The Royal House of Vegeta's Omiai
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Author's Notes:
This is a one-shot about how Prince Vegeta's parents met and wed. This fanfic is based on actual events surrounding the marriage of Japan's current crown prince and princess (P.S.: Ben Hills' biography on Princess Masako entitled "Princess Masako: Prisoner of the Chrysanthemum Throne" is a good read if you can get your hands on it). For the purposes of this fanfic, 'Lycha' is pronounced 'lie-kah.'
I know it's been a while since I've posted anything. But I got the writing bug about this story. It kept rattling around in my head and finally, I just had to exorcise it.
This is my first 'serious' fic I've posed on . I started my debut with some humour fics to test the water and gauge people's response. I was nervous about writing anything back then that could be taken too seriously or offensively, or seen as an excuse for excessive flames. But now I'm feeling pretty confident about releasing this one shot.
Please R/R. I'd really like to know if I've grown at all as an author. I've always wanted to do a 'serious' fic, so please let me know what you think.
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Lycha was warm. The sun was heating her already bronzed body on the hillside above her clan's home. It was a scorching day at the height of the hot weather season. The heat was intoxicating, making her silk petticoat under her sarong stick suffocatingly to her body with perspiration. And it was wonderful. Her people loved this kind of weather.
She reclined in the grass. The cicadas were chirping merrily at a deafening pitch. Pip was flitting about excitedly over her toes, trying to elicit a game of chase from her, but she was in a lazy mood. Her grandmother was some distance away, perched on a stool as she scribbled notes in foreign characters with expensive imported ink on a parchment propped on a tripod. Lycha glanced over at her. She was sitting rigidly straight despite the heat in her finery. She was supposedly lecturing Lycha on her family's ancestry but Lycha was only half listening. Why was it important to know that the Tonkatsu dynasty was an orphaned branch of her clan while the marriage between Beetrix Furikake and Tsukejiru Somen cemented the Furikake-Somen clans' treaty and became the union from which Lycha was a ninth generation descendant? The information was all too difficult to retain and slipped out of her mind faster than water through a sieve.
Lycha slipped another fruit-flavoured sweet-mint into her mouth and resumed her dozing. The mints had been a gift from a foreign suitor and were very expensive. Quite unexpectedly, he had began sending her gifts just less than a year ago after a brief meeting at the Capitol's Moon Festival celebrations. Apparently it wasn't that uncommon where this man came from to begin the courting process before the woman had come-of-age. Her father had quickly dispatched him as unsuitable first for not being a Saiyajin, and second for sending a lady of her station, young as she was, unwarranted presents without first seeking approval from her father. She smiled. Her father could be painfully old-fashioned, and literally too if his brute strength had anything to do with it.
Her father was the local Baron of this land, a power afforded to their family by the sheer strength present in their genes. Lycha's homeland stretched from the banks of the River Uice to the southern oceans. Her father often cautioned her never to go too close to the river. The opposite bank was property of the Royal House of Vegeta. It was mainly woodland, but often the Vegetas came to hunt game and Lycha's father would regret her being caught by one of their rogue ki attacks. Her grandmother informed her of an ancient grudge between their House and the House of Vegeta. Apparently a battle had been forged on the banks of that river between their clans over a territory dispute. Naturally, Lycha hardly paid attention to her grandmother's history lessons. Her mother had held a similar regard for schooling before she died, something her Grandmother was often muttering about as a trait which had been unfortunately passed on to Lycha. Lycha sighed. Her mother's departure from this world had not been an honourable one, meaning that she had not lost her life in battle as many Saiyajins hailed as the most glorified death. She had died of a mysteriously illness before Lycha had reached one year of age.
Lycha rolled onto her stomach and kicked her bare feet playfully into the air, the ornate gold earrings at her ears glinting in the sunlight. She pursed her lips and made a sharp squeaking sound to summon Pip. He appeared out of some long grass where he had been terrorizing the local cicada population.
The eleven-year-old scooped the little fawn-coloured ferret up and placed him on his usual perch upon her shoulder. Lycha made sure to give his illustrious tail a good stroking. His ego deserved a boost; she had been neglecting him all morning. Her grandmother was nattering about something, a lesson in propriety no doubt, but her attention was focused on her calligraphy. Lycha gathered her colourful skirts and slinked away, her tail unfurled in gay abandon. She headed down the other side of the hill, away from the estate. A dip in that lovely river would be heaven right now, even if it was over a half-hour flight away.
******************
Lycha emerged from the crystal-clear river sopping wet, wearing nothing but her petticoat which was now virtually transparent. Her grandmother's lessons in propriety were the farthest thoughts from her mind. 'That was refreshing,' she thought to herself. She turned and watched the water slip slowly by at a lazy pace. Even the river's current was sluggish in this heat.
Pip waited patiently by her clothes which were draped over the branches of an arid tree. Lycha smiled and found a warm rock on which to begin practicing her katas. It seemed the quickest way for her to get the petticoat she was wearing dry. She crouched, raised her arms defensively, dipped and changed the direction of her focus, periodically lashing out with a fist or foot, and repeated. This continued for several moments before the skin-crawling sensation of an unwanted presence overcame her senses. The birdlife on the far bank had gone silent.
Lycha swore. If anyone saw her and relayed to her father, she would be in so much trouble for going somewhere he had forbade her to go. Pip made a noise of discontent. Lycha glanced at him. He was on all fours, staring furiously at the far back, fur bristling. Lycha set her focus in the same direction and watched for movement, at this stage unsure if the intrusion was of malevolent intention.
