a series of whistles, sharp yet melodic. Through the small windows came dozens of ravens, each and every one carrying their own sets of scrolls. Tokoyami unlatched the lock on the bartop, making quick work of rolling the surface away, revealing a map atop the hidden surface. Izuku approached, carefully, making his way through Tokoyami’s flock. He could hardly see the birds on the ground; he wished Tokoyami could invest in more candles.
“Did my last deliveries prove useful to you?” Izuku asked, settling at one of the uneven stools across from Tokoyami. One by one, the birds hopped atop the bar to deliver their packages. They left in a similar fashion, silent, inconspicuous.
Tokoyami was methodical in collecting each scroll and presenting each raven with a gift for their work. Tokoyami always seemed to have a perfectly rationed amount of raw meat, one small chunk of game for each bird. Never too little, never too much. “I believe the number of visitors we have proves such,” he responded, and Izuku brightened under the praise. “You are able to go where my friends cannot. Your assistance is invaluable to me.”
“You truly know how to compliment someone,” Izuku said, his face flushing a dark red underneath the tan of his skin. Tokoyami hummed in response, and Izuku busied himself with tracing the lines of Yuuei’s borders.
His ability to read, he supposed, was what made him so udeful; Izuku seemed, at face value, to be nothing more than a grungy peasant boy. He was innocuous and plain-looking, innocent behind the eyes, wet behind the ears. He made the perfect little scout.
“I suppose we’ll start with our most important players,” the shopkeep said. He unraveled a scroll with a seal of black wax, the signet in the shape of a thick, deep cross. Le Raser. “Our patron has a few dropsites for you,” he commented, first, his brow furrowing as he continued. “They’re scheduled deliveries, however, so I’ll be giving you this letter to memorize and dispose of. He mentions sending a letter to you specifically in the near future, so I suggest you hold off on his work until then.”
Tokoyami handed Izuku the scroll after removing its wax seal, and Izuku made quick work of folding it as small as he could and shoving it in his money pouch. Izuku did not have time to linger on the idea that Le Raser had an assignment for him which would not go through Tokoyami. The Raven went faster through the next several letters, all from Raser’s contacts among nobility, as Izuku recognized those seals as well—Yaoyorozu, Shindou, Todoroki…
“What does the Phoenix have to say?” Izuku asked, emboldened. House Todoroki, as the ruling House of Yuuei, had their own spies and informants. For their messages to pass along through the Raven was a rarity.
Tokoyami gave him a cursory glance above the papers. It was a gentle warning, not particularly admonishing, because Izuku knew not to ask these questions of anyone else. Tokoyami dealt in secrets, and Izuku somehow had gained his trust over the several years he’d spent in Tokoyami’s employ. “Seeking information relating to hidden Yagi sympathizers,” he said. “Simple deliveries. I need you to do some carving.”
Izuku nodded, pushing away his discomfort while reaching for his hunting knife. Izuku did not hunt; its use was limited to self-defense and Tokoyami’s work. “I’m surprised that House Yagi still has supporters,” Izuku pitched, interested, and Tokoyami snorted with silent laughter.
“I am not,” Tokoyami said, not taking Izuku’s bait. “Make a mark against the Gale Isles,” Tokoyami instructed, and Izuku drew a tally under the islands. “Uravity is making deals with Shueisha.” Izuku started to draw another line, and then hesitated.
“Under the crown?”
“I don’t suppose so,” Tokoyami said. Izuku marked a tally. “Another mark against the Isles."
This continued for a long while as Tokoyami scoured the letters, each line in the wood a secret of its own, etched into the Raven’s Den. The collective tallies represented leverage, in its plainest form. Each letter would be sent on its way or recorded in code and burned into ash, only for the eyes of Tokoyami and Le Raser. Izuku only received scraps of their information in his own work, yet he was clever, able to piece the threads of evidence together.
There was unrest among the eight kingdoms. The Flame King, Todoroki Enji, was not well-loved. The only thing that stood between Uravity and complete ruin was the gold of Shueisha, Yuuei’s tenuous political compeer. House Yoarashi was not in good social standing. I-Island was at odds with the crown. House Yagi still clung to life.
