"Clover and Lilacs" - continued from 3
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Part I: Farewell, Miaka...Forever.
Segment 4: Resurrection
~ ~ ~
The first thing he noticed was the breeze against his skin.
It was cool, clean, tinged with the fragrance of blooming lilacs and rainy, moistened earth, accented softly by other, more muted scents. It swept over his face and the bare skin of his chest, ruffled the soft, silken cloths against his limbs, brushed at the damp, sticky hair clinging to the sides of his face. Exalting in the bliss of the warm morning wind over his body, Nuriko breathed.
At first, he couldn't remember where he was or what had happened, knew only that he was lying in a cool, comfortable place, his skin felt clean and powdery and fresh...and--except for the occasional singsongy twitter of the nearby birds--it was very, very quiet. His own breathing suddenly seemed very loud in comparison, the gentle thud of his heartbeat a hammering cry against the silence...so, he opened his eyes. Immediately, a wash of light and sensation swept over him in a violent, unexpected rush, left him blinking and startled and confused...but, he bore it, forced himself to draw in another long, loud breath, let it out slowly, try to focus on the world around him...and on remembering. What had...what had happened?
He frowned slightly, rising into a weak sitting position with some effort, and leaned his back against the intricate headboard of the bed as he gazed out at the room around him. It was, he realized immediately, most definitely not his room. It was too large, for one thing, too spacious and artfully-decorated--there was a thick mat of rich, plush red carpeting spanning almost the entire length of the room, stretching from the wide, delicately-carved double doors to the rich mahogany of the breakfast table to the silk-curtained doorway of the bath room. There were marble statuettes and other artworks scattered in various places about the room, several silver-framed mirrors of various sizes and shapes clinging to the walls, and even a small potted plant in the corner, rising like a tiny tree towards the smooth, polished wood of the ceiling.
Where in the name of Suzaku was he??
Tentatively, very aware of the fact that he was moving gingerly despite the fact that he felt mostly fine, Nuriko swung his legs over the side of the bed, let his bare feet sink into that rich, velvety carpeting...he sighed. Wherever he was...it was certainly something he could get used to...
As he sat there, the gentle breeze sweeping in from the nearby window, he took a moment to glance down at himself, noticed he was clad in a soft, silken robe that was not his own--it was a very light, satiny blue, hanging loosely down from his slim shoulders, baring the smooth, flat skin of his chest before it bunched at his stomach, cinched tight against his waist with a thin length of gold ribbon. The robe itself reached only to about the middle of his thighs, but it covered all it needed to cover, and was extremely, extremely comfortable. But, again, like the room, it wasn't his own. What had happened?
Nuriko closed his eyes, tried to focus, concentrate... He remembered...he remembered the summoning ceremony very clearly, and walking down the stairs with the other seishi--Hotohori had been carrying Miaka, he remembered, and then... He drew a sharp breath, a dark, angry pain thudding into the pit of his stomach.
Miaka. Nakago... He'd nearly died.
His eyes fluttered gently open, and, moving with a kind of fearful hesitancy, Nuriko lifted one slim arm from where it dangled at his side, brought a hand to his chest...and pressed his palm against warm, smooth, unbroken skin. He closed his eyes again, let out a soft breath. Mitsukake must've healed him...
But...but, for some reason...it felt like it had been longer than just a night...as if...as if he'd lain there with that wound in his side for a lot longer, as if an eternity had swallowed him up, dragged him away...he let out a soft breath through parted lips, hung his head and tried to focus on the warmth of his own skin, the gentle tide of his breathing...the reassuring thud of his heartbeat.
He was alive. Whatever had happened, however close it had been...he was alive. For now...maybe that was all that mattered.
---
He'd drifted off again, was just beginning to feel the angry growls of his very empty stomach...when, gradually, he became aware of something cool touching his face, drawing him up out of sleep... Inhaling a deep, full breath, Nuriko blinked, let his eyes come fully open...and found himself staring up into a pair of wide, surprised amber eyes. The breath caught in his lungs. Hotohori...
Hotohori let out an audible sigh of air, lifted the cool compress from the smaller man's forehead and returned it with a splash to its bowl. "Thank god," he breathed, closing his eyes lightly in thanks. Those eyes flickered open again a moment later, stared down at him with a weak, desperate kind of relief. "Nuriko...how do you feel?"
