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maderrSometimes, I have no bloody clue why certain things strike me, or demand to be written. I am serious when I say this fucker would not leave me alone today >_< And...I'm not sure there's much point to it, or why it struck me NOW of all times.
But, I have long since learned to do as I'm told and not ask questions.
A well trained slave am I.
He wanted to scream. Cry. Shout his rage and grief and pain to the sky above.
All these desires, however, were muted. He was simply too numb to muster the energy for passionate protest.
The world was a strange, foreign place. Too still, too quiet. He could not hear the hopes and dreams of his children. The voices of his brothers and sisters –
He cut the thought off before madness took him. It swam just beneath the surface of the mind-numbing cold.
All that he was used to hearing and feeling…gone. Simple as that. He knew nothing but that which was provided by the most basic of senses. The smell of the sea, the coarse sand beneath his feet, the cold bite of the water as it raced up the beach.
The voices, the prayers…he could not even hear the call of the sea or the song of the sky. Everything was gone.
What was he to do? Why should he do anything? Everything he'd ever loved was dead…
It wasn't fair. All they had made and given, and for what? To end like this?
They all should be grateful he was weak and helpless…
No…
That was not the way to think.
What was he to do now?
He was free, at least. That meant all was not yet lost.
Nothing but water stretched on for miles, familiar and foreign all at once. He could no longer hear it, speak to it…but…
Shivering against the cold air and colder water, he waded into the sea. Pain lanced through his foot as he stepped on something sharp. Jerking away, his other foot caught on something out of sight and he went down with a cry that was quickly choked off as he swallowed water.
He came up sputtering, flailing, forcibly reminded that he was not what he once had been.
It was a hard thing to accept.
Neither was he terribly strong anyway, but weak from all that had so recently passed.
He suspected not wearing a single stitch of clothing would not improve matters. But he could not stay here, to remain was to fail before he'd even begun to fight. Somehow or another, he must get back to civilization. If only…
There was no point dwelling on impossibilities.
Slowly standing up, he shoved back the wet and tangled strands of his long hair. The very moment he was able, it was getting cut. Once it had been a fine thing to let it fall all down his back. Now it was a nuisance, especially as it would seem he had no choice but to throw himself upon the mercy of the sea that no longer understood him.
Taking a deep breath, tamping down on the panic that still threatened to break free, he waded more carefully into deeper water – then dove straight into the water where depth made it violet rather than blue.
He kept swimming, ignoring pain, fear, so many things he'd never had cause to feel before. Not like this.
The seas would not let him down. Someway, somehow…they would help. They must help.
*~*~*
"Oi, there!"
He jerked awake at a hard smack to his face, blinking uncomprehendingly at the face all but right up against his own.
"You're alive," the man grunted, and moved back slightly. "I bet you've a fascinating story to tell."
"T-thank you," he said, shivering, clinging gratefully to the rough-spun blanket wrapped around him. He tried to stand, but collapsed gracefully back to the deck of the ship.
So he'd been rescued.
The man still watching grunted. "Got a name, stranger? Was your ship taken down by those sea witches?"
What?
He struggled to think, and opened his mouth to give his name – then snapped it shut again. "I…don't remember…"
"Not surprised," the man grunted. "If I wound up in the sea naked as the day I was born and blue from cold, I don't think I'd want to remember either. Come on, then. To my cabin. Food and brandy will warm you right up."
An hour later he did feel considerably warmer, and suspected that he would live. Whether or not that was disappointing, he didn't feel like pondering at the moment.
He still didn't know what to do. So much must be accomplished…his power must be taken back…
Thinking of all that had passed, and all that must come, he felt more tired than he thought should be possible. Had he ever felt so exhausted? Drained? He did not ponder the answer, for fear of what images might surface.
"You look like you've the weight of the world on your shoulders, lad," the man said gruffly. "Certain you don't remember anything?"
