It had begun to rain.
Byakuya guided the mare carefully down the mountain, her hoofs picking out each uncertain step, sliding over loose bits of rock and soil that was steadily turning into mud. His thighs started to ache, as he was forced to lean back and hold on tightly without the aid of saddle or stirrups. His hair quickly became plastered to his cheeks and neck, so he lifted the hood of his cloak, pulling it forward to shade his eyes, keeping his face turned down against the light wind.
They had been traveling for about an hour, and as yet, there were no signs of human habitation. He would not—could not—let his thoughts return to the top of the mountain pass, where the dragon-flattened trees would do a poor job of protecting the prone figure below from wind and freezing rain and cold.
Instead, he pushed the mare forward, digging his heels into her soaked sides when she would balk. And the rain ran down his cheeks like tears, his hands gripping the reins tightly, his thoughts purposefully blank—not questioning whether or not he had left a man to his death, protected only by a pair of naked swords.
Not questioning whether or not that man deserved to die—whether or not he had truly been given his freedom, the moment Renji undid the braided ropes that had bound his wrists.
The mare snorted suddenly, nostrils flaring and chestnut ears pricked forward. He pulled himself free from his dull thoughts and stared, unblinking, at the rising trail of smoke, reaching up into the sky, less than a mile away.
After a moment, he pressed his heels into the mare's sides again, urging her on.
The town was called Primrose, as indicated by the weather beaten sign that marked the merging of the makeshift mountain pass and the town's main street. The street itself was not faring well from the rain; the mare's hoofs sank several inches into mud as soon as they reached level ground. Not surprisingly, it was empty, shop signs waving in the wind, freezing rain dripping off the edges of the roofs, not yet cold enough to form icicles. Within, windows were warmly lit, muted voice filtering through the walls and out into the cold.
He located an inn and dismounted, his tired legs nearly giving way beneath him. As he had never encountered a common inn alone—without his retinue of servants, soldiers, and other necessary assistants—he was not sure what to do with the mare. He ended up looping the reins around a post, forming an ineffectual knot, and hoping that the rain and the wind would keep her pressed against the side of the building, unwilling to escape.
He paused, facing her, his own steady gaze meeting one liquidy brown eye.
"Stay," he said.
She pricked her ears forward. He reached out, offering his hand, which she lipped at with feigned interest. Maybe that was a yes. He would take it as such.
Cold, wet, and tired, he then turned to enter the inn, unthinkingly pushing his hood back.
All conversation halted.
He could feel every eye turning toward him, following him as he walked up to the front counter, which seemed to also serve as a bar. A large man stood behind it, carefully polishing a spotty, yellowed glass with a ragged, discolored dishcloth. He gazed down at Byakuya, not saying a word. A few seconds later, conversation amongst the other patrons gradually resumed.
Byakuya, busy steadily returning the man's stare, realized he was going to have to speak first.
"I'm looking for a doctor," he said.
The man eyed him, still slowly polishing that glass. "You sick?"
"That is not your business."
The calmness of his voice did not belie his unease. Outside, the wind howled, unusually fierce. Once again, his thoughts were stolen momentarily back to an unnatural clearing, that prone figure on the ground.
"Best put that hood back up."
He blinked, looking up at the bartender again. The man gazed at him, then jerked his chin towards the stairs, where it was apparent that someone—or a group of someone's—were descending from the rented rooms above. Their footsteps were heavy, booted, and accompanied by the clinking of mail and weaponry.
Soldiers.
Again, without thinking, Byakuya quickly drew his hood back over his head.
He did not recognize them. Nonetheless, they wore the insignia of the Kuchiki family. The noble families did not employ a single army; each House maintained its own battalion of soldiers. It had long been an indication of their natural distrust in one another. Captain Shihouin, and Captain Kuukaku before her, had charge of all four battalions, and had been appointed by the Kuchiki family, the current ruling House.
The soldiers—four men and one woman—took seats around the largest table in the place, and the one closest to the fire. An older man who had been sitting there quickly removed himself, pausing only to tip his hat to the group before slipping off.
"I vote we find a body," said one of the men. "Any body."
"And what?" scoffed another. "Cut the head off and bring it back home?" He laughed. "King and Queen would really go for that."
"Shimada just misses his kitchen girl," said the woman, grinning at the first man, the surly one. "He's worried she'll get bored without him."
"Or that she already has," chimed in another. They all laughed, except the surly one … whose eyes shifted briefly over to the bar.
Quickly, but not noticeably, Byakuya turned to face the bartender again.