By the time the sun crept down across the windowsill, Tokoyami was nearly through scanning his letters. An orange light filled the shop with an eerie glow, various crystals and fetishes bouncing the light along the walls and floor. The shop was mysteriously clean, not a hint of the birds lingering on the floorboards or counters. Was it out of respect that the birds did not defecate on his property? Izuku wished he could know. Tokoyami seemed as if he could communicate with them, silently, carry his thoughts across the air.
“I can do no such thing,” Tokoyami told him, wrapping up and stowing away the final scroll. “But they do respect me, yes. They respect you, too.”
Izuku startled, his loose lips sealing closed. He smiled again, embarrassed, but pleased to have received an answer. “I’m not sure why, truth be told,” he responded.
“You’re here as often as they are; my friends know you. You carry my approval. They consider you one of their own.”
Izuku’s blush deepened. Perhaps he should be glad that he had friends?
“Your nameday is tomorrow,” Tokoyami said, not even a question. Izuku gave a hesitant nod; was he going to get a bonus? It was not unlike Tokoyami to be generous, and he was being kind today. “Eighteen years?”
“Finally,” Izuku confirmed with a grin. “I suppose I’m now old enough to sit on a throne.”
Tokoyami gave a low chuckle. “If only there were a throne big enough for your inquisitive mind. You have the letter from our patron?”
Izuku nodded, patting the pouch beneath his shirt. “I’ll be waiting patiently for my present,” he responded.
“Good,” Tokoyami said. He reached beneath the counter, and Izuku could hear the rattle of coins as Tokoyami pulled the mighty sleeve of silvers from its hiding spot. Izuku’s mouth watered at the prospect of returning home with salted pork or cured venison, a rarity, but one well worth the expense for his mother. It was the anniversary of his birth, after all; Inko did most of the work.
Tokoyami took his time parsing out Izuku’s wages, and Izuku’s belly turned in anticipation as he waited with baited breath. Izuku could not see how Tokoyami counted the coins, but he tried to listen to the sound of each one falling into Tokoyami’s palm in order to guess. “I have a feeling you may be working with our patron for a small while, at least,” Tokoyami said, “so I will be giving you an advance on the spoils which should arise from his tasks. This is not to say that he will not pay you himself; he rewards quite handsomely. This is for your mother.”
Izuku nodded, solemn and filial. Everything he made was for his mother. “Thank you, Tokoyami,” he said, genuine and thankful. His mind ran away with interest at the idea of working for Le Raser for “a small while,” however long that could be. Just how much would he be given? Would his tasks to come be dangerous? What exactly would he be doing?
“He is not unreasonable,” Tokoyami said. Izuku quieted. “I do have something for you, Little Bird. Spend or invest, that is your own prerogative. I will not expect you here unless our patron notifies me of your movement.”
“All right,” Izuku said. Tokoyami held out a hand, a gleam of fortune shining through his painted fingers, and Izuku had to hold himself back from jumping with joy. He reached out with open palms, a picture of a beggar, and Tokoyami released the coins unto him. “Thank you,” he said again.
“You’re welcome,” Tokoyami responded. “Now, off with you. The Rose will be needing me.”
Izuku grinned brightly and clutched his earnings to his chest, nodding before he turned back to the door to leave. He slipped on his shoes, long since crusted over with dried muck, and slipped out the door before he could even put away what Tokoyami had given him.
The alley was empty, or so he believed, so Izuku opened his fingers to revel in what he was given. Five whole gold pieces glittered back at him.
Izuku nearly choked, nearly went back inside to return what clearly had to have been a mistake. But then he remembered Tokoyami’s words—“for your mother,” he had said, and “for you, Little Bird.”
With a hop in his step, Izuku started running. His mind was seldom so unanimous and resounding. Izuku was so, so glad to go home.
-
The ride back felt shorter than the usual, his quarter pony speedy and well-rested. Izuku was back in Aldera not too long after night fell, and he wasted no time in returning Mikumo to the stable. The Bakugous were kind enough to lend him the gelding outside of Izuku’s errands for them, especially since he took care of most of their business in Dagoba and Tattooin after Katsuki left home. He stowed the tack and grabbed his own bags, heavy with food he bought in the market district. He only spent fifty silvers on food and travel necessities, intent on giving as much as he could to his mother.