He shook his head. "No…I remember far too many deaths, and that I should be numbered among the corpses…somehow I am not."
"Blessing of the Storm Dragons, that is," the man said wisely.
An hysterical fit of laughter threatened, and he knocked back the brandy left in his glass to drowned it.
"My name is Raiden," the man said, scrubbing a hand through short, deep green hair. His eyes were the same color, and held a sharp focus as Raiden stared at him. "Captain Takumi Raiden of the merchant ship The Maiden's Heart."
"Thank you again for rescuing me, Captain," he said.
Raiden grunted again. "Anywhere we can drop you, lad?"
"I don't suppose you are returning to Kundou?" Lad. Ha! Him, a lad. If he thought he could laugh without sobbing, he would find that hilarious
"Aye, that we are. Have to make port in Verde first, but then we're headed home again."
He nodded. "Then, if you are willing, I need to return to Kundou."
"Even though you don't remember what you're doing in the middle of storming no where?"
"Yes," he said softly, staring into his empty glass.
"You're a strange one, no mistake. I don't suppose you've remembered a name yet?"
He shook his head. "I have no name…not…not anymore…"
"Well, I suppose we can't go around calling you drowned rat or what all. Recall any experience with ships? Recall being good at anything?"
His mouth quirked in a smile, and it surprised him. "I remember ships," he said. "I remember the sea."
"I'd imagine you won't be forgetting the sea for some time. Can you read? Write?"
Could he? Were the words still the same, after all the years that had passed? "I think so," he finally said. "You rescued me. I would imagine I can do whatever you need."
Bitterness washed through him, to think of what he could do – and what he could not. Mortality chafed. Weak, that's all he was now! Pathetic and helpless, relying upon his own children to clothe and feed him, to fight off the terrible cold that once he would have relished and enjoyed.
He shivered and wished for more brandy, for it brought a heat and numbness that he was more than happy to enjoy. Anything was better than thinking. Certainly anything was better than feeling.
Setting his glass down, he rubbed his hands up and down his arms, attempting to ward off a chill he sensed he would never be rid of. Alone, that's what he was now. He would always be alone, now. Who was left that cared about him?
No one.
All the emotions he kept buried slowly threatened to shatter the surface calm. He closed his eyes and drew in slow, deep breaths.
A hand settled on his shoulder, startling him.
"Oi, lad. Whatever troubles you, it can't be so bad as that," Raiden said gruffly. "At any rate, it does you no good to dwell upon it here, when there is nothing to be done. If it's Kundou you need, then we'll see to it you are returned to Kundou."
He nodded, humbled.
Perhaps there were reasons to fight, even if he must fight alone.
He stared at his hands, seeing blood, a pale body far too still in his arms. The deep, cold pain of a forbidden spell. Years of pain, and still more pain as his brothers vanished forever to give him this last, desperate chance.
Kindness from a man who had no reason to give it.
Maybe he could do this…though he still had no idea where to start.
Slowly he looked up again. "I appreciate the kindness, and I hope you will let me return it in full. I do not know what skills I possess, but they are at your disposal."
Raiden grinned. "I'm certain we'll find a way to put you to use. For now, I think sleep is what you most need. Go and find a hammock, and tomorrow we'll see what you're made of."
Everything and nothing, he almost answered, but caught himself at the last.
When Raiden summoned the cabin boy to show him to a hammock, he went gladly. Barely had he settled when he dropped off into sleep.
*~*~*
"Shima!"
He looked up at the sound of his name – though it still was so hard to associate the name with himself – and frowned in concern. "What's wrong?"
"Captain needs you," the cabin boy said.
Shimano stood and brushed off his breeches, lacing up the shirt he'd loosened while he worked inside the hot confines of the cargo hold. "Is something wrong?"
The cabin boy nodded, but said nothing.
