Tsubasa Chronicle Fan Fiction ❯ Tokoharu ❯ Touki ( Chapter 1 )

Okay, first of all, I want it known that this is not the kind of story I would ever have come up with on my own. It was requested anonymously on LJ and I undertook as a sort of challenge. I only mention this to warn you all in case it turns out really bad. I'm out of my element!

That said, I tried to make it as creative and different as I possibly could, and I hopefully I have succeeded in that, at least. I've outlined six chapters total (darn thing started out with just 3 chapters, but it multiplied…), and this first one is probably not indicative of the length of the others. Some will be long, some not so long; I know some readers dislike one or the other, so I'm sorry to say that I'll disappoint you either way. I hope you'll bear with me though.

As always, there is no BL intended or implied. Thank you to the anonymous person XD for requesting it, and I hope everyone enjoys! Please do let me know what you think, since - again! - I'm feeling out of my comfort zone here. XP;;;

Disclaimer: I only wish I had CLAMP's talent. All recognizable Tsubasa characters and settings belong to them; everyone and everywhere else is mine.

 

 

Tokoharu :: Everlasting Spring

Chapter One :: Touki

 

The snow had been falling for hours now. Syaoran thought that there was something vaguely hypnotic about watching the flakes flutter weightlessly down, blown about by the occasional violent gust of cold North wind that rattled the windowpanes from which he was watching. He had long ago stopped reading the book that lay open in his lap as he sat, legs curled beneath him, on the cushioned windowseat. Even with the fire that was blazing away in the enormous fireplace to his right, the stone walls of the Palace did not retain heat well, and Syaoran pulled his thickly-lined dressing robe closer around his shoulders, shivering.

 

He really ought to be doing something productive. He was the Crown Prince, after all, set to take the throne as soon as he reached his majority at sixteen, which was just a few months away. Syaoran was sure that there were plenty of important things that he should be doing right now, and normally he wasn't one to shirk his duty. But he wanted to indulge himself just a moment longer, to sit here quietly and watch the snow before the afternoon lessons and meetings called him away. He reassured himself that Father wouldn't have minded, but that thought only brought with it a keen pang of grief and guilt.

 

It had been just over a week since the King's sudden and mysterious death, only a few days since the funeral. Syaoran had kept himself constantly busy since then, trying to keep his emotions at bay, but today he was too weary to make the effort. He wouldn't cry, though. He hadn't cried since the night his father died, and he swore that he would not do so again until he uncovered the truth about the King's death. It had been given out that King Fujitaka had passed away due to an unknown illness, but Syaoran had his own suspicions. There was no way Father would have succumbed to something so trivial…

 

A knock at the door jolted Syaoran from his thoughts with a start. Schooling his expression to hide any evidence of his thoughts, Syaoran turned to the doorway and called, “Enter.” A servant dressed in the red-and-white livery of the Royal Family came in and bowed elegantly. “Her Majesty, the Queen Regent, requests your presence in the withdrawing chambers of her apartments,” he said blandly. “She wishes to speak with you regarding the engagement gift you will be sending the Princess of Xiang.

 

Suppressing a sigh, Syaoran set the book aside and stood reluctantly, removing the dressing robe and folding it neatly upon the windowseat. He nodded for the servant to lead the way, and followed him out of his chambers and through the numerous rooms and hallways that led to his mother's. His sturdy thigh-high boots echoed off the stone walls and floor, drowning out the softer tread of the servant's soft leather shoes, and Syaoran tried not to think of anything else but the steady sounds of his own footsteps.

 

All too soon, they were standing before the double doors of the Queen's apartments and the servant was giving one sharp knock. His mother's voice drifted through the wood, mellifluous as ever as she bade them enter. The servant bowed briefly to Syaoran and pulled back on heavy door for the Prince, coming in behind him and letting it fall gently shut. “His Grace, the Crown Prince,” the man announced unnecessarily.

 

Queen Emi turned as they entered with a rustle of skirts and soft jingle of jewelry. As always Syaoran was struck by how exquisitely his mother's name, meaning “blessed with beauty,” suited her; even in the somber black of mourning, she was stunning and he understood why his father had fallen in love with her at first sight. She smiled disarmingly as her eyes landed on him. “My dear!” she cried, coming forward to take his hands in her own and offer her cheek for him to kiss. She glanced at the servant hovering by the door. “Thank you. You may go.” The man bowed and Syaoran barely heard his quiet exit.

