Byakuya and Yachiru 00A-00B: Broken Crown
Written for the February prompt challenge of bleach_het. As usual, violent reactions and the grammar police are welcome. ♥
I'm not sure where I was going with this fic, I just know I was 1) reading Sherlock Holmes and 2) thinking I wanted to do a prequel of sorts to my previous Byakuya-Yachiru fics. While it's written in two parts, I don't consider them stand-alone vignettes, mainly because they are meant to complement each other.
Enough pre-amble, let's roll.
title: Broken Crown
characters: Byakuya, Yachiru, Kenpachi, Hisana (off-stage)
genre: introspection
rating: It's safe for the kiddies!
spoilers/time line: flashbacks mentioned during Soul Society arc.
disclaimer: I don't own Bleach. I don't own the English language either but I use it all the time.
Prompt: empty spaces
Broken Crown by Laurie Bunter
“It is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” Sherlock Holmes in The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet
I. Cracks, Surfaces
“The roof of the mansion needs to be inspected in time for winter, Kuchiki-sama,” the family retainer reminded him. “Do you wish me to oversee the repairs? Perhaps all the Kuchiki holdings should be checked.”
Byakuya’s shoulders twitched with irritation. He did not want to be bothered with such details. Yet it was not his steward’s fault; he needed to bring it to the attention of the master of the house. Byakuya wished he gave his full attention to the topic when it was first broached a month ago. “Of course, please oversee the workmen,” Byakuya said. “Make sure there are no leaks in any of the buildings.”
The old man nodded and bowed before turning away. Byakuya remembered suddenly how troublesome last year was, for multiple reasons. Aside from losing his wife, he had learned a lesson that hurt both his pride and his pocket.
Last year Hisana passed away. The first few months after her death, everyone had tiptoed around him, unable to raise a voice above a frightened whisper. When he was not at the 6th division headquarters, buried in work, Byakuya shut himself off in his private quarters, ignoring the rest of the mansion - and the world.
His staff took the change in him stoically and managed to maintain the huge grounds as best as they could with their usual standing orders. Yet no special maintenance work could be done without explicit orders from their lord. Everything was perfectly polished and spotless, but with their master’s indifference for improvement, the mansion had an aura of shabby neglect. It was as if the very air in Soul Society had gone stale.
The seasons changed without the usual precautions. Then one snowy evening, a thunderous crack was heard throughout the house. Byakuya, deep in silent contemplation, ignored it until he noticed the reiatsu of the family steward patiently waiting outside his quarters.
“What is it?” he had asked sharply.
“I am sorry to disturb you, Kuchiki-sama,” he said, his teeth clenched from both the chill as well as embarrassment. “But you must see for yourself.”
With great reluctance, Byakuya left his quarters for the first time all day. He was led all over the mansion to inspect the worst of the damage.
“What the - ” Byakuya cut himself off before completing the expletive.
An ancient support beam had given way, most likely due to the weight of the snow. Ceramic tile and wooden slats lay scattered on the floor. His grandmother’s hand-painted shoji screens sagged with soggy indignity. A family heirloom - a portrait of the first Kuchiki captain - was thoroughly soaked.
The entire northwestern suite, which Hisana had wanted to turn into a nursery, was submerged in a foot of wet slush.
“I am sorry, Kuchiki-sama.” The aging retainer dropped to his knees, in abject apology.
Byakuya was silent for a moment. “Get up,” he said tersely. “This is not your fault. If you fall ill, this matter will not be dealt with. Supervise the servants. Move the porcelain and salvage the old books. Any furniture beyond repair, chop up for kindling. Get rid of the tatami mats. Then seal this wing off from the rest of the house for the time being. I will have it rebuilt next spring.”
“Yes, Kuchiki-sama,” his steward breathed, scurrying away in drenched robes to do his bidding.
Byakuya lingered in the wreck. Hisana made such lovely plans for this portion of the house - she loved the view of the moss garden. She taught him to enjoy the feel of that velvety moss on his bare hands and feet, and he had promised to let their future children romp unheeded in that well-shaded space.
Some things were not meant to end happily.
How had things come to this?
Byakuya shook off his sodden sandals and socks and bit his lip.
