Chapter Text
Japan 1843
The storm tossed waves onto coastal villages in ravaging anger so it was no surprise that the reports of a foreign ship thrashed about the rocks of their island. But Kiku Honda was a soldier of the Shogun and, rain or shine, would investigate this appearance earnestly.
He took a squadron of warriors and equipped them with weapons before heading out into the black storm. The sun would have been risen high by this time of day but the howling winds pressed the clouds to blanket the sky, cascading everything into a dark mist. Hardly anything was visible and keeping one’s eyes open to view anything was a challenge.
Kiku struggled with his men for any sign of the sighted ship. He could see nothing.
“There!” one of his men pointed out.
Sure enough it was a ship. A Western ship. Kiku frowned at the sight of it. No matter how many times their country denied relations between the Westerners they still came, with their warships and whaling ships. This one was a whaling ship.
“What should we do?”
Kiku remained quiet, contemplating. His gaze watched the scene unfold before him intensely.
“We will wait,” Kiku informed, staying his men from any action. “The sea will decide their fate.”
Despite the horrid winds around and the chilling rain soaking them Kiku stayed himself and his men to watch and wait for the outcome of the ship. In this time he took note to watch the men onboard struggling to handle their sails. They were running around like mad, some even falling overboard.
Kiku straightened himself. So was the fate of those ignoring warnings.
When his sight caught the image of the ship’s main flag ripping away in the wind he took in the stars and the red and white stripes. He knew flags, this was a vessel of the United States of America. The thought of said country reminded Kiku of six years previous when the same nation tried to land a ship in their harbor and send out delegates of their God. They were chased away, and so would this vessel—unless the sea claimed it first.
Suddenly, Kiku beheld a larger wave slam itself against the ship’s left side of the hull. The boat tossed and would have balanced itself had not another wave hit it again in the same position. The ship collapsed and Kiku distinctively swore he could hear the men’s cries—perhaps that was just the howling wind around.
Well, now he could certainly see their distress as the ship spewed out the sailors to rest their own fates in the blue waters. The waves came and buried them in their graves. There would be no survivors.
“They are gone,” his men praised with laughter. “Let’s return inside.” All wanted shelter from the storm.
“Matte,” Kiku ordered, holding his hand up to stay his men’s departure. They looked at him curiously but when their gaze followed his own they too noticed the guided wreckage of the ship. There were two, two Westerners still in the battle for their lives.
“Masaka!” came the gasps from the rest of the men, but Kiku remained quiet and watching.
Go down, Kiku mentally demanded. Be with the rest of your men. Stay away from this land.
“They seem to be struggling to come this way,” one soldier noted.
“They will drown too if the sea should see it,” another spoke up.
But, suddenly, the rains stopped. Kiku looked up. The black clouds thinned, and grayed. The winds were easing as well. The storm was near ceased.
No, Kiku’s frown deepened. Let the sea finish them off! But the sea did not and calmed just as it looked like the two went under. They clung to a broken piece of the ship and one of them, a larger man, was pedaling his way closer toward shore.
“A shame,” the men behind Kiku sighed exasperatingly. “The sea’s left us the remaining duty to be rid of them.”
The penalty for coming to Japan was death. So be it.
Kiku and his men held onto their swords while making their way down to the coast. In their plight the skies cleared. The sun was brighter than expected and every dripping plain seemed to sparkle, especially the rocks of the coastal line now surrounded by wreckage of the lost vessel.
They made it to shore. Two Westerners. Kiku could see the larger one, a white-haired man, drag the smaller onto the shallow beach and press up against the large rocks near.
He looked worn, wounded, but he clung to the smaller and shivered from the chill in the air.
Kiku looked at his men and told them to follow him paces behind. He approached them first. He knew multiple languages, Dutch, Portuguese, Russian, French, and English. If he remembered correctly, the people from the United States of America spoke English.
“You should not have come here.” Kiku didn’t care if he was heavily accented. As long as the other understood. He was no man to do away with the innocent.
Now that he was closer he could get a better look at the man. He was dressed in dark blue, perhaps he had been the captain of the ship lost to the ocean, his hair was pure white, his skin wrinkled. He was an old man, surprising Kiku of his journey on the ship.
