seen from Thailand
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Japan
seen from China
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Australia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Türkiye
seen from Malaysia
seen from Australia
seen from China
i want to live.
jonathan safran foer, extremely loud and incredibly close || sylvia plath, the bell jar || robert frost, the road not taken || t.s. eliot, the love song of j. alfred prufrock || everything everywhere all at once || doc luben, love letters or suicide notes || wikipedia || john greenleaf whittier || hamilton: the musical, who lives who dies who tells your story || mary oliver, the summer day || carlos ramirez, the fig tree
On Choices (And Not Making Them Yet)
You can find all other IkeSen works of mine on my page under the Masterlist. NOTES: This was a commission for @anxiousdolphin --thank you! Trigger warnings: Nonspecific references to eating disorders, depression. This is largely a comfort fic.
This has already been released in its entirety on AO3. If you'd like to see it all, go there. I'll be releasing it in installments here.
---
Azuchi was thawing. Every day the snow drifts retreated, cart wheels and footsteps and hooves beating the frost into sludge. It wasn’t as pretty, that was for sure, but Masamune didn’t mind. Warmer weather meant crops. Crops meant more to feed his people. Sunlight meant festivals and bonfires, visiting Oshu, swimming and barbecue.
Thawing ground also meant the fighting would soon resume.
Daily he walked the muddy pathway to Azuchi Castle, whistling a tune into the blue sky. He slipped off his boots before entering out of respect for the maids--everyone else tramped enough dirt inside--tossing on sandals he’d tucked into his pocket. The other warlords were always there first. Hideyoshi typically scolded Masamune on sight (“How could you disrespect our liege like this?”), Ieyasu rolled his eyes, Nobunaga and Mitsuhide smirked, and Mitsunari was usually too polite to do anything but smile.
“One day,” Hideyoshi lectured, “You’ll be late to the battlefield.”
That was a stretch too far. Masamune dropped his smile straight into a frown. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Late though he always was, Masamune liked being in Azuchi proper. He’d made friends with the staff over the years. Goro, the stable hand, was always on hand to train the battle chargers and play a game of cards. Kota and Mako patched his kimonos and were kind enough to feign surprise when he dropped in and treated them to lunch as a reward. There were at least a half-dozen maids and manservants who he’d had wonderful conversations with.
And now there was the new chatelaine.
Granted, they’d had a rocky start. When she’d appeared at Honno-Ji amidst the flames, Masasmune found the timing… interesting. He had a responsibility to his people, after all. Trusting perfect strangers was how greater men than himself died. For her part, the chatelaine didn’t appreciate Masamune sweeping her onto horseback against her protests (Nobunaga’s will or no, he’d still done it), nor his pulling a sword on her when they were alone.
“It’s a good way to figure out who to trust,” he said, sheathing the blade. “Most people won’t risk me killing them.”
“Yeah, you idiot,” she snapped back. She was all indignance and barely-contained rage. No wonder Nobunaga called her his firecracker. “So people will say anything to get you to put the damn weapon down. Are you dense?”
He hadn’t thought of it like that. Unbothered, Masamune shrugged. “It’s worked for me.”
Throwing her hands in the air, she spat, “Oh, gosh, I guess that means it’ll always work. I’m so terribly sorry for pointing out the flaw in your brilliant scheme.”
To call her disrespectful was an understatement. Other Daimyo would’ve had her executed for her tone. But the Chatelaine was Nobunaga’s lucky charm, and lucky in general--even without the Oda favor, she’d landed among some of the few who didn’t mind being backsassed.
She did ease up eventually, but her sarcasm never vanished. Sometimes he ran into her in the hallways as she hauled off another smart comment at Mitsuhide, the flavor of her strange dialect impossible to miss. Even her inscrutable slang was entertaining. He learned a handful of new words in their first real conversation.
“I like your spirit, Kitten,” he told her one day. “I’m glad you never tamped that down.”
Usually the pet names earned him a disapproving stare. This time, she just paused. “What? You mean the sarcasm?”
“Of course. You’re not scared to tell us what’s what.”
And for the first time since they’d met, she shot him a very real, very genuine grin. “Are you trying to tell me you like it when I say mean things to you? Oh, Lord Masamune! I didn’t know you were into that.”
He couldn’t help it. Masamune tilted his head back and laughed. “Gotta say, Kitten, I’ve never been into it before. But you might change my mind, huh?”
She just rolled her eyes at him. “You’re shameless.”
“Just for you.”
---
She’d been with them since early Fall, but Masamune hadn’t seen her for most of the winter. He assumed she was occupied. He was, too, to be fair; there was a great deal of work to be done with the supply chain and winterization efforts. There were soldiers to recruit, train, and outfit; there were the rogue sects of monks to consider; there were a half-dozen serious security threats to research and prepare for. But he was already late for today’s meeting, so he figured it wouldn’t hurt any to find her and at least say hello.
“Hey, Mako, Kota!” Masamune called, poking his head into the sewing room. The women looked up from their respective projects. “Looking lovely, ladies, as always.”
“Lord Masamune, you flatterer,” Kota giggled.
Flashing a smile, Masamune continued. “Don’t suppose you know where our chatelaine is? I thought I’d pay her a visit before I duck into the meeting.”
Strangely, the two women exchanged glances. Finally, Mako hedged, “I’d look in her room.”
“I dunno if I should do that. She might rip my head off; she almost did last time.”
The joke fell flat. How odd. Their pensive stares at one another set all the bells in his head to ringing. Once more, Mako said, “Other than that, maybe the courtyard. Or Lord Hideyoshi would know…”
Would he? Masamune supposed so; Hideyoshi had a way of keeping tabs on everyone and everything. Flashing the women a smile, he said, “Thanks for the information. I’ll drop in with some mochi sometime soon.”
Usually the halls around the courtyard were full, especially this time of year. Not now. All the paranoia awakened by the cryptic conversation stirred deep in Masamune’s stomach. One of the doors was slightly ajar, the snapping winter air leeching into his skin. Even before reaching it, he heard a familiar voice.
“...really, you could take some time if you liked.”
Hideyoshi? Masamune paused, craning his head to the paper. Shouldn’t he be in the meeting already?
“That won’t help.” The chatelaine’s voice replied. What was going on? She sounded so hollow; every syllable was flat and distant. “There’s not really a point to my taking a break.”
“You should rest more, at least. You look exhausted all the time. Do you think I haven’t noticed?”
A pause.
“I suppose I could use the extra sleep.”
“Good, good. Take extra time in the mornings. Have you been eating properly?”
“Hideyoshi–” A ragged sigh. “You don’t need to be worrying after me. You have enough to think about.”
“I have the capacity to concern myself with multiple matters at once.”
“Really, Hideyoshi. It makes me feel bad. I’ll take the extra sleep.”
“Princess–”
Hideyoshi would beat a dead horse if you let him. Masamune, for his part, recognized the tone of voice their chatelaine was using. The conversation was over. Jumping to her aid, he thrust the sliding door open a little too hard, stepping into the courtyard. “Hideyoshi!”
The two of them jumped almost sky high. Masamune couldn’t help but laugh. The courtyard was frigid; the woman had her arms wrapped tight into her haori, a fur collar flush against her skin. A delicate ribbon the same color as her eyes wrapped around her neck. Pretty, he thought. She was always pretty–even now, her eyes dull with exhaustion, nose nipped with cold. He appraised her carefully. Something was wrong. Where was the firecracker Nobunaga had dragged back to his castle?
“Seven hells,” Hideyoshi snapped, “what in the devil are you doing out here?”
Masamune grinned with all his teeth, unpinning his cloak to sling around the chatelaine. She murmured thanks and clutched it tight. “I was already late and wanted to see my future wife.”
Over the extra layers of fabric and fur, she narrowed those bright eyes. “I don’t remember accepting a proposal.”
For his part, Hideyoshi’s ears were an angry red. “You’ll–Masamune, you had better leave her alone–”
“Oh? You heard the woman, Hideyoshi. That didn’t sound like a ‘no’ to me.”
“Masamune, I’ll–”
Finally, she rolled her eyes. “You two are late to Nobunaga’s meeting. Stop bickering over my future marriage prospects and go.”
What a muted reaction. Months ago, she might’ve punched his arm, or told him ‘in your dreams’, or lectured him until they were both in stitches from laughter. Not now? Was she catching something? Masamune didn’t bother to retrieve his cloak, hoping that the extra warmth might do her some good. Wrapping his arm around Hideyoshi’s shoulder, he shot her a cheeky wave, the alarm in his mind never resting for a moment. When he glanced back from the doorway, she was simply staring at the sky.
—
He learned something was really, really wrong about a month later, when Hideyoshi and the chatelaine showed up at his manor in the middle of the night.
“Well,” Masamune said, lounging at his desk as they were led in. Shogetsu hopped up from his position nearest the fire to rub against the chatelaine’s leg, collecting ear scratches. “What brings you both here?”
“Masamune.” Hideyoshi looked oddly strained. Hells–they both did. Deep purple circles made her eyes only brighter and more beautiful, the blue of Masamune’s cloak on her shoulders rendering her skin even more pallid in contrast. “I don’t suppose you’d like company for dinner?”
Company? For dinner? Masamune set down his brush to mull over the question. “It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think?”
The chatelaine nodded. “That’s what I told him–”
Undeterred, Hideyoshi plowed ahead. “I actually wanted to see if you’d be willing to make our Princess your taste tester for the night. I know you enjoy feeding people–”
“--Hideyoshi–” She started, humiliation burning her ears.
