Saihitei, fourth Emperor of the Kounan Empire, also known to his friends as Hotohori of the Suzaku Seven Seishi, had never considered himself foolish. Vain, yes, he would admit to that. He had but to watch his own image in a mirror to once again realize the fact that he was indeed the most beautiful man in the Empire, perhaps in the world. It would have been strange had he not been vain, wearing such a face. He could see this image now, gazing back at him from the large mirror in his private quarters, and as usual, his own grace brought him a certain amount of comfort.
Vain, yes, but never foolish. Or so he had assumed for the close to nineteen years of his life. Today, however, he would go to battle. The eyes of his mirror image glanced at the battle armor he was wearing. It was heavy, weighing down on a body more used to silk and satin than leather and steel. Hotohori was good with his sword - he had had the best teachers the Empire could offer - but he was no warrior.
The young Emperor closed his eyes for a moment. Battle was ugly. It was no place for one such as himself. It struck him, not for the first time, that he might die today. For what purpose?
"Leave us!" he commanded suddenly, addressing his attendants who stood quietly behind him as always. "Call for us when the reserve troops are ready to march, but do not disturb us until then!"
The attendants made sounds of acknowledgement and scurried off, leaving the Emperor alone in front of the mirror. But instead of staying there, he turned away from it. The dark depths of a polished bronze mirror would not give him the answers he craved, not this time. Instead he opened the sliding door that led to the gardens.
It was a beautiful day outside, and Hotohori remained in the door for a moment, enjoying the soft breeze and the sunshine on his face. It would be such a shame to die on a day like this. Was it not sheer foolishness, after all, to go to battle?
Still, he realized as he took the first steps on a familiar path across the palace grounds, maybe he was a fool after all. This wasn't the first time he had put his own life on the line in the last few months. And, if he lived to see the next sunrise, it might not be the last time. A face flashed before his eyes, smiling at him.
"Miaka..." he whispered. The girl from another world, the girl fated to call forth the power of Suzaku... The girl he loved.
Hotohori let his feet pick the way, too deep into his own thoughts to realize where they led him. However, he was not surprised to find after a few minutes that he was rounding an ancient weeping willow. Behind it, almost hidden beneath a curtain of hanging branches, was a small pond. There was a flat rock right by its edge, a perfect place to sit down, watch your own reflection, and give yourself a semblance of quiet privacy.
This had been one of Hotohori's favorite spots as a child. It was beautiful, silent, and the attendants hardly ever bothered him here. He could remember wasting entire days by this pond, staring at his own reflection in the water, dreaming of a life he could never have, a freedom that was denied him in the cage that was the palace. Dreaming of someone he could love, a girl who would see him as a person and not an institution.
He had met that girl eventually. Met her, loved her, lost her.
He had been on his way to this very spot the other day, only to find someone else had reached it before him. His first reaction had been insult - after all, this was his own private place, how could anyone dare to occupy it? Fortunately he had realized who it had been before he had acted on that first impulse. And then he had stayed quiet, hidden behind the willow, watching them.
Seeing Tamahome and Miaka together hadn't hurt as much as he would have expected, that time. He had known all the while, deep inside, that the two of them were destined to be together, and nothing he could do or say would change that fact. By now, he had finally accepted that knowledge. When they kissed, the inevitable pang of jealousy had been lesser than the joy Miaka's happiness had brought him. When he told a joke and she laughed, he had etched the girl's smiling face into his mind, letting it fill him, and then left without looking back.
The spot was empty today, but for the young Emperor it would never be quite the same again. He walked slowly down to the rock and sat down, leaning over the water. His reflection looked back at him, as usual, beautiful and sad. He had an urge to take his helmet off and let his hair loose; he had always liked his face better when framed by his long shiny black hair. But there was no time to put it back up before he had to go with the army, so he left it the way it was.
"I am going off to battle," he said quietly, and his reflection mouthed the same words. The odds were not good. Most of the main force, sent the day before, had already been massacred by the much larger Kutou army. Even with the Emperor himself leading the reinforcements, the chances of winning against such an enemy were slim, if they were existent at all.
Tasuki, returning to the palace with the tides of the battle, had been wounded, but not enough to keep him down. He had returned to the battlefield immediately without waiting for the reinforcements to be assembled. According to him, of the remaining Seven Seishi, Chichiri was all right, but Mitsukake had been badly hurt and might be dying at this very moment. And as for Tamahome and Miaka... They had both been taken by a strange blue light and disappeared. Hotohori could only hope that they were safe over in Miaka's home world.
He bent down and touched the pond's surface with his finger. His reflection was immediately distorted; with a bit of imagination, he could almost see another person reflected next to him.
"Hotohori!" he could hear her say in his mind. Only Miaka ever called him so familiarly by name. Only Miaka ever talked to him as a person, as an equal, ignoring titles and respectful language. Not even the other Seven Seishi would relax completely in his presence, but she would. "Why do you always look so sad?" Her voice was filled with honesty and concern, like always. "It's going to be alright, I know it! There's no way we're going to lose now, after coming so far. We're going to win, and Kounan is going to be saved! Right, Hotohori? Cheer up!"
Hotohori smiled. Even though it was just a specter of his own imagination, Miaka's words were comforting. He wished he knew for certain that she was all right, that she and Tamahome were truly out of harm's way. He was unable to shake the feeling that they were not, that Miaka was still in danger. His reflection in the pond had already stabilized itself, and he was alone again.
"Your majesty!" A young man's voice broke his contemplation. He rose and turned around, seeing the shape of a soldier through the curtain of the willow's branches. "Your majesty! The troops are ready to leave."
"That is good," the Emperor replied. "We will be there in a moment." He came out of the willow curtain and realized that Houki was standing beside the young soldier.
"Your majesty," she said and bowed her head. He secretly wished she would stop calling him that. His Empress, his newly wed wife - not even she would call him by name. Still, he loved her - as much as any man who had found his true love and lost her could love another woman. "Are you sure about this?" she asked, worried.
"Yes," he answered simply. He was sure.
Hotohori was going to fight, to risk his life in battle. For the Kounan Empire, for his loyal friends, for Houki and the unborn child she bore.
But most of all, for Miaka.