Startled by the very real concern in the young emperor's voice, the violet-haired seishi dragged himself up into a sitting position, leaned once more against the cool wood of the headboard. "I'm all right," he replied softly, drawing in another long breath, letting it flit slowly from between his parted lips. He frowned a moment, then, suddenly very aware of the dragging heaviness to his muscles, the suffocating fatigue washing over every muscle, every nerve...and, gods, he was hungry! It felt like he hadn't eaten for a week...
"How long has it been?" he asked suddenly. "And...and, Miaka--is she...?"
The young emperor sighed softly, settled himself lightly on the edge of the bed. "Miaka was taken to Kutou," he said slowly, his voice very low...almost pained. "Nakago is holding her. Chichiri thinks that perhaps he wants her to use one of her wishes for his sake...but, of course, Miaka won't do that. We've been working at getting around their defense for most of the last few days, while you were...out."
So...it had only been a few days...but, Miaka was in Kutou... A sudden thought striking him, Nuriko felt a frown slipping onto his features, stared out at Hotohori with narrow, puzzled eyes. "Why doesn't she just use one of her wishes to get herself back here?"
Hotohori shook his head slowly. His eyes, suddenly, were fixed on the door, the wall, anywhere but on Nuriko's face...what was going on? "She can't," the young emperor said quietly. His voice was low...tense.
"Why can't she? She has two left...she'd still be able to wish herself home with the last one..."
Amber eyes still trained on the wall, Hotohori again shook his head, drew in a shallow breath. "No," he said, very softly. "She doesn't have two left, Nuriko. Only one."
The violet-haired seishi frowned, uncomprehending. "One?" he echoed. "What'd she use the other one for?" His eyes narrowed, a chill, dark fear building in the pit of his stomach. "Not for Nakago..."
Hotohori shook his head. "No. No...not for that." The man sat there in silence for another long moment, gazing up at the intricate weavings of the wall tapestries...then, finally, he drew in a deep breath, turned and regarded Nuriko with wide, solemn eyes. "Miaka used her second wish...to bring you back to life, Nuriko."
---
---
Part I: Farewell, Miaka...Forever.
Segment 4: Resurrection
~ ~ ~
The first thing he noticed was the breeze against his skin.
It was cool, clean, tinged with the fragrance of blooming lilacs and rainy, moistened earth, accented softly by other, more muted scents. It swept over his face and the bare skin of his chest, ruffled the soft, silken cloths against his limbs, brushed at the damp, sticky hair clinging to the sides of his face. Exalting in the bliss of the warm morning wind over his body, Nuriko breathed.
At first, he couldn't remember where he was or what had happened, knew only that he was lying in a cool, comfortable place, his skin felt clean and powdery and fresh...and--except for the occasional singsongy twitter of the nearby birds--it was very, very quiet. His own breathing suddenly seemed very loud in comparison, the gentle thud of his heartbeat a hammering cry against the silence...so, he opened his eyes. Immediately, a wash of light and sensation swept over him in a violent, unexpected rush, left him blinking and startled and confused...but, he bore it, forced himself to draw in another long, loud breath, let it out slowly, try to focus on the world around him...and on remembering. What had...what had happened?
He frowned slightly, rising into a weak sitting position with some effort, and leaned his back against the intricate headboard of the bed as he gazed out at the room around him. It was, he realized immediately, most definitely not his room. It was too large, for one thing, too spacious and artfully-decorated--there was a thick mat of rich, plush red carpeting spanning almost the entire length of the room, stretching from the wide, delicately-carved double doors to the rich mahogany of the breakfast table to the silk-curtained doorway of the bath room. There were marble statuettes and other artworks scattered in various places about the room, several silver-framed mirrors of various sizes and shapes clinging to the walls, and even a small potted plant in the corner, rising like a tiny tree towards the smooth, polished wood of the ceiling.
Where in the name of Suzaku was he??
Tentatively, very aware of the fact that he was moving gingerly despite the fact that he felt mostly fine, Nuriko swung his legs over the side of the bed, let his bare feet sink into that rich, velvety carpeting...he sighed. Wherever he was...it was certainly something he could get used to...