“--and it seemed–”
“--Hideyoshi, please–”
Masamune lifted a hand for silence. Both of them obliged. Only the whistle of late winter wind and Shogetsu’s purring interrupted his thoughts.
“Is there a reason you want me to feed our Kitten so badly?”
“Don’t I get to say anything here?” She cut in again.
“No. Not until I figure out what’s going on.”
Hideyoshi sucked air over his teeth. That wasn’t good. Masamune had seen that particular tick before; it usually preceded some kind of bad news. “The chatelaine hasn’t been feeding herself properly.”
“What does ‘properly’ mean?”
“Maybe one meal a day, at best.”
“Ah. So you’re pulling a Mitsunari, are you?” Masamune gestured for the woman to speak. “If you have a defense, I’d like to hear it.”
He expected spitfire and sarcasm. That was what he was used to with her, after all. But when she just stared at her geta and shuffled on the tatami, Masamune knew it was all true.
“Alright, Kitten.” He dusted off his knees, rising. “Let’s go to the kitchen.”
“I just–” Her voice was so, so thin. “I just haven’t been hungry is all. That’s it.”
“Bullshit,” Hideyoshi snapped. “There’s no way.”
Masamune lifted his hand. “She doesn’t need a lecture. Doesn’t matter if you’re feeling hungry or not, Kitten. You still have to put something in your body. That’s how it works. Hideyoshi?”
The man glanced at him.
“You can leave her with me for now. Go ahead and head back. I’ll bring her up to the castle when we are done.”
Frowning, Hideyoshi opened his mouth. Masamune cut him off with, “Don’t you think Lord Nobunaga might need you?”
It was nearly unfair how easy that was. Hideyoshi’s face pivoted through a thousand expressions, finally settling on determination. “You’re right. You won’t keep her out too late, will you?”
“On my honor.”
Clearly Hideyoshi couldn’t say much to that. He’d brought the Chatelaine to Masamune, after all, not the other way around. Half a beat later, and he was out the door, leaving the duo together.
“Well.” She fixed Masamune with a narrow stare. “What now?”
“What now? I feed you. C’mon, Kitten.”
“I said–”
“Think of it this way.” Masamune placed his hand on the small of her back, steering her into the hallway. She didn’t resist. How unusual–in times past, she’d swatted at his arm, rolled her eyes, called him insufferable. He didn’t care much for her compliance. “You’re helping me out.”
There it was–the flat drag of her disbelieving voice. It made him smile. “Am I, now?”
“You are. You see, I’ve been experimenting with some new food preparation methods. With any luck, it’ll keep without tasting awful.”
“You’re not about to give me food poisoning, are you?”
Masamune shrugged. “I might. That’s part of the fun, isn’t it, Lass?”
This time she did smack him. He couldn’t help it; it was so surprising and rewarding that he laughed outright.
“Don’t you dare get me sick!”
“I won’t! I promise.”
Maybe she believed him, maybe she didn’t. Either way, when he sat her at the kitchen table and presented her with a pair of chopsticks, she took them.
Rolling back his sleeves, Masamune started by dishing out two small bowls of rice. He always kicked things off that way. Cooking was a ritual of its own for him–no matter how loud or unfocused his thoughts became (and they spiraled out of control far too often for his taste), there was something about the first steps of meal prep that knocked everything back into focus. Battlefields were the same–they both required so many different tiny details and attentions that Masamune felt he could really, truly focus.
Most of the time passed in languid silence. He hummed a mindless tune as he fished out pickled vegetables and chopped them, shredded strips of dried seaweed and sprinkled sesame seeds. For her part, the chatelaine remained silent until he sat the tiny dishes on the table.
“There,” he said, offering his biggest grin. “I expect full reports.”
She paused so long that he thought he might have to fight her. Then–finally–she fixed her tired eyes on him. “Will this actually help you?”
Did she require… permission to eat? Purpose? Masamune reigned his surprise in as hard as he could manage, settling down in front of her. “Yeah. I like getting feedback, and if it turns out it could be useful for Oshu at large, then that’ll be very good news. What’s actually going on, Kitten?”
For a long, long time, she simply stared at the tiny army of sampling plates laid out before them. Spring wind rattled over the roof tiles; the crackling fire under the stove settled comfortably against the pattern of her breath. “I’ll be honest with you.”
Masamune wanted to crack ‘that’s more like my Kitten’ and opted not to. “I’m all ears.”
“You know I’m not from around here.” Idly, she stirred the rice around her tiny bowl, eyes affixed to the chopsticks. “I haven’t been home in months. Hells–I haven’t heard from home in months. This is the longest I’ve gone without contact.”
“Are you worried about them? Do you want to go home?”
Shaking her head, she continued. “It’s not exactly that. Going home would be… um, really difficult. And it isn’t that they haven’t tried to contact me, I’m pretty sure they’ve tried. It’s that I haven’t contacted them. I just…” There was a long moment where she seemed to reach for words, finally charging back in with, “I am sure they don’t know if I’m alive or dead, and it’s cold as all hell right now, and I’m in a strange place surrounded by people–nice enough people, mind you, no offense–”
“I’m not offended,” Masamune chuckled.
“--but it isn’t home, and I don’t have any of my things, and it’s just–” The chatelaine palmed at her cheeks, stretching the skin where unshed tears might fall. “I don’t have any control right now. I don’t even get to pick when I want to eat, if Hideyoshi has his way.”
Ah. Now it made sense. He stared down at the table, musing over the offerings. “Are you skipping meal times just to control something?”
“No? Yes? I don’t know.” She waved a hand. “That’s all beside the point, isn’t it?”
It was beside the point. Well–it wasn’t, but it was. He could fully see how they’d arrived at this point, seated in his kitchen over his culinary tests in a bid to make her eat, but she was right in that the Not Eating wasn’t the main issue. Truth be told, he understood. In the first few weeks after his father’s death, Masamune hadn’t felt hungry, either. He’d spent days locked away in his room. The drifting clouds and hunger and a bone-deep despair shredded his sense of time. It was almost inconceivable that days continued to pass while he was so unprepared for them.
And then he thought of his mother. Now that was a strange comparison–the spitfire, sweet chatelaine to a distant mother that would just have soon seen Masamune dead. In the wake of his father’s death, she’d also refused food. It was almost singularly out of stress. He remembered watching the servant girls wheedle and ply her with rice cakes, the way even the tiniest bit of fish made her almost sick. The scenario was different, to be certain, but the end result looked similar.
At least he could help the chatelaine without her accusing him of trying to kill her.
“Well,” Masamune finally said, his words slow as he parsed over his thoughts, “I don’t want you to feel forced right now, Lass, but you do need to eat. I can change the menu. Do you have any comfort foods? Maybe something you ate at home that you’d really like to eat?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never really cared for eating, to be honest.”
Masamune tried not to flinch. “No? Really? Not at all? Don’t you have any good memories of food?”
“Is that a normal thing to have?”
“I dunno, Kitten, but I’ve got a bunch. Going to festivals and having dango, prepping rice with some of the ladies in the house when I was younger, fishing with my father…” An idea–half formed, swirling lazily like the koi in Ieyasu’s meditation pond–circled to life in his mind. “Say, Lass? Are you busy for the next few weeks?”
There was his favorite expression of hers: the wry, sidelong, suspicious stare. “Only with whatever Lord Nobunaga assigns me.”
“Hideyoshi and I were going on a provisional trip up to Oshu next week. Basically we ride up, take a look at the storehouses and over the military situation, head back down. But we’ll be going during some of the biggest spring festivals.” Scooping up his own rice, he swallowed a mouthful before continuing, “And if you’ve never had festival food, it is delicious. If you don’t have any good memories of taking care of your body, I want to try and help you make some.”
She blinked. Several times. “Come again?”
“You said you don’t have comfort foods or good memories of them. It’s a lot easier to make sure you’re eating properly if you can come up with something that’ll at least sound nice to eat, yeah?”
Again, the blinking. Masamune grinned. “Did I shock you there, Kitten?”
But she just blurted out, “That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever suggested for me.”
“Really? Your bar is low, Lass.”
For the first time in far too long, she smiled at him. It was a tired, stretched, thin thing, but a smile nonetheless. “Maybe so.”
“I’m glad it made you happy,” he added, and reached out to check her chin. Was it the dim light, or did she flush? “I’ll ask Lord Nobunaga tomorrow if I can steal his favorite charm.”
“Ask? You? Wow, that really is an honor. And here I thought you’d simply throw me over the back of a horse and take off.”
“Well, now that you’ve put the thought in my head–if you really want that from me, Princess…”
With a dramatic eye roll, she finally picked up her chopsticks and took a bite of pickled radish. Victory. He squashed the urge to say so out loud and waited.
“Not bad,” she finally said, and took a second bite. “It’s like kimchi.”
“Kimchi? What’s that, Kitten?”
“...ah, nevermind. Long story.”
On Choices (And Not Making Them) [4]
You can find all other IkeSen works of mine on my page under the Masterlist. NOTES: This is the final installment of a commission for @anxiousdolphin --thank you! Trigger warnings: Nonspecific references to eating disorders, depression. This is largely a comfort fic.
This has already been released in its entirety on AO3. If you'd like to see it all, go there. I'll be releasing it in installments here.
