A/N: After reading Shaman King in two days – well, really, around fourteen hours – I had to write this. Mostly because, for whatever reason, Tamao is one of the most hated characters I've ever seen. And not without reason; normally, she'd be the kind of character I hate too, but there are things that set her apart from other sweet, shy characters, and it's enough to make me like her. And Lyserg's shorts are distracting. And so on.
--x--x--
One word. Weak.
She does not intend to use it as an insult – it's never been an insult, only the truth – but she does, and all of a sudden she's dangling in the air. She doesn't regret it, either. Not even briefly. Words are her only weapons against enemies: insults, distractions, cries for help. Her own powers amount to nothing in the end.
She has called people weak. She has been called weak.
---
Tamao can call for help when she needs to. It's not that she doesn't have a warrior's pride, or the mindset of a fighter – it's just that she knows she can't win. People don't expect her to be able to keep her cool in a battle and fight without concern for her life. People expect her to be weak.
They have that right.
She's always up against unstoppable forces. False prophesies, Anahol, Kyouyama Anna.
It's not that she wants to run away, or that she's a coward. She's not. Tamamura Tamao is a girl who does what is good, no matter the consequences – what is good, and not necessarily what is just.
It's just that, when all is said and done, her only talent is that of surviving. She lives, and waits, and prepares for the return of heroes. Tamao hates coming home to nothing after a day of hard work, and she does so every day. It's part of the reason why she's cleaning a fish now. Sashimi.
The smell of fish is like the scent of metal: unpleasant, and difficult to remove from one's hands. It's in the middle of slicing through raw fish that Lyserg clears his throat. Tamao turns.
"I'm sorry to bother you," he says, after a moment. "Do you mind if I stay here?"
"No... not at all." She is tactful; he understands. "Why?"
He slides into a chair behind her. The explanation is long. A prank, as it turns out, involving frozen frogs slowly thawing in the hot spring. Ren has declared that no one should leave alive. Horohoro laughs quietly when he thinks no one is looking. The baths have become a battlefield for a war that Yoh and Ryu have unfortunately been caught up in.
"I think it best if I stayed here in the meantime. This is a matter between those two alone," he finishes.
"O-Oh." She's not sure what other answers she was expecting, why she thinks there's more when there isn't. "They're certainly… active."
"I don't really think that's the word." Lyserg's smile is a strange one, and starts off as a smirk before the other side of his mouth remembers to move to complete the gesture.
She takes some time to look over the fish before continuing the conversation. "They're not that weird," she says quietly, raising her eyes to catch his reflection in the clear surface of her kitchen knife.
He reacts by blinking, eyes wide, before studying the floor. "They're… unusual."
She smiles, and brings the knife down. "That's true."
---
Tamao doesn't really think about how her parents died. She's certain that she'd be able to remember very little if she attempted to force her memory, so she doesn't. Instead, she relies on Mikihisa for her earliest recollections: long days of slowly climbing mountains and eating wild plants and berries for sustenance, waiting for dawn to rise over the horizon and block out the gentle light-dance of the stars with its own brand of radiance.
Climbing with Mikihisa was her strength, in a sense. It was special, until others – Seyram and Redseb – experienced it too.
She thinks that maybe it was never strength, that all she was doing was following someone else's footsteps. But Tamao isn't good at forging her own path. Her job is to wait until steps are retraced, or to match her strides with someone else's – never walking alone. She doesn't remember the last time she walked alone.
Figuratively.
She always walks alone to the supermarket.
---
Sometimes she wonders what would happen if Ponchi and Conchi became something like Imari and Shigaraki.
She's not sure she wants that, but luckily, it is their decision.
---
Later, he politely helps her clean up after dinner. She hesitates refusal until he states, very gently, that he doesn't mind. Don't worry about it. Her stammers bleed into silence.
They talk over washing the dishes. "It's not a bad thing," he says. "Asking for help for little things, I mean."
She finds herself shaking her head. "I always ask for help in other situations."