Within moments, a figure emerged from the long grasses on the opposite bank. A man. Or a boy? He was too short for a man. The boy didn't seem to notice her. Tail tucked firmly around his waist, he opened his canteen and stooped to the river to refill it. Lycha recognised him instantly and stifled a gasp. It was the Crown Prince! Prince Vegeta the VII! But it was way too early in the season for hunting, wasn't it? What was he doing here?
Lycha took a step back. Maybe if she could slip away quietly, the prince would never know she had been here and she might not get in trouble. At that moment, Pip made the poor decision to growl warningly at the stranger. His tiny form, fitting perfectly into Lycha's cupped hands, was deceptively capable of loud predatory noises. Lycha cursed softly and glanced back at the prince.
He was looking straight at them. He looked surprised. The surprise quickly turned to anger. All Lycha could think was, 'I'm standing in front of a member of the Royal Household in my underwear.' She blushed furiously.
"You there!" He shouted imperiously, pointing a finger at her. "This land is property of the Vegeta clan!"
Lycha switched from embarrassment to indignation at mach speed. "Your land? This side of the river belongs to the Somen Clan," She shouted at him with hands planted firmly on her hips.
He blinked at her. "You're a Somen?" he questioned. Then realisation seemed to dawn on his features. "Ah, of course. I should have recognised the ragged clothing." He smirked superiorly at her.
"How dare you!" she hissed shrilly. "These aren't my regular clothes!" (She paused to indicate her attire.) "They're my undergarmen-" She stopped to look down at her clothes. She'd momentarily forgotten in her anger that she was indeed still wearing nothing but her soaking wet underwear. Which was still very much transparent.
She tried to cover herself with her hands and arms. She glanced back up in mortification and gasped when the prince had disappeared from sight. She looking about in fright before, with an almighty thud, the prince descended from his short flight and landed directly in front of her. She leapt back in surprise, slipped off the wet rock and landed on her bottom in the dirt. Lycha felt she was about to cry. The dirt had spoilt her lovely new, white petticoat. She would surely be scolded for ruining it, which now also provided evidence of her misdoings in skipping her grandmother's lessons. She glared up at the young man.
He 'humph'-ed in amusement. "That'll teach you for answering back. Do you even know who I am?"
"Of course I do," she retorted. "You're the Crown Prince, Vegeta the VII, renowned across the land for his enormous ego and bad habit of jumping out on unsuspecting girls with the intention of ruining their clothes." Lycha bit her lip. Surely he would strike her now.
The prince just laughed. "You sure are strange," he smiled. "Are all Somen clansmen this weird? Tell me, do they roll in the dirt too?"
Lycha stood and raised her nose haughtily in the air. "I don't have to sit here and take this." She felt strange saying so. She had never formally met a member of the Royal Family. Her grandmother had said in the unlikely event to make sure she was very polite and unassuming, and to keep her sharp tongue securely in her mouth. So far she hadn't adhered to one of her grandmother's instructions. She felt it was too late to go back now and it seemed silly to prostrate herself in the dirt, becoming even more filthy, in front of this boy who was only a couple of years older than herself and beg forgiveness. She felt she had filled her quota for humiliation today.
She gathered up her clothes and Pip, who was still growling and looked like he really wanted to give the prince a good hard bite, and took to the air, trying not to feel too much like she was running scared.
"And don't let me catch you on Vegeta territory again!" he called after her playfully.
"It's Somen territory, you idiot!" she shrieked back at him and then prayed he didn't decide to chase her down for retribution or worse, tell her father where she'd been.
When she got home, true to her predictions, her father administered a grueling training session with her katanas for ruining her new clothes and her grandmother assigned her an long essay on why it was inappropriate to sneak away from her lessons to play in the mud. Lycha felt she deserved it as she sat in her room that evening in the dim light, setting down the essay on parchment as her Grandmother insisted all essays be submitted despite the ready availability of computing technology. She was just about finished adding all twenty-seven rules of etiquette for ladies put forth by the Somen Clan, when Pip tugged insistently on her sleeve. It was getting late. And it was past bedtime.
She curled up on her large bed with Pip beside her. She had told her father that she had gone to the river, but she had conveniently left out the part about the meeting with Prince Vegeta. She felt she was in enough trouble. It had certainly been a strange encounter and hopefully their last. She decided it was unwise to think too much on the confrontation and turned her thoughts towards sleep.
*************
"Me?" Lycha asked incredulously. 'This doesn't make sense! And it's been almost five years since I even met him,' she wondered to herself.
Her grandmother nodded in confirmation. "That's right," she said. "The Royal House of Vegeta has confirmed a list of possible bride candidates for the young prince now that he is of age. And you are one of the girls on that list."
Lycha and her grandmother were sitting across from each other in the dining hall. They were surrounded by tapestries depicting great battles. The tall windows were hooded by thick dark-coloured curtains. The scene cast a dark mood over their conversation.
"But I'm only sixteen," Lycha replied morosely. Honestly, she had never considered marriage an option for herself. She wanted to remain as free as possible. She saw her life ahead as that of tending to her father's estate and the needs of the local people, spending her spare time hunting in the arid grass plains that surrounded her home. Marriage was the farthest thing from her mind.
"That does not matter," her grandmother said sternly. She set her posture a little more rigidly as though to indicate the matter was as not one for debate. "If, hypothetically, you were chosen, the marriage would be postponed until you had come of age. The prince is now eighteen years old. He may choose a bride from a selection of candidates approved by the Royal House, but failing to do so, one will be selected for him. In any event, the palace has contacted me." (Lycha briefly imagined her Grandmother grappling awkwardly with a communication technology foreign to her, and stifled a giggle) "I was told that at first, you were not at all to be considered an appropriate option for the prince, given the bad blood between our families and the unusual circumstances surrounding your mother's death." She paused to frown disapprovingly of the memory. Truly such a death was abhorred in their culture. "They fear the illness may be hereditary."