 

“Darling, you look pale,” the Queen murmured, trailing the back of one perfectly manicured finger down his cheek. Syaoran resisted the urge to flinch; he loved his mother, but since his father's death he hadn't been able to feel at ease with people touching him, even her. She didn't seem to notice, however, but she took her hand away from his face and instead grabbed his arm, gently pulling him over to the table she had been standing by when he'd come in.

 

“This should distract you from your melancholy,” she said gaily. She gestured to the jewelry that lay spread out on the table, glittering in the light of the many candles in the room. “Now, my dear, you are well overdue to send the Princess a proper engagement gift. I think it best if you send her no less than at least two necklaces and two bracelets, and perhaps a pair of earrings as well. I've narrowed the selection down considerably, but now it's up to you, Syaoran. You ought to get used to picking out jewelry for your beloved, after all.” She laughed lightly.

 

Syaoran opened his mouth to speak, but Emi carried on, launching into a detailed comparison of each piece that he could barely follow; all the jewelry looked largely the same to him, and besides, he was hardly in the mood to examine them right now. After a few more attempts to interrupt his mother's speech, Syaoran finally grabbed her hands. “Mother!” he said, more sharply than he'd intended. When she stopped abruptly and looked at him with hurt showing on her face, he felt a sharp stab of guilt and softened his voice. “Mother,” he repeated, “I thought that negotiations for the engagement were not going to be continued until our mourning period is over. It's only been a week.”

 

The Queen glanced away, twisting the heavy wedding band on her finger. “These are not negotiations,” she said after a moment, making an attempt at a smile. “They are merely assurances of our good faith.”

 

“Mother…”

 

“Remember, Syaoran, Xiang is both larger and far more powerful than our little kingdom. This alliance is necessary to ensure the safety and prosperity of our people, so it is your duty as the future King to see it through.” She was regaining her levity as she spoke words that Syaoran had heard dozens of times before. “Besides,” she went on, smiling more fully now, “you have no reason to complain about Princess Li-Mei. She is a lovely girl, if her portrait is truthful. It certainly should be, since the artist is one of the most well-known in the Four Kingdoms…”

 

She continued for a few minutes longer, with Syaoran nodding and murmuring agreement at every appropriate pause. When she had finished, he dutifully picked out the jewelry and then made his escape as quickly as he could. He headed for the Great Hall, sending a passing servant to fetch his cloak and riding gloves. If the mood now set for the morning was any indication of the way the rest of the day would be going, Syaoran decided that he would have to take every available opportunity to get away for even a few minutes if he expected to keep his composure intact.

 

The servant returned with the cloak and gloves, and Syaoran dismissed him to his other duties when he would have helped his Prince into them. As Syaoran pulled the heavy fur-lined cloak over his shoulders and fastened the elaborate clasp, a voice spoke up behind him, echoing in the large, empty Hall. “Your Grace.”

 

Syaoran whirled to see Jiro, his mother's newly appointed Grand Chamberlain and advisor, striding towards him. He was a tall, thin man with grey hair and sharp dark eyes. That hawkish gaze was fixed up Syaoran now, even as the man bowed deferentially. “Lord Chamberlain,” the Prince returned coolly, tensing. He detested this man and they both knew it.

 

Jiro smiled humorlessly. “Might I inquire as to where you are going, my lord?”

 

“You may not,” Syaoran replied tersely.

 

“The Queen will wish to know, my lord.”

 

Syaoran turned on his heel and strode towards the massive oaken double-doors at the Hall's end, responding over his shoulder. “Tell my mother that I will be back in an hour or two.”

 

He did not wait to hear if Jiro replied, motioning for the guards beside the doors to open them. Despite his layers of thick clothing, the gust of wind that blew against his face when he stepped outside was still shockingly cold, and he hurried to the relative warmth of the Royal Stables. The grooms knew their Prince's habits very well, and he did not even need to tell them which horse he would be riding; they had his favorite, a tall grey called Ginrei, out and saddled in a few minutes, and one of the newer boys shyly handed him the reigns. Syaoran nodded and thanked him gravely, for he felt more comfortable with the stablehands than perhaps any of the other servants in the Palace.

 

Mounting easily, Syaoran urged his horse into a brisk trot across the stableyard and down to one of the smaller side gates that led out of the Palace grounds. The guards saluted him stiffly, also familiar with his routine, and pulled open the rod iron gates to allow him through into the city.

