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The Man Beneath the Braid - 10
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He awoke to an unfamiliar ceiling, wrapped in the warmth of lilac-scented blankets, and for a long moment could not remember where he was.
He could feel the sunlight, hot and bright on his face, could hear the far-off twitter of birds, the murmur of low voices and a girl's high laughter from outside; could hear the clomp of boots on the wooden walkway, the whistle of the morning breeze against the side of the building. It was just another morning, just another day--and, yet, even these familiar sounds seemed changed, somehow. The angle of the wind felt different, and the laughter sounded brighter, louder; freer. There was a note of joviality to the murmur of men's voices, and even the birds seemed to be singing more sweetly.
This is what the world sounds like in the morning, when it doesn't need to worry of disturbing the emperor from his sleep. This is what a free, fearless morning sounds like...
Memory washed into him like a surge of floodwater, then, made him sit up in Nuriko's bed and shove the blankets back from his legs. His advisors were probably in a panic, he found himself thinking with a bit of amusement. After all, if the slant of the sunlight was anything to judge by, it was at least two hours after the time he usually awakened, visited the Council Room to hear the morning's complaints. His advisors were most likely frantic by now, searching every nook and cranny of the palace for some sign of him, wondering if perhaps he'd finally gotten irritated enough with them to just ride out through the gates and never come back. Which was absurd, of course--but, he could certainly imagine the old men thinking that, wondering if perhaps they'd finally crossed the line and sent their young emperor spiralling into the madness of abandoning his duties.
Lips bent into a rare grin, Hotohori swung his legs over the edge of the bed, stretched up his arms, and let out a wide, relaxed yawn.
Even the emperor is free, here. Even if it's only for a few moments.
He let himself savor the morning for a few more more
seconds, warm and comfortable in the fragrant sunlight of Nuriko's small room,
and then he rose to his feet, swept the hair back from his face, and moved to
the door.
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Someone was shaking him.
He awoke with a start, eyes flaring open, heart clenching in sudden fear. What was going on? An urgent voice, a vise-like grip on his shoulder--
The world came into focus around him, then, and he saw that Jokuko-san was bending over him, his lips stretched into a grimace, the pale blue of his eyes wide and worried. What...what was going on...?
"Nuriko-sama," Jokuko said, his voice low
and dark and almost respectful.
"Onegai-shimasu. You must
help us. Heika-sama is missing."
His eyes went wide, even as some distant part of his mind realized that he was breathing more easily this morning, that he could talk and move and inhale without the usual burst of pain. "Missing?" he echoed. "Wh...what do you mean, he's missing?"
Jokuko shook his head, and it was only then that Nuriko noticed the thunder of booted feet charging down the walkway outside, or the roaring mumble of worried voices that seemed to come from everywhere at once. "No one has seen him since late last night, when he...had a slight disagreement with his council." The old advisor's eyes suddenly seemed pained, and Nuriko caught a brief glimpse of the gentle, fiercely-loyal man he'd come to know during his time at the palace; the man who loved his emperor as his son, who, Nuriko had heard, had once gone so far as to attack his own brother, when it was discovered that the man was part of a plot to have the young boy-king dethroned.
"We fear the worst," Jokuko went on. His voice was anguished. "Please, you must help us. He was angry last night. He may have left the grounds of the palace, as irrational and unlike him as that may sound. He could be anywhere. You--" Jokuko's eyes flickered to the floor, and it seemed as if his voice sank a bit. "You know him best, Nuriko-sama. Please. Where would he go?"
Nuriko frowned.
"But, the guards, at the gates...
How could Hotohori-sama have gotten past them? Are you sure he left the palace?"
Jokuko sat back a bit, suddenly seeming to realize
that he was still leaning rather suffocatingly over the younger man, and closed
his eyes for a moment. "It's
true," he conceded at last, "we haven't yet finished our search of the
palace grounds. But, if you know
Heika-sama, then you know that he is both resourceful and intelligent. If he meant to leave the palace
grounds..." He shook his
head. "I'm certain he could, no
matter how many guards might be in place at the gates." And then, suddenly, impossibly, Jokuko's
fingers were tight around his small hand, squeezing urgently at his flesh. "Please," the man
whispered. His aged features were
twisted and contorted in anguish, his brow creased with fear. "This is my fault. If anything happened to Saihitei…I would
never forgive myself."
Nuriko stared at him for a long moment, trapped in the desperate warmth of those aged fingers on his hands; the piercing stare of urgent eyes. Could he do this? It was so soon; he wasn't even close to being entirely healed yet. Of course, he was feeling a great deal better this morning, particularly since it seemed that the salve, whatever it had been, had done much to kill the pain, even if the wounds themselves were still there.
But, to climb out of bed? To stand and walk and move--it would mean more of the pain, more of the agony. It would mean lying in this bed for much longer, possibly injuring himself further. More pain. Could he handle more pain? Could he live through it again, fight back the urge to die that inevitably accompanied that kind of agony?
And, yet, Hotohori-sama...
"Help me out of bed," he said at last. "I...I can't promise that I'll be able
to find him, but..." His jaw
clenched in a mix of determination and anticipatory pain. "I'll do whatever I can."
Jokuko said nothing, but the gratitude shone like tears in his eyes. He rose to his feet, bent slightly, and slipped an arm beneath the young seishi's back, helped him lift into a sitting position. The sudden movement sent a jolt of pain through the eighteen-year-old, but he bit down hard on his lip, resisted the urge to cry out against it. A few moments later, he was on his feet, supported by Jokuko's careful arm, and was making his slow way towards the door.
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AN: More to come soon. ^_~. Sorry this chapter's a wee bit short, but this seemed like a good place to stop for now, ne? Anyway, I'll get the next chapter up as soon as is Ryuenly possible, but until then, feel free to let me know what you think of this one. It's been a lonnnnnng time since I wrote in this fic, but I've missed it. *sniffle* Arrigato to Mouse-chan for puppy-eyeing me into writing more of it. :P