Ah. Shimano's mouth tightened. He would get that stubborn idiot to retire or else. He should have done so years ago. Shaking his head, he snatched up the scarf he'd pulled off earlier because of the heat and retied the plain green square of fabric neatly over the top of his head before swiftly making his way back up the main deck.
Striding down the gangway, he hastened to the offices and warehouse that were the headquarters of Raiden Shipping.
Captain Raiden sat in a chair beside the fire, and Shimano saw instantly why the cabin boy had summoned him. Though he was putting up a strong front, Shima could see that he was barely managing it. Of late, the illness lodged in his chest had taken a turn for the worse.
He hated it, hated that he was too weak and pathetic to help the first of his children to make him almost happy he was still alive.
Not that he felt alive…but he did not feel quite dead either. Over time, perhaps, he would feel something like his old self. He doubted it, but just in the past seven years many of his doubts had been proven false…so he held out hope.
One day he would be fully on his own feet again. He hated being fully at the mercy of the world he'd helped make, but there was no help for it. He was more or less mortal now, and must play the mortal way.
First, however, he had to help Raiden.
Striding across to the little meeting alcove, he thought belatedly that it might have been wiser to change. Then again, he hadn't realized he would be dealing with some of Raiden's customers. Faded breeches and sweaty shirt would have to do. At least he'd tied his dratted hair back; even cut to his shoulders the storming stuff did not want to stay put and out of his way.
He struggled not to remember the way it had once been caressed by sky and sea and the fingers of the one he'd loved beyond and above all others.
"Good evening, gentlemen, lady," he said, sweeping a deep bow. Such mannerisms were strange to him, but amusing. Flicking a glance over them quickly, he took in their clothes, their scent, their jewels, and risked a guess. "You are here for the Pozhar tapestries. If you would be so kind, I will take you to them."
They look confused, eyes flicking between him and the amiably smiling – but probably about to succumb to a coughing fit, if not pass out – Captain.
"He's the most familiar with them," Raiden said, still smiling, but his eyes so full of pain. "I assure you, he can discuss matters with far more intelligence than I."
Shima almost snorted at that. Of course he could. He'd provoked Zhar by stealing half of them when they were first made. Arashi had stolen the other half.
Motioning, he quickly coaxed the confused couple away, guiding them to the warehouse to view the tapestries.
An hour later, he saw them off and went back to Raiden, grinning in triumph.
Raiden, stretched out in a small bed in his office, laughed weakly. "You've a natural talent for fleecing people, lad. You are wasted even on being my supercargo."
"You should be at home," Shima chided. "Not here."
"Bah!' Raiden said, waving a hand dismissively. "I need to talk to you, and it's impossible to talk at my house with all those nagging women fluttering about!"
Shima's mouth curved in a smile "Your wife and daughters, you mean?"
"Aye," Raiden said, mouth twitching. "Those very ones. A beautiful wife and three loving daughters, but I've not a single son to take care of them when I'm gone."
"I'm sure your daughters will marry well," Shima said, moving to sit next to him as Raiden flapped and motioned. "Your wife is hardly the sort to let anyone but you attempt to order her about."
Raiden snorted. "I've yet to meet a woman that took orders she didn't feel like taking."
Shima laughed softly
"There's a gift for you, there," Raiden said abruptly, voice as gruff as it had ever been. He motioned to a chest in front of the massive desk on the far side of the room. "Everything in it is yours. I don't want to hear a word of complaint, lad, understand me?"
Frowning, Shima crossed the room and pushed open the lid of the trunk. He stared down quietly at the contents. "The keys?" he asked softly.
"To here, the warehouse, my house, the lockboxes…all of it, and well you know."
"You should not be giving me these things," Shima said quietly. He reached out to touch a small scroll, tied with a dark blue ribbon and lying atop a bundle of bright, colorful silk. "What is this?" he asked softly.
Raiden started to speak, but fell instead into a terrible coughing fit. Shima strode back across the room and fetched the tonic that helped ease the cough.