---
The next morning they woke and dressed. He playfully nipped at her shoulder when she was changing and she smacked his thigh, scolding him until he laughed and admitted that he hadn’t seen anything, he was just causing problems. Everything was rolled and packed into neat bundles.
Masamune, for his part, tried very hard not to think about the conversation from last night. It made everything different. He didn’t care for that. There was no joy in counting the days, wondering which would be their last one together.
Hells. He had it bad.
Reprieve from his thoughts came unexpectedly. Masamune tossed their bags onto his shoulder and thrust open the tent flap, ready to start the day (and it was bright and sunny and beautiful out, morning rays filling the valleys with gold), and came face to face with Hideyoshi. The other man glanced at him–then at the Princess, emerging right behind his shoulder.
“Oh my God,” the Princess muttered.
Despite himself, Masamune grinned. “Good morning.”
Hideyoshi’s eyebrows formed an arch so severe that he expected they’d fly off his forehead. “Why was she–what were you two–”
“Sleeping,” Masamune said factually, and shunted her bag into Hideyoshi’s arms. “Would you go put that on her saddle while I take down the tent?”
“Date Masamune–”
“I can handle my own bag, actually.” She snatched it back, shaking her head at the men. “Hideyoshi, he’s telling the truth. We literally just slept.”
“Do you have any idea how that looks–”
“Did anyone else notice?”
She had a point. Masamune tried not to laugh as Hideyoshi’s head swiveled around their campsite, back and forth and back and forth. No one else had seen. With a sigh, she brushed her hair back and said, “I’ll go saddle up my own things. I want to at least give it a shot.”
“Fair enough, Princess. I’ll join you in a minute if you need assistance.”
Hideyoshi huffed something and shook his head, heading toward his own horse.
Later, Masamune would look back and wonder why he’d said anything. But in the moment, on reflex, he said, “Hideyoshi? Do you have a minute?”
The other man blinked and stilled. “I suppose.”
“Come here.”
They both stepped back into the empty tent. Masamune pulled the flap shut. “Can I ask you something very seriously without you judging me?”
Hideyoshi scowled, crossing his arms. “I can’t make any promises.”
That was better than nothing. “She told me last night where she came from. When she came from.”
A beat. Softening, Hideyoshi sighed. “I was wondering when she’d tell you.”
“Did you talk to her about it? When did you find out?”
“No. I was sworn to secrecy. I searched the contents of her purse and discovered objects that didn’t make any sense. When I confronted her, she told me the whole story.”
“I’m surprised you believed her.”
Despite the implied accusation, Hideyoshi chuckled. “I didn’t at first, but the items were too strange to explain any other way. That, and the longer I watched her, the less it made sense that she’d be a spy. She simply didn’t have connections like that.”
Masamune mused silently. All this time, their sweet chatelaine had kept everything about herself a secret. No doubt the world four hundred years from now was fundamentally different. She’d sat in the uncertainty and loneliness, with only two people aware and in her corner. Did it matter that he loved her? Who was he to ask her to give up the chance of going home for him?
“Masamune?” Hideyoshi peered at him. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” he lied. “I just have a lot to think about.”
How doubly fortunate and unfortunate it was that Hideyoshi was perceptive. The man kept staring, eyes parsing Masamune’s every expression. “You’re worried.”
“Not exactly.”
“It’s because of what you told me, isn’t it? That you are ‘sweet on her’.”
Heaving a sigh, Masamune rubbed his hair back. “She said people from her time have a treatment for her sadness. They call it ‘depression’. She also told me last week that she’s sad that she hasn’t been able to talk to her family.”
“Right.”
“So it makes sense that I can’t say anything to her. Right? If I told her that I am falling for her, that would be just selfish. It would make everything complicated. Plus, I can’t imagine why she’d choose to stay when she has so much in the future.”
Much to his surprise, Hideyoshi didn’t instantly agree. He frowned again.
“Why don’t you let her decide?”
Releasing the grip on his hair, Masamune shook his head. “I don’t need to make any of her choices more difficult.”
“She’s a grown woman. She’s very capable. She’s also very practical. You know this.”
“I do know this,” he agreed, “but I’m…”
Hideyoshi patiently prompted, “Unwilling to put the burden of emotional turmoil on someone you care for?”
Masamune tried not to grin and failed. “Say, no wonder you’re Nobunaga’s right hand man. I’m now surprised that Mitsuhide gets the best of you so often.”
Mitsuhide’s name clearly soured the mood. Huffing irritably, Hideyoshi said, “Have the conversation with her, not me. She isn’t one of your responsibilities, Masamune. Talk to her.”
And with that, he turned and stalked out the tent. Masamune waited for a few more moments, absorbing the gentle silence and trying to steel himself.
—
At last: Oshu. Beautiful, beautiful Oshu. Sunlight streaked through plumed clouds. The scent of the ocean and fresh soil rode the wind toward the west. It was early in the planting season, but already, the jewel tones of his homeland were like sunlight in his veins. As soon as the small group made the final descent and found themselves on the verdant plains, Masamune kicked his horse into a run.
“Come on!” He shouted back at the others, laughing. “Last one to Aoba has to clean the kitchen!”
When they bolted through the gates, his retainers were already there, ready and waiting. No doubt someone had seen him tearing across the fields (as they always did) and raised the alert. Masamune launched himself from his saddle and greeted everyone as the others caught up, still breathless from the last leg of the journey.
“Oh, by the way–” Masamune spun on his heel, heading to the chatelaine still on horseback. Her cheeks were pink from the wind. “This is Azuchi’s princess.”
His retainers bowed. Before she could modestly wave them off and thank them, Masamune scooped up her bags. “Place her in my room, if you would.”
“Masamune,” she started, a fight brewing, “You don’t have to–”
“Oh, but I do, don’t I? I told you I’d cuddle you.”
Her ears turned bright red. With a laugh, Masamune extended his hands to help her from the saddle. “Come. We all need to freshen up for the feast.”
—
The banquet hall was bright and lively. Soldiers and retainers alike relaxed around the low tables, drinking sake and indulging in the goods Aoba had to offer. Truthfully, Masamune liked these events more for the morale than the food. It was nice, seeing all of his people gathered together and happy.
Of course, now he could add seeing the chatelaine in her feast finery to the things he enjoyed.
Her kimono was new–or, at least, he’d never seen it before. It was a pretty powder blue. In her hair, she wore the hairpins from the festival. The maids did a much better job of affixing them than he had. When she settled onto the dais beside him, Masamune leaned close to her ear.
“You look beautiful.”
Her smile was so tender and pretty that he wondered if an artist would paint it for him. Hells. He really did have it bad. “Thank you. You don’t look so bad yourself, my lord.”
“Hey.” Hideyoshi leaned from Masamune’s other side, frowning at both of them. “What’s going on here?”
“A ruckus,” the chatelaine deadpanned. “Tomfoolery. A scandal.”
Masamune only understood one of those words. By the way Hideyoshi paused, it was clear he felt the same. At last, the woman snorted a laugh, hiding behind her sleeve. “Just sit back, Hideyoshi. Everything is fine.”
Sake and food flowed as easily as the music. Masamune split most of his plates with the Princess to keep her from being overwhelmed. People shared jokes and stories, laughter echoing through the rafters. Even Hideyoshi was enticed to join the other men for a game of cards (though he stubbornly insisted that there would be no gambling). As the night wore on and the drinking increased, Masamune cupped the Princess’ hand in his.
“Care to sneak out with me?”
She cast him a sly smile. “I can sneak out. I don’t know how you will, Lord Date.”
“A fair point.” He chuckled. “You go first. That way, Hideyoshi won’t stab me in the hallway.”
Almost no one acknowledged her slipping out the side door. How? Masamune assumed everyone else was as absorbed in her as he was. How could they not be? He mused over this for a few moments before rising.
“My lord!” One of the soldiers yelled, gesturing for him. “Come join us for cards?”
Hideyoshi glanced up–then at the Princess’ empty seat–then over at Masamune. Instead of the anticipated scowl, he shook his head. “Masamune is doubtless tired from the ride. Let him go catch his rest.”
Bless that man. Masamune shot him a smile and a nod. “He’s very right. You all have a good night.”
She was waiting for him in the hallway. They wrapped their hands together like a secret, stealing down the passageways and deftly avoiding maids. Masamune hadn’t forgotten how to open his screen door without it rattling (lifting the corner very slightly made it glide smoother). As they dipped into his room, the Princess giggled.
“You’d think we were running away.”
“It can feel like that sometimes,” Masamune grinned. Ah, his room. He hadn’t gotten the chance to properly appreciate being home. The balcony screen was open to the spring wind, and there–there was all of Aoba Castle town, spread out like a picture. Lanterns glittered. The mountains were draped in silver moonlight, clouds edged with the same. “How do you like the view?”
The Princess sighed, leaning over the railing. “It is gorgeous. I see why you love being home.”
He watched her for a moment. She suited it–she suited everything about Oshu. Even now, while she fought an illness he knew no cure for, Masamune couldn’t think of anyone he wanted more.
“Can I ask you something serious?” He said. His pulse was in his mouth. Hells, he hoped Hideyoshi’s advice was good. “And I really mean it. It’s serious.”
She craned her head toward him, blinking. “Sure.”
“Want to sit on the futon and talk?”
“Sure.”
Someone had fluffed his bed before they arrived. It smelled fresh. The blue and yellow comforters molded to his legs as he settled in, tucking the pillows around her. “Comfortable?”