He neglected his birthplace as he neglected himself.
As Byakuya glanced up through the torn roof, his gaze stretched out directly into the night sky.
One constellation seemed especially bright: the Corona Borealis.
The stars twinkled like the eyes of an innocent. Their steady light filled him with uncanny longing.
Byakuya left the room abruptly, cursing the winter.
The sight of that empty, ruined suite touched a sensitive nerve, and the memory lingered. It occurred to Byakuya that he was going to live a long life. The Kuchiki clan was known for its longevity. It would be only natural that someday, the void spaces in his heart would be filled once more with spring weather.
As painful as the thought was now, perhaps in time another woman would be mistress of the house and claim the moss garden for her own.
One day, someone else will make over the northwestern suite to her taste, and everything would be filled with the new: no nostalgia would linger there, not even the heirlooms that used to delight his first wife. By then these items would have found niches in other parts of the mansion.
Byakuya could only speculate that the improbable might happen someday. Not now. There was no need for urgency.
Six months have passed since that moment in a snow-filled room. Byakuya wondered how long he would be in repair.
II. The Missing Piece
Back in Rukongai, when she was truly a child - she was not a child now, despite all appearances - Yachiru made up stories for herself. Her mind soared to the clouds as she tried to lull herself to sleep, curled up for warmth while Kenpachi occasionally disappeared to either fight for food or just for the hell of it. Her nostrils did not twitch at the comforting, familiar scents of sweat and bloodstains.
With or without her father figure by her side, Yachiru’s stories were pleasant. Her favorite one, which obsessed her, was about the star crown in the midnight sky.
Once there was a young princess who was kidnapped from her family, the rulers of Soul Society. Dying of grief, her grandfather the King took her little crown - which was all that remained of her in the palace - and pried off the brightest jewel. He threw it as far as he could and said, “Where it lands, my grand-daughter one day will find it. She will outwit her captors and then come back to us.” The rest of the crown he tossed upwards to the heavens. The gods accepted his prayer and his gift, and took the broken crown and turned it into stars.
“What are you looking at?” Kenpachi asked one night.
“The broken crown in the sky,” she answered.
“Stupid - it’s a bowl,” he said. “A broken bowl. It’s no good to anyone. It leaks.”
Yachiru was confused. The sight of her open mouth and puzzled little eyebrows irritated Kenpachi, so he cuffed her on the head affectionately. “Brat, don’t stare too much at the stars. You’ll always be looking for what’s never going to be there.”
Kenpachi rolled over to sleep on the grass, and that was apparently the end of that discussion.
Yachiru propped up her arms and rested her cheeks against her cupped hands. For the first time, a serious light descended on her eyes. Ken-chan can be wrong, she thought.
She wondered about the distance between the midnight sky and the soft turf she was currently lying on. She did not envy those in other sections of Rukongai who lived in rude wooden dwellings with dirt floors. What could be better than sleeping beneath the stars?
Then she considered, for a moment, the whirlwind of a man she had seen in the morning, dressed in a white haori she had never seen the likes of before. She was perched in her favorite tree eating pilfered fruit when she noticed him.
The man’s soft, spidery scarf had whipped around with the wind and the speed of his own movement as he flash-stepped over the rickety rooftops of the 79th district, unmindful of a single pair of eyes following his progress.
Even the stranger’s reiatsu was equal, or perhaps even greater, than her Ken-chan’s. She was so sure of it.
Yachiru wanted Ken-chan to own a warm haori like that. Perhaps if she saw him again, Ken-chan could fight him and get his clothing.
More importantly than warm clothes for the coming winter, Yachiru wanted to touch the bright stars in that man’s hair. It wasn’t quite like a crown but it was the closest thing to one she had ever seen.
A guy like that, Yachiru thought, he would own the grass he slept on.
One day she was going to find out where. Maybe that’s where she would find the missing piece of her secret crown.
Ever the optimist, Yachiru did not believe in insurmountable difficulties.
She’d recognize that reiatsu if she ever came across it again. It would be like coming home.
Edit.
If it doesn't make too much sense yet, try reading my two other full-length Byakuya-Yachiru stories for full flavor.