"A doctor," he said, reminding the man of his initial request.
The bartender put him through his staring routine again, then he sort of shrugged. "No doctor in Primrose," he finally said. Byakuya was about to turn away in irritation, but then the man added: "We've an apothecary, though. There's some as calls him a witch. But he gets the job done, nonetheless."
"Where can I find him?" Byakuya asked.
The man turned and pointed, indicating a place further down the main road, on the opposite side of the street. "Just about the fifth building on your left there. Should be a sign. Ring the bell—he's always in. 'Cept when he's sick."
Byakuya gazed through the wall as if he could make out the building from here. Then he paused to dig inside the little pouch at his waist before reaching out and handing the man a silver coin.
"For your trouble," he said.
The man gazed down at the coin. "Ain't no trouble at all." But he took the coin.
Only when he'd returned outside did Byakuya realize his heart was racing.
He untied the mare's reins from around the post and then began to lead her down the street, towards the building the bartender had indicated. He quickly realized the error in his decision when his boots immediately sank deep into the mud, even past his ankles. It sucked at his heels, and at the mare's hoofs, but they plodded on. At least no soldier would recognize him now, exhausted, covered in splattered rain and filthy mud—the heir to the Kuchiki throne, who had ten different pairs of boots, just for riding, a cloak for every day of the week, and a team of servants employed for the sole purpose of drawing his bath, attending to his hair, and dressing him every morning.
They paused before the signpost, flapping gently in the wind as all the others, the muddied white head of a unicorn emblazoned on the front—the universal symbol for an apothecary. He looped the mare's reins around it before proceeding inside.
Chimes tinkled above the door as he entered.
"I'll be right with you!" called a voice from the back.
Byakuya let his eyes wander around the shop, over row upon row of bottles and jars, each filled to the brim with various substances. Some were identifiable, like bay leaves, or dried dandelions, or shed snakeskin. Others were not identifiable—and Byakuya thought he would prefer to keep it that way.
He looked up as a man entered, smiling, long white hair sliding over his shoulders.
"Oh dear," he said, chuckling. "You've tracked mud all over the place, haven't you?"
Byakuya found himself gazing guiltily down at the floor. He lifted one very muddy boot, clumps of soil falling from the heel as he did.
He looked up again.
"I apologize," he said.
The white-haired apothecary waved a hand at him, smiling. "No matter." He chuckled again. "Not very used to apologizing, are you? You do it with such reluctance."
Byakuya just stared back at him. In truth, he did not know how to respond to such casual criticism of his character.
The apothecary smiled. "I'm sorry. I'm unsettling you. And I'm sure you must be here for a reason." He folded his hands in front of him. "How can I help you?"
"Jyuu-chan!!" A deeper voice called cheerfully from the back, almost a sing-song, playful quality. It was soon followed by its owner—a brown-haired, scruffy-faced man, who came bearing a cup of tea, a lopsided smile on his masculine face.
"Jyuu-chan," he repeated. "You didn't finish your tea. In this weather, especially—"
"I have a customer, Shunsui," the apothecary said quickly.
Shunsui looked up, his eyes widening slightly when they finally fell upon Byakuya. He seemed to study the slighter man for a moment before smiling again, his eyes twinkling thoughtfully. "Ahh. I see."
Byakuya almost frowned, beginning to resent the way the people of this town tended to stare. Years of self-discipline at court helped him to rein in his displeasure, and to maintain his characteristic emotionless façade.
Shunsui just arched an eyebrow, seemingly as gently amused as ever.
"Now," the apothecary said, smiling, turning to face him again. "You were saying?"
"I had not yet spoken," Byakuya said.
"Yes," the apothecary agreed, smilingly. "Because Shunsui interrupted you."
"And then you interrupted me, Jyuu-chan," Shunsui interjected, holding up one finger.
'Jyuu-chan' chuckled, conceding the point. "Indeed I did. But now we must both hold our tongues, so that our guest here can have a chance to speak up."
Byakuya looked at them both. Strange as it seems, he had not yet paused to wonder how he would word his request. He could not admit the entire truth—that there was a young rebel dying in the woods merely an hour's ride away, and that he must race back at all costs to attend him. Yet the town was small enough so that these two would no doubt recognize him for a foreigner, and they were bound to ask questions.
But hesitating any longer could only bring suspicion down upon him. And if he were turned in to the soldiers—Renji's life was forfeit.
"My friend has been gravely wounded," he said calmly.
"Oh my," said the apothecary. He exchanged a concerned look with Shunsui.