Storms, he hated himself in moments like this. What good was there in being alive, when he could do nothing for his children when they most needed him? This one man he wanted so badly to help, and all he could do was watch him die…
All the wisdom of creation meant very little when such things were right in front of your eyes. Once he could do so much…now he could do nothing…
Finally the coughing eased, and Raiden glared at him. "Get cleaned up, get dressed. You need to look sharp for once, not like the humble little sailor you play at being."
Shima quirked a brow at him, but did not argue.
Striding back across the room, he knelt to examine the folded silk within the trunk. With a soft sigh, he stood and stripped, washing off at the basin set on a table nearby. Clean again, he lifted the costly fabric from the trunk and slowly dressed.
When had he last felt such fabrics against his skin? Did he even deserve such finery? No, he most certainly did not. How to make a stubborn old man see that?
Even a dragon, it seemed, did not have the answers for everything.
Still, he could not deny he liked them.
Loose, dark gray pants, tucked into short boots of highly-polished black leather. Over that, a thin under robe of palest silver. An outer robe of deepest blue, stars cut out of the fabric to show the silver beneath.
The sash…the mark of any true Kundouin was his sash, and this would put even the royal family – he fought back a snarl of anger at the thought of those who were descended from that traitor – to great shame.
It was dyed myriad shades of silver, rippling like moonlight on water. Sparkling caught the corner of his eye, and he saw that further treasures remained in the trunk. Long strands of pearls and moonstones, meant to be wrapped and strung through the sash.
Swiftly he bound all in place – and saw one last scrap of fabric in the trunk.
A large square of blue fabric, decorated with silver stars.
He smiled faintly, an ache in his chest, and swiftly bound the kerchief over the top of his head.
Finally he scooped up the small scroll and strode back across the room.
"Do I pass muster?" he asked.
"Aye, that you do," Raiden said quietly. "I hope you're not going to argue me over the adoption."
Shima shook his head, amused despite himself. A dragon, adopted by one of his own children. It was funny and charming and sweet and sad. "Arguing with you is like arguing with the tide."
Raiden let out a sharp bark of laughter at that. "Aye, you've got the right of it. Well, come on then, let's get me ready to go and tonight you'll be my son." He motioned to the office. "Then I can finally make someone else do all this so those storming women will stop nagging me."
Slowly he got Raiden standing and dressed, managing to force down more tonic.
At last ready, Raiden led the way out, slapping Shima on the back and grinning. "Shimano Raiden. Has a nice ring to it, eh?"
"Yes," Shima said, returning the smile. "It does."
But, I have long since learned to do as I'm told and not ask questions.
A well trained slave am I.
He wanted to scream. Cry. Shout his rage and grief and pain to the sky above.
All these desires, however, were muted. He was simply too numb to muster the energy for passionate protest.
The world was a strange, foreign place. Too still, too quiet. He could not hear the hopes and dreams of his children. The voices of his brothers and sisters –
He cut the thought off before madness took him. It swam just beneath the surface of the mind-numbing cold.
All that he was used to hearing and feeling…gone. Simple as that. He knew nothing but that which was provided by the most basic of senses. The smell of the sea, the coarse sand beneath his feet, the cold bite of the water as it raced up the beach.
The voices, the prayers…he could not even hear the call of the sea or the song of the sky. Everything was gone.
What was he to do? Why should he do anything? Everything he'd ever loved was dead…
It wasn't fair. All they had made and given, and for what? To end like this?
They all should be grateful he was weak and helpless…
No…
That was not the way to think.
What was he to do now?
He was free, at least. That meant all was not yet lost.
Nothing but water stretched on for miles, familiar and foreign all at once. He could no longer hear it, speak to it…but…
Shivering against the cold air and colder water, he waded into the sea. Pain lanced through his foot as he stepped on something sharp. Jerking away, his other foot caught on something out of sight and he went down with a cry that was quickly choked off as he swallowed water.