The Nature of Collapse
and its hentai sequel
Uncertainty Principle
Thanks to Annieroo2 for the concrit! :D
I'm not sure where I was going with this fic, I just know I was 1) reading Sherlock Holmes and 2) thinking I wanted to do a prequel of sorts to my previous Byakuya-Yachiru fics. While it's written in two parts, I don't consider them stand-alone vignettes, mainly because they are meant to complement each other.
Enough pre-amble, let's roll.
title: Broken Crown
characters: Byakuya, Yachiru, Kenpachi, Hisana (off-stage)
genre: introspection
rating: It's safe for the kiddies!
spoilers/time line: flashbacks mentioned during Soul Society arc.
disclaimer: I don't own Bleach. I don't own the English language either but I use it all the time.
Prompt: empty spaces
Broken Crown by Laurie Bunter
“It is an old maxim of mine that when you have excluded the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” Sherlock Holmes in The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet
I. Cracks, Surfaces
“The roof of the mansion needs to be inspected in time for winter, Kuchiki-sama,” the family retainer reminded him. “Do you wish me to oversee the repairs? Perhaps all the Kuchiki holdings should be checked.”
Byakuya’s shoulders twitched with irritation. He did not want to be bothered with such details. Yet it was not his steward’s fault; he needed to bring it to the attention of the master of the house. Byakuya wished he gave his full attention to the topic when it was first broached a month ago. “Of course, please oversee the workmen,” Byakuya said. “Make sure there are no leaks in any of the buildings.”
The old man nodded and bowed before turning away. Byakuya remembered suddenly how troublesome last year was, for multiple reasons. Aside from losing his wife, he had learned a lesson that hurt both his pride and his pocket.
Last year Hisana passed away. The first few months after her death, everyone had tiptoed around him, unable to raise a voice above a frightened whisper. When he was not at the 6th division headquarters, buried in work, Byakuya shut himself off in his private quarters, ignoring the rest of the mansion - and the world.
His staff took the change in him stoically and managed to maintain the huge grounds as best as they could with their usual standing orders. Yet no special maintenance work could be done without explicit orders from their lord. Everything was perfectly polished and spotless, but with their master’s indifference for improvement, the mansion had an aura of shabby neglect. It was as if the very air in Soul Society had gone stale.
The seasons changed without the usual precautions. Then one snowy evening, a thunderous crack was heard throughout the house. Byakuya, deep in silent contemplation, ignored it until he noticed the reiatsu of the family steward patiently waiting outside his quarters.
“What is it?” he had asked sharply.
“I am sorry to disturb you, Kuchiki-sama,” he said, his teeth clenched from both the chill as well as embarrassment. “But you must see for yourself.”
With great reluctance, Byakuya left his quarters for the first time all day. He was led all over the mansion to inspect the worst of the damage.
“What the - ” Byakuya cut himself off before completing the expletive.
An ancient support beam had given way, most likely due to the weight of the snow. Ceramic tile and wooden slats lay scattered on the floor. His grandmother’s hand-painted shoji screens sagged with soggy indignity. A family heirloom - a portrait of the first Kuchiki captain - was thoroughly soaked.
The entire northwestern suite, which Hisana had wanted to turn into a nursery, was submerged in a foot of wet slush.
“I am sorry, Kuchiki-sama.” The aging retainer dropped to his knees, in abject apology.
Byakuya was silent for a moment. “Get up,” he said tersely. “This is not your fault. If you fall ill, this matter will not be dealt with. Supervise the servants. Move the porcelain and salvage the old books. Any furniture beyond repair, chop up for kindling. Get rid of the tatami mats. Then seal this wing off from the rest of the house for the time being. I will have it rebuilt next spring.”
“Yes, Kuchiki-sama,” his steward breathed, scurrying away in drenched robes to do his bidding.
Byakuya lingered in the wreck. Hisana made such lovely plans for this portion of the house - she loved the view of the moss garden. She taught him to enjoy the feel of that velvety moss on his bare hands and feet, and he had promised to let their future children romp unheeded in that well-shaded space.
Some things were not meant to end happily.
How had things come to this?
Byakuya shook off his sodden sandals and socks and bit his lip.
He neglected his birthplace as he neglected himself.