"I almost wish it were," Lycha muttered incoherently. She crossed her legs in a huff, and folded her arms.
"But the Prince, for reasons unknown, especially asked for you to be short-listed and his family relented," her grandmother continued. For reasons unknown. Lycha smiled inwardly. She remembered their brief and only encounter of the banks of the River Uice. She doubted she had made any positive impression on the young boy. Why was he interested in her now? It was probably just a desire to expand Vegeta territory.
"I expect it has something to do with the natural strength many Somens possess," her grandmother continued.
Lycha sighed. "Do I get a say in any of this?"
"No."
"Well, what does father say?"
"He understood that the day would eventually come when your union with another would become a topic for debate," her grandmother averted her gaze. "…Though we are all surprised that the Royal House could provide a potential husband. Your father wished fervently for a son, someone to inherit his name and his property, and yet you, a girl, are his only heir. The fate of the people who live on Somen territory are also to be considered here." Her grandmother returned Lycha's curious gaze. "Such a union would require a contractual stipulation providing the safety of this land's people. Something, I'm sure, the palace is unlikely to agree to."
Her grandmother scrutinized her closely for a moment. Lycha kept her gaze on the grain of the wooden table before her, thinking. "Don't worry, Ly'. The possibility that the Prince will ultimately choose our family for such an honour is unlikely."
'Thanks for the vote of confidence,' Lycha seethed. Though in truth she was happy, marriage, let alone to the prince, was very unappealing.
"Ly', please don't discard the notion of marriage. Your father and I, we still have high hopes for your union…"
"Let me guess, a political union? There's tradition to consider after all," Lycha said with disdain. Pip appeared from nowhere then and crawled into her lap, instantly dozing off. Lycha's anger dissipated.
Her grandmother sighed heavily. "All we want is your happiness."
'No, all you want is to control me like a puppet,' Lycha brooded but kept her thoughts to herself. Admittedly, it was an unfair statement.
"You know, there are rumours that a war is looming," the older woman went on. On any other planet, this statement would strike fear into the listener, but on Planet Vegeta, the ringing thrill of war was a constant presence in every Saiyajin's heart, a fire waiting to be stoked. "Freiza's army advances. The Royal House must decided if the Saiyajins and neighbouring allied planets will rise against them or cow under Freiza's yoke. Freiza knows the power of the Saiyan people would make a powerful resource. In these times of uncertainty, many young ones are considering marriage. Now is a good time to be hunting for a husband before they all go away to war. After all, if a war comes in the next decade, our numbers will need a significant boost…"
Lycha held up a hand to stay the lecture. "I get it, Grandmother. Believe me, I do… I'll think about it."
Her grandmother smiled at this.
"I'm glad. I'd love for the dark and dusty halls of the Somen estate to be filled with the laughter of children again. It would make your father very happy if you could produce a male heir to inherit his property."
Lycha leaned back in her chair, only half listening to her grandmother. She stroked Pip absently. Marriage, huh? Well if it made her father happy… Lycha smiled.
"I've always wanted a boy."
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It was less than a year later that Lycha found herself kneeling demurely on a woven mat in one of the Palace's many banquet rooms. Of course, she and her grandmother had been positioned furthest from the Royals' table, being of a lower rank than the other higher ranking officials and aristocrats. They were dining on sweet-meets and rice wine before the main banquet.
Lycha and her grandmother had been invited based merely on the fact that Lycha was being considered for a potential bride for the Prince. She was not the only young woman of such a position present tonight; half a dozen other bride candidates had been invited as well. Though if the seating arrangement were any indication, the Royal House was not considering Lycha a very likely possibility on the list of candidates. Her grandmother, seated next to her, was murmuring something about sitting up straighter.
The occasion was the celebration of the anniversary of the God of Flames' supposed descent from the heavens to take a mortal bride. It was legend that the House of Vegeta were direct descendents from this union. But this was all supposedly thousands of years ago and many modern Saiyajin rarely believed such superstition. What reason was there to believe in the House of Vegeta's divinity when advancements in modern technology seemed to prove more and more the non-existence of godly beings?
Speaking of godly beings, Lycha had just caught a glimpse of the young prince between a gap in the well-wishers at the Royals' table. He had certainly changed since their first meeting. Lycha studied his attractive features, and then chastised herself for her impure thoughts. They had been formally introduced at the beginning of the evening. Lycha had kept her gaze appropriately averted and bowed deeply, praying the prince would not remember who she was from that day by the river. She only released the breath she had been holding after they were shown to their seats at the back of the hall. Looking at him now, just few months away from his nineteenth birthday, Lycha realised he had grown exponentially since their last meeting. He was tall, touted untidy stubble and yet looked very handsome decked out in his royal formalwear. Tight breeches under a short, neatly folded kimono, its dark fabric shone in the dimmed light. He looked sullen and bored with the whole occasion. Just as quickly as the gap opened, it closed again, and Vegeta was blocked from her view.
"Eyes straight," her grandmother muttered.
Lycha whipped her head around, realising she had been staring, and tried to rejoin the conversation. The people seated with her at their table were talking about a sudden economic crisis which had developed in the trade ports to the north. Apparently more and more Saiyajin allies were mysteriously cutting off their trade relationships with the Saiyajin people. It was all very boring to Lycha.
Servants began bringing out the first course. Plates were overflowing with delicacies and the wine flowed freely. Lycha lost track of how many subsequent courses there were, the wine was making her light-headed.