He came up sputtering, flailing, forcibly reminded that he was not what he once had been.
It was a hard thing to accept.
Neither was he terribly strong anyway, but weak from all that had so recently passed.
He suspected not wearing a single stitch of clothing would not improve matters. But he could not stay here, to remain was to fail before he'd even begun to fight. Somehow or another, he must get back to civilization. If only…
There was no point dwelling on impossibilities.
Slowly standing up, he shoved back the wet and tangled strands of his long hair. The very moment he was able, it was getting cut. Once it had been a fine thing to let it fall all down his back. Now it was a nuisance, especially as it would seem he had no choice but to throw himself upon the mercy of the sea that no longer understood him.
Taking a deep breath, tamping down on the panic that still threatened to break free, he waded more carefully into deeper water – then dove straight into the water where depth made it violet rather than blue.
He kept swimming, ignoring pain, fear, so many things he'd never had cause to feel before. Not like this.
The seas would not let him down. Someway, somehow…they would help. They must help.
*~*~*
"Oi, there!"
He jerked awake at a hard smack to his face, blinking uncomprehendingly at the face all but right up against his own.
"You're alive," the man grunted, and moved back slightly. "I bet you've a fascinating story to tell."
"T-thank you," he said, shivering, clinging gratefully to the rough-spun blanket wrapped around him. He tried to stand, but collapsed gracefully back to the deck of the ship.
So he'd been rescued.
The man still watching grunted. "Got a name, stranger? Was your ship taken down by those sea witches?"
What?
He struggled to think, and opened his mouth to give his name – then snapped it shut again. "I…don't remember…"
"Not surprised," the man grunted. "If I wound up in the sea naked as the day I was born and blue from cold, I don't think I'd want to remember either. Come on, then. To my cabin. Food and brandy will warm you right up."
An hour later he did feel considerably warmer, and suspected that he would live. Whether or not that was disappointing, he didn't feel like pondering at the moment.
He still didn't know what to do. So much must be accomplished…his power must be taken back…
Thinking of all that had passed, and all that must come, he felt more tired than he thought should be possible. Had he ever felt so exhausted? Drained? He did not ponder the answer, for fear of what images might surface.
"You look like you've the weight of the world on your shoulders, lad," the man said gruffly. "Certain you don't remember anything?"
He shook his head. "No…I remember far too many deaths, and that I should be numbered among the corpses…somehow I am not."
"Blessing of the Storm Dragons, that is," the man said wisely.
An hysterical fit of laughter threatened, and he knocked back the brandy left in his glass to drowned it.
"My name is Raiden," the man said, scrubbing a hand through short, deep green hair. His eyes were the same color, and held a sharp focus as Raiden stared at him. "Captain Takumi Raiden of the merchant ship The Maiden's Heart."
"Thank you again for rescuing me, Captain," he said.
Raiden grunted again. "Anywhere we can drop you, lad?"
"I don't suppose you are returning to Kundou?" Lad. Ha! Him, a lad. If he thought he could laugh without sobbing, he would find that hilarious
"Aye, that we are. Have to make port in Verde first, but then we're headed home again."
He nodded. "Then, if you are willing, I need to return to Kundou."
"Even though you don't remember what you're doing in the middle of storming no where?"
"Yes," he said softly, staring into his empty glass.
"You're a strange one, no mistake. I don't suppose you've remembered a name yet?"
He shook his head. "I have no name…not…not anymore…"
"Well, I suppose we can't go around calling you drowned rat or what all. Recall any experience with ships? Recall being good at anything?"
His mouth quirked in a smile, and it surprised him. "I remember ships," he said. "I remember the sea."
"I'd imagine you won't be forgetting the sea for some time. Can you read? Write?"
Could he? Were the words still the same, after all the years that had passed? "I think so," he finally said. "You rescued me. I would imagine I can do whatever you need."