Their shack was on the outskirts of the Bakugou farmland, distant from the workers’ quarters. There were two families who worked the farm and sheared the sheep, whilst Izuku’s mother spent most of her time spinning the wool. The Bakugous were well-off for their textiles, which were sold throughout the Shizuoka region and into the North. They were kind enough, especially to Izuku’s mother, who had become quite close with Mitsuki and Masaru. They provided schooling for all the children who grew up in Aldera, on their land. They had a doctor who would treat children for free. They had no servants, only workmen. They even kept Izuku in their employ, despite his wandering nature.
“Mama,” Izuku called out, knocking shortly before barging in. She was standing around near their shared bed, preparing to retire for the night, and brightened immediately when she saw him.
“Izuku!” she called out to him, careful to set down the candle she’d been holding before she swept him into a hug. “I wasn’t sure that you would arrive before the morning.”
“I wasn’t, either,” he responded, holding her close. Izuku was always ecstatic to return to his mother, so the embrace ran long, until they were both satisfied. “I ran my errands quickly. I have a surprise for you.” His face was set in the widest grin possible, and Izuku backed away in order to pull his bag around to his chest.
His mother stepped back, her green eyes wide and excited. Izuku started with the food, pulling away the cured pork and the loaf of fresh rye. She gave a sharp inhale—“Izuku!”—and he moved to set them on their table before he reached for the fresh fruits and a wedge cut from a wheel of aged grana. They had plenty of eggs, flour, and rice here, so he figured they had everything else they needed for a noble’s breakfast. “Where did you—how did you—”
“I got an advance of sorts,” Izuku told her, stripping the money pouch from his neck. “I’ll be doing some work for an associate of my current employer, so he sent me with some money for my travels, and for you. Also, he gave us a gift for my nameday.”
“This is…”
“Close your eyes and open your hand, Mama. I have your share.”
Her eyes, mirrors of his own, were wide and uncertain, almost as if she would reject him on the spot. However, Izuku was persuasive; the joy on his face was not something his mother could turn away, and he knew this. She closed her eyes and did as he asked, arm trembling with apprehension and eagerness. Izuku pulled away three gold coins, nearly giving her the remaining fourth, before he remembered that he may need coin for traveling on Le Raser’s tasks. He placed them in her open palm, giddy to see her reaction. “Open your eyes,” he told her.
She shrieked with surprise the second she caught the warm gleam of gold. Her cheeks were wet with tears in a matter of seconds, “Izuku, this is—!”
“Not too much,” he interrupted, before she could attempt to refuse him. “This is yours. We need the roof fixed, anyway.”
Her chin quivered; she looked back at the food he brought home, then to the gold sovereigns, and finally to Izuku himself. “Are you sure you won’t be needing it?” she asked, hesitant but grateful. He gave an emphatic nod. She threw her arms around him once more, squeezing him tight and close, so that he could feel her heartbeat and the dampness of her sobs. It wasn’t long before he was crying into her hair, ever-sympathetic.
“I just wanted to have something to give you today,” Izuku said. His throat was tight and his voice came out tighter. “You’ve worked so hard for me, Mama.”
“You’ve already given me everything I could ask for, my beautiful boy.”
Izuku had always felt uneasy, inadequate; he was sick as a child, quirkless despite his mother’s own abilities, the runt of the litter in Aldera. His mother was always a warm embrace, strong where he was weak, even though she had been on her own for so long. Izuku wanted the chance to be strong for her, to provide where his father could not.
His mother held him a bit longer before laughing, wiping both of their faces, and pushing him toward the door. He needed to wash before bed; according to her countryside sensibilities, he smelled far too much like the ocean, and knowing Dagoba, that wasn’t a compliment. Izuku went outside to the basin and scrubbed at his skin with a rag. As he stood under the stars, he wondered if his father would watch over him in the days to come. He always wondered if his father was watching. He always wondered if his father would be proud of who he was, who he would become.
On the day Izuku was pulled into the world, Midoriya Hisashi was taken from it.
---
Izuku woke sweaty, the summer heat trapped between himself and his mother and the thin cloth blankets she had piled on them. He had lived for eighteen years, and still he slept in the same bed as his mother.