“Yes. But Masamune, what did you want to talk about?”
Out of everything he’d ever done, how was this the hardest? He stalled for time by trailing a hand through the beads on her hairpin, watching the way they played across his knuckles. She caught his fingers in her hand and fixed him with a meaningful stare.
“Masamune?”
Time to jump.
He exhaled. “I’m falling for you.”
Silence. She blinked at him. “Sorry?”
“I’m falling for you. I’ve fallen for you, really. And I know that could be…” With a sigh, Masamune rubbed his thumb along her cheek, relishing the pretty, wide-eyed stare she fixed him with. “I know you told me about your possibly going home, and your family, and how the future has treatments for your illness. I don’t want to keep you from that. This isn’t me saying something to try and keep you here. I just wanted you to know.”
“Masamune,” she breathed. “Are you serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because I–” She allowed a stressed giggle. “I’ve hardly been fun recently. My eating has been high maintenance–I’ve been high maintenance–”
He frowned. “You think I’d dislike you for that?”
“Masamune, you’re–you’re Masamune. You like fun, and adventure, and–”
“And you’re an adventure, too,” he answered simply. “And you’re fun. That you’re not always ‘fun’ doesn’t mean anything. Nobody is. And besides, I don’t think you’re high maintenance.”
“But I can be.”
With a shrug, Masamune said, “And I like figuring out how to maintain you. Seeing a little light come back to you is rewarding.”
“It’s a hassle.”
“So is having one eye.” He pointed at his eyepatch. “And I work with that, don’t I? So you have an illness. I don’t mind figuring it out. Everyone has something about them to figure out. This is just yours.”
Her eyes were shimmery. Dipping her head to hide the unshed tears, the chatelaine laughed again. “You’re serious about–about liking me?”
“Do I need to list all of the things I like about you for you to believe me?”
“Maybe,” she chuckled, but shook her head. “Not right now. I believe you.”
Nodding, Masamune continued. “Good. And like I said, I don’t want you to feel like this is pressure for you to stay. I never want you to pick me over everything your time has to offer you. I just wanted to tell you.”
But she laughed again, wiping at her eyes. “Date Masamune, haven’t you realized?”
“Realized what?”
The chatelaine was crying now. He wanted to ask what was wrong, cradle her in his arms, kiss them away, but he held his tongue and settled for stroking them away with his knuckles.
“I’ve fallen for you, too,” she said. “The future doesn’t have anyone like you.”
Oh.
“Now that is a problem.” Masamune tried to control his smile. By the way she started giggling at him, apparently it wasn’t working. “I can’t say I’m displeased, Kitten.”
Her eye roll was perfect, perfect, perfect. “Of course you wouldn’t be. But insofar as my going back to my time goes… you remember that I haven’t made my mind up yet, right?”
“I can’t fathom why you’d stay.”
He’d missed that stare. It had been so long since she looked at him like he was genuinely crazy. “In the three months since I’ve arrived, I’ve met so many wonderful people and had so many amazing experiences. Why would I want to leave them?”
“But your family. And treatments. And your whole life.”
“I know,” she said. “And I’ll keep thinking about it. But Sasuke hasn’t worked out when another wormhole would get here. Right now, I have time.”
She was right. In the here and now, they had time. Masamune smoothed a hand along her cheek, smearing her tear trails. “You’re beautiful. Do you know that?”
Once again–laughter. “I feel like a mess.”
“A beautiful mess.”
Masamune eased his nose along her cheek and pressed a kiss there. She smelled of fresh soap and wind and starlight. Another kiss, this time to her ear. The topography of her body unfolded beneath his mouth: her temple, her cheek again, her jaw, her neck. Her fingers bunched tight into his sleeves.
“This is alright, right?” He whispered. She shivered.
“Yes.”
“Good,” he purred, confessing, “Would’ve been hard for me to stop.”
He littered a path over her forehead, down the other cheek, along the salty path on her skin. At long last, she cupped a hand against his face.
“Date Masamune?”
Masamune grinned. “You’ve invoked my last name. Am I in trouble?”
“Not at all. I’m just wondering why you haven’t kissed me properly yet.”
“I seem to recall that I got in trouble last time.”
“Because you just jumped it on me, ass–”
Masamune couldn’t help it. He laughed, rubbing his nose against hers, entwining their fingers. “Then I take it I have permission, now?”
“I’ll rescind it if you don’t do something about it.”
“Oh, a threat,” he murmured. Their mouths were so close that he could taste the sweetness of her breath. “I don’t typically like those so much.”
Lips met.
She was perfect. Masamune pulled her into his arms and relished the way she trusted herself to him, how she bound her fingers behind his neck, the tenderness of how their mouths moved against one another. In the silence and the dark, with only the sounds of their bodies, he adored her.
“Please know,” he murmured during a moment’s reprieve, “That whatever choice you eventually make, I support you.”
“I know,” she breathed back. “And I love that about you.”
On Choices (And Not Making Them Yet) [2]
You can find all other IkeSen works of mine on my page under the Masterlist. NOTES: This was a commission for @anxiousdolphin --thank you! Trigger warnings: Nonspecific references to eating disorders, depression. This is largely a comfort fic.
This has already been released in its entirety on AO3. If you'd like to see it all, go there. I'll be releasing it in installments here.
---
Lord Nobunaga assented to the trip with precious little explanation. The man wasn’t stupid; no doubt he’d seen their princess’ dimmed spark and was mulling it over himself. Hideyoshi, however, was a tougher nut to crack. Even in the warmth and security of Hideyoshi’s office, he didn’t relax the scrunch between his brows.
“It’s a lot of riding, and she barely knows how.”
“I’ll break her into the saddle.” Masamune laughed around his teacup when Hideyoshi shot him a scandalized glare. “Do you have a different definition of that sentence than I do, oh mighty Toyotomi Hideyoshi?”
The other man’s cheeks splotched purple. “I–”
“Didn’t think I’d have to defend an innocent proposal from your dirty mind today–”
“It’ll be cold,” Hideyoshi sputtered, struggling to force the conversation back to heel. “And she’ll be out in the elements. I don’t think she has proper cold weather clothing for long trips.”
“You and I have many furs. We can lend her a few. You were the one who wanted to help her first. Don’t you think the Lass deserves at least some festival fun?”
Lowering his face to the tea tray, Hideyoshi said nothing. He merely scooped out a spoonful of matcha and began whisking another cup of green tea. Masamune watched. For all Hideyoshi’s rough and impoverished background, no one performed a better tea ceremony or made a smoother cup. It was only a matter of moments before his drink was full to the brim once more.
“She does,” Hideyoshi agreed. “I just worry. Mitsuhide says there are rumors that people may attempt to do her harm.”
Nodding, Masamune sipped from his cup. That was nothing new. Anyone and anything associated too closely with Nobunaga eventually found its way onto the political chessboard. “And the two of us won’t allow anything to happen.”
“Masamune.” Hideyoshi paused, mulling his words. After a moment, it was obvious why. “You should know better than I that strength of arms alone won’t always protect the people we care about.”
Of course not. Whenever the riflemen practiced and the scent of gunpowder lingered on the wind, Masamune went back there–back to targeting his own father down the sights of a cruel steel barrel. How often had he replayed that day? How often had he considered how things would’ve gone differently?
No amount of physical strength would’ve protected his father from the outcome.
“I know.” Masamune allowed. “But our dear Princess has her own battlefield in her mind. Our strength won’t fix that, either. We have to take the chance and let her live.”
For once, Hideyoshi didn’t argue. He simply nodded carefully and whisked himself another cup of tea. “Then it is settled.”
—
She didn’t have much of her own. The day they set off, she emerged from the stables with a chestnut mare and a humble, singular saddlebag. Hideyoshi had called it; she didn’t own the proper attire. No matter. Masamune produced a navy blue cloak lined with serow furs and draped it over her shoulder. “Here you are. For the journey.”
The orange rising sun glowed in her eyes as she blinked at him. Sometimes, Masamune couldn’t help but contemplate just how pretty she was. Now was no exception. In the sharp chill of spring morning wind, silhouetted against the high walls of Azuchi castle and dappled with fallen cherry blossom petals, he was struck by that thought all over again. Pretty. Her breath curled in dramatic, foggy spools. “I brought extra kimono and haori to layer, don’t worry. I already accounted for the cold. You don’t have to give me–”
“Of course not.” He grinned, mounting up. “But it’s yours. Hideyoshi provided the pelts, and I asked the seamstresses to stitch it for you. Do you like it?”
She paused, mouth poised in a now-dead protest. “You both had this made for me?”
Hideyoshi appeared at Masamune’s flank, saddled and ready. “Of course. I was worried you’d freeze on the trip.”
“And we like spoiling our favorite Kitten,” Masamune teased, shooting her a wink. “I would’ve asked for your favorite color, but I didn’t want to ruin the surprise. That, and I think you look good wrapped in mine.”
Now that got a reaction. Her whole face illuminated as bright and vibrant as the sunrise. “Date Masamune, I will wrestle you to the ground like that lesser Daimyo.”
“Gotta catch me first, Kitten!”
Mouth fixed in a determined line, she scrabbled into her saddle. Masamune whooped with laughter and kicked the horse into a canter, careening down the road as Hideyoshi scolded them both.