"I know that." He flicks water into the sink, at once careful not to get any on her and careless enough to leave droplets on the counter. "But relying on others isn't as bad as you think. It has its own strength."
"I don't think it's a bad thing," she emphasizes, stubborn and surprised because of it. "I just… I tend to be more troublesome than helpful. This is the least I can do."
A gentle twist of a towel, and Lyserg sighs. "What are you really trying to say?"
She finds her throat dry. "I'm… weak." Her fingers leave marks on the last of the dry dishes.
"Also, I don't know how to tell you this, but your fly is down."
Lyserg freezes.
---
It's not that she tries to make it easier for the market employees. She just hates seeing items in a space when they belong elsewhere.
Yoh calls her a good kid. She blushes.
---
Tamao is not one to read magazines. Clothes are exactly what she shouldn't worry about, the kinds of things she doesn't need to have. She tries not to take opportunities, and be as simple and modest as possible. Less is more. More is best.
But fashion fascinates her. Accessories can make an outfit more beautiful than it is, even if they aren't the main piece. She likes that.
It's not until she's in the middle of tentatively tying a half-Windsor – she's never done it for herself before, but she knows it in theory, and it's the kind of thing she'd never use otherwise – not until then that she actually realizes what she's doing, and also that ties look surprisingly good on her.
There's a mirror, and someone else in it besides her.
She squeaks.
"I was hoping you wouldn't notice I was here," the dowser comments. Suppressed amusement colors his features. "Can't be sure, but that's probably mine. It's too long to be Manta's."
Tamao's hand slips, and draws the knot so tightly she chokes.
"You need help taking that off."
It's a statement.
---
Tamamura Tamao knows she can't love Yoh anymore – that there's only so long she can play the unnoticed third wheel to Yoh and Anna's perfectly arranged marriage.
It would be easier, so much easier, if she hated Anna, but she can't bring herself to be bitter about the situation. Not Anna, strong, sweet Anna, who knows exactly what kind of words will encourage and what kind of torture will punish – not Anna.
Anna inspires Tamao to be brave just as much as Yoh does. Her feelings just won't change.
This doesn't bother her. Except for when it does.
---
When the betrayal came, she didn't know who Lyserg was – only saw Ryu's despair, and a boy who sliced through his opponents heartlessly and cried over his own victims, hypocrite and idealist, judge and judged all at the same time.
She didn't know who he was, then.
Now she does.
Excuse me usually begins their conversations. Today, Lyserg says, "Tamao."
"Yes?"
"I heard," and his voice is laced with quiet curiosity, "that you've been training at night?"
She's been found out. Tamao stumbles on her words. "S-Something like that. It wasn't – I was just – was it that obvious?"
He doesn't answer, which is the same as saying actually, yes. "It's okay," is all he says, after a brief pause. "Sometimes, I still think I'm weak… I know I am. But…"
"So do I." She stares at her hands, and laces them together. "But being weak while still being helpful is different from being weak while being useless."
"Is it because – ?" he starts, but doesn't finish.
She shakes her head. "No. But thank you for the concern."
---
She doesn't know what to think when someone points out how their hairstyles are uncannily similar.
---
Tamao knows that all she can do is wait, so she waits – waits by Lyserg Diethel's bedside, musing over men more beautiful than she is and pretty dresses not meant for her – but mostly, she wants him to wake up. She finds her thoughts straying – but mostly, her intentions are pure.
She wonders what would happen if he never woke up.
Sleeping Beauty waited a hundred years.
His eyelashes are long. He doesn't move. There's the heaviness of silence in the air, and it feels just as still as he is. She tries to fight off the drowsiness, really she does, but she's never been very good at fighting off much of anything anyway.
When she wakes up, she does so with the mixed-up, distinct feeling that something that should be there isn't, and something that shouldn't be there is. The blanket falls off her shoulders. Light filters in from the window and pierces her eyesight – and everything is white. Everything is brilliant.
The space in front of her is empty. Like he was never there.
But – she thinks, reaching down to pick up fallen cloth – the blanket is warm.