As he sat there, the gentle breeze sweeping in from the nearby window, he took a moment to glance down at himself, noticed he was clad in a soft, silken robe that was not his own--it was a very light, satiny blue, hanging loosely down from his slim shoulders, baring the smooth, flat skin of his chest before it bunched at his stomach, cinched tight against his waist with a thin length of gold ribbon. The robe itself reached only to about the middle of his thighs, but it covered all it needed to cover, and was extremely, extremely comfortable. But, again, like the room, it wasn't his own. What had happened?
Nuriko closed his eyes, tried to focus, concentrate... He remembered...he remembered the summoning ceremony very clearly, and walking down the stairs with the other seishi--Hotohori had been carrying Miaka, he remembered, and then... He drew a sharp breath, a dark, angry pain thudding into the pit of his stomach.
Miaka. Nakago... He'd nearly died.
His eyes fluttered gently open, and, moving with a kind of fearful hesitancy, Nuriko lifted one slim arm from where it dangled at his side, brought a hand to his chest...and pressed his palm against warm, smooth, unbroken skin. He closed his eyes again, let out a soft breath. Mitsukake must've healed him...
But...but, for some reason...it felt like it had been longer than just a night...as if...as if he'd lain there with that wound in his side for a lot longer, as if an eternity had swallowed him up, dragged him away...he let out a soft breath through parted lips, hung his head and tried to focus on the warmth of his own skin, the gentle tide of his breathing...the reassuring thud of his heartbeat.
He was alive. Whatever had happened, however close it had been...he was alive. For now...maybe that was all that mattered.
---
He'd drifted off again, was just beginning to feel the angry growls of his very empty stomach...when, gradually, he became aware of something cool touching his face, drawing him up out of sleep... Inhaling a deep, full breath, Nuriko blinked, let his eyes come fully open...and found himself staring up into a pair of wide, surprised amber eyes. The breath caught in his lungs. Hotohori...
Hotohori let out an audible sigh of air, lifted the cool compress from the smaller man's forehead and returned it with a splash to its bowl. "Thank god," he breathed, closing his eyes lightly in thanks. Those eyes flickered open again a moment later, stared down at him with a weak, desperate kind of relief. "Nuriko...how do you feel?"
Startled by the very real concern in the young emperor's voice, the violet-haired seishi dragged himself up into a sitting position, leaned once more against the cool wood of the headboard. "I'm all right," he replied softly, drawing in another long breath, letting it flit slowly from between his parted lips. He frowned a moment, then, suddenly very aware of the dragging heaviness to his muscles, the suffocating fatigue washing over every muscle, every nerve...and, gods, he was hungry! It felt like he hadn't eaten for a week...
"How long has it been?" he asked suddenly. "And...and, Miaka--is she...?"
The young emperor sighed softly, settled himself lightly on the edge of the bed. "Miaka was taken to Kutou," he said slowly, his voice very low...almost pained. "Nakago is holding her. Chichiri thinks that perhaps he wants her to use one of her wishes for his sake...but, of course, Miaka won't do that. We've been working at getting around their defense for most of the last few days, while you were...out."
So...it had only been a few days...but, Miaka was in Kutou... A sudden thought striking him, Nuriko felt a frown slipping onto his features, stared out at Hotohori with narrow, puzzled eyes. "Why doesn't she just use one of her wishes to get herself back here?"
Hotohori shook his head slowly. His eyes, suddenly, were fixed on the door, the wall, anywhere but on Nuriko's face...what was going on? "She can't," the young emperor said quietly. His voice was low...tense.
"Why can't she? She has two left...she'd still be able to wish herself home with the last one..."
Amber eyes still trained on the wall, Hotohori again shook his head, drew in a shallow breath. "No," he said, very softly. "She doesn't have two left, Nuriko. Only one."
The violet-haired seishi frowned, uncomprehending. "One?" he echoed. "What'd she use the other one for?" His eyes narrowed, a chill, dark fear building in the pit of his stomach. "Not for Nakago..."
Hotohori shook his head. "No. No...not for that." The man sat there in silence for another long moment, gazing up at the intricate weavings of the wall tapestries...then, finally, he drew in a deep breath, turned and regarded Nuriko with wide, solemn eyes. "Miaka used her second wish...to bring you back to life, Nuriko."
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