He knew it was early dawn from the way light poured in the window, cast between the bed and the shelves that hung over it. Careful not to disturb his mother, Izuku slipped from the straw mattress and padded across the floor toward the door.
In the mornings, Izuku had a regimented list of chores. He would start by refreshing the water basin; his mother liked to wash when she woke. After he returned from the well, he went to collect an armful of scoured wool from the Bakugous’ stores, enough for his mother to work on throughout the day. He would stop by the chicken coops for a few eggs, which were always in abundance. Today Izuku grabbed six; he found himself feeling gluttonous, excited to eat himself sick.
His mother was rousing upon his return, but he still had more to do. Izuku left upon greeting her for the morning, out the door before Inko could register the kiss upon her forehead. Izuku fetched a pail of drinking water for their breakfast and readied the fire to cook their eggs and stew some of the fruit he had purchased. It was then that Inko emerged, grinning ear to ear, her arms full of their much-anticipated feast.
Izuku did not have chores to run for the Bakugous until after noon, so he helped his mother prepare their breakfast. They worked in companionate silence until they were ready to sit at the table and eat like pigs.
“Many thanks for our food,” his mother said, hands clasped together in a show of reverence, her eyes closed, a small smile upon her lips. “May the Mother bless our son and his name on his eighteenth year.”
Izuku flushed and returned her smile, though she could not see him. “I hope and pray that our Mother continues to watch over myself and my name. May the Mother bless my mother, so that she may continue to watch me grow. May the Mother bless my father, whose soul rests with Her always.”
They ended the prayer without so much as a tear, a great rarity in the Midoriya home. Inko broke the dark rye bread with great care, tearing liberal pieces to sandwich the meat and eggs. Izuku went first for the rice, piling what he could of the greasiest pork on top of it, adding butter and breaking the yolks of the eggs to serve as sauce. It was a dish of pure luxury, he knew, which would serve only to put fat on his cheeks, and he was happy. “Leave room for the fruit,” his mother chided, laughing around a mouthful of bread, and he grinned.
“I’ll make room, regardless of how much I eat today. I think I may yet win the game of breakfast.”
She laughed more, narrowly avoiding choking by gulping down water. “You sound like Katsuki,” she said, and Izuku giggled, then directed his most rambunctious energy toward contorting his face in an angry pout. He was a cheap imitation of the Bakugous’ only son, Izuku’s own childhood tempest, but it furthered their laughter.
“Has he written recently?” Izuku asked; “Katsuki, that is.”
“Not that I’m aware,” his mother answered. “Knightship keeps him busy, or so Masaru says.”
Izuku hummed with agreement. “I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised. He’s never been one for looking back.”
This was, after all, Izuku’s third nameday without Katsuki around; it wasn’t as if they ever particularly celebrated together. However, Mitsuki and Masaru used to let Izuku have his nameday off of work, contingent on Katsuki picking up his slack. Of course, this bothered Katsuki to no end. The second he reached sixteen years of age, Katsuki packed his bags and ran for the capital.
Izuku and Katsuki had never really been friends. Brothers, of sorts, but never friends. He should never have expected Katsuki to send word for his eighteenth. Katsuki could be a member of the King’s Guard now, and they would never know.
His mother seemed eager to move on, no doubt well-aware of the cloud beginning to form over Izuku’s head. “Will you be terribly busy today?” she asked, no doubt hinting at his admission from the night before. He was too tired to go into detail about the work he’d be doing for Le Raser, mostly because he wasn’t certain about it, himself. He hadn’t looked in much detail at the letter Tokoyami gave him, instead waited for a moment alone.
“Not quite,” Izuku said. “Masaru asked me to do some running for the doctor Tsubasa, and then I’ll take the early evening to check on the business I told you about last night.”
His mother smiled, unworried about Izuku’s lack of specificity. She had been concerned about his running for the Raven at first, but after three years, she had calmed. Izuku had never faced a threat against his life under Tokoyami’s watch. The pay was good. Izuku liked feeling important where he could, liked keeping track of politics. His ears were keen and his presence small; those who did not know to look for him provided him with all the secrets he needed to fund his mother’s livelihood.
They took their time in finishing most of the food before them, gorged full of the finest food a peasant could hope to buy. Izuku staggered to his feet, sure he would topple, and he cleared the table for his mother, allowing her more time to sit before she had to face the reality of the day. His stomach was round and quite happy, and he hoped and prayed that his body would not force him to purge.