Bitterness washed through him, to think of what he could do – and what he could not. Mortality chafed. Weak, that's all he was now! Pathetic and helpless, relying upon his own children to clothe and feed him, to fight off the terrible cold that once he would have relished and enjoyed.
He shivered and wished for more brandy, for it brought a heat and numbness that he was more than happy to enjoy. Anything was better than thinking. Certainly anything was better than feeling.
Setting his glass down, he rubbed his hands up and down his arms, attempting to ward off a chill he sensed he would never be rid of. Alone, that's what he was now. He would always be alone, now. Who was left that cared about him?
No one.
All the emotions he kept buried slowly threatened to shatter the surface calm. He closed his eyes and drew in slow, deep breaths.
A hand settled on his shoulder, startling him.
"Oi, lad. Whatever troubles you, it can't be so bad as that," Raiden said gruffly. "At any rate, it does you no good to dwell upon it here, when there is nothing to be done. If it's Kundou you need, then we'll see to it you are returned to Kundou."
He nodded, humbled.
Perhaps there were reasons to fight, even if he must fight alone.
He stared at his hands, seeing blood, a pale body far too still in his arms. The deep, cold pain of a forbidden spell. Years of pain, and still more pain as his brothers vanished forever to give him this last, desperate chance.
Kindness from a man who had no reason to give it.
Maybe he could do this…though he still had no idea where to start.
Slowly he looked up again. "I appreciate the kindness, and I hope you will let me return it in full. I do not know what skills I possess, but they are at your disposal."
Raiden grinned. "I'm certain we'll find a way to put you to use. For now, I think sleep is what you most need. Go and find a hammock, and tomorrow we'll see what you're made of."
Everything and nothing, he almost answered, but caught himself at the last.
When Raiden summoned the cabin boy to show him to a hammock, he went gladly. Barely had he settled when he dropped off into sleep.
*~*~*
"Shima!"
He looked up at the sound of his name – though it still was so hard to associate the name with himself – and frowned in concern. "What's wrong?"
"Captain needs you," the cabin boy said.
Shimano stood and brushed off his breeches, lacing up the shirt he'd loosened while he worked inside the hot confines of the cargo hold. "Is something wrong?"
The cabin boy nodded, but said nothing.
Ah. Shimano's mouth tightened. He would get that stubborn idiot to retire or else. He should have done so years ago. Shaking his head, he snatched up the scarf he'd pulled off earlier because of the heat and retied the plain green square of fabric neatly over the top of his head before swiftly making his way back up the main deck.
Striding down the gangway, he hastened to the offices and warehouse that were the headquarters of Raiden Shipping.
Captain Raiden sat in a chair beside the fire, and Shimano saw instantly why the cabin boy had summoned him. Though he was putting up a strong front, Shima could see that he was barely managing it. Of late, the illness lodged in his chest had taken a turn for the worse.
He hated it, hated that he was too weak and pathetic to help the first of his children to make him almost happy he was still alive.
Not that he felt alive…but he did not feel quite dead either. Over time, perhaps, he would feel something like his old self. He doubted it, but just in the past seven years many of his doubts had been proven false…so he held out hope.
One day he would be fully on his own feet again. He hated being fully at the mercy of the world he'd helped make, but there was no help for it. He was more or less mortal now, and must play the mortal way.
First, however, he had to help Raiden.
Striding across to the little meeting alcove, he thought belatedly that it might have been wiser to change. Then again, he hadn't realized he would be dealing with some of Raiden's customers. Faded breeches and sweaty shirt would have to do. At least he'd tied his dratted hair back; even cut to his shoulders the storming stuff did not want to stay put and out of his way.
He struggled not to remember the way it had once been caressed by sky and sea and the fingers of the one he'd loved beyond and above all others.
"Good evening, gentlemen, lady," he said, sweeping a deep bow. Such mannerisms were strange to him, but amusing. Flicking a glance over them quickly, he took in their clothes, their scent, their jewels, and risked a guess. "You are here for the Pozhar tapestries. If you would be so kind, I will take you to them."
