fic, 12K, "Reprise III"
Belated happy birthday to aishuu, who asked (twice!) for more of this AU, i.e. the one where Taiki was Gyousou's predecessor's kirin. Somehow these bits seem to get longer with each incursion. I thought it was time for some trophy husband POV, if only for the sake of Taiki's hair.
Previous parts: I and II
Reprise III
He had prepared himself; he had believed himself prepared. But when the moment came Gyousou found he must be doubly grateful for the unseen spies, as he had no attention to spare for anyone else in the council chamber, no room in his field of view for anything but the bowed head, the dark fall of mane pooling about his feet as the Saiho of Tai knelt before him--before him--and performed the prostration, then spoke in that quiet clear voice the vows that acknowledged him as king.
Silence rang as if the air itself had been struck. A rush of fresh pride surged in him; he felt a towering sense of rightness, of vindication. For every piece of offered counsel that had gone unheeded, for every hour and day and year he had been made to stand by and grit his teeth as his liege lord strayed further from the path, this was his recompense. But at the same time some part of him, some long-formed habit of mind rebelled to see the Taiho so wholly lowered, and that mane--the splendor of the court, rarer by far than gold--spilled on the floor where so many feet had trodden. Perhaps he had watched that head bow too many times to one who had, in the end, made it bend not with reverence but grief.
It would not happen again.
"I accept," he said. Then he too bent, offering his opened hand, palm upward. Taiki lifted his head enough to look at it in surprise.
"You have my thanks," Gyousou said, adding in a voice pitched for only Taiki to hear: "Let us not risk any more fainting."
Taiki's face colored just the slightest, but he placed his hands--pale and fine, innocent of the sword if not the brush, a youth's hands still after a century and more--in Gyousou's, and Gyousou stood with a force that swept them both upright.
The speed of it all appeared to startle Taiki. He drew a swift breath and kept hold of Gyousou's hand. Then he steadied, and tilted his head toward the stunned assembly of ministers and generals who had convened--so they believed--to choose a regent, and only that. He did not quite frown, but his regard seemed to say: well? Your Saiho has bowed; why have you not done the same?
And they did.
*
It was nightfall before Gyousou returned to Jinjuuden across the palace grounds. Taiki had retreated hours before, pleading weariness--indeed he had begun to turn wan again after the first crush of congratulations passed. If he had retired for the night in earnest Gyousou did not mean to disturb him--their discussion could wait--but as he strode down the stone paths he felt as never before the absurd distance to Jinjuuden. Of course the pride of the realm must have a residence fit for his station, but what commander would install his best advisor on the opposite side of camp from his own tent? It was senseless. Something would have to be done.
The lamps were still lit in the hall. An attendant escorted him to the main chamber, bowing herself aside at the door. He entered, and was obliged to halt again almost at once by the pair of hiso that hurtled past his feet, leaping and chasing one another like frenzied wild rabbits about the room.
"Nikko, Rakko, behave yourselves," called Taiki, rising from where he sat at a table set with tea and sweets. He had exchanged his formal mourning dress for plainer robes of grey. Gyousou knew on whose account the change had been made; a kirin who had chosen a new king could not be seen to continue to mourn the old. He felt a beat of regret for having forced the shift so soon--too soon, perhaps. But the grey was not ill-suited, and less ghostly than the white had been.
"I'm sorry," Taiki was saying. "They've been like this all night--I think they're jealous of the big ones who were given a mission."
Smiling, Gyousou shook his head and gestured for him to take his ease. Now that the way was clear he stepped forward and seated himself on the other side of the table. "You are not unwell?"
"No, I am well. It was just that I've been away from the thick of things for so long. I felt a bit overwhelmed." He offered to send for tea and more cakes, which Gyousou waved aside. "But I'm afraid there's not much to report so far, even though my lord has come all this way. Of the shirei I sent out, only Kyouryo has come back--he was assigned to the Autumn Minister. He says the minister 'smelled nervous,' and after leaving the council hall went to meet with the Spring Minister in chambers. There was no treasonous talk as such, but they both expressed concern about keeping their positions."
"Rightly so," said Gyousou under his breath.
Taiki gazed at him searchingly. "Are they to be replaced?"
"The Autumn Minister, as soon as may be. That man is unfit to administer the law. Spring, well, we shall see how she does with the coronation on a budget reduced by half, and half again."
Taiki reached for his teacup and turned it in his hands, but did not drink. "My lord has been thinking on this," he said. "For some time."
There was no reason to dissemble here. "I have."
"Then you had some particular motive for asking me to set Gouran on the General of the RIght."
At that Gyousou had to smile, though it could not have been a pleasant one. "You are as quick as Seirai--one of my officers. I'll introduce you soon. But yes." He leaned back in his chair and laid an arm on the table, considering how much to say. "I would not wish my first gift to you to be a burden of undue cares." It would make a poor offering to one who had suffered cares enough. "If my suspicions are borne out, I will say more, that I promise."
Taiki nodded. "It surprised me--only because I'd never heard of any blemish on his record. Or that anything lay between the two of you but respect."