He had his head leant back against the rock, taking in deep breaths, almost to calm himself. In his arms, Kiku could finally see was a boy. His hair sparkled bright gold in the sunlight layered with water droplets, his skin quite tan, much more than the older man’s. He was not moving and the color of red on the side of the boy’s head proved to Kiku that he had been hurt in the sinking and was unconscious.
“Can you understand me?” Kiku narrowed his eyes at the unresponsive man. Perhaps he had mistaken the flag now clung tight into the old man’s grasp along with the boy. Perhaps it was a Russian flag instead. So, Kiku opened his mouth and made to speak in said language when the man opened his eyes.
Bright blue. The eyes did not fit his age. They were full of youth and spirit that surely they were the eyes of a younger more capable youth. It surprised Kiku and he even leant back a little in awe.
Then there was a smile on those cracked and weathered lips. He shifted, sitting up more and holding onto the boy tighter. “That I can,” he replied softly, choking on the saltwater embedded into his lungs.
“You are an American?” Kiku once again looked at the striped flag. He was certain that was the flag of said country.
“Aye,” the man nodded. He then smiled. Kiku leant back again. “The name’s Captain Samuel Jones. A pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Kiku frowned. There was no need for this man to be polite nor happy. He knew better. He knew it.
“We are sakoku,” Kiku informed. “We have warned against trespassers. You have broken our law.”
The Westerner, Samuel, looked up at the clear blue sky, its reflection in his gaze. He looked—sad. “Aye, looks like I have. I’m sorry.”
Before, Kiku was glad to grab hold of these trespassers and bring them to justice, run his blade through their necks, so then why was he so patient with this one? Death was already at his door, and with no transportation to return to the country of his birth his fate is sealed.
“You are aware of what is so ordered of those who break our law?” Kiku pressed.
“Aye,” the man nodded.
Kiku turned to his men. One look was all it took. They approached the man. Almost immediately he backed up, holding onto the unconscious boy in his arms.
“Please.” Kiku understood the word, but didn’t understand why he was saying it when he understood completely of what was to become of him. He eyed him intently. He watched the old man look at the warriors surrounding him and then he turned toward Kiku who oversaw it all some paces away. “I understand and comply with every crime you have stated, but do not kill my son.”
Son? Kiku looked at the boy. He looked so young, and the man so old.
“His name’s Alfred, Alfred F. Jones,” Samuel stated as if giving a name to the child would evoke some sort of sympathy to the Japanese men—so to make them look at him like a human being. “He’s the only child in my old age. My wife, she passed bearing him into this world. He’s all I have.”
Japan shouldn’t have felt it, but he did. There was a sharp stab to his heart. He visibly winced at it.
So, Kami would grant this Westerner his one and only child while the mother sacrifices herself for his existence, and yet He would take away both my wife and child in the same evening? What a cruel god you are. Kiku shouldn’t have felt so conflicted. This was his duty and fate was never kind to anyone. Some children were born to die early and the mothers surrendering their souls for their first breath in the world were often given in vain.
“Separate the two,” Kiku ordered to his men. They nodded and proceeded in doing so. But the Western Captain fought, he fought to keep hold of his child.
Kiku remained quiet and kept. He watched his men finally whisk the boy out of his father’s embrace. Samuel’s cries for the boy weren’t well understood but they did not sit well with Kiku’s heart. He inwardly sighed. He should have listened to his Shogun and taken a leave of absence to give himself time to grieve for the death of his wife and child, after all, it was not proper he be going about his duties with such a heavy heart only after their passing a mere month later.
When Samuel suddenly pulled himself from the soldiers’ grasp with a strength they hadn’t expected and lunged forward to the men dragging the teen away Kiku slapped his hand against his weapon, ready to intercede. But he was stayed when his men chased after him, grabbing him by his slim waist and pulling him away. Kiku watched the Captain wrap that tattered flag of his around his son’s arm before being ripped from him, after which he was more compliable.
Kiku would usually follow the older of the Westerners as he was brought before the Shogun, but instead he found himself sticking closer to his men dragging the unconscious teen, he was a lengthy lad, Kiku mused he couldn’t be older than fifteen, but still, he had inherited his father’s height, quite tall for one so young.
Kiku oversaw which cell they put the unconscious boy in and left him in that state. There was no medical care given. The only sign he was still alive was the rise and fall of his chest.
Kiku frowned. The caked blood on the side of his face was quite unattractive and begged for assistance. Kiku was on the verge with debating on whether to fetch a doctor or not when a messenger came to him and informed him that the Shogun wished him to carry out Samuel’s execution.