Much later, when everyone had had a little more wine, and the social niceties were becoming less and less observed, Lycha noticed people were becoming less formal with one another and deemed it the perfect moment to sneak into the garden to get a little air.
Closing the silk partition behind her, she emerged from the banquet room into a luscious garden. Everywhere, exotic flowers extended their aromatic fragrances invitingly to her senses. She breathed in the night air. Her gown was so constrictive. She was draped in ornate silks and heavy muslin which made it difficult to move. Her long, dark spiky locks were swept upward in a loose arrangement on her head, secured with pins and ornaments. Her grandmother had hung delicate chains made from precious metals around her neck and wrists. They used to belong to her mother. The deep purple and blue hues of her outfit highlighted her bronzed skin and dark eyes. Her grandmother had instructed her to keep her tail tightly tucked around her waist. That is how a Saiyajin woman must command herself in the presence of royalty, but Lycha was terribly uncomfortable. She let it unfurl just a little, an action which reminded her of days gone by.
With a nostalgic feeling creeping over her, she strolled barefooted into the Royal gardens. She situated herself by a gushing fountain and leaned over to watch the unnaturally beautiful water-dwellers gliding gracefully through the water within. She had never seen such colourful fish like these before. She leaned a little closer.
"They were a gift," came a voice. Lycha very nearly lost her balance and toppled into the water. She whirled indignantly to see who had interrupted her. It was the prince, of course. Lycha mentally rolled her eyes, the predictability of the situation reminded her of one of the rare books of love stories she had found in her mother's library. She secured her loosened tail a little more tightly around her and hoped the prince did not notice the movement.
"Kawa no Namida," Vegeta elaborated, indicating towards the creatures in the water. "They were a gift from a foreign dignitary. Some say their movements predict the future."
She frowned at him. He was looking devilishly handsome, as before. From the upswept flame of his auburn hair to the neatly tucked tail, he was striking. She desperately tried to ignore the increasing pace of her heart and once more banished the impure thoughts from her mind.
"Fascinating," Lycha managed a tone of disinterest and looked back at the 'Kawa no Namida.' She was unsure how to proceed. How did he feel about her since the incident by the river? Did he even remember her? Why had he asked for her to be considered by his family for a bride candidate at all? Too many questions were coursing through her and nothing she could have done in the lead up to this event could have prepared her for such an unexpected meeting with the prince by moonlight in a secluded area of the gardens.
"I saw you sneaking away from the banquet. I believe we've met before," he bowed mockingly.
'Darn,' Lycha thought. 'He does remember me.' She didn't quite know what to say and felt a little embarrassed so she did what she always did in such a situation; she opened her big trap. "You owe me a pettticoat."
He laughed outright. Lycha was a little relieved.
"I suppose I should apologise for startling you and causing you to fall in the mud," he smiled, eyes twinkling.
"Yes. Nasty habit that one of yours." He just kept smiling. He was really unlike anything she would have imagined him to be. He was not cold and aloof, but somewhat …playful? Charismatic? "Actually, I'll absolve you of an apology if you'll answer some questions I have?" Lycha decided to seize the opportunity.
"Fire away," he replied pleasantly and took a seat beside her.
"Why did you want me to be considered for a bride candidate?" Lycha had been told by her grandmother that she was much too blunt and forward in her conversations, but Lycha felt such a situation necessitated a little gentle force.
Vegeta frowned. Apparently the question was a little too forward. "Well, I did remember our first meeting. It was a few years later when my mother was parading potential brides in front of me one day that I thought back to that moment we had met and wondered 'Why can't I have a wife more like that? Brave and outspoken. Not passive and inoffensive like these girls.' The answer seemed obvious. Ask my family and the royal advisors to consider you as a candidate." He clasped his hands around his crossed knees in finality.
Lycha blinked. Could it be that simple? "You wanted a more… fiery bride?"
"If my lineage is any indication, fiery desire seems to run in the family," he smiled.
'Was he joking?' Lycha wondered. She didn't like being made fun of. It was one of the reasons she often fought, physically, with the local boys when she was growing up, and almost always won.
"Well, I'm honoured," she said politely.
"No need," he responded. "You were just the only person like that I could think of."
Lycha knew he was baiting her and quelled her rage. "That's quite a feat for a man of your limited brain capacity." Darnn! She'd done it again!
But Vegeta was laughing again. "That's exactly what I mean," he said. "A personality like that is needed around here to breathe new life into this old-fashion establishment."
She smiled at the boy who was speaking openly with child-like enthusiasm beside her. She was sad she was about to disappoint him. "I could only marry on one condition, Vegeta." That seemed to pique his attention. Or at least the informal use of his name did. "My father has no male heir. Our clan dwindles in numbers. There are few who can carry on with the governing of the people of the Somen territory. I must ask for a treaty, sealed by a union in marriage, that their lives will go unchanged by my absence. It is unfair for any potential bride of yours to place any conditions on the marriage or bargain with the Royal House of Vegeta. It is for this reason I am sure your family will not approve any union between you and I. I thankyou, however, for your consideration." She finished with a downward gaze.
Vegeta's expression was unchanged. They sat in silence for the longest time, Vegeta just watching her face intently. "Tell me," he began. "Is your line truly descendent from the great swordsman, Enoki de Somen, who fought for the Somen Clan in the great battle between our families centuries ago?"
Lycha nodded mutely.
"Amazing," he remarked and settled his gaze on the stars.
"I was trained in his style of swordsmanship," she said conversationally.
"Highly unusual for a Saiyajin to be trained in the craft of a weapon," he replied.