They look confused, eyes flicking between him and the amiably smiling – but probably about to succumb to a coughing fit, if not pass out – Captain.
"He's the most familiar with them," Raiden said, still smiling, but his eyes so full of pain. "I assure you, he can discuss matters with far more intelligence than I."
Shima almost snorted at that. Of course he could. He'd provoked Zhar by stealing half of them when they were first made. Arashi had stolen the other half.
Motioning, he quickly coaxed the confused couple away, guiding them to the warehouse to view the tapestries.
An hour later, he saw them off and went back to Raiden, grinning in triumph.
Raiden, stretched out in a small bed in his office, laughed weakly. "You've a natural talent for fleecing people, lad. You are wasted even on being my supercargo."
"You should be at home," Shima chided. "Not here."
"Bah!' Raiden said, waving a hand dismissively. "I need to talk to you, and it's impossible to talk at my house with all those nagging women fluttering about!"
Shima's mouth curved in a smile "Your wife and daughters, you mean?"
"Aye," Raiden said, mouth twitching. "Those very ones. A beautiful wife and three loving daughters, but I've not a single son to take care of them when I'm gone."
"I'm sure your daughters will marry well," Shima said, moving to sit next to him as Raiden flapped and motioned. "Your wife is hardly the sort to let anyone but you attempt to order her about."
Raiden snorted. "I've yet to meet a woman that took orders she didn't feel like taking."
Shima laughed softly
"There's a gift for you, there," Raiden said abruptly, voice as gruff as it had ever been. He motioned to a chest in front of the massive desk on the far side of the room. "Everything in it is yours. I don't want to hear a word of complaint, lad, understand me?"
Frowning, Shima crossed the room and pushed open the lid of the trunk. He stared down quietly at the contents. "The keys?" he asked softly.
"To here, the warehouse, my house, the lockboxes…all of it, and well you know."
"You should not be giving me these things," Shima said quietly. He reached out to touch a small scroll, tied with a dark blue ribbon and lying atop a bundle of bright, colorful silk. "What is this?" he asked softly.
Raiden started to speak, but fell instead into a terrible coughing fit. Shima strode back across the room and fetched the tonic that helped ease the cough.
Storms, he hated himself in moments like this. What good was there in being alive, when he could do nothing for his children when they most needed him? This one man he wanted so badly to help, and all he could do was watch him die…
All the wisdom of creation meant very little when such things were right in front of your eyes. Once he could do so much…now he could do nothing…
Finally the coughing eased, and Raiden glared at him. "Get cleaned up, get dressed. You need to look sharp for once, not like the humble little sailor you play at being."
Shima quirked a brow at him, but did not argue.
Striding back across the room, he knelt to examine the folded silk within the trunk. With a soft sigh, he stood and stripped, washing off at the basin set on a table nearby. Clean again, he lifted the costly fabric from the trunk and slowly dressed.
When had he last felt such fabrics against his skin? Did he even deserve such finery? No, he most certainly did not. How to make a stubborn old man see that?
Even a dragon, it seemed, did not have the answers for everything.
Still, he could not deny he liked them.
Loose, dark gray pants, tucked into short boots of highly-polished black leather. Over that, a thin under robe of palest silver. An outer robe of deepest blue, stars cut out of the fabric to show the silver beneath.
The sash…the mark of any true Kundouin was his sash, and this would put even the royal family – he fought back a snarl of anger at the thought of those who were descended from that traitor – to great shame.
It was dyed myriad shades of silver, rippling like moonlight on water. Sparkling caught the corner of his eye, and he saw that further treasures remained in the trunk. Long strands of pearls and moonstones, meant to be wrapped and strung through the sash.
Swiftly he bound all in place – and saw one last scrap of fabric in the trunk.