—
Oshu was a long, long ride north, but the chatelaine never complained. The bright mornings grew only colder, mountains rising around them like a swelling ocean tide and echoing with horses and voices alike. There were only a few setting out with them–a handful of retainers and soldiers to ease the dangerous possibility of bandits. Evenings spent outside the relative safety of town walls passed around a crackling bonfire amid the circled tents.
The whole time, Masamune watched her.
It wasn’t as if she changed much. After the first few days of riding, she’d (predictably) limped around camp, her mouth set in a determined line and flinching from sore muscles. Hideyoshi fussed over her with a container of muscle balm until she learned to stretch herself before and after the day’s journey. Despite that? She seemed more… alive. A spark flickered back into her eyes. When the soldiers taught her how to tie tent rigging and properly untack the horses, she watched with interest. And she was eating better, too; even if she didn’t seem to want to join everyone for dinner, she did anyway. After all, it was necessary to keep up strength.
He couldn’t help but think she looked at home in the wilder places of Japan. As they ascended into the mountains leading to his lands, it mirrored the same strength and tenacity he saw in her, no matter how cracked she felt in the moment. Even the tallest peak crumbled sometimes. It made them no less magnificent. So as the morning sun rose like wildfire over the heaven-bound topography, he watched her on her horse, cold wind tugging at her hair, her breath circling around her cloak fur.
It was obvious that she’d never had to ride in such steep terrain. Her grip and stance were all wrong. Even then, she cast her gaze around and examined the other, more seasoned riders, adjusting herself with a bit lip and furrowed brow.
Masamune reached out to her with a chuckle, pressing his palm to the flat of her back and guiding her into a better position. “Like that.”
She clearly hadn’t expected this. Her eyes were huge and cheeks flushed, but she just nodded and moved as he’d instructed. “This?”
“Perfect. You’re learning amazingly, Kitten.”
Like a bothered mother seeing her daughter flirt with a local boy, Hideyoshi appeared on the chatelaine’s other side, frowning. “Everything ok?”
“It’s fine,” she said, waving him off. The gesture nearly unseated her. With a squeak, she resettled. “It’s fine. Masamune was helping me learn.”
This clearly placated Hideyoshi exactly none. He leaned backward, behind the chatelaine’s gaze, to pointedly furrow his brows at Masamune. Masamune, for his part, offered him a shit-eating grin. The other man huffed. “As we come over the next rise, we should be headed into another town. One of the soldiers accompanying us says he’s from there, and that there should be a local festival either in full swing or shortly beginning.”
“Hear that?” Masamune gently adjusted the chatelaine’s hand on her bridle, helping her regain her composure. “How’re you feeling about stopping over for that?”
She gave him a gentle frown. “Why are you asking me? If one of the men is from there, I don’t see why we shouldn’t…”
“Because,” he said, lowering his voice, “I want to give you the control over saying ‘yes’ or ‘no’, Princess. Just trying to help.”
They’d just passed another peak. Masamune knew this part of the journey; the path opened up into a vista, the endless mountains on one side, the vast ocean on the other. He knew the water must glow orange and yellow and blue at this time of day. He’d stopped here to admire it. But now? All the light pooled into her beautiful face, illuminating her expressions with the contrast of an ink painting. Her hair reflected a thousand colors. The tiny bow of her lips quirked–a smile, just for him.
“Are you going to bully me into festival food?” She asked, but her voice was so teasing that he didn’t take the accusation too seriously.
“Lass, I don’t think I could bully you into anything.”
“Now that’s a lie. You have a whole tiger to help you.”
“You’re right–Shogetsu can bully people, mostly where food is involved.”
This garnered a giggle. Finally, she nodded. “Alright. Stopping by the festival sounds good to me. Does that work for you, Hideyoshi?”
He nodded, his eyebrows finally smoothing. “Yes. It works perfectly for me. I’ll head back and tell the others that we’ll be spending the night there.”
—
They arrived in the town just as the sun dipped behind the mountain. Paper lanterns hung from trees and archways and cast a golden glow; the familiar twang of koto music echoed between houses; the rich scent of rice and fish and noodles hung on the wind. Masamune raced double-time through unpacking and settling his horse into the inn stable, headed to help the chatelaine with hers, and whisked both of them back out to the street. There wasn’t a minute to lose, not when they could enjoy themselves.
“Ever been to a festival, Kitten?”
She shook her head. Frankly, he’d guessed as much; she stared around, wide eyed, taking in everything. “What’s that?”
“That?” Masamune peered at the stall. Children were bent around a giant tank, giggling and delicately scooping paper nets through the water. “Goldfish scooping. Whoever gets the most goldfish without breaking their paper net wins–and you can take them home. It’s a pretty popular game. The next one is ‘katanuki’, a game where you carve a picture out of thin, edible plates. If you do it without breaking the plate, you can win some money or prizes.”
Someone brushed past her, jostling her into his arm. Without offering the rude stranger a second glance, she wrapped her arm into the crook of his, pointing at the next stall. It was covered in long streamers. Each of them rose up, fed through a large bamboo tube at the top of the stand, came back down, and attached to a pile of objects resting on a red counter. “What about that one?”
Her hands were cold. He could feel it even through his sleeve. Without thinking, he wrapped the first layer of his haori over her fingers, tucking it around her palm for warmth. “That’s the string lottery. You pick one of those ropes and tug on it, and hopefully, it’s attached to something you like. Want to play?”
“Sure. I’ll give it a go.”
A small crowd had already gathered at the brightly-colored stand. Children and couples eager to try their luck approached, one by one, gently pulling on the ropes until their prizes emerged from the pile. Some got tiny dolls; others laughed at the unexpected weight of a new cup, or a woven tray. At last, it was their turn. Masamune paid the fee and gestured for the chatelaine to try. She appraised the bundle of ropes with her typical, thoughtful expression.
“Which one do you think?”
He chuckled. “Honestly, Lass? I’d just pick one. It’s the surprise that makes it fun, isn’t it?”
In any other circumstance, he could picture her protesting, offering some pragmatic reasoning as to why he was wrong. But this time she simply nodded. Selecting a rope from the bunch, she teased it toward her, hand over hand, and a small parcel pulled away from the stack on the counter. When she finally opened it, she sucked in her breath. “Oh, these are so pretty.”
It was a pair of hairpins. Dozens of tiny paper flowers dotted with little shells and pearls gleamed in the lantern light. Long chains speckled with tiny beads hung like rainfall from the comb. Masamune smiled as she held them up, turning them every which way to examine them. “Aren’t they so pretty?”
“Yes,” he said, not looking at the comb. “Beautiful.”
She spun on her heel to him. For the first time in a very, very long time, something of her old self sparkled in her eyes. He fought the urge to cry. No doubt the specter of everything haunting her would return in the morning–so often these things went like that, back and forth and back and forth–but for now, it was so lovely that he wanted to pull her tight and never let her go. “Would you mind?”
“Sure thing. I’m no expert, mind you, but I’ll do my best.”
The combs fit perfectly in her updo. She admired her reflection in a little looking glass a nearby vendor had propped up, the smile stretching from ear to ear. On a whim, Masamune leaned down and pecked a kiss against her cheek.
“Hey!” She smacked his arm, but he laughed. It was hard to take that seriously when she blushed so cutely. “What was that for?”
“Nothing, Kitten. You just looked so happy. You should be proud of me; I wanted to take a bite of you, but I settled for that.”
“You’re an absolute menace, Date Masamune.”
“I can be.” Chuckling, he wrapped her hand back into his sleeve, warming it again. “But I am awfully hungry. Either it’s me taking a bite of you or something else. What flavors are you thinking of?”
Her smile simmered away, eyebrows drawn and pensive. He reminded himself that these things took time, that they were working on the beginning stages of something healthier. It didn’t stop his sudden anxiety. Of course, it was better to ask than simply foist a new flavor on her, but…
“Well,” she said, slowly, “I’m not feeling much of a big meal.”
“That’s fine. We can just snack on things.”
Another beat. She hooked a finger between her lips–sometimes she did that when in thought–and stared up and down the street. “I suppose I could eat chicken, if they have some here.”
“Sure thing. Let’s take a look.”
They did. Masamune had never been so happy to see a yakitori stand. An older couple busied themselves over a grill, skewering morsels of cooked meat, drizzling them with sauces and bits of seasoning as they saw fit. He ordered a set of three, offering the first to her. “Here you go, Lass. This look like what you wanted?”
“I’ll give it a shot.”
“That’s all I ask.”
The chicken may have been her idea, but she was clearly still hesitant. She twirled the skewer in her fingers, watching the sauce slide down the cuts. Masamune reached out with his own and wiped some of hers away.
“Hey now,” she said, but it lacked the usual bite. “That was mine.”
“It looked like it was putting you off, and I wanted more sauce than I got.” Shooting her a wink, he took the first bite. The chicken was tender and delicious. “It’s good, Lass. You picked well. Thank you.”
“You’re the one who paid.”
“And you’re the one who picked. I’m thanking you for your good choices and the memories.”
He’d expected an eye roll, or a teasing smack on his arm. What he got instead was a strangely soft gaze. She worked her mouth open–then shut it once more, turning back to the chicken still untouched in her hand, finally chancing the first morsel. Masamune watched her chew and swallow.
Finally, she nodded appreciatively. “It’s actually really good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I was kinda nervous that it would be too heavy on my stomach, or maybe just not be as good as I wanted it to be, but the flavors are great.”
He resisted the urge to say ‘success’, or something equally stupid, and settled instead for, “Well, whenever we’re done with this, we’ll take another loop around. Maybe we’ll listen to some music. After that, we’ll see if you want anything else. Okay?”
