Disclaimer: No money gained, no ownership claimed.
Warnings: Hmm! Nothing, I think, except the usual ep 33 spoilers. ^_~.
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4. Return (II)
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He was slumped over his desk, pouring over a pile of requests for royal attention, when they arrived.
There was little warning, and even less time to move out of the way--one moment, he was leaning back in his chair a bit, eyes drifting up towards the source of a strange noise...and, then, the next, something warm and heavy had thudded into his lap, and suddenly he wasn't alone anymore.
He heard two more thuds from behind him, along with a
light, quick tapping noise that he imagined was Chichiri hitting the ground,
but it was hard to focus, even harder to force himself to turn around, greet
them properly. His mind was buzzing,
and his body felt frozen. How...how
could it be possible...?
Only an instant had passed, but it felt like an eternity had trickled past him since this small, slender body had dropped into his lap, since he'd reflexively stretched out his arms, latched onto the body to keep it from toppling from its precarious seat. He'd never gripped these shoulders before, never felt the silken strands of violet hair brush against his skin; he'd never, for that matter, had the warmth of this body pressed against him, or been so close to that smooth, pale-skinned face that he could've touched it easily.
The shock was just drifting from his mind, granting him again the enviable ability of speech, when the body in his arms spoke.
Nuriko smiled at him, a charming crooked smile that
he'd never seen on these feminine features before, but which seemed somehow to
fit him. "Hello,
Hotohori-sama," he said. And,
then, he laughed, very softly.
"Gomen ne. I didn't hurt
you, did I?"
It was...strange...but, Nuriko's voice sounded lower, somehow, deeper. And, his hair...!
Reflexively, his hand lifted to the cropped strands of violet that hung above the smaller man's shoulders, tugged them into his fingers. "You cut your hair," he breathed.
And, then, he winced inwardly. Oh, yes, that's wonderful, you big royal idiot. You think he's dead, and when he returns, the only thing