"I know. We Saiyajins prefer hand-to-hand combat," she smiled. "But we Somen's prefer to keep with our traditions."
"Perhaps you could give me a demonstration one day?" Vegeta seemed hopeful.
"If we are ever allowed to see each other again, sure." She paused. "Do you really think a war might be coming?"
He shrugged. "It's possible. Most of the politicians seem excited about the prospect. I don't know if I myself am so enthusiastic. I've heard some terrible things about Freiza and his armies. But don't worry, they're virtually on the opposite side of the galaxy and it would be illogical for him to set his sights on us Saiyajins. We're not the most technologically advanced race, and our trade relations and political allies mainly secure our foreign food sources. Our only valuable export is our warriors, and they will readily rise against any who try to control them. What point could there be in coming here?" Somehow he did not sound too reassuring.
Lycha sent a wistful glance at the Kawa no Namida and stood. She gathered her skirts around her and said, "We'd better be getting back before someone notices we are missing."
He agreed and escorted her back towards the celebrations. They parted ways in the banquet hall and Vegeta resumed his princely duties. Lycha came away from the whole exchange feeling as though it had all been a dream. Had she really spoken so informally with the prince? And refused his advances? Maybe she really had drunk too much. She sat down beside her grandmother, feeling a bit dizzy. Thankfully her grandmother had dozed off in her zaisu and had missed Lycha's absence entirely.
*****************
It was just a few days away from Lycha's eighteenth birthday, the day she would come of age, and she was being whisked away from Somen territory and was heading towards the Capitol in a highly advance piece of transport. Just a few short hours ago, she had finished packing a few items of clothing, bid farewell to her father and grandmother with a stiff upper lip and departed in a carriage sent by the Royal Household to collect her. She could not deny she was more than a little nervous. Pip was curled up, dozing dutifully on her lap, completely oblivious to life-changing events which lay ahead. Lycha was to be wed to Crown Prince Vegeta the VII on the day of her birthday. She would no longer be a lady of the Somen household, her father and grandmother were to no longer be any part of her life, and she already felt the displacement. 'You'll be fine,' she reassured herself. 'You are doing this for your people.'
They arrived at a well-to-do dwelling about an hour later. "This is not the palace," Lycha said nervously to the automated driver.
"We are taking a designated rest break," the computer system replied smoothly in pre-recorded Saiyago. "You will be fed and watered here before we move on."
"What am I now? A horse?" Lycha muttered as the door opened and several young female attendants helped her out of the carriage. Pip was awake now and had climbed onto her shoulder to lend her some reassurance with his steady weight. A stern looking woman seemed to be over-seeing the accumulation of servants from a little distance away. "Please don't forget my bag," Lycha said to one of the young girls nearby.
"You won't be needing that," the woman was now approaching Lycha. "I am Hachiya and I will be over-seeing your orientation to the palace and preparing you for the ceremony over the next few days." Hachiya bowed formally. Lycha was not sure if she should do the same and tried desperately to remember her lessons in royal etiquette. Why didn't she ever pay attention to her lessons? She settled for a deep inclination of her head in acknowledgement. Hachiya seemed satisfied.
"You will not be needing any possessions. You must not retain anything which ties you to the land of Somen. Your attendants at the palace will provide you with everything you need. As such, your clothing and any other items must be left behind today, and you will be clothed everyday in the garments befitting your new station as selected by myself." Again, she stooped into a humble bow. "If you will follow me, we will move into the bedchamber of the Royal Coaching House…" (She indicated the towering building behind her.) "… and we shall begin."
Lycha nodded mutely and followed after the woman. Before Lycha could even react, one of the many milling attendants swooped in close, plucked Pip from her shoulder and walked swiftly away. Pip let out a pained whimper in protest. "Pip!" Lycha cried out in astonishment, reaching out to take Pip back, but the attendants herded her back towards the Coaching House.
"When we get to the palace, you may have a new pet. One approved by the Royal Household," Hachiya said firmly, eying the small crying form of Pip with disdain.
Lycha furiously bit back the tears that threatened to spill as she was guided into an elaborate bedchamber on one of the Coaching House's upper levels. She barely paid any attention to the attendants who stripped her bare and guided her into the adjoined bathroom. She was bathed with aromatic oils in a sunken pool in the middle of the floor. She was dried and redressed in foreign clothing so restrictive and heavy, Lycha could hardly breathe. What little of her mother's jewelry she had chosen to wear that day had been taken from her. She numbly went through the movements of getting dressed as the attendants painted her face in suitable hues.
No one seemed to be able to confirm Pip's safe passage back to the Somen estate. Lycha cursed herself for believing she would be allowed to keep him at all. She cursed herself again for becoming so emotional about her life-long pet in front of strangers. She would miss him dearly. But now, she needed to focus on the task at hand. She steeled herself.
Hours later, she was being ushered into another transport and, with Hachiya beside her, they began another long journey that would end at the palace.
**********************
Lycha was shown into a bedchamber at the palace. She was still reeling from what she had just seen. As they had arrived in the early hours of the morning, under cover of darkness, expecting to smuggle Lycha into the palace through a rear entrance, they were un-expectantly greeted by an endless throng of well-wishers who seemed to have been waiting for days to scream in deafening tones of approval at their new Queen-to-be. Young Saiyajin girls were looking up at her with a mixture of admiration and envy in their eyes as she ascending a short staircase under Hachiya's guidance. Men were shouting words of appraisal at her. The crowd seemed to be shouting something about her embodying the hopes of all Saiyajin classes. Flowers were thrown at her. She blushed at the memory.
