DISCLAIMER: Nope.
Still not mine.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is, as you will quickly discover, the
sequel to my recent fic, "The Man Beneath the Crown." I don't think reading the previous story is entirely necessary to
understanding all of this fic...but, it'll help...a lot. :)
Also, this is going to be more of a chapter-oriented work, as I've
reached about three pages into it and have found myself out of steam. Thus...I give you this, ask for your
comments, and will continue, hopefully, on a more writer-friendly day. ^_^.
*PS: I apologize, once again, for the
spacing. MS Word is, indeed, the devil.
"The Man Beneath the Braid"
by Ryuen
~*~*~*~
Nuriko's slim fingers flew to his head,
touched protectively at the long, silken strands that flooded loosely about his
shoulders. "My hair?" he echoed
quietly. He blinked, gazed out at the
young emperor a bit suspiciously.
"What's wrong with my hair?"
Lounging comfortably in one of his
balcony tea chairs, Hotohori drew another light sip from his cup, hid a smile
beneath it. "There's nothing wrong with
it," he explained slowly, replacing the cup on its saucer. "But...it's not exactly...well, the kind of
style a man would typically wear."
Nuriko glared at him. "I'm not going to cut my hair."
"I'm not asking you to. But..."
Hotohori studied him for a moment, taking in the long, impressive waves
of silken violet flooding down past Nuriko's waist, the slim, partially-covered
shoulders, the soft blue dress flooding down to his ankles...gods. This was going to be more difficult than
he'd thought... The young emperor drew
in another soft breath, let it out slowly through his nostrils and folded his
hands over the tablecloth. "It might be
a good idea...if you're serious about making yourself look like a man
again..." He drew in another short
breath. "You might want to wear it so
it looks a bit more...masculine."
The violet-haired boy scrunched up
his nose, pointed a slim finger towards Hotohori's head. "You can't tell me those buns are
comfortable," he challenged.
The young emperor stared at him for a
moment, then brought a hand to his own silken hair, smoothed at it gently. "You would get used to it, Nuriko. It's actually very comfortable..."
Nuriko managed to look disgusted, even
as he brought the lightly-flavored tea to his lips, drew in a quick sip. "No," he said firmly. "No buns.
It took eighteen years to grow my hair this long, and I'm not going to
hide it up on top of my head for the rest of my life just so I can look more
like a man."
Hotohori stared at him, suddenly
startled. "Eighteen?" he echoed
softly. Of course, he'd known Nuriko
was around his age, but... He shook his
head, studied the young man with sudden interest. "How long have you been eighteen?"
The smaller seishi shrugged,
frowned at him a bit uncertainly. "I
turned on March 10th..."
Hotohori blinked at him for a
moment...then let out a short laugh, pressed his palms down onto the
table. "Good God, you're older than
me...!"
Nuriko looked a bit
uncertain. "H-Hai..."
The young emperor smiled. "I'm sorry.
It just...caught me off guard. I
wouldn't have expected you to be...well, older than I am." Seeming rather suddenly to realize just what
he was saying, Hotohori straightened slightly in the chair, smoothed absently at
the soft fabric of his robes. "Anyway,"
he recovered with a slim smile. "Your
hair is an important part of looking like a man, but your clothing is even more
important." He brought a slim finger to
his chin, tapped it lightly against his lips.
"Do you own anything but dresses?"
Nuriko flushed slightly, glanced
down at his hands. "No...not
really." The flush darkened. "Nothing that would fit me anymore, anyway."
"Well...that's all right. We can easily find you something else to
wear. Do you have any preferences?"
The young man shrugged, stretched
his arms out before him and let them rest against the table. "It's been so long..." He shrugged again. "Anything is fine."
Hotohori studied him for a long
moment...then, let out a soft breath through parted lips, rose to his feet with
a sweep of crimson and chestnut. "Come
on," he said firmly, smiling a bit at the smaller man. "Let's go inside."
Nuriko blinked, nonetheless rose
to his feet, smoothed the silken lengths of his dress. "Where are we going?"
"To the royal tailor."
"The...the royal tailor? But, Hotohori-sama, he's only used for--"
The young emperor waved a
dismissive hand. "Don't worry. I've told you. As a Suzaku shichiseishi, you hold higher rank than nearly all
others in the kingdom." He turned back
to face the other man, met his eyes with a solid, serious gaze. "Try to remember that you're no longer just
another harem girl, Nuriko. You're part
of something larger, now."
