A/N: Bahh, I'm probably getting no reviews on this. ;A; Heh, so anyways, I just recently started reading this manga called Juushin Enbu, or Hero Tales. It is illustrated by the WONDERFUL Arakawa ( whom did Fullmetal Alchemist :D ) and written by Huang Jin Zhou. I immediatly fell in love with it, and the fact that it is so comedical yet can pull off making me cry in every chapter. T^T Actually, I'm not a big fan of the anime because they screwed up Arakawa's beautiful artworks! Taitou is supposed to look like Ed and Ling's lovechild (and I can't help but fangirl over him)! But in the anime, he just looks...NOT GOOD. Let's just say, I'm very stubborn with anime artwork.
Ahh, now I'm rambling. xD So, if you haven't gone out and read the manga, go read it!
Also, I feel I'm like the only person who ships Taitou/Laila. DON'T JUDGE ME, this is /technically/ not incest since they aren't related by blood. And besides, I've noticed that later on in the manga, Taitou starts gettin' touchy-touchy with his 'sister'. Am I the only one who notices these signs? C'mon, they're like the new Ed/Winry here! :'D j/k.
One more thing. I THINK I AM THE FIRST PERSON TO WRITE A HERO TALES (JUUSHIN ENBU) FANFICTION. 8'DD -dies from excitement-
Sorry if I keep rambling in the Author's Note! I shall go now. ;o -suicides-
Disclaimer: I am not the cool Chinese guy that wrote Hero Tales (Juushin Enbu), nor am I the Japanese cow who drew it. Therefore, I do not own.
~u~
Hero Tales;
A Dead Man's Smile
"Sorry," His eyebrows knitted together in a sad fashion, while he put a comforting hand on the crown of her head. Tears, ominous tears, flowed down her cheeks like an untamed rapid. She made little sniffles, burying her face into his bruised chest. He pressed his lips against her forehead, muttering as he snaked his strong arms around her waist, "I won't...leave you."
And to think, that moment in time was only hours before. It seemed like an eternity.
To Laila, anyway.
That night, she couldn't seem to sleep. No position in her make-shift bed seemed to work. Shall she sleep on her side? No, 'cause then her arm starts to hurt. What about her back? No, she is more restless that way; tempted to open her eyes and stare at the ceiling. Her face didn't seem to like being suffocated by the pillow. Moreover, the temperature was perpetually bi-polar. One second, it was too cold and she had to bundle up in more sheets, The next, it was too hot and she couldn't sleep with sheets at all. Her head was sweating, but her body was shivering.
Who knows what time it was when she finally decided to give up slumber. Midnight? Most likely. She sighed as she sat up, rubbing her sleep-deprived eyes. For minutes, hours, seconds, she just sat there in the dark room. Staring at nothing, but thinking about everything.
Finally, she got up and did a cat-like stretch, before sliding the paper-thin Chinese door open and tip-toeing to the hallway. The wooden floorboards creaked in disapproval. She then slid the back-shouji open and peered out onto the porch. It was beautiful out there. With it's fresh green grass and patches of multi colored flowers...it's tiny white waterfall in the middle of the yard; piercing the silence with a trickling noise.
There was a full moon out that night, luminous and bright. It's beautiful gloom shun over the porch and it's yard. Ever since she was a little girl, Laila was envious was the moon. How it never failed to look breath taking, and how it kindly provided light for every soul on Earth. She stepped out onto the porch, plopped down, and dangled her feet over the porch ledge.
'It's strange,' She thought. 'The moon seems to touchable...but no matter how much I try, it can never be reached.'
With her hand out in the air, she sadly lowered it. Her sullen eyes glanced down to her bare feet, hands clenching into fists at her sides. Suddenly, she felt something.
It was an object - hard and cold, rather tiny. The object was poking her from underneath the blue silk of her Chinese wrap. She curiously pulled it from her top, only to gasp in shock at what it was. In her hand, was no other than a switchblade. It's black exterior with golden designs just proved how valuable it was. She flipped out it's blade, which looked as if it had just been manufactured. The steel shun, revealing a reflection of herself on it's surface. The biggest signifigance of this switchblade? The fact that it had belonged to her father.
Her deceased father.
She stared back at the stranger in her reflection; no longer the adolescent, naive girl she once knew, but a soulless person with ill-eyes. Her finger traced against the blade. Unfortunately, she had gotten so lost in the stranger's glare, that she accidentally pricked her finger.
"Erk!" The fourteen-year-old hissed before applying pressure to the fresh cut. How could she be so careless?
"...Laila?" A far too familiar voice caused her to squeal and jump, hiding the bleeding index finger in between her legs.
On impulse, she stuffed the switchblade back into her top. Laila didn't have to turn around to know who had spoke.