When his mother was well enough to stand, she laughed and kissed away the green that lingered on his face. “Go and run your errands,” she said, “and later you may lay in bed and bemoan the confines of your belly. I will inform the Bakugos of your upcoming leave.”
Izuku did as he was told. He slipped on his mucky shoes and ambled for the town, taking care not to run himself into nausea. He first stopped by the post, checking for mail for the Bakugos or for Tsubasa, then made his way to the Doctor’s. Tsubasa was an old sort of surgeon, his skin wrinkled with sunspots, his legs weak with fatigue. Izuku did his shopping and any other footwork he required.
Ordinarily, this took a few hours. Tsubasa did not hail him for conversation, despite his loneliness; Tsubasa’s own grandson left the town a year or so before Katsuki did. The Doctor typically harangued him about his physicality, then presented him with a list of chores which Izuku was expected to do. Izuku would complete the list in relative silence, his head down, his feet fleet.
He spent the afternoon on his knees, cleaning floorboards, and running to apothecaries for various tinctures. Half of them were draughts of pain relief for the Doctor himself; the weather had aggravated his arthritis. There was dust in the rafters, which the Doctor did not see, so Izuku cleaned that in order to alleviate his allergies. Izuku had no idea when he would be able to assist him next.
Of course, voicing such was nigh impossible. “D-ah, Doctor?”
The man gave a grunt acknowledging Izuku’s attempt to speak with him, so Izuku continued on. “I have just been informed by another employer that I will be doing work soon that will require an extended absence.”
The Doctor looked up, his long-haired brows bushy and furrowed over his spectacles. “How long, boy?”
“I’m, ah, not sure as of yet. I only just received notice. I’ll be able to get that information to the Bakugous shortly, and they’ll have someone working in my stead.”
“Right,” Tsubasa said. He heaved a large sigh and sat back on his stool, the floor creaking under his weight. “You leaving, too? Following Katsuki like you always did?”
Izuku flushed and shook his head, almost too violently. “It’s not like that!” he protested, “I don’t have the abilities for knighthood.”
“Or royal servitude,” Tsubasa snickered. “Not a single bone in your back, boy. Never was.”
Izuku didn’t know if what he felt was shame, contrition, or vexation. The Doctor’s lips had become looser with age and medicine. He’d never been particularly kind. “Right,” Izuku murmured, ready to leave, hoping to escape the Doctor’s without further haranguing.
“Right,” Tsubasa repeated. “Well, I don’t have any more need of you. Go on, I guess.”
Izuku nodded, bowed, and scrambled out the door. He had better things to think about than the insults of an old man.
Izuku sped home from Doctor Tsubasa’s, his feet aching with the firmness of the ground, the soles of his shoes flimsy and worn. He wondered if he had been sent word from Le Raser, and how word would be sent; he wondered if he should actually look at the instructions he’d been given to quash the nerves which took root in his stomach.
When he returned, his mother was out, no doubt intending on spending her supper with Mitsuki and Masaru. There was no calling waiting for him, so Izuku lit a candle and ate through the leftover bread and cheese before he made for Le Raser’s instructions. The scroll was still folded and stowed in Izuku’s money pouch, and he unfurled it with care to read by the candlelight.
Of course, the first line was—“Instruct our boy to wait for my message. A raven’s call at dusk will provide for him the next part of my instructions.”
He most certainly should have read this before now. Izuku flushed at his misstep, but was pleased that dusk had not yet passed, so he would be able to call upon the raven intended for him. He continued reading.
“Our boy is soon to be of eighteen years, and thus, I have need of his services. Below you will find my initial guidance for him.” the spymaster wrote.
“To the Young Green Valley—it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I have long awaited our work together. As you are aware for your partnership with the Raven, our Eight Kingdoms are in a special state of unrest. The Phoenix is not a level or persuasive sovereign. Traces of the Stag still loom over Yuuei, and as the days pass, those scintillae threaten to spark a blaze which would tear our lands asunder.