"Oh, his record is beyond reproach." Gyousou's eye fell on the two hiso, which had given up chasing and were now cuffing one another sullenly beneath a divan. " ...You may not know he is my brother."
Even those at court who knew that he and Asen shared a family name assumed coincidence; in the north Boku was common enough. Taiki blinked in astonishment. "Then I see there's a great deal I have to learn," he said at last. After another pause he added: "I had a brother, too."
For an instant Gyousou could only stare, until he remembered. "Of course--you were a Taika."
"It's been a long time since I thought of him. We were children together, in Hourai, but he always did blame me for everything that went wrong." There was no censure in the words, nothing but soft remembrance and a little rue.
Gyousou let out a short laugh. "Yours and mine should meet. It sounds as if they could be great friends."
"Mine would have passed away years ago," said Taiki. "In Hourai no one lives so long."
Which put paid to his laughter. Gyousou fell silent: it seemed he too had a great deal to learn. And a great deal of work to do, if he was to let the Saiho lay all his griefs to rest. He bowed his head. "Forgive me."
"No, no. It was long ago. Nothing to forgive."
The silence continued until Gyousou flattened his palm on the table and stood. "It grows late. If I may call tomorrow morning...?"
As soon as he had spoken he recognized the gaffe, but Taiki lowered his eyes and gave a faint smile, the first Gyousou had seen from him since the passing of the old king. It seemed worth a hundred flouts to custom, to his own new-minted authority, if he might see it again.
"I think I must come to Master Gyousou, now, not the other way around."
And then his name, spoken in that voice, as if the smile alone were not enough. He waved a hand with more good humor than was necessary. "You've been ill. If I have you running ragged back and forth so soon out of bed I will be called a brute and a tyrant before the white pheasant has said a single word. But that reminds me: we must wait until you feel able to travel, of course, but I am ready to make for Mount Hou whenever you are."
He was aware of the contradiction in this speech, and could see that Taiki perceived it too, but the smile only grew a little crooked, and did not fade. "I believe one must consult the diviners, to find an auspicious day."
"Must one," said Gyousou, though he knew it was true. "I am not much for superstition. But it shall be done as you say."
The pair of hiso had taken up their racing again. As Gyousou made for the door they came charging straight for his shins, and one after another piped "Majesty!" "Majesty!" before swerving past. Gyousou turned briefly to look back at Taiki.
"Well trained," he said, over the feeble protests, and "Good night, all of you."
It occurred to him after he left the hall that he had not raised the matter of a name--but then again it would not do to seem precipitous. There was the morning yet, at any rate. He was still smiling when the lights of Jinjuuden vanished behind him in the palace dark.
*
Previous parts: I and II
Reprise III
He had prepared himself; he had believed himself prepared. But when the moment came Gyousou found he must be doubly grateful for the unseen spies, as he had no attention to spare for anyone else in the council chamber, no room in his field of view for anything but the bowed head, the dark fall of mane pooling about his feet as the Saiho of Tai knelt before him--before him--and performed the prostration, then spoke in that quiet clear voice the vows that acknowledged him as king.
Silence rang as if the air itself had been struck. A rush of fresh pride surged in him; he felt a towering sense of rightness, of vindication. For every piece of offered counsel that had gone unheeded, for every hour and day and year he had been made to stand by and grit his teeth as his liege lord strayed further from the path, this was his recompense. But at the same time some part of him, some long-formed habit of mind rebelled to see the Taiho so wholly lowered, and that mane--the splendor of the court, rarer by far than gold--spilled on the floor where so many feet had trodden. Perhaps he had watched that head bow too many times to one who had, in the end, made it bend not with reverence but grief.
It would not happen again.
"I accept," he said. Then he too bent, offering his opened hand, palm upward. Taiki lifted his head enough to look at it in surprise.
"You have my thanks," Gyousou said, adding in a voice pitched for only Taiki to hear: "Let us not risk any more fainting."
Taiki's face colored just the slightest, but he placed his hands--pale and fine, innocent of the sword if not the brush, a youth's hands still after a century and more--in Gyousou's, and Gyousou stood with a force that swept them both upright.
The speed of it all appeared to startle Taiki. He drew a swift breath and kept hold of Gyousou's hand. Then he steadied, and tilted his head toward the stunned assembly of ministers and generals who had convened--so they believed--to choose a regent, and only that. He did not quite frown, but his regard seemed to say: well? Your Saiho has bowed; why have you not done the same?
And they did.
*
It was nightfall before Gyousou returned to Jinjuuden across the palace grounds. Taiki had retreated hours before, pleading weariness--indeed he had begun to turn wan again after the first crush of congratulations passed. If he had retired for the night in earnest Gyousou did not mean to disturb him--their discussion could wait--but as he strode down the stone paths he felt as never before the absurd distance to Jinjuuden. Of course the pride of the realm must have a residence fit for his station, but what commander would install his best advisor on the opposite side of camp from his own tent? It was senseless. Something would have to be done.