Hachiya followed her into the room and cleared her throat to gain Lycha's attention. "You may sleep here for a few hours if you like. You will breakfast at dawn and then you will spend your days being schooled on the upcoming ceremony." Lycha nodded her understanding. The next few days would be filled with lessons, and Lycha had always abhorred her lessons. She had been on a strict course of study since the marriage was announced; memorising Vegeta family history and lineage, learning royal etiquettes and brushing up on her royal obligations.
There didn't seem to be anything left for Hachiya to say so she bowed and retreated out of the room. Lycha sat cautiously on the bed for the longest moment before removing her shawl. Dawn was only a few short hours away. She really should get some rest. She took a good look around. The walls were stone, covered in obscure carvings, cold. Navy-coloured drapes hung from the ceiling. The tall windows were blackened by night. It was a room which seemed to indicate little of the comforts of home. It was eerily still. Lycha felt very much alone just then.
As her eyes roamed, they came to rest on a table at the centre of the large room. Upon in lay an odd-shaped object wrapped in a layer of silk. A note had been left on top. She wandered over for closer inspection. She picked up the note for examination. It was made of delicate rice paper, and on it was a message printed in small slanted hand writing which she could only guess belonged to Prince Vegeta. 'Vegeta…'
The last time she had seen him was when he and a royal escort arrived at her father's estate to make the formal marriage proposal in tones which implied that they were not to be challenged. They did, however, acquiesce her one condition (to Lycha's joy). Her father could not refuse. Lycha had sat in silence at her father's right hand, listening intently. Vegeta must have really pulled one over on his family to garner their support for this marriage. It was to be the first royal union on record being between a woman of Lycha's station, and selected solely and personally by the Crown Prince. The months that followed were filled with gifts for the Somen Clan; rich rolls of silk, gold, bottles of fine wine, the list was endless… But this silk-wrapped oddity was her first wedding gift, or so the accompanying note indicated. None of the snotty tones reminiscent of the haughty boy she had once met by the river were present in this eloquently written note. It read:
My bride,
Please accept this modest gift to keep you mindful of your humble and dutiful fiancé. Let it also serve as a reminder to honour your promise made years ago to demonstrate for me the sword-skills of the Somen Clan.
Your eternal servant,
Vegeta.
Her 'sword skills?' They were all she had left of her Somen heritage. She vaguely remembered saying something in the palace gardens during the God of Flames celebrations years ago about showing him her abilities with a sword. She put down the note and unveiled the covered item on the table. She stood speechless momentarily. On the table lay two sheathed curved blades. Virtually identical, the sheaths and hilts were decorated in elaborate designs and wrapped in dark layered cords. The hand guard was made of engraved silver so light in colour that it almost shone white. The etchings seemed to depict the swirling artful movements of some familiar aquatic creatures. "Kawa no Namida," she gasped in surprise. On the hilt, in an ancient script was the simple dedication: 'Given in memoriam of a union this day, the Queen's Birthday' followed by the date of her birth.
Lycha was moved by their beauty. She had mournfully relinquished ownership of the ancient swords, once the property of Enoki de Somen, handed down through generations, when she became aware of her impending departure from the Somen Clan. Vegeta had just now given to her her own swords with which to continue her craft. They would one day become heirlooms, passed on to her children, her children's children…
She unsheathed one of the swords and examined the blade. It was artfully forged. Not a single imperfection. The curve was perfect, the steel a blinding white tone, virtually unbreakable. The etchings, she discovered, continued down the blade. She put it through a few paces. The ringing song it made and it sliced the air was deadly beautiful. Lycha felt she was in a dream. She replaced the sword and glanced around herself. How long had she been standing there? She had better get to bed.
She did so, shedding her robes and crawling under the heavy covers of the large bed in the chilly air. Vegeta's gift had made her feel much better. The knowledge that in just a few days, she, the daughter of an enemy clan to the House of Vegeta, a girl at the lower end of the upper class faction, was going to be Queen of the Saiyajin, a wife. She wondered where Vegeta was and what he was doing. She was exhausted. She fell asleep almost right away at that point. And she dreamt of Pip.
***********************
The seasons passed. Many hot seasons came and went. Now it was the wet season. Lycha was standing in her bedchambers which she shared with her husband. It was early evening. She had not even dined on her evening meal yet. The queen quickly fastened a heavy traveler's cloak firmly around her shoulders. She'd chosen one which would provide camouflage with its dark colour and warmth against the chill.
She turned, a little startled, at the sound of the king entering the room. "You're jumpy," he commented in his deep baritone voice.
"Husband, have all the arrangements been made?" she asked anxiously.
"The change of guard occurs in a few moments, which will give us just about the right amount of time to take the back passageway down to the courtyard. I have paid a coachman handsomely for a discreet transport to convey you to Somen territory."
"I will be gone about a day," she told him. "Will you be able to make excuses for me in the mean time?"
"I'll handle it," he smirked. He took a meaningful step towards her. She accepted his embrace. Rarely did they share moments like this. He must be nervous. They stood silently together for a moment before Lycha pulled back and, leaning up on tip toes, planted the softest kiss on the corner of his mouth. She was met by the familiar rough graze of his facial hair. 'I will miss him.' she thought, though she wouldn't admit it aloud. They had spent every night together in the same bed since the night of their wedding. They even accompanied each other on diplomatic journeys. This would be their first night apart. The first in five years.
He was looking down at her curiously. He really was comparatively taller than when they had first met, while she had remained the same height she had been when she was seventeen. She had always regretted her abnormally short stature. She brushed the dark locks out of her eyes and placed the cloak's hood over her head, pulling it low enough to obscure her face. Vegeta watched her before tracing a hand over her rounded stomach. She understood his meaning; she was just a few months along. He was worried about them.