“What I ask of you will not be easy. If you so desire, you may ignore my request and inform the Raven of your choice to do so. However, there are some things only you can do for us. It is with a deliberate hand that I have selected you for this mission. Know that your participation in this venture will provide for yourself and your family thousandfold. If anything malicious becomes of you on your journey, I will ensure the keeping of your estate.”
Izuku stopped then, beads of sweat forming readily upon his face and neck. The summer heat and his thunderous heart conspired against him; he would grow wet with fear and anticipation before the letter’s end. “A mission of vast import…” Izuku murmured, his breath sticky on his clasped hands, “for me? Thousandfold compensation?” An insurance policy?
Just what would he be asked to do? Would it truly be so dangerous? He remembered Dr. Tsubasa’s words— “not a single bone in your back, boy. Never was.”
Regardless of the nature of this mission, Le Raser was not someone Izuku could let look down upon him.
“Below, you will find a list of locations in the order I must have you visit them. My future correspondence will describe what you are to accomplish at each location.
i. Tattooin City,
ii. Salty Banks,
iii. Shimura’s Vigil, and lastly
iv. Might’s Valley—the Garden of Ever.”
Izuku’s eyes widened. From Northwestern Shizuoka to the depths of Southern Musutafu… he’d be a stone’s throw from Chiba, Uravity, and even Endeavor. He had never before been so close to so many different places. He’d never travelled further South than Keiyo Road, excluding the time of his birth; The Garden of Ever was supposedly where Izuku entered the world. He wondered if Le Raser knew as such.
“I look forward to your help on these tasks,” Le Raser wrote, his handwriting scrawled lazily across the bottom of the parchment. The closing was signed with a bold cross, Le Raser’s symbol and signet.
Izuku looked outside, legs startled to action by the near-set sun. He could not dally in his procuring the second letter; he could not keep his benefactor waiting.
Izuku made his best impression of Tokoyami, his sweat-slicked fingers pulling at his lips so that he could whistle the tune he had heard so many times before. It was a several seconds before a large, black bird swooped down from the sky. It landed on his arm when Izuku held it out, talons digging into his skin. He winced but tried his best to give a smile, remembering what Tokoyami had said about the ravens thinking kindly of him.
“Thank you for bringing this to me,” he said to the raven, whose head nodded and bobbed, seeming to give him an answer. The raven’s abnormal, golden eyes bore into Izuku’s, knowingly and almost trustingly. It reminded him of Tokoyami.
Izuku took the scroll from the latch on the raven’s leg. “Would you like a treat?” he asked. “We still have some meat left.”
The raven made a series of amicable clicks, head bobbing, as if in acceptance. Izuku laughed and nodded along before moving, slowly, and bringing the raven with him into the house. He left the door open, so that it felt uncontained, and it clung to his arm the whole way. Izuku set the scroll down and picked at the covered food still littering the table in order to withdraw a large chunk of pork. The raven took it from his fingers excitedly and hungrily; it hopped onto the table in order to set the chunk down and pick at it.
Izuku smiled and sat down on a pulled-out stool. He took the letter in his hands and turned his attention to the seal, a cross in black wax, and he knew that he had to read it right then. He broke the seal and unraveled the scroll, his heart thumping like a rabbit’s legs. Izuku set it on a clear part of the table in order to smooth the curl in the parchment, and his eyes jumped to the words before his mind could even comprehend the letters on the page.
“To the Young Green Valley,” the letter started, much like the first, “I thank you for accepting this second letter. As previously written, I will now instruct you on the actions you are to complete in your travels if you so wish to undertake this mission.”
The raven cut his anticipation short with an inquisitive croak. Izuku nearly jumped out of his smallclothes.
“You may go, if you need,” he told the bird, laughing himself out of his fright. “Thank you again,” Izuku said, and the raven answered with a few more clicks. It hopped toward the edge of the table before lurching into flight, slipping from the door like a shadow into the falling twilight.
“I am truly an ass,” Izuku huffed, embarrassment eating at his already fragile sensibility. “The letter, then,” he reminded himself. He reached for the previous letter, which had somehow ended up on the floor in his earlier rush to call the raven. Izuku figured it would be most productive to read the notes side-by-side; he had, admittedly, already forgotten the order of the locations on the list. His mind was boggled and daunted still.