The lamps were still lit in the hall. An attendant escorted him to the main chamber, bowing herself aside at the door. He entered, and was obliged to halt again almost at once by the pair of hiso that hurtled past his feet, leaping and chasing one another like frenzied wild rabbits about the room.
"Nikko, Rakko, behave yourselves," called Taiki, rising from where he sat at a table set with tea and sweets. He had exchanged his formal mourning dress for plainer robes of grey. Gyousou knew on whose account the change had been made; a kirin who had chosen a new king could not be seen to continue to mourn the old. He felt a beat of regret for having forced the shift so soon--too soon, perhaps. But the grey was not ill-suited, and less ghostly than the white had been.
"I'm sorry," Taiki was saying. "They've been like this all night--I think they're jealous of the big ones who were given a mission."
Smiling, Gyousou shook his head and gestured for him to take his ease. Now that the way was clear he stepped forward and seated himself on the other side of the table. "You are not unwell?"
"No, I am well. It was just that I've been away from the thick of things for so long. I felt a bit overwhelmed." He offered to send for tea and more cakes, which Gyousou waved aside. "But I'm afraid there's not much to report so far, even though my lord has come all this way. Of the shirei I sent out, only Kyouryo has come back--he was assigned to the Autumn Minister. He says the minister 'smelled nervous,' and after leaving the council hall went to meet with the Spring Minister in chambers. There was no treasonous talk as such, but they both expressed concern about keeping their positions."
"Rightly so," said Gyousou under his breath.
Taiki gazed at him searchingly. "Are they to be replaced?"
"The Autumn Minister, as soon as may be. That man is unfit to administer the law. Spring, well, we shall see how she does with the coronation on a budget reduced by half, and half again."
Taiki reached for his teacup and turned it in his hands, but did not drink. "My lord has been thinking on this," he said. "For some time."
There was no reason to dissemble here. "I have."
"Then you had some particular motive for asking me to set Gouran on the General of the RIght."
At that Gyousou had to smile, though it could not have been a pleasant one. "You are as quick as Seirai--one of my officers. I'll introduce you soon. But yes." He leaned back in his chair and laid an arm on the table, considering how much to say. "I would not wish my first gift to you to be a burden of undue cares." It would make a poor offering to one who had suffered cares enough. "If my suspicions are borne out, I will say more, that I promise."
Taiki nodded. "It surprised me--only because I'd never heard of any blemish on his record. Or that anything lay between the two of you but respect."
"Oh, his record is beyond reproach." Gyousou's eye fell on the two hiso, which had given up chasing and were now cuffing one another sullenly beneath a divan. " ...You may not know he is my brother."
Even those at court who knew that he and Asen shared a family name assumed coincidence; in the north Boku was common enough. Taiki blinked in astonishment. "Then I see there's a great deal I have to learn," he said at last. After another pause he added: "I had a brother, too."
For an instant Gyousou could only stare, until he remembered. "Of course--you were a Taika."
"It's been a long time since I thought of him. We were children together, in Hourai, but he always did blame me for everything that went wrong." There was no censure in the words, nothing but soft remembrance and a little rue.
Gyousou let out a short laugh. "Yours and mine should meet. It sounds as if they could be great friends."
"Mine would have passed away years ago," said Taiki. "In Hourai no one lives so long."
Which put paid to his laughter. Gyousou fell silent: it seemed he too had a great deal to learn. And a great deal of work to do, if he was to let the Saiho lay all his griefs to rest. He bowed his head. "Forgive me."
"No, no. It was long ago. Nothing to forgive."
The silence continued until Gyousou flattened his palm on the table and stood. "It grows late. If I may call tomorrow morning...?"
As soon as he had spoken he recognized the gaffe, but Taiki lowered his eyes and gave a faint smile, the first Gyousou had seen from him since the passing of the old king. It seemed worth a hundred flouts to custom, to his own new-minted authority, if he might see it again.
"I think I must come to Master Gyousou, now, not the other way around."
And then his name, spoken in that voice, as if the smile alone were not enough. He waved a hand with more good humor than was necessary. "You've been ill. If I have you running ragged back and forth so soon out of bed I will be called a brute and a tyrant before the white pheasant has said a single word. But that reminds me: we must wait until you feel able to travel, of course, but I am ready to make for Mount Hou whenever you are."
He was aware of the contradiction in this speech, and could see that Taiki perceived it too, but the smile only grew a little crooked, and did not fade. "I believe one must consult the diviners, to find an auspicious day."
"Must one," said Gyousou, though he knew it was true. "I am not much for superstition. But it shall be done as you say."
The pair of hiso had taken up their racing again. As Gyousou made for the door they came charging straight for his shins, and one after another piped "Majesty!" "Majesty!" before swerving past. Gyousou turned briefly to look back at Taiki.
"Well trained," he said, over the feeble protests, and "Good night, all of you."
It occurred to him after he left the hall that he had not raised the matter of a name--but then again it would not do to seem precipitous. There was the morning yet, at any rate. He was still smiling when the lights of Jinjuuden vanished behind him in the palace dark.
*