[Saiunkoku] Desert of Letters
Desert of Letters
Author: Amber Michelle
Rating: K
Warnings: n/a
Word Count: 982
Gauntlet Theme: 24 - promises almost kept
Prompt: young!Reishin, a moment that determined his decision to take Kouyuu in
Notes: Gaiden #3 actually addresses why Reishin decided to save Kouyuu, so this is an extrapolation on that confession, which went something like, "his eyes watched the distance as if waiting for someone, just like mine used to when I waited for Shouka to come home." The title comes from an Utena chorus that has nothing to do with this topic at all.
................................................................
Winter never truly touched Kou Province, so far as Reishin had seen in the eight he remembered, but they always moved to the mansion in the provincial capitol before the first frost - away from the orange groves, the vineyard, the bony plum tree that sheltered him every summer while he played the biwa. His secret clearing had looked bare and open with all the leaves gone and the grass open to the gray sky. He sat at a window on the second story of the public building, the one his great aunt opened for holidays, feasts, visits from the governor, tried to think of the tree as it would look at the turn of the new year: a snowy dome of white and pale pink blossoms, the ground below littered with petals like snow and the wind heavy with their syrupy perfume. The courtyard outside was stubborn, and wouldn't transform itself for him no matter how long he stared. The walk was patched with snow - but it was melting. Soon it would be mud. Kou winters were always wet and muddy.
"Brother?"
Reishin shifted his gaze to his own reflection, and the round face at his elbow. "I don't know."
Kurou frowned like an opera mask, his mouth a dark, painted line on his white face, and his brows drawn down sharply enough to crease his skin. "You don't know what I'm going to ask." They'd just tied his hair up this winter - it was finally long enough to wrap in a knot atop is head. He'd grinned for most of the capping ceremony. "Brother Shouka--"
"I told you - I don't know. Go away." Reishin shifted on the bench so his back faced Kurou and tried to ignore his sticky mochi scent.
"But you said--"
Shouka said he would be back before winter. Before snow covers the capitol was what he'd actually said, but Reishin wasn't picky, nor did he know when, exactly, snow would fall over that place. It was north, but not so far as the Haku or Koku provinces. He knew the map; he knew how many leagues stretched between his manor and Kiyou, and how long it would take a man to walk the distance - how many leagues could be covered in a day, a week. He could tell Kurou if Brother leaves while the trees shed their colors, he'll arrive before the first rains.
But he didn't arrive with the rain, nor was he there before the snow. The trees outside were bare and the knobs of their branches adorned with droplets of water that glittered in the sun. Pines bordered the outer wall, dim gray triangles. Glass rattled in the big square window frame; a breath of chill air tickled the back of Reishin's neck and left his nose and fingertips cold. Kurou dug a fist into his long sleeve and climbed up to sit on his feet beside Reishin, a paper charm dangling from his other hand on a string.
Was it hard to travel during the winter months? Not in a carriage, where one could bundle up in cloaks and blankets, and maybe even warm one's feet with a hot brick. But Shouka wouldn't travel by carriage, would he? No. He was stubborn. He would walk.
"Yuri said Brother was going to stay in Kiyou."
"Yuzuriha," Reishin corrected him; she was supposed to be a boy, not a girl. "What does he know? Nothing." Shouka said it was imperative to keep Yuri's secret, so Reishin would do so and pretend he didn't know why, though he remembered standing behind the screen to Aunt Gyokuka's room and listening. He remembered the hammer of the imperial army hovering above Kou Province, only a ghost and a story to him, but real to his older brother, real enough to--
"I wish Aunt Gyokuka were here," Kurou said in his small voice, twirling the paper charm with both hands. He wasn't looking out the window, but at Reishin's reflection. Their eyes met. "She would make him come back..."
She would; Aunt Gyokuka could do anything. She could have taken the throne. "We can make Shouka come back." The window frosted when he breathed out a sigh. "I'll write another letter." Reishin curled his fingers together under the hems of his sleeves. "Go fetch the paper, Kurou."
His brother yipped - Reishin scolded him immediately, accused him of being the son of monkeys - and Kurou ran out into the hallway. The door drifted closed, but did not quite shut, and his footsteps thumped down the hallway and faded.
Reishin's fingers felt stiff and frozen. It would be smarter to move back or meet his brother in another room with a brazier or a stove that was actually lit, but he shifted on his legs again, felt his toes tingle, and turned his gaze back to the yard outside, the high stone wall with its tiled shelter, and the flashes of red and white umbrellas that showed past that line, between the jostling shoulders of the pines. He shouldn't write without a desk. The cold would make his calligraphy messy. If Shouka read his letters at all he would be ashamed of his little brother's sloppy handwriting. And if he didn't?
A vision from a story, of letters and papers abandoned to the wind and sweeping across dusty floors, made Reishin close his eyes against the possibility. It would not be like his brother, in any case; Shouka was the one sacrificing himself for their sake, not the other way around. He would read Reishin's letter.
He would come - with the new year, maybe, since he hadn't made it before winter began.