He turned to retreat back indoors, then,
to begin the short trek to the tailor's chambers...but, he stopped as he
realized Nuriko wasn't following, that the older man hadn't even moved in his
direction. Puzzled, he turned back, a
thin line creasing his forehead.
"Nuriko?"
The young seishi was leaning lightly
against the railing of the balcony, hands clasped gently in front of him, face
turned upwards towards the soft, mottled blue of the sky. He stood there for a long moment, motionless
and silent, the soft wisps of morning wind sweeping the blue silk about his
legs, sending the violet hair whispering over his shoulders...and then, he
turned back, gazed out at Hotohori with soft, narrowed violet eyes. "If I weren't a shichiseishi," he said
slowly, "and if you'd found out about my...secret..." His voice hardened.
"You'd have had me executed, wouldn't you?"
Hotohori stared at him in shocked
silence, startled by the question...and its implications. "Executed?" he echoed incredulously. "Nuriko, I'd never have had you executed..."
The young seishi hung his head
slightly, a look of such intense pain flaring in his eyes that Hotohori
winced. "Oh, really?" he asked, very
softly. "Aren't there laws against men
in the harem? Laws against deceiving
one's emperor? Laws against
gender...perversion?"
Hotohori shook his head fervently,
opened his mouth to protest...but stopped, very suddenly, as a chill,
frightening realization trickled into him.
Because...gods. Nuriko was
right...wasn't he? There were, indeed,
laws against such things...and the penalty for each and every one of them was
imprisonment, severe beating...or death.
Appalled, Hotohori leaned heavily against the nearby doorjamb, clutched
at the cool, smooth wood with white-knuckled fingers.
Nuriko was right. If he hadn't known him...if he hadn't been a
shichiseishi and thus irreplaceable...gods.
If he'd been discovered, he would've been killed. There would've been no questions asked, no
time spent searching for his reasons, learning whether or not he'd done any
harm through his deceptions...he'd simply have been taken away, locked into a
cell...and then either beaten or killed.
The young emperor shivered, a sudden rush of mental images surging
through him, driving the disgust and self-loathing even more deeply into his
mind. Nuriko, lying in a shivering heap
on a cold, rat-infested floor, his clothes ripped and tattered, that smooth,
pale skin covered in bloodied slashes...or, worse...gods. Nuriko, dead...the life gone forever from
those soft violet eyes, the breath lying cold and stilled in his lungs...and,
it would've been all because of him, because of his laws...his decrees. He would've killed this man, never knowing
him, never understanding him...never experiencing his friendship, his
companionship, his inexplicable habit of bringing light and laughter to even
the most somber of moments...
He felt the tears welling in his eyes
almost before the disturbing images completed themselves, felt the strength
bleeding from his limbs, the conviction dying unspoken on his tongue. He hung his head, wished he'd left his hair
down today so it could sweep over his face, hide the grief from his
features.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. He nearly choked on the words. "Nuriko...
You're right. I'm so...so
sorry."
Much to his surprise, there came the
soft rustle of skirts, the light padding of footsteps...and, then, there was a
warm hand on his arm, a soft, smiling face gazing up into his own. "Ne, Hotohori-sama," Nuriko said gently. "Daijobu.
It wouldn't have been your fault, even if it had happened. I'm the one who chose to start dressing this
way...and I'm the one who chose to enter the harem. If I'd been killed...it would've been my fault, not yours."
Hotohori stared down at him in
shock, startled by the soft acceptance in that voice, the warmth...the gentle,
enduring love. Knowing something like
that...that he might've had him killed, if they hadn't known each other...how
could Nuriko have that knowledge and not hate him for it? How could he still...still love him?
As his thoughts came full-circle,
however, he found himself drawing on another wondering he'd been picking at for
a few weeks now, a very logical question he hadn't had the urge to ask
before...but which he now found he wanted--no, needed to know the answer
to. "Nuriko," he said quietly. He drew a soft breath, let it out slowly
through his nose. His eyes latched onto
Nuriko's own, held them in a tight, rigid stare and didn't let go. "Why do you do this?"
Nuriko understood. He could see the comprehension flickering in
the depths of those violet eyes, could see the unconscious clenching of his
jaw, the hesitant twitch of his cheek...but otherwise, Nuriko held his careful
mask in place, blinked at him questioningly.