A large square of blue fabric, decorated with silver stars.
He smiled faintly, an ache in his chest, and swiftly bound the kerchief over the top of his head.
Finally he scooped up the small scroll and strode back across the room.
"Do I pass muster?" he asked.
"Aye, that you do," Raiden said quietly. "I hope you're not going to argue me over the adoption."
Shima shook his head, amused despite himself. A dragon, adopted by one of his own children. It was funny and charming and sweet and sad. "Arguing with you is like arguing with the tide."
Raiden let out a sharp bark of laughter at that. "Aye, you've got the right of it. Well, come on then, let's get me ready to go and tonight you'll be my son." He motioned to the office. "Then I can finally make someone else do all this so those storming women will stop nagging me."
Slowly he got Raiden standing and dressed, managing to force down more tonic.
At last ready, Raiden led the way out, slapping Shima on the back and grinning. "Shimano Raiden. Has a nice ring to it, eh?"
"Yes," Shima said, returning the smile. "It does."
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Date: 2008-02-20 03:07 am (UTC)It also makes so much sense, between the time he spends on the ship, and how his shipping empire was built, and it's all kinds of awesome that he managed to find his way to Captain Raiden, who was exactly who he needed at that point -- a surrogate father, because even if Shima had been so powerful with the people of Kundou as his children, losing his powers and his extra senses left Shima in need of guidance and probably a fair share of being nurtured.
(Though, gosh, it's sad that Shima can't do anything to really help Captain Raiden, even though he dearly wants to. Heh, it's totally awesome that Raiden could see that Shima was special. ^___^)
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Date: 2008-02-20 03:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-20 04:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-20 04:09 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-20 04:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-20 04:26 am (UTC)I LOVE it! <3333
I never thought about how Shima came to be after the dragons were betrayed or what he had to do in order to become the Taka-buying merchant that he was in Treasure. XD
I love too, that it's this Captain Raiden that almost teaches Raiden how to be human again. I love that he adopts him at the end, and I love that he's everything that is right and willing to fight for and endure for about the people of Kundou and that he appears to save Shima in a time when he has a lot of reasons to want to give up.
And I do like that Takumi is the teacher and the parent in so many ways. Shima might chafe at times that he doesn't have his power or the ability to make things easier or better for Takumi or to fix his health problems, but that's as it should be...I just like that Shima comes into this new life, and like anyone, he has to learn, and he needs a mentor to teach him and show him the way.
And now I'm rambling, but seriously, how much do I love this entire series and every offshoot of it? XD <333333
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Date: 2008-02-20 04:53 am (UTC)You know, I don't know much about Raiden's father, but I feel teary reading the end to this story. It just...it just makes sense for the man to be generous and cantankerous at the same time.
Maybe that's partially why Raiden loves Takara so much. He's a bit like his "father".
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Date: 2008-02-20 05:02 am (UTC)Think you are like Zeus, except it's stories that spring forth from your head not Athena. God like powers to create worlds.. yeah it fits.
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Date: 2008-02-20 08:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-20 11:47 am (UTC)Bless Shima's (I prefer calling him Raiden, but it'd get confusing in this story) ickle heart, he was all alone and sad. At least we know it all ends happily!
<3 for you x
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Date: 2008-02-20 03:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-20 10:02 pm (UTC)A perfect start to my day - a new tale from you and all is right with my world.
*applauds*
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Date: 2008-02-20 10:40 pm (UTC)Mmm, Maderr Brain.
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Date: 2008-02-20 11:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-21 11:47 pm (UTC)P.S.: For my thoughts about the content of the story, can I cheat and just say : like Nikerymis!! And it was really nice to be private (?) of Shima's feeling at that time.
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Date: 2008-03-02 05:42 am (UTC)As someone said above, I am tempted to read Treasure again... but I have re-read the whole thing again with each new rewritten chapter you post. ^_____^
M, you are made of win. *snugs*