Lycha had prayed fervently for a son. First because she understood the importance of a male heir all too well, and second because she had always wanted a boy. Finally, after many years the victims of ridicule and rumours, they were expecting a child. The Saiyajin Senate had been particularly vocal for the last five years on the subject of her ability, or lack thereof, to produce a male heir. Her critics had even allured to her mother's mysterious and fatal illness as somehow inhibiting the fertilisation process. Lycha huffed in disdain. Of course, it was her fault. It always was. But that didn't matter now.
Lycha cast her mind back to their wedding day. The culmination of the preceding days finally came to an overwhelming crescendo for Lycha. It was all she could do to concentrate on not fainting. She had knelt beside her husband-to-be on the dias of the God of Flames' temple as the priest before them made an offering to secure the success and fruitfulness of their marriage. At their backs was a several thousand strong audience clogging every spare patch of space in the enormous auditorium to witness their union. The weight of her scarlet-coloured ceremonial robes had almost been unbearable. Beside her, Vegeta was sweating profusely in his finery. He looked very pale. He glanced over and caught her eye. He tried to smile reassuringly, but she felt he was in more need or reassurance than herself.
Lycha was very much aware that she was in very close proximity to Vegeta for the first time in several months. They had not spent much time together at all except for the handful of times since their initial meeting. While the elderly priest chanted loudly in an ancient tongue, Vegeta leaned minutely closer to her. "You're looking very fetching," he whispered. He meant the colloquialism to make her feel more comfortable. She could see his parents surveying the proceedings with blank faces over his shoulder.
She smirked in reply.
"I was just wondering if you remember how we met?" he asked quietly.
"How could I forget? I was wearing nothing but my underwear." She barely contained her grin.
"Which reminds me; I owe you a petticoat." He was still smiling. "I am happy you accepted my proposal."
"I am happy you accepted my condition." As an afterthought, she added, "And thank you for my wedding gift. They were truly beautiful." She felt she had said too much then and blushed. But Vegeta, as always, just returned her smile. He seemed pleased.
He returned his gaze to the altar. The rest of the day was a blur of banquets, polite conversation with well-wishers, and lengthy rituals (which culminated in the new King and Queen's Coronation Ceremony). Lycha had sorely wished her family could be there. Later that night, after an embarrassing visit from her new in-laws who blessed the bed on which they would consummate their vows, Lycha turned in Vegeta's arms to look up at his face. He had had a big day and was nearing unconsciousness. He was running his hands over the bare, dark skin of her shoulders absently.
"I still don't know why you chose me," she had whispered in the dark.
"Easy. 'Cause I knew you would be more fun."
It wasn't long after the marriage ceremony that Lycha and Vegeta's compatibility as a married couple felt as natural to Lycha as breathing. Despite their many years apart prior to the marriage, their first year together as husband and wife was unchallenging. Of course this was before the pressure mounted on Lycha to produce an heir.
She looked up at her husband, her mind returning to the present. "We'd best go. We're running out of time."
***********************
They waited until a guard passed by his checkpoint and disappeared around a corner. They were following one of Vegeta's trusted pageboys through many hidden passageways and disused corridors down to the courtyard. They had had to bribe a few soldiers on the way for their silence. If the Royal Family knew what they were up to… But Lycha couldn't worry about that; they were almost there.
Finally exiting the palace into the chilly night air, Vegeta quickly stowed her away into the waiting carriage. There was no time for last minute goodbyes. She sent him a wistful look as the carriage sped away. Vegeta returned the gaze before allowing the pageboy to tug him insistently back inside. They must not be seen. He must return to the royal dining room before anyone noticed something was amiss. What he and his wife had conspired was a highly punishable offence.
When Lycha wed into the Royal House, she was legally no longer considered a member of the Somen Clan. Her name was stricken from their records and she was to no longer consider them as family. She was a member of the Vegeta Clan now. The Royal Family was her only family. The Somen Clan was considered beneath her. But Lycha had revealed to her husband about a year into their marriage, that she had maintained confidantes in the Somen House who fed her information about her father and grandmother's wellbeing through a secret messaging system. He hadn't really been that surprised and indulged her harmless desire to know of her family's doings. But less than a couple of hours ago, Lycha received word that her grandmother had taken ill and was bedridden. At that, Vegeta had been surprised; Saiyajin rarely died of old age, more commonly dying in battle, yet the phenomenon seemed to be common amidst elderly women. Lycha was aware of her grandmother's failing health, but the prospect that she may be on her deathbed was too much for her to bear. Lycha had to see her and pay her last respects. Of course, the Royal Family would never allow Lycha the pleasure of visiting with her family who they still considered of poor breeding due to the grudge between their clans. Vegeta and Lycha had taken matters into their own hands.
Vegeta pinched the bridge of his nose. The next twenty-four hours would be very stressful, even more so than a pressing Senate meeting. He didn't understand the stifling mentality of his old-fashioned family who still believed in such nonsense as class segregation. It was one of the reasons the Saiyajin people had really embraced the new king and queen's union as a refreshing embodiment of the Saiyajin people's modern ideals. Vegeta knew Lycha was a role model to many young women. He was very proud of her. But now, he had to appear at a family banquet and explain away his wife's absence. He returned to his bedchambers and prepared to meet with his relatives.
***********************
"Vegeta." It was his father speaking. "Your beautiful wife is notably absent this evening. I hope she isn't too ill to attend?" he said evenly as he replaced his wine goblet on the low table.
Vegeta had just entered the dining room and assumed his seat, the herald having announced his arrival. All eyes were on him, which was understandable because he was very late.