 

Syaoran slowed Ginrei's pace only a little as he navigated the cobblestone streets of the capital city, mindful of the townspeople hurrying to get out of his way and bow deeply in respect. He returned their obeisance with nothing more than a nod and a wave, intent on getting out of the city as quickly as he could.

 

As soon as he was beyond the city walls, Syaoran kicked Ginrei into as swift a pace as the horse could safely manage in the deep snow and mountainous terrain. He kept along the narrow, rocky path that wound through the mountain pass and into the valley where the capital city was situated. Since the weather kept most travelers away, he met no one on his way.

 

The Prince did not slow until the Palace was hidden from his vision by the dense pine forest that surrounded the trail. Only then did he finally allow Ginrei to slow to a walk, no doubt to the horse's relief, for the snow here was up to the animal's knees.

 

The forest was completely still, for the wind had died down for now and the snow continued its silent, steady descent to earth undisturbed. Syaoran realized that he was gripping the reigns tightly, and forced himself to relax, letting out a slow breath. He was overreacting, he knew. He should not allow himself to be so angry and hurt by his mother's obsession with the engagement. She was correct, the kingdom really did rely on the alliance, and perhaps he was just being stubborn by trying to put it off until the mourning period ended.

 

“Never be in a hurry to get angry,” his Father had often said. Syaoran wished that he had his father's wisdom and ever-present calm. More than that, though, he wished that his father was still here to give that wisdom and calm. He would have smiled, as he always did when Syaoran was acting childish, and then he would have reprimanded him gently. “Now, Syaoran,” he would have said, “you have to stop and think things through. Nothing is as simple as it appears, nor as complicated as you might fear. If you let yourself get carried away with your anger, you won't ever get to the truth of the matter.”

 

Syaoran sighed, his breath pluming in the air. “Father…” he murmured. I miss you.

 

Suddenly he was brought out of his thoughts when Ginrei stopped short, tossing its head. Syaoran leaned forward and patted the horse's neck. “Ginrei,” he said softly, “what's the matter?” He nudged Ginrei's sides lightly with his heels, but it refused to move. Puzzled, Syaoran slid easily from the saddle and into the snow that went up to his thighs, keeping the reins in his hand as he tried to see what had alarmed the horse.

 

It wasn't hard to spot: a foot or so ahead of them something lay in the snow, itself only covered with a light layer. Confident that Ginrei would not stray, Syaoran dropped the reigns and moved forward as quickly as he could. When he crouched down to investigate the figure, its human shape became obvious and he was half-afraid of what he'd find as he brushed off some of the snow that covered it. A small human shoulder, clad in soft blue wool, was revealed. It did not take much work to uncover the rest of the body, which turned out to be that of a young girl perhaps only a little younger than Syaoran himself. A peasant by her clothing, she lay completely still and apparently lifeless.

 

Syaoran sat back on his heels with a little gasp of dismay. He felt sick as he pulled off one glove and held it in front of her barely parted lips, which held a discouragingly bluish tinge to them. After what seemed like a small eternity, he felt it—the ghost of a breath against his skin. Syaoran's shoulders slumped with relief. He tapped her cheek gently, picking up one small hand and chafing it gently, shocked at the iciness of her fingers. After a moment, he was rewarded with a faint moan, and the girl stirred weakly.

 

Assured that she was still alive—for the moment—Syaoran decided in an instant that he was not going to let her die. He quickly unclasped the cloak from around his shoulders, shivering in the bone-chilling cold, and wrapped it snugly around the girl. Lifting her easily into his arms, for she weighed no more than a small child, he hurried back to Ginrei's side.

 

It took quite a bit of effort to get her up in the saddle, but finally it was accomplished and he swung up behind her. Holding her carefully with one arm, he turned Ginrei back along the trail. He didn't allow himself to consider what his mother's reaction was going to be; he could worry about that when he came to it. Right now he was just going to concentrate on saving this girl's life.

 

Holding her more closely to him, Syaoran urged Ginrei more swiftly down the path towards home, and warmth.

 

:: to be continued… ::

 

 

Glossary:

 

touki :: winter

Kanbai :: the name of a plum tree that blossoms in the winter

Xiang :: Chinese, meaning “auspicious”

Emi :: “blessed with beauty”

Li-Mei :: Chinese, meaning “black plum”

Ginrei :: silver bell