First was to be Tattooin, Izuku reminded himself, reading through the short list. This was not particularly surprising; If Izuku was travelling south, the market town of Tattooin would be an obvious stop. It marked the border of Shizuoka and Musutafu, and Izuku could travel the length of the border down to Salty Banks and the Midori River.
“I. Here you will be utilizing some of the coin I bestowed upon you. Once you arrive, purchase enough food for three days’ travel, though you will be able to restock before that runs out. You will need a hefty waterskin, if you do not have one already, and of course, a horse.
“After you purchase necessities, you will need to go to the western edge of the market district, near the city’s gates. Purchase a quart of elfroot from a tradeswoman in a harlot’s dress. Her eyes will be blue as the sky, and she’ll flirt with you for business. After she gives you her price, tell her that you are offended by the cost. Tell her that The Raven charges less for dragon’s blood.
“She will decrease her cost and pass along a message to me. This will let me know you have accepted my mission. Go ahead with the purchase; elfroot is always useful.”
Izuku would never be able to memorize these sorts of instructions. This was far too detailed; Le Raser was brilliant, of course, but Izuku’s impending involvement with the spymaster seemed to be gargantuan in scale. What could be so important that these instructions warranted such length and specificity?
All Izuku knew was that he could not let this man down. This one mission had the possibility to change his whole life, his mother’s life. The payout would be a veritable fortune for people of their humble means.
And so he continued to read.
-
Mitsuki Bakugou was one of the loudest people Izuku had ever met, excluding her son. Katsuki took after Mitsuki in that respect; his voice was loud, his anger was loud, and his very presence was loud. Mitsuki was all the same, save for Katsuki’s loud quirk.
The tall, beautiful blonde entered the Midoriya home as if she owned it (she did), and Izuku’s mother followed, a contented look on her face. They were talking about something Izuku did not particularly care about, because Izuku did not even hear them coming until Mitsuki was in front of him. His mind was truly a maze; he was always getting lost in his thoughts.
“Happy nameday, Sapling,” Mitsuki tells him, a grin on her face. Inko came and walked around her, smiling patiently, good-naturedly. Izuku’s mother had the same fondness that Izuku had for Katsuki himself, though thankfully, their mothers’ friendship was reciprocated. “You don’t look near fat and happy enough.”
“My sudden last day with the Doctor was arduous,” Izuku mused, “so I’ll be sure to eat my weight again in supper.”
Both Mitsuki and his mother laughed. Izuku stood to greet them properly, still mired in his contemplations and theories, but much more aware of his surroundings. Le Raser’s instructional scroll had long since been tucked away in his pouch, and he had already burned the letter given to him by Tokoyami. Its ash had been scattered along the dirt floor of their home, mixed with dust and soil.
“You’re leaving us, then?” Mitsuki asked, rhetorically, but Izuku nodded, anyway.
“Not for too long,” he said, “but I will be doing a fair amount of travelling. I received word earlier this evening from my employer, actually.”
His mother raised a brow, her eyes hesitant yet expectant, for she did not even know what Izuku would say. “Did you get an estimate of how long you would be gone?” Inko asked.
“Not exactly, but I estimate a month or so. Will that be a problem?”
Mitsuki exchanged glances with his mother and, to Izuku’s surprise, their landlord only shrugged. “We have a soldier from the hinterlands who’s been asking for more work. He can fill in for you just fine,” she said. This was, of course, the first Izuku had heard of such a person, but he was certainly thankful for his existence.
“That’s great,” Izuku nodded, smiling. “And, Mama? Will you be okay?”
Mitsuki smiled and stepped back a bit; Izuku could tell that she had grown to know Inko enough to guess her reactions and responses. As if on cue, his mother’s lip began to quiver. Izuku found in her eyes a wavering that he had never before seen, not even when Izuku broke his arm when he was a boy. She was afraid. “Izuku— ”
She cut off her own words by slamming into him with the force of a worried mother, nearly causing Izuku to stumble. “Our good boy,” she said, clutching him so tight he could hardly breathe. “Of course I’ll be fine. I’ve just never been so long without you.”
And it was true; the longest Izuku had ever been away from his mother was three days, on an errand for the Bakugous in Tattooin. He was sixteen. He cried himself to sleep and never stayed overnight on errands again. When he returned, his mother hadn’t slept at all, and they both cried upon his return.