She took a second bite and swallowed. “Okay.”
—
Koto music still filled the streets as they headed back into the thick of the crowd. The chatelaine, once resting so lightly against his arm, now held fast to his elbow. He purchased them a pair of masks (what was a festival without some masks?), and she affixed hers to her obi, unwilling to mess up the hair combs he’d so tenderly placed. It was precious. They wandered back up and down the town, looking at the lanterns and games, observing the humble decorations and pretty kimono.
Masamune finally checked his finger under her chin. “Hey, Kitten?”
“Mhm?”
“Willing to entertain me? I do want something else to eat. Ever had Taiyaki?”
“No, actually.”
“Would you want to split some?”
This time, her shrug of assent was far looser and easier won. He smiled. “Sure. I’ll try it. What is it, anyway?”
“It’s a pastry with red bean paste. Sometimes they decorate the outside with even more sweets, but that’s usually in the bigger cities. I’d be surprised if they had that version here.”
“Alright.”
There was a stand very close to the opening of the festival. Masamune paid for four, all shaped like fish, which a little girl in a bright blue kimono packaged very seriously and handed to him. He tipped her extra with a wink. They settled back in together under a tree and unwrapped the first two.
“Cheers,” he said, and bit right in. The familiar sweetness of paste exploded in his mouth. Without thinking, Masamune hummed. “It’s been years since I had one just like this.”
The chatelaine took her first bite, smiling as well. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. My dad took me to a festival just outside Aoba Castle. It was a larger affair than this, so just about every fancy thing you can think of was available; Portuguese sweets, fireworks, everything.” Peeling back the paper, he took another bite. “But my father was extremely insistent that we have some taiyaki. Nothing fancy–just the plain kind, with the red bean paste, shaped like the fish.”
“Why is that?”
“He never exactly said,” Masamune allowed. “But I have theories. My father always wanted me to remember that, no matter who I was, it was the people of Oshu that I protected. I may be their daimyo, but if I have the power over their lives, I need to take that seriously. I also need to remember that they don’t all have access to the means and riches that I do. There are many, many people in my realm who don’t have access to even this little sweet. I have to remember that.”
The chatelaine stared at him. He matched her gaze with his own, relishing the lantern light in her eyes. Cutting through the tension, he added, “I mean, that, or he just liked the taste of the plain kind.”
That got her to laugh. “Ah, yes. Either a very deep, introspective answer, or just accounting for taste, huh?”
Masamune grinned. “You never know.”
She polished off her first pastry with a happy hum, reaching for the second. He gladly unwrapped it for her. Night had long fallen; the stars shone bright overhead, the perfect backdrop to her tucking into the dessert. For the first time in a long, long time, Masamune had nothing to say. He finished his and watched.
Crumpling the paper in her hand, she smiled. “Those were really good.”
“Yeah?” There was a dollop of red bean paste on her lip. Would it stay, or would it fall off? He didn’t know yet.
“Yeah. Thank you, Masamune. I really enjoyed myself.”
Masamune wanted to say something pithy. He wanted to make a comment on everything being better with him, or, perhaps, something about being a good memory for her. But his brain was still latched onto the bit of paste on her lip. Slowly, he leaned in and brushed his finger over it. “You have something here.”
She blinked. He removed his thumb and displayed the bean paste–as evidence, perhaps–before placing it between his own lips. It was the same taiyaki he’d had. Why did hers taste so much better?
“I–” Her cheeks were bright red. “Thank you.”
He’d thought about kissing her before. Hells, he had once, in the far earlier days of knowing her. She’d lectured him for the audacity. That was how he did things. If he saw someone and felt the mood was right, he kissed them. She’d disagreed (clearly). But now? Now the same urge flooded him, a thousand times stronger and more purposeful, and he allowed his eyes to drift back down to her mouth. The delicate chains on the hairpin were scattered all over her neck. With a careful hand, Masamune brushed them behind her shoulder. Her breath caught. Their knees bumped; she craned forward–
“There you two are!”
Masamune had never considered fighting Hideyoshi before. Well–not on a serious level. First time for everything, he supposed. The other man appeared before them, arms crossed, a doting mother hen who’d just collected her chicks. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“We’ve been out here almost since we arrived,” the chatelaine said. If she felt the same as Masamune, she didn’t show it. Instead she leaned back against the tree, casual as ever. “We were just having some taiyaki. It’s really good, you should get some.”
Maybe Hideyoshi gathered that he’d interrupted something. He frowned at Masamune–probably gauging the uncharacteristic silence–before saying. “I was going to go listen to the koto players. Just wanted to touch base. I’ll head that way now, then…”
“Ah, that sounds fun.” Brushing off her knees, the princess got up. “I’d like to listen to them again. Masamune? Are you feeling up to more music?”
“Of course. I’m always free for a good time.” He joined them on his feet, tamping down the surprise when she still took his arm. Hideyoshi raised a brow and said nothing. “Shall we?”
—
They didn’t stay out much longer. When finally Masamune escorted her back to her room in the inn and they parted ways, Hideyoshi was waiting in the cramped hallways. They were sharing a room, after all.
“I apologize,” Hideyoshi said.
“For?”
“It seemed like you two were having a serious conversation earlier, when I interrupted you.”
Masamune chuckled despite himself. He didn’t know if ‘serious conversation’ was code for ‘about to kiss’, but he strongly suspected it wasn’t. No doubt Hideyoshi would have an earful for him if that had crossed his mind. “Ah, it’s fine.”
“Did she have dinner?”
“She did, actually. I told her to pick what she wanted, and she had some chicken and taiyaki. I’m not pushing her too hard on it.”
“Good, good. I suppose that’s better than how it’s been.”
The two men headed into their room. Two duvets were already set up, perfectly apportioned with blankets. Masamune peeled his haori off with a sigh. “Hideyoshi?”
“Mm?”
“Don’t bite my head off when I say what I’m about to say.”
Masamune felt, rather than heard, the man go completely still. He allowed another laugh at his expense. “Don’t be so rigid. It isn’t that serious.”
“No?”
“No. I just… I’m a little sweet on the lass. That’s all.”
He half-expected a lecture about Nobunaga having laid claim to her first, if not another one about behaving appropriately. Instead, Hideyoshi resumed moving. “Mitsuhide said you were.”
“Hah. I suppose you can’t get anything past that man.”
“No. You can’t.” A beat. Hideyoshi’s voice was softer this time. “I just… be gentle with her.”
“She isn’t a fragile flower.”
“No. But she is a person. And she’s a person who is going through a hard time right now, Masamune. I just want to make sure you’re… sensitive to that.”
He wanted to point out that he had been sensitive. That the chatelaine was a woman who knew her own mind, even if she didn’t have all the answers. That she was wonderful, and strong, and even if it sometimes looked like weakness, that no one could handle all the things that life threw their way without occasionally bending to the elements. But Masamune knew what Hideyoshi meant, and he didn’t have the energy to tease him too much, so he instead said, “I’ll make sure of that. Get some rest, Hideyoshi.”
“You too.”
On Choices (And Not Making Them Yet) [3]
You can find all other IkeSen works of mine on my page under the Masterlist. NOTES: This was a commission for @anxiousdolphin --thank you! Trigger warnings: Nonspecific references to eating disorders, depression. This is largely a comfort fic.
This has already been released in its entirety on AO3. If you'd like to see it all, go there. I'll be releasing it in installments here.
---
Usually they were on the road at first light. Masamune stood in the dark street, his horse saddled, breath rising in plumes. The men stood, prepped and waiting for Hideyoshi’s say-so.
Not that Masamune usually stood still for that. No. He was waiting for the chatelaine. She hadn’t yet descended from her room, and that unsettled him.
At long last, his colleague opened the screen door to the inn and motioned.
“What’s going on?”
Hideyoshi lifted his eyes to the sky and frowned. “She hasn’t gotten up yet.”
Masamune paused. That felt very, very out of character. “No?”
“She’s awake, she’s just… struggling.”
His heart dropped heavily into his stomach. Without a second thought, Masamune gripped Hideyoshi’s wrist. “Go ahead with the others.”
“What?”
“Go on with the others. Take her horse. I’ll wait here and catch up.”
“Masamune–”
“I ride faster than any of us. You know I won’t let anything happen to her. Start on the ride, and I’ll catch up.”
As he watched, a thousand different questions, concerns, and dissenting opinions bubbled to the surface and burst in Hideyoshi’s eyes. And then… a sigh.
“I trust you, Masamune. Catch up.”
“I’ll see it done. Don’t worry.”
He tied his horse back into the stable. Under the weight of a dozen hooves, the flattened earth rumbled. Hideyoshi’s clear voice gave the command; steeds snorted; and away into the rising light they departed, the first orange rays of dawn filtering across the empty festival streets. Masamune paused to tilt his head to the yellowing clouds and the faint chirp of birds.
Last night was so magical. What went wrong? He hadn’t been so naive as to believe that one happy occasion would drag the princess from the darkened recesses of her mind, but he’d certainly hoped it would help. Now? This seemed like backsliding. She’d never missed an important appointment like this before.
But there was no knowing what was going on until one took a look for themselves, huh? Masamune rolled back his cloak and stepped into the inn. The innkeeper’s wife–an elderly woman with kind eyes–was already up and settled around a stove, preparing a simple stew. He purchased two helpings and a pot of tea and ascended to the room.