"We were attacked by a dragon," Byakuya continued. "He was injured in the fight. I fear he is in danger of losing his leg. He has also suffered a severe concussion. Even now, he is unconscious."
"That sounds very grave indeed," said the apothecary. He paused, as if to think, then hurried to the other side of the room, reaching up for a small jar, filled to the brim with golden liquid.
"This is hollyhock oil," he said. "Infused with various other ingredients, of course. Pour it carefully over his wound, and the infection should disappear. The fever should diminish within a day."
He looked around, then walked across to pick up another jar, this one stuffed with what looked like dried herbs.
"Make a tea with these," he instructed, while handing both jars over to Byakuya. "Have him drink it. The swelling in his brain should begin to go down. If he remains unconscious, lift his head and stroke his throat to encourage him to swallow."
Byakuya took the two jars, pausing to wrap them carefully before slipping them into his makeshift satchel.
"Is that a never-freezing water flask?" the apothecary asked, hands calmly folded in front of him again.
Byakuya gazed down at the flask hanging from his belt. He had brought it with him, not knowing how far he would have to travel, or if he would need to fill its contents with medicine.
He looked up again. "It is," he said. He had heard Renji proudly singing its praises, boosting of his connections to this Lord Urahara, its previous owner, apparently.
"I have always wanted a never-freezing water flask," the apothecary said placidly, smiling a little.
Byakuya gazed at him a moment before reaching down and unhooking it, passing it over to the white-haired man. "Will you take it as payment?" he asked. He had been concerned over the remaining small amount of coins in his possession, knowing they would not be enough to purchase even a teaspoon of decent medication.
"Certainly," agreed the other. He held the flask up, as though to admire it. "How funny. I was promised by a friend that I should have one of these soon." He chuckled.
"Kisuke has always had an unusual sense of humor," Shunsui rumbled placidly. He yawned and scratched his belly with his free hand, smiling when he caught Byakuya looking at him.
"Indeed," murmured the apothecary. He set the water flask down on a shelf, then looked at Byakuya again. "Have you sewn the wound shut?" he asked, his expression serious again.
Byakuya paused for a moment, then shook his head.
The apothecary nodded. "You should. Here." He hurried over behind the counter again and dug out a small box, handing it over. "A needle, thread, and disinfectant. Can you make a sewing knot?" He chuckled when Byakuya nodded. "I thought you might be able to."
"Jyuu-chan…" Shunsui admonished.
The apothecary cleared his throat.
"Yes. Anyway. Sew the wound; it will help prevent further infection and speed up the healing process. Apply the oil immediately, and then use the needle and thread while the tea is brewing; the oil should make your work easier. It will deaden the pain, as well, but he likely won't wake up for quite some time." He paused, studying Byakuya. "Is all of this making sense? I suppose you won't allow me to tend to him personally."
"That would be impossible," Byakuya said quickly, his heart starting to race again.
The other man nodded. "I thought as much." He fixed Byakuya with a wry little smile before ushering him towards the door. "Well, off you go. The rain should be letting up soon, and the wind with it. Do you have long to ride? No, I can see you can't answer that. Very well, then." He smiled, hands once again clasped before him. "Good luck."
Byakuya turned towards the door, but something made him pause. He stopped, turned again to face them—and bowed.
"Thank you," he said.
"Not at all," said the apothecary. "We love happy customers."
"We're not very good businessmen," joked Shunsui. His companion laughed.
Byakuya nodded to them again before pushing open the door and heading back out. The rain had indeed slackened. The mare lifted her head to greet him, chestnut ears pricking forward. Within seconds, he was mounted and headed back the way he had come—down the road, and back up the mountain, as fast as his mount could take him.
Shunsui moved over towards the window, so that he could watch the young prince until he and his horse had disappeared into the woods.
He smiled. "Quite grown up, hasn't he? Our little Byakuya."
Jyuushirou came to stand beside him, a concerned look etched onto his face. "I should have followed him."
"He wouldn't have allowed it." Shunsui chuckled, sipping his tea. "Very protective of this friend of his, it seems."
"It must be his sister," continued Jyuushirou, still worried. "Who else could it be?"
Shunsui shook his head. "The princess has been traveling separately. She'll have reached the destination point by now."
The other man blinked. "Then—?"
Shunsui smiled. "My dear Jyuu-chan." He sighed happily, gazing out through window, now frosting over from both their breaths. "Would you not ride through mud and freezing rain to save me? Even at risk of your own life?"
"Of course," replied the apothecary.
Shunsui smiled again, sipping his tea. "Of course."