Disasters, the both of them.
Izuku’s own tears welled up before he could think to stifle them, though the attempt would have been futile. “I’ll miss you,” he told her, voice thick with affection and regret. “I’ll write you so often you won’t be able to miss me.”
“I don’t doubt it,” she said, and drew back to look at him, still holding fast to his arms. “Don’t you worry about my day-to-day. Just get yourself safely back to me.”
“I will,” Izuku promised.
Mitsuki chose that moment to return to their conversation. She laid a hand on Inko’s shoulder, supportive and firm. “Your mother will always be safe here. We’ll all await your return. Will you… will you pass through the capital?”
Izuku stiffened a bit at the subtle inflection in her voice, a hint of maternal worrying, wondering. Katsuki really hadn’t written. “No,” he told Mitsuki. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need for an apology,” she replied.
He nodded sadly, his smile returning, if only in sympathy.
A few more moments passed, and finally, he was allowed to breathe once more. Izuku wiped at his eyes when his mother released him, and he took a deep breath in case she moved to hold him again. She looked so tired that his mind immediately started turning, thinking of how tomorrow should go. He supposed he’d have to pack his things before he washed up and slept; he didn’t want to wake his mother too early. He would need some food for the road, a few changes of clothes, a pair of shoes that would last him, and, of course, how could he forget—
“A horse?” Mitsuki guessed, with a grin. Izuku slapped a hand to his mouth, because one day, his muttering really would be his downfall.
“I—well, yes—but I wouldn’t presume to ask for him, because I know he’s needed, especially when you have someone else taking over my duties—”
“Relax, Sapling,” Mitsuki said. “I think you’re the only one Mikumo listens to, anyway. Stubborn pony.”
Izuku laughed, glad the he would, at least, have an old friend by his side. “Thank you, really.” he said. “I suppose that’s it, then.”
He’d leave in the morning.
---
When Izuku opened his eyes, it was barely light outside. The sun was rising, he could tell, but the rest of the world had yet to stir from the chrysalis of night. Save for him. He couldn’t sleep; the anticipation was too much for his racing thoughts. Despite the heat, he was trembling like a leaf in winter. Izuku was shocked that he had not woken his mother.
He slept on the edge so that he could slip from bed without jostling her. Izuku made quick work of stripping from his clothes into more suitable riding pants, his newest pair of shoes, and a breezy tunic that he would not ruin with sweat. He would grab a leather chest plate from the stable; at the very least, it would fend off any stray arrows. He did not know how many highwaymen he could encounter on his travels.
Izuku left his pack and the belongings he would strap to the horse outside of the home. After he retrieved Mikumo, he would swing back by the house to grab his things and say goodbye to his mother.
Mikumo was awake and eating when he arrived at the stables. His mane was braided, his buckskin coat healthy, and he looked fit for riding. Izuku let him finish before he saddled the gelding, a ritual they had long perfected since breaking him in just over a year ago. Izuku had known Mikumo since birth; he had been Mikumo’s only rider in all that time. Not even Masaru, with his gentle demeanor, could earn the colt’s trust.
They loped home, slow and easy to warm up. Though the southern hills of Shizuoka were an easy ride, he did not want for Mikumo to tire before he knew if he would stay the night in Tattooin or not.
By the time Izuku had finished strapping the extraneous leather packs to the pony, both the sun and his mother had risen. She watched him from the door, a small and fond smile on her face. When Izuku moved to checking the tack and the state of Mikumo’s hooves, she wandered over with some of the leftover fruit to give the colt a treat.
“I know you’ll be careful,” his mother told him, as stern as she could muster.
Izuku laughed and nodded in affirmative. He stood to face her, shoulders squared, a boy of eighteen years masquerading as a fully-grown man, ready for his first journey. Izuku supposed this mission was not only for the betterment of himself and his mother; as he stood tall and ready to fly the nest, he thought of Katsuki, who called him useless, and never looked back.
“I’ll be home soon,” he said.
“Our precious Izuku,” she smiled, “I know you will. May the Mother watch over you. I love you more than you could ever know.”
“And I love you, Mama,” Izuku said. “May the Mother watch over you.”
And so Izuku climbed atop his horse, and he left the sleepy village behind.