"Why do I do what?"
"Dress like you do. Like a woman. Have you..." He trailed
off, flushed faintly. "Have you always
done it, or...or is it more recent...?"
He shook his head. "I'm
sorry. I realize it's a very personal
question...but, I can't help but wonder...particularly now."
Nuriko held his stare for a moment
longer, his slim fingers still resting lightly against Hotohori's arm...and
then, he turned, retreated back to the edge of the balcony and rested his
elbows on the railing. His voice was
very soft...but clearly, clearly audible.
"It's all right," he murmured.
"You have a right...to want to know."
Hotohori watched him closely, taking in
the sudden rigidity to his movements, the sudden tensing of his shoulders and
back...the way his head leaned forward, the way his gaze swept down over the immense
palace lawn below them. Had he struck a
nerve, somehow? Was this something
painful? But...but, he needed to
know...
"Will you tell me?" he asked quietly.
Nuriko inclined his head a fraction of
an inch, seemed to close his eyes. "Hai.
I'll tell you, Hotohori-sama.
Demo..."
"Demo...?"
His voice was hard. "Demo, you have to promise that you're not
going to pity me once I tell you this."
He shook his head gently, sending a soft wave of violet hair sweeping over
his shoulders. "I'm telling you this
because you want to know, not because I want your sympathy. So, promise me."
Wondering what kind of tale could
possibly lie ahead of him, Hotohori nodded, drew in a soft breath. "I promise," he said firmly.
Nuriko seemed to relax a bit more, slumped
back against the railing and slid to a sitting position on the balcony floor,
arms wrapping lightly around his legs.
"All right," he continued softly.
"I'll tell you, then." The man
drew in a deep breath...and, then, he began to speak. His tone never changed, never grew softer or louder, never took
on a hint of emotion...but, the pain was almost agonizingly visible in every
quiet word, every careful sentence. And
slowly, gradually...Hotohori began to understand.
"When I was ten years old," he began
softly, "I had a sister, a year younger than me...named Korin. Our...faces and figures were so much
alike..." He smiled softly, wistfully. "We looked more like twins than brother and
sister. We were very close. I...cherished Korin." His face darkened. "But, one day...we were in the house, getting ready to go to our
father's shop. Mother had just started
letting Korin wear some of her make-up, and so she was taking longer than
usual, trying to get it on just right..."
His eyes drifted lightly closed.
"I got impatient...and, I...I left without her. I was angry at her, Hotohori-sama....angry
that she was more interested in getting the make-up on her face than she was in
coming with me...and so, I left her there.
She tried to catch up with me...but, I walked fast on purpose. I didn't want her to catch up with me. I wanted her to feel bad for making me
wait." The closed eyes squeezed more
tightly shut. "When she finally did
catch up with me...I guess she didn't want me to lose her again, so she...she
started to run... Neither of us saw the
carriage coming until it was too late, and...she died.
"I don't remember much about what
happened after that. I remember holding
onto her body in the street, trying to make her get up...and I remember being
taken back to the house by my father, sleeping for a long time. After I woke up...I kept expecting to find
out that it had just been a dream...because gods, that's what it felt like. It was...hard for me to accept. Korin and I had always been together...and
so, it was difficult to realize that now I...I was alone. Father told me to forget her...but, I
couldn't. It was my fault she was dead,
Hotohori-sama...and, so...I decided to live for her...because someone who made
Korin die didn't deserve to have his own life, ne? So, I started dressing like her, going by her name...I have ever
since." Those soft violet eyes slid
open, then, gazed at him sadly.
"Well? Do you feel any
better...now that you know?"
Hotohori could only shake his head
wordlessly, a heavy, painful ache building in his heart, sweeping up over him
like a wave. So, this was where the
sadness in Nuriko's eyes came from...
"Nuriko," he began quietly.
But, the smaller man rose to his feet,
took a few careful steps forward. "Iie,
Hotohori-sama," he said sternly. "No
pity, remember? It's all right. It happened a long time ago, ne?" The young seishi offered a soft smile, swept
forward and latched onto his arm.
"Weren't we on our way to the royal tailor to find me some decent
clothes?"
"Hai...but--"
"All right, then. Let's go, ne?"
"H...Hai."
They went.
~*~*~*~
[To
be continued...]