As Byakuya glanced up through the torn roof, his gaze stretched out directly into the night sky.
One constellation seemed especially bright: the Corona Borealis.
The stars twinkled like the eyes of an innocent. Their steady light filled him with uncanny longing.
Byakuya left the room abruptly, cursing the winter.
The sight of that empty, ruined suite touched a sensitive nerve, and the memory lingered. It occurred to Byakuya that he was going to live a long life. The Kuchiki clan was known for its longevity. It would be only natural that someday, the void spaces in his heart would be filled once more with spring weather.
As painful as the thought was now, perhaps in time another woman would be mistress of the house and claim the moss garden for her own.
One day, someone else will make over the northwestern suite to her taste, and everything would be filled with the new: no nostalgia would linger there, not even the heirlooms that used to delight his first wife. By then these items would have found niches in other parts of the mansion.
Byakuya could only speculate that the improbable might happen someday. Not now. There was no need for urgency.
Six months have passed since that moment in a snow-filled room. Byakuya wondered how long he would be in repair.
II. The Missing Piece
Back in Rukongai, when she was truly a child - she was not a child now, despite all appearances - Yachiru made up stories for herself. Her mind soared to the clouds as she tried to lull herself to sleep, curled up for warmth while Kenpachi occasionally disappeared to either fight for food or just for the hell of it. Her nostrils did not twitch at the comforting, familiar scents of sweat and bloodstains.
With or without her father figure by her side, Yachiru’s stories were pleasant. Her favorite one, which obsessed her, was about the star crown in the midnight sky.
Once there was a young princess who was kidnapped from her family, the rulers of Soul Society. Dying of grief, her grandfather the King took her little crown - which was all that remained of her in the palace - and pried off the brightest jewel. He threw it as far as he could and said, “Where it lands, my grand-daughter one day will find it. She will outwit her captors and then come back to us.” The rest of the crown he tossed upwards to the heavens. The gods accepted his prayer and his gift, and took the broken crown and turned it into stars.
“What are you looking at?” Kenpachi asked one night.
“The broken crown in the sky,” she answered.
“Stupid - it’s a bowl,” he said. “A broken bowl. It’s no good to anyone. It leaks.”
Yachiru was confused. The sight of her open mouth and puzzled little eyebrows irritated Kenpachi, so he cuffed her on the head affectionately. “Brat, don’t stare too much at the stars. You’ll always be looking for what’s never going to be there.”
Kenpachi rolled over to sleep on the grass, and that was apparently the end of that discussion.
Yachiru propped up her arms and rested her cheeks against her cupped hands. For the first time, a serious light descended on her eyes. Ken-chan can be wrong, she thought.
She wondered about the distance between the midnight sky and the soft turf she was currently lying on. She did not envy those in other sections of Rukongai who lived in rude wooden dwellings with dirt floors. What could be better than sleeping beneath the stars?
Then she considered, for a moment, the whirlwind of a man she had seen in the morning, dressed in a white haori she had never seen the likes of before. She was perched in her favorite tree eating pilfered fruit when she noticed him.
The man’s soft, spidery scarf had whipped around with the wind and the speed of his own movement as he flash-stepped over the rickety rooftops of the 79th district, unmindful of a single pair of eyes following his progress.
Even the stranger’s reiatsu was equal, or perhaps even greater, than her Ken-chan’s. She was so sure of it.
Yachiru wanted Ken-chan to own a warm haori like that. Perhaps if she saw him again, Ken-chan could fight him and get his clothing.
More importantly than warm clothes for the coming winter, Yachiru wanted to touch the bright stars in that man’s hair. It wasn’t quite like a crown but it was the closest thing to one she had ever seen.
A guy like that, Yachiru thought, he would own the grass he slept on.
One day she was going to find out where. Maybe that’s where she would find the missing piece of her secret crown.
Ever the optimist, Yachiru did not believe in insurmountable difficulties.
She’d recognize that reiatsu if she ever came across it again. It would be like coming home.
Edit.
If it doesn't make too much sense yet, try reading my two other full-length Byakuya-Yachiru stories for full flavor.
The Nature of Collapse
and its hentai sequel
Uncertainty Principle
Thanks to Annieroo2 for the concrit! :D