Maybe.
...
Author: Amber Michelle
Rating: K
Warnings: n/a
Word Count: 982
Gauntlet Theme: 24 - promises almost kept
Prompt: young!Reishin, a moment that determined his decision to take Kouyuu in
Notes: Gaiden #3 actually addresses why Reishin decided to save Kouyuu, so this is an extrapolation on that confession, which went something like, "his eyes watched the distance as if waiting for someone, just like mine used to when I waited for Shouka to come home." The title comes from an Utena chorus that has nothing to do with this topic at all.
................................................................
Winter never truly touched Kou Province, so far as Reishin had seen in the eight he remembered, but they always moved to the mansion in the provincial capitol before the first frost - away from the orange groves, the vineyard, the bony plum tree that sheltered him every summer while he played the biwa. His secret clearing had looked bare and open with all the leaves gone and the grass open to the gray sky. He sat at a window on the second story of the public building, the one his great aunt opened for holidays, feasts, visits from the governor, tried to think of the tree as it would look at the turn of the new year: a snowy dome of white and pale pink blossoms, the ground below littered with petals like snow and the wind heavy with their syrupy perfume. The courtyard outside was stubborn, and wouldn't transform itself for him no matter how long he stared. The walk was patched with snow - but it was melting. Soon it would be mud. Kou winters were always wet and muddy.
"Brother?"
Reishin shifted his gaze to his own reflection, and the round face at his elbow. "I don't know."
Kurou frowned like an opera mask, his mouth a dark, painted line on his white face, and his brows drawn down sharply enough to crease his skin. "You don't know what I'm going to ask." They'd just tied his hair up this winter - it was finally long enough to wrap in a knot atop is head. He'd grinned for most of the capping ceremony. "Brother Shouka--"
"I told you - I don't know. Go away." Reishin shifted on the bench so his back faced Kurou and tried to ignore his sticky mochi scent.
"But you said--"
Shouka said he would be back before winter. Before snow covers the capitol was what he'd actually said, but Reishin wasn't picky, nor did he know when, exactly, snow would fall over that place. It was north, but not so far as the Haku or Koku provinces. He knew the map; he knew how many leagues stretched between his manor and Kiyou, and how long it would take a man to walk the distance - how many leagues could be covered in a day, a week. He could tell Kurou if Brother leaves while the trees shed their colors, he'll arrive before the first rains.
But he didn't arrive with the rain, nor was he there before the snow. The trees outside were bare and the knobs of their branches adorned with droplets of water that glittered in the sun. Pines bordered the outer wall, dim gray triangles. Glass rattled in the big square window frame; a breath of chill air tickled the back of Reishin's neck and left his nose and fingertips cold. Kurou dug a fist into his long sleeve and climbed up to sit on his feet beside Reishin, a paper charm dangling from his other hand on a string.
Was it hard to travel during the winter months? Not in a carriage, where one could bundle up in cloaks and blankets, and maybe even warm one's feet with a hot brick. But Shouka wouldn't travel by carriage, would he? No. He was stubborn. He would walk.
"Yuri said Brother was going to stay in Kiyou."
"Yuzuriha," Reishin corrected him; she was supposed to be a boy, not a girl. "What does he know? Nothing." Shouka said it was imperative to keep Yuri's secret, so Reishin would do so and pretend he didn't know why, though he remembered standing behind the screen to Aunt Gyokuka's room and listening. He remembered the hammer of the imperial army hovering above Kou Province, only a ghost and a story to him, but real to his older brother, real enough to--
"I wish Aunt Gyokuka were here," Kurou said in his small voice, twirling the paper charm with both hands. He wasn't looking out the window, but at Reishin's reflection. Their eyes met. "She would make him come back..."
She would; Aunt Gyokuka could do anything. She could have taken the throne. "We can make Shouka come back." The window frosted when he breathed out a sigh. "I'll write another letter." Reishin curled his fingers together under the hems of his sleeves. "Go fetch the paper, Kurou."
His brother yipped - Reishin scolded him immediately, accused him of being the son of monkeys - and Kurou ran out into the hallway. The door drifted closed, but did not quite shut, and his footsteps thumped down the hallway and faded.
Reishin's fingers felt stiff and frozen. It would be smarter to move back or meet his brother in another room with a brazier or a stove that was actually lit, but he shifted on his legs again, felt his toes tingle, and turned his gaze back to the yard outside, the high stone wall with its tiled shelter, and the flashes of red and white umbrellas that showed past that line, between the jostling shoulders of the pines. He shouldn't write without a desk. The cold would make his calligraphy messy. If Shouka read his letters at all he would be ashamed of his little brother's sloppy handwriting. And if he didn't?
A vision from a story, of letters and papers abandoned to the wind and sweeping across dusty floors, made Reishin close his eyes against the possibility. It would not be like his brother, in any case; Shouka was the one sacrificing himself for their sake, not the other way around. He would read Reishin's letter.
He would come - with the new year, maybe, since he hadn't made it before winter began.
Maybe.
...