"My apologies for my belated arrival, but my wife has indeed taken ill," Vegeta explained. "She is too unwell to attend this evening and sends her apologies."
"I do hope it is not too serious," his mother inquired. She settled her cold, calculating gaze on him. Vegeta returned the stare. He knew his family still disapproved of Lycha. They were probably pleased at prospect of his wife's illness.
Vegeta noticed that his cousin, poised to inherit the throne should anything happen to himself or his unborn heir, looked up hopefully at the talk of Lycha's invented illness.
"Should we be concerned about the unborn child?" his mother continued as though they were discussing something as benign as the weather.
"There is no need for concern. Neither of them is in any danger. It is a minor viral infection." Vegeta hoped that would be the end of it.
"I'll send my personal physician to her bedside immediately," his mother said calmly.
"That will not be necessary. I have already scheduled a physician to visit her in the morning. The queen insists she is fine and that all she wants to do is rest now," Vegeta said firmly.
"But surely an illness that keeps her from her dutiful presence at your side poses a threat to the unborn prince," his mother went on. "Perhaps she wanted to allay your fears by pretending she is fine. I could check on her now…" She made to rise.
"I said, that would not be necessary," Vegeta said a little too loudly. "The queen just needs her rest. Now, I don't want to hear anymore on this topic." Vegeta began to cut his meat.
His cousin had lost the hopeful glint in his eye and was focusing on his meal again.
"Of course, we did not mean to upset you," his father said, then began to speak very frankly with his son. "We are only concerned that the child she carries may be at risk."
'Of course that is your only concern,' Vegeta thought to himself angrily.
"It is common knowledge that you and your wife have had trouble conceiving. It is really none of our business," the old king said as it looked as though his son was ready to launch himself across the table at him. "But the survival of your heir is tantamount to the survival of the Saiyajin people. And after all, what with the unusual circumstances surrounding the death of the queen's mother, one can't help but feel a little apprehension. We were hoping that such an illness would not be passed along genetically to your wife. And more importantly, not to your unborn child…"
His father didn't finish as Vegeta stood and headed for the exit.
"Where are you going?" his mother asked.
Vegeta said something no Saiyajin had ever uttered before: "I've suddenly lost my appetite." He slammed the door behind him.
***********************
On eve of her wedding anniversary and 25th birthday, Lycha was cuddling a three-month-old Prince Vegeta the VIII and heir to the Saiyajin kingdom in her lap. The sun was streaming through the nursery window, shining down on the pair. It was the hot season again, and Lycha was brimming from head to bronzed toe in warmth. She wasn't even bothered by the sticky heat afforded by the many layers of clothing and jewellery draped over her. Prince Vegeta was totally uninterested in his mother's fussing. He gazed up at her grumpily. Perhaps he did not enjoy the heat as she did.
King Vegeta was away on a diplomatic mission to hold council with the man who had become synonymous with evil, Freiza. Lycha was concerned, of course; Vegeta had insisted she stay behind on this occasion despite the fact she always accompanied him on his travels. She shrugged. He had reassured her that diplomatic talks would go smoothly. It held little interest for her after all. It never had.
Lycha glanced to the side as a shaft of light glinted off something on the far wall. Her Kawa no Namida blades were glinting seductively from a display bracket on the wall. She smiled. The blades had served her well these many years. She had kept her sword skills polished these past years. She looked down at the prince. Would he, or any of her descendents, inherit the deadly skills of Enoki de Somen? And what was to become of her little warrior? A successful politician perhaps? And artisan? A womaniser? A powerful fighter? She was confident it would be something spectacular. She had been through so much; her family deserved a little happiness.
She hugged the little prince a little tighter. She was all too aware that she would only figure prominently in the formative years of the prince's life before he would be drawn away to begin his training. She smiled happily and rubbed the newly emerging bump that was her stomach. She knew the arrival of their second child would help buffer this period. Maybe she would have more say in the second pregnancy's naming? She prayed for another boy. Taburu had been her father's name…
She giggled happily to herself. She couldn't believe she was pregnant again, and so soon after her first. Given the difficulty they had had with conception, it was a miracle to be expecting a second at all. Speaking of children, Prince Vegeta had finally settled and dozed off. She resisted the urge to tweak his adorable nose. Everything seemed to be too perfect. Too good to be true. All of her dreams had come true and here, in this tiny, infinitesimal moment, Lycha felt so close to an obscure, thrumming, universal force that was so indescribable and yet so integral to her very being. She felt small and humble, like she was on the cusp of an incredible shift of astronomical proportions. Was it 'the first day of the rest of her life' type thing? Or much bigger? Lycha couldn't tell but she knew she should trust her instincts. They'd never let her down before. Her instincts told her that, at the very least, the next few years of her life would be spent living happily ever after with her husband.
"Daddy will come back to us, and we will all be happy," she told the little prince. He slept on, blissfully unaware. She looked back up, through the window, and out over the kingdom. Tepid sunlight was streaming relentlessly over the little family. Lycha was warm.
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THE END
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Name Origins*:
Lycha - from 'lychee,' a fruit
Pip - fruit seeds
Tonkatsu - a pork and rice dish
Beetrix - Beetroot
Furikake - rice seasoning
Somen - a type of noodle
Tsukejiru - flavour sauce served with somen noodles
Uice, River - from 'juice'
Zaisu – a legless chair used for low tables in Japanese houses
Hachiya - a type of persimmon
Enoki - type of mushroom
*I literally picked up one of my Japanese cookbooks and chose words a random. It seemed fitting since Toriyama similarly named his characters after food. ;-)
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