At his first knock, no one answered. The silence terrified him. What if something else happened? Did Hideyoshi misunderstand what was going on? Had something untoward occurred while no one was looking? But at the second rap to the doorframe, the chatelaine finally answered.
“Come in.”
He slid back the screen with his shoe. Through the paper windows, scarcely any sunlight infiltrated. She was ringed in a hazy blue. Apparently she’d also dressed in a hurry; though Masamune couldn’t see much, he made out the disheveled state of her obi.
“I’m so sorry,” she murmured. Her hands were shaking; she kept folding and unfolding her things, tucking them haphazardly into her bags. “I’m so sorry, I know I’m holding everyone up–”
“You aren’t, Kitten. I had the others go ahead.”
That just generated a moan. She rocked back on her heels and covered her eyes, head bent to her knees. “Hells. Really? I’m so sorry–”
“It’s fine–”
“Maybe I should go back to Azuchi,” she said. “I didn’t mean to separate you from the others, and I really didn’t mean to cause all this ruckus. I’m so sorry. I try so hard to keep everything together and now I’ve interrupted–”
“Princess,” Masamune interjected more forcefully this time. That got her attention. She looked up from her shivering hands, expression tight and humiliated. “I brought us some tea. It’s alright. Let’s just have some morning stew, okay?”
It looked for a minute like she might protest. He settled in on the tatami mat and placed the tray between them, placing a teacup in her hand. That, she accepted. When he offered a spoon, she shook her head.
“I’m not hungry.”
“Are you not hungry,” he inquired carefully, “Or are you just already worked up and don’t want to eat?”
There was a moment’s silence. She stared into the cup in her hand like the fortune tellers, trying to divine the future from tea leaves.
At last, she acknowledged, “I just need a little bit to get myself together. Okay? If I eat anything right now, I might be sick.”
“Well, that wouldn’t be helpful. Take your time, Lass. It’ll be here.” In the meantime, he helped himself to his bowl, blowing over the steaming broth. “I have a few questions of my own.”
She hummed to indicate he could continue.
“Should we just have some light conversation over a nice breakfast? Am I allowed to reassure you that I’m fine hanging back? Do you want to tell me what is going on, or should we wait?”
Light grew stronger by the moment. Now he could see the intricate, pretty details of her face. She was crying. She was so lovely, and so wonderful, and so terribly sad, and it shattered his heart like a ceramic teacup against tile. Without thinking, Masamune reached out and brushed away a tear.
“Hey now,” he whispered. “Let me help. How can I help?”
“If I knew how, Masamune,” she murmured back, “I’d tell you.”
He wished she knew. He wished he knew. All Masamune could think of was his own attendants in Oshu. When he was growing up, whenever he had deeply, deeply sad days–mostly whenever he knew his mother didn’t love him–the elderly maid who cared for him would cradle him in her arms and tell him about all the good things that were happening. It never made the bad disappear. It just made it less overwhelming.
“Am I allowed to say that everything is okay?”
The ‘yeah’ she allowed was almost inaudible. He put down his bowl and spoon, scooting around the tray to be by her side. Her body felt so nice against his; as Masamune reached around her waist, she leaned in, her cheek pressed against his chest like a promise.
“It’s okay,” he said. “There’s nothing to worry about right now. We’re in a nice inn with some good tea. Whenever we leave, the wind will be refreshing and cool. We’ll get to look at the mountains together, uninterrupted, and spend some time together. Does that sound okay?”
“Yeah,” she repeated, sniffing. “Yeah.”
They sat there like that until the diffused golden sunlight at last reached them. It stretched across the futon and brushed over her knees, caught on the pretty sheen of her hair. On instinct–and risking ruining the moment–Masamune kissed her forehead. Against his chest, she managed a tiny smile.
“Masamune?”
“Yeah?”
A beat. “I just had an emotional crash, that’s all. I woke up this morning and couldn’t force myself to do anything, even though I wanted to and needed to.”
“Slow down, Kitten. You’re too smart for me sometimes. I don’t know what ‘emotional crash’ means.”
That got a faint chuckle. Untangling their limbs, she scraped the tears from her cheeks and reached for her tea, gulping it down. “Mountains. You know how, when you ride to the top, you have to come back down, one way or another?”
“You could just stay at the top.”
She fixed him with a serious stare. Victory. He grinned impishly at her. “Masamune.”
“Right. When you go up, you have to come back down.”
“Emotions work the same way… kind of. Most of the time, our emotional state is very level.” She held out her hand to demonstrate, her palm facing the floor. “Now, if you’re starting from this ‘normal’ level, going up rapidly–” and she tilted her fingers up, as if they were ascending a mountainside, “Coming back down isn’t so bad. You still want to take your time, though.”
He could guess where this was going, even if exactly how this worked didn’t yet make sense. “So when you go out and have a good time, you want to try and… calm down?”
“Afterwards, yes. You want to make the transition from the top of your excitement to your normal emotions as easy as possible.”
Leaning back on his elbows, Masamune nodded. “So you enjoyed yourself yesterday at the festival, but didn’t ‘transition’ yourself down?”
“Not quite.” She shook her head. “Because I haven’t been at my ‘normal’ range of emotion. Basically, I went from the bottom of a valley, scaled a massive peak, and instantly plummeted down the other side and back into a ravine.”
Even if it didn’t make perfect sense, he at least could wrap his mind around it now. Masamune asked, “Is it sort of like jumping into a hot spring on the coldest day of the year? People faint from that.”
The Princess paused, then allowed a tiny puff of laughter. “That’s a better analogy. Yes. Going from struggling so deeply to having a really good time and then not monitoring myself afterwards was a mistake. So when I woke up, I just wasn’t able to do anything.”
“You were getting up from fainting and hitting your head on the rocks,” he said. After a second, he chuckled. “I’m not saying that comparison is from personal experience, but…”
Gods, he really did adore it when she rolled her eyes at him. “Date Masamune, no wonder Hideyoshi sometimes wants to fight you.”
“Sometimes? Wants? He punched Mitsuhide for worrying him on a battlefield. I think I’ve skirted the line of being the lesser annoyance.”
“So you’ve avoided a similar fate,” she added dryly. “I now understand your strategy. Time to sell you out.”
“Underhanded, Kitten. I’ll have to keep an eye on you.”
The world was waking. He could hear other inn patrons stirring in their rooms, the faint creak of bamboo floorboards. Without asking, he plucked the teacup from her hand and poured her a second helping. “So how can I help you ‘level’ yourself out next time?”
Her mouth opened, then shut. “‘Next time’?”
“Of course.” Masamune picked up his bowl of stew, slurping down a spoonful of broth. The delicious tang of miso and ginger sparked on his tongue. “You don’t think that’ll be the last time I try and have fun with you, do you? I just don’t want you to suffer after the fact. Say the word, and I’ll do my best.”
She fumbled a hand through her hair. “I mean–doing something calmer afterward would help…”
“Like cuddling?”
Her cheeks matched the dawn. “I’m sorry?”
“Like cuddling. You know. Quiet time together, talk for a bit.” Masamune chuckled. “You don’t need me to spell that out for you.”
“No, I–” Exasperated, she pressed a hand to her forehead. “No, I don’t. I know what cuddling is, Masamune.”
“Are you sure? I could demonstrate.”
“Masamune!” She squeaked, smacking his knee. “I was just surprised!”
“Why?”
“Because, I…”
She cast her eyes toward the edges of the room. The unspoken crowded around them. Losing all pretense of cool, Masamune sat upright. “I like you, Kitten. Why wouldn’t I want to see if that would help you?”
The way she looked at him from under those eyelashes–hells. It could knock a man off his horse at fifty paces. He wanted to drown in it. It wasn’t sultry, or seductive, or pretentious. No. It was so unabashedly honest. She was so open, and fun, and vulnerable even at her lowest. How had anyone else ever let her slip between their fingers?
“I’d like that. The cuddling, that is,” she said. “Though I’m not sure if our definitions of the phrase ‘I like you’ match up.”
“Try me,” he breathed. “Maybe once we’ve gotten to Oshu we can talk about it, mmm? In the meantime, would you do me a favor?”
“What kind of favor?”
He lifted a spoonful of stew. “Would you take at least three bites for me? You know riding can be rough. While I can be the idiot passing out at the onsen, I’d prefer if you at least had a tiny bit of something.”
She took a single, deep, fluttery breath, eyes shutting to steel herself. “Alright. Pass me the bowl. I’ll have as much as I can.”
—
The morning sun was over the mountain by the time he saddled them both up. She tucked her cloak in tightly between her legs, trying to leave room for Masamune as he slid into the seat behind her. It wasn’t the first time they’d done this–after all, he had swept her bodily onto his horse at Nobunaga’s request–but it was the first time she’d come willingly.
“Ready?” He queried, positioning his arms around her.
“Ready.”
“We’re going to go pretty fast, Kitten. Hang on with your thighs. I’ll keep my arms around you, alright?”
“Hell, Masa, you make it sound like I might go flying off. Didn’t know you had a Hideyoshi streak in you.”
He poked her side for the insult. She screeched and swatted at his hand. “Date Masamune!”
“Hang in there, Princess. I don’t think Hideyoshi rides like I do.”
And with that, they were off. The village blurred into streaks of gray and red and gold, trees flying by. Back in the old days, Masamune would race around Oshu and imagine that he moved as fast as the Thunder and Wind gods, live for the snap of wind tearing at his cheeks and eyes. His tutors laughed. ‘Look at the mountains as you ride,’ they’d say. ‘See how they stand still? The mountains will keep you humble.’