Kiku spared one last glance at the young Westerner and then eyed the guards to the prison. He knew these men for a long time, as of why right then and there that he didn’t trust them with the boy’s well-being was beyond him. He didn’t like how this turn of events changed him internally and hoped to be rid of the uneasy feeling by seeing to Samuel’s expected end.
He’d never seen a foreigner so still, so waiting. He sat there knelt on the ground, the Shogun watching with his entourage. Kiku bowed before his Shogun and then drew his katana. He lowered the blade on the old man’s neck, letting him feel the press of the steel for a moment.
The captain then laughed. Kiku blinked in surprise. “I’ve fought in 1812 and sailed for many years after . . . looks like my luck’s run out.” He turned his head. Kiku frowned at the action and would have told him to face back to the ground sooner hadn’t Samuel held his gaze. Those blue eyes of his were still very full of life—usually many were so hallow at this point, given up, ready to embrace death’s cold touch. But not Samuel Jones. “At least you’ll take care of my boy.”
Kiku had never so promised this. Yet, internally, just as he clenched the hilt of his sword tighter and raised it high he heard himself mentally say, Hai.
With that he swung his sword down. Samuel paid for his failure to uphold Japan’s seclusion. He knew better.
It still unsettled Kiku though and as night drifted over the land he found himself seated in front of the cellar that the captain’s son had been placed in. He was still unconscious, but recent moans and groans alerted Kiku that he was ready to awaken soon.
At least he is survived by his son, Kiku found himself thinking. He smiled bitterly. When he would pass away there was nothing left of him. He was growing old in years and the wife of his youth had been spirited away into the afterlife with their only birthed child. How he envied Captain Samuel Jones.
Perhaps that was why he felt inclined to help his young son, Alfred F. Jones, survive.
“Mmm.” Kiku perked. He kept a steady gaze on the boy and noticed more movement. “Mmm, ugh.” Then, Kiku watched as his eyes fluttered open. His breath caught in his throat. He thought he’d never see them again—those blue, blue eyes so full of life and spirit. Why, the boy had inherited more than just stature from his late father.
Beautiful, they truly were. Kiku knew many a person who trembled at the sight of demonic “blue eyes” but Kiku found them fascinating, belonging to creatures simply not of this world. He’s never seen such lovely blue eyes before. Truly Samuel-san and his son possessed the most beautiful.
Kiku found himself smiling slightly again, almost endearingly as he watched Alfred move himself to sit up against the wall to his back. When he began looking around Kiku’s smile faded. The spirit in his gaze shifted into panic and fright.
“Father?” Alfred sounded so young, Kiku knew he to be right about his assumed age. “Father?!”
Kiku nearly jumped to his feet as he watched the boy jump to his own and immediately fall against the bars around him. He was dazed, struck on the head and off balance. But that did not deter the boy from searching the cells next to him for his parent.
“Father?” Kiku then watched his bottom lip quiver and his eyes water. They seemed to shine even more with the moisture sheening them. Then, their gazes met. Kiku was in fact the only soldier there not turned from the American boy. “Where’s my father?” The boy had no ability to comprehend he was speaking to someone not of his race and possibly did not understand him. “Hey! My father? He’s tall, has white hair, a goatee.” Alfred pulled at his chin, his voice cracking. “Have you see him? Please tell me, please!”
Kiku sighed and sat himself back down on the stool, folding his arms in his sleeves. “Do you know where you are?”
Alfred’s eyes widened. “You speak my language? Good, have you seen my father? His name’s Samuel, Samuel Jones. I’m Alfred, his son. Please, tell me he’s alright!”
“Do you know where you are?” Kiku once more inquired in calm.
Alfred trembled, utterly amazing Kiku at the sound of the bars shaking against his grasp. The boy had a strength to him.
“No,” he answered. The tears were falling now. “I think, but, I’m not sure . . . my father—”
“Paid the price for not submitting to this country’s isolation,” Kiku informed.
Alfred stilled himself. His eyes wide and mouth gapping. His eyes fluttered in the sting of his tears falling out fresh. “Then—Then he’s . . .”
Kiku did not need to say anymore. He knew the boy understood. They were whaling near their borders and no doubt the boy’s father had informed him on which land to steer clear from. A shame the storm brought them too close to the shore, but that was fate—always so cruel.