Furiously, she twisted her head around. "Stupid brother! Don't do that! You nearly gave me a heart attack..."
Taitou quirked an eyebrow, crouching down to her sitting-level. He then asked, "...What'cha got there?"
Her eyes widened nervously, then she turned her head away, glaring at nothing in particular. Her cheeks flushed as she hugged the finger to her chest, "Nothin'."
Laila heard a sigh from behind her. Before she could even think, a hand flipped her over to face a pair of poignant blue eyes. The ocean blue iris bored into her soul, making her heart beat frantically. Out of nowhere, Taitou brought her injured finger to his lips, sucking the salty red substance. Their father used to do that for them as children, in order to prevent infection. Plus, little kids tended to believe that if someone kissed a wound it would magically heal up. Granted, Laila was growing into a young woman, but her adoptive brother loved treating her like a child.
He cringed a little as he swallowed the thick blood, then kissed the dry wound. "Silly sister," He sighed. "you need to stop being so clumsy."
"Hmph!" She huffed, crossing her arms against her chest. "Well excuse me for being a moronic klutz!"
Taitou's jaw dropped. Then, his ebony eyebrows furrowed with irritation, "That's not even what I said!"
The girl still puffed her cheeks, looking the other way. He mentally shrugged and crawled over to the ledge next to her. Sitting down, he looked up at the moonlit sky. "So why're you up anyway?"
"The same reason you're up," was all she said in response, going back to her normal position on the wooden floor.
The sixteen-year-old reclined back, crossing his arms beneath his head. "Couldn't sleep?"
All of the irate in her face melted, with only gloom left behind. She looked down at a pair of pale fists, which tightened in her lap. "Yeah..."
It wasn't that she couldn't sleep, but she didn't want to sleep. She was afraid. Afraid that if she drifted into unconsciousness, lurking nightmares would haunt her dreams. After a long pause, she heard Taitou's rough voice speak up. He sounded shaky - sad, even.
"Laila, I'm..." He gulped. "...I'm sorry."
She looked down at him, being that he was lying on the floor while she was sitting up. Her eyes were blank, and even though she knew what he meant, she asked, "What do you mean?"
He sat up slowly, a shadow casting over his eyes. "...It's all my fault...if I didn't exist, none of this would've never happened..."
As he said this, Laila's fists tightened so much that her knuckles turned a ghostly white. "D...Don't."
Taitou continued, "...You were right back there...at his grave," He let out a sad chuckle. "I kill everyone, don't I? A blind murderer."
"I was just furious with father's death, don't listen to me..."
"No, what you said was true..." he shook his head and raised his hands, examining the lines within his calloused palms. "...I'm no hero. I can't help this country, no matter how badly I want to."
After a moment of silence, Taitou turned his hands into fists. "...But even if I can't, I am going to try to protect you. Even if it means putting my life on the line. Even if I exist to kill-"
"Stop it!" the ocean-haired girl suddenly shouted, two octaves too high for the middle of the night. Taitou was going to shush her, until he turned his head to see familiar tears drown her eyes...
...it broke his heart.
"Lail-"
"Please! I'm the one who should be apologizing...I attacked you, Taitou! And nearly killed you! And I, and I..." She shook violently through her weeps. "I'm horrible, Taitou-kun. Horrible..."
The young man exhaled and brought a finger to her cheek, wiping a tear. "You're not, Laila."
"Yes...y-yes I am!"
"You're not."
"Am!"
"Not."
He was too calm. Her shoulders trembled, sniffling and making soft little gasps. On his knees, he crawled up to the girl, taking both sides of her face in his hands. 'Hagun' smiled in a gentle gesture, and kissed her nose lightly. "You're not," was all he whispered.
Pink blush intruded her cheeks. She squinted her teary eyes, and asked after a few moments, "...Why don't you hate me, Taitou-kun? I blamed dad's death on you, and..." She halted speaking to lightly caress his bandaged chest with her soft fingers. "...and I hurt you. The one person I care for the most."
His jet black hair stood up from her touch, then he smiled in that crooked way she loved. "It's okay, Laila. Really. I'm alright..."
And with that, he pulled her into a protective embrace. "...I made a promise to you. An' I'm not breaking it..."
Laila's lips dared to tug upward through her tears, as she returned the hug. She then murmured to both herself and the boy she cared for so much, "I think that's what dad would've wanted..."
Her entire life, she's done everything a person does with their sibling. Playing in the mud, arguing over trivial things, even taking baths together. Like an older brother, Taitou found it his duty to guard her with his life. But what is this feeling? This feeling - now that Laila knew they were not bound by blood? Now that 'Hagun' came to terms with it? What was this beating in their chests? One that only a romantic folklore could describe...
Far away, a dead man smiled in his grave.
Fin.
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
-Edgar Allan Poe