Maybe that was true. Maybe even the mountains looked like streaks of ink for the gods. In the moment, Masamune didn’t envy them. Fūjin and Raijin didn’t have the chatelaine of Azuchi Castle on their saddle, wrapped between their arms and laughing.
“Oh my God!” She yelled, and laughed again. “You weren’t kidding!”
He grinned. “This exciting for you, Kitten?”
“Yes!”
“Guess I’ll have to cuddle you later to make up for the excitement, huh? Bring you back down slowly and all that, right?”
If they were still on land, he suspected she might’ve elbowed him or rolled her eyes. Instead they came to the first curve of a mountain pass. She shrieked a surprised laugh as they rounded the corner, never faltering for a moment. Her voice echoed against sheer rock, and he reveled in it.
—
It was midday when they caught up to the others. Masamune only slowed once he passed the head of the formation and heard Hideyoshi yelling, a backdrop of laughing soldiers at his back. Decelerating to a canter, he grinned broadly at the others, pointing at the wind-tossed-but-unhurt (and smiling) chatelaine.
“She’s fine!”
“Despite your riding, not because of it!” It was a wonder Hideyoshi had any hair. How did he not rip it out, pulling like that? “Did you take the whole mountain pass at that speed?”
He opened his mouth to answer. The chatelaine cut him off first. “Lord Date, as your unofficial advisor, I advise you not to answer that question.”
More laughter from the other men. Hideyoshi smoothed his (very rumpled) hair back, gesturing at the horses. “I have your mare here, Princess. Let me transfer your things to her.”
Masamune cast her a glance. She shot him one right back. A sly smile curled around her mouth.
“In a second,” Masamune said. Ignoring Hideyoshi’s yell, kicked his horse into a full run, taking another lap around the road.
—
They passed the night on the last stretch of the mountain. Their tents overlooked the vast plains of Oshu below, the tiny lights of his land twinkling in the darkness. Icy ocean air slashed between fabric and fire, but Masamune didn’t care. He was so close to home. Happiness filled his lungs anyway.
Just as they were all heading to their respective cots, he found the chatelaine stoking the last of the fire. She was alone. Good. Not that he cared about what others thought, it was just easier not to tempt fate at this fragile stage.
“Hey.”
She blinked up at him. “Hey.”
“C’mon. Come with me.”
Maybe she knew what would happen. Maybe she didn’t. Either way, she didn’t question when he picked up her saddle bag and slung it over his shoulder, taking her hand in his. Her fingers fit perfectly against him. Idly, he stroked a thumb over her knuckles and relished the feel.
When they reached his tent and he opened the flap, that was when she finally paused.
“What’s happening?”
“We’re cuddling,” he said. “Simple.”
“Cuddling implies it’s a temporary thing,” she said. “Like an hour, maybe more. I didn’t think you meant sleeping together.”
Even as she talked, Masamune drew her into his tent by the wrist, letting the cover flap shut behind them. She looked good in every light, he’d decided. The thin strip of light glanced over an eye and made it radiant.
He couldn’t help it. Chuckling, Masamune said, “I thought you said once that ‘sleeping together’ was a euphemism.”
“Ass.” But she sighed at him. “I don’t mean the euphemism this time… unless you do?”
“I wasn’t planning on sex, no.” He set her bags down and drew ever nearer. “It is cold, and I promised to cuddle you. It seemed impolite to kick you out into the freezing wind after warming you up.”
Truthfully, he hadn’t expected her to mull it over so quickly. After only a moment, she nodded. “Alright.”
“Alright?”
“Alright.”
The futon wasn’t meant for two. They made it work. He curved himself alongside her, draping an arm over her hips and nuzzling his cold nose against her neck. She laughed and smacked him.
“I’m going to hurt you, Date Masamune!”
“Please do. Make me work for it.”
This conjured another round of giggles. Satisfied with himself, he sighed into her ear. “Say, Princess?”
“Mhm?”
“When we get to Aoba, I want to make you something. I know my retainers will likely hold a feast, so maybe the second day or so. Do you like sweets?”
She wriggled in his hold until she was facing him. He could feel her breath fluttering against his mouth. “I love sweets.”
“I’ll make you some zunda mochi when we get there. It’s a little recipe I’m working out. Sound good?”
“Mhmm.” A beat. She grinned. “Want to know a secret?”
Her arm was around his waist now. He rubbed his hand along her elbow, relishing the weight. “Of course.”
“Sometimes, whenever Hideyoshi was coming around, Nobunaga would hide his candy with me.” Giggling, she said, “So I’d take it, but I’d tell him I was taxing him for the favor and take some pieces for himself.”
Masamune snorted, trying not to gust air straight in her face. “You were taxing Nobunaga? Oh, if only Hideyoshi knew that.”
“I know. Straight to the dungeons for me.”
“Please tell me how Nobunaga reacted.”
“I think he was surprised the first time, but then he seemed to think it was funny.”
“Yet another benefit of being the favorite. I daresay anyone with the audacity to impose taxes on Nobunaga should seriously hope they’re so liked.”
She hummed, shutting her eyes. Masamune took the moment to really, truly savor her presence. Her hair smelled like fresh wind. The way her knees slotted against his felt natural. Carefully, he tucked the blanket around her shoulder.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Whatever for?”
“Helping me even out. Cuddling.”
“Gotta say, Kitten. I’d be lying if I didn’t say this was good for me, too.”
Every time she smiled, Masamune wondered how he’d gotten so lucky. Somehow–despite all of his flaws, or recklessness, or willfulness–she was still happy around him. He brushed a thumb across her cheek.
“Masamune?”
“Yes?”
Eyes fluttering open, she gazed at him. She’d seemed so tired only a moment before. Why was she now wide awake? “I need to tell you a secret.”
Any other time he would’ve teased her. Not now. She looked far too serious for that. “Alright.”
“I’ve only told Hideyoshi about this. No one else knows, and no one else can know. It wouldn’t go well.”
Why wasn’t he uneasy? Wording like that was dangerous. Still, he trusted her. “Go on.”
“I’m not from this time. I’m from four hundred years in the future.”
Out of all the things he’d expected, that wasn’t among them. Masamune felt himself working his jaw back and forth, trying to understand what was happening. She just stared at him, silent and uncertain. This was absurd. This was absurd. Was it a joke? Should he laugh? Surely this was impossible.
And yet… it did explain a lot. Her confusion upon arriving in Honno-Ji. The bizarre clothing she’d worn. All those fascinatingly odd words and phrases she used. The initial confession after her breakdown, worrying about how her family was doubtless trying to contact her. If she were working across four hundred years and not the simple matter of miles, no wonder she couldn’t answer.
Masamune puzzled through everything and came out on the other end with the most bewildering conclusion: she was telling the truth.
“I see,” he said finally. “Gotta say, I wasn’t expecting that one. How’d you get here?”
She rubbed her tongue with her teeth. “I don’t know how to explain it. There was a lightning storm, and then I was here. The guy that came with me–”
“--there was a guy?”
“Yeah. His name is Sasuke. He’s a good guy, but I didn’t know him at the time. Sasuke called it a ‘wormhole’. It’s like a… I guess a whirlpool in time.”
It made his brain hurt to think about, but he understood. “Can you go back home?”
“Maybe. Sasuke is working on it.”
Selfishly, before he could stop himself, Masamune asked, “If he figures it out, will you go back home?”
It was a good thing, he supposed, that she didn’t answer immediately. If faced with the same choice, what would he pick? Masamune assumed he’d return to Oshu. He had a responsibility to his people, after all. Who else would carry them through these turbulent times? It was his birthright and greatest debt.
She curled her fingers into his sleeve and sighed. “I don’t know yet. In the future, obviously, there’s my family. But also there are lots of treatment plans and options for my depression.”
“Depression?”
“It’s the technical name for my, uh… condition.” Tapping her head, she explained, “Why I’m sad and tired and listless. The eating thing can be part of it sometimes. I’ve struggled on and off with it for years.”
“They can treat it? Like an illness?”
“Yep. Not as well as getting sick, mind you, but it’s possible.”
This time he stayed his tongue. Who was he to ask her to remain and be sad? Masamune slid his fingers along her forehead, tracing the fringe of her hair, absorbing every inch of her. He’d always known (maybe better than anyone) that the people he cared for could vanish in an instant. He hadn’t been so naive since his youth.
And yet. Despite himself–despite his recklessness and resolve to live each day as fully as possible and without regrets–despite his responsibilities to clan and country–Masamune realized that he’d fallen madly in love with the Princess from Nowhere.
Hells. What was he supposed to do?
“Masamune?” She whispered. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine, Kitten,” he murmured, and pressed his mouth to her forehead. “Just tired. Thank you for telling me the secret.”
Maybe she knew he was lying. She’d always been sharp. But this time, perhaps for the first time, she allowed him to pretend. Instead she slid tighter into his arms and nuzzled his collarbone.
“Thank you,” she said again.
Masamune laid there and watched the sliver of light from the tent flap track across the ceiling. She was so warm in his arms. Even as her breathing slowed and evened, he counted her heartbeats in threes, asking the sky for just a little more time with her.
“Nobody does this because they like it. I would marry someone to get out." -Cuban prostitute Maria A. Quoted in The New York Times