Alfred bowed his head and cried. He slid down, hitting his knees and moaning out in agony. Kiku sat and listened. He could have left, but felt the boy needed a presence looking at him, so he stayed.
“Why?” Alfred asked, inhaling a shaking breath. His eyes met Kiku’s again. He could see he was angry but the sadness overwhelmed those irises. “We did nothing to you. It was all an acci—an accident. How can you judge us so harshly?!” Alfred choked out another sob. “Why not me? Why didn’t you kill me too?”
Kiku inwardly chuckled. He’s been asking himself the same question the entire day. By all rights he should have and yet the sun has gone down on the day, a new day will arrive soon, and Alfred will live.
“Your father,” Kiku replied. “That is why.”
Alfred looked at him with shocked eyes. He blinked before closing his eyes, his brows crashing together. He was the epitome of heartbroken. Around this time Kiku would inform the prisoner that this was their fault and they knew better, but looking at Alfred like that, he just didn’t have the heart to say such things.
Perhaps the Shogun was right. He should have taken time to mourn for his loss. His heart was still too tender. He too weak.
“Honda, why didn’t you tell me there was another?”
Kiku straightened and stood swiftly to his feet at the sound of his Shogun’s voice. He turned and bowed to him. Surely he had thought he’d be in bed by now.
“Forgive me, Shogun-dono,” Kiku apologized. Come to think of it, he hadn’t told the Shogun about the second survivor. “I thought that one of my men would have informed you.”
“They did, but in the late of the hour,” the Shogun, Tokugawa Ieyoshi, said. He was very interested in this Westerner, Kiku could tell by the way he was trying to peak around him to look at Alfred. It was expected, after all, he didn’t see much of the Westerners, Americans especially.
Reaching out the Shogun patted Kiku’s arm with his fan to signal him to step aside. With head kept bowed Kiku did so and the Shogun stepped closer to the cell with his own guards at his side.
A worry arose in Kiku’s heart. He knew it was misplaced for a foreigner he had just met, but it urged him to speak, saying, “I beg of you not to harm him.”
“Hm, why is that, Honda?” the Shogun spared one glance toward him but remained fixated on the crying teen slumped to the floor of the cell.
“I had promised his father to protect him,” Kiku admitted. He should have felt ashamed for swearing such a thing to a foreigner, but curiously, he didn’t.
“You have become strange after the passing of your wife and child, Honda,” the Tokugawa noted. But even so, Kiku was one of his most faithful soldiers and he honored his bushido lifestyle. He said nothing more. His gaze now transfixed on the boy in the cage.
The Shogun hadn’t seen as many foreigners as his father. Seeing the Captain earlier that day was among the first in a long while. This boy, he was the man’s son? He tilted his head. He supposed he could see the resemblance.
With a sigh the Shogun motioned to one of the prison guards to open the cage and show off the boy better. The guard did so, unlocking the gate and entering. Alfred immediately backed away from the man but when another guard entered he was forced closer to the Shogun. The guards even went as far as splashing water in his face. It cleared up the blood and dirt caked on his skin, but it also arose a desire.
The boy was beautiful. Tan skin was an ugly trait in their country, but the way it was worn on him was godly. His hair sparkled gold, even in the dimness of the torchlight. And his eyes, as the guards forced his chin up to look at the Shogun, his eyes met his. They were glowing, full of a spirit unseen by any present in that prison cellar.
The Shogun reached out and tapped the tip of his sealed fan against the boy’s high cheek bone. This was it, Kiku knew that his master was inspecting Alfred, deciding on whether or not to let him live. This Shogun was not his father and Kiku believed likely more passive, but he was still cautious, for once in his life doubting his sworn master’s intentions.
What would Kiku do should the Shogun decide to execute Alfred? Kiku had sworn his spirit that the boy would live. What would he do?
The conflict inside him almost turned him violent. Even the other guards noticed his hand resting on his sword.
“Do not worry, Honda,” Tokugawa spoke up, pulling the fan away from Alfred and smiled down at the Western boy. “This Westerner will live. I will make sure you keep your promise to his father.” He then turned and motioned for the prison guards to obey. “Release him. He will live with me.”
Kiku’s heart dropped. Why? He should have been gracious that his master decided to lift the sentence of death from the boy’s head. But he wasn’t, because he understood his Shogun’s intentions.
Alfred was to become Shogun Tokugawa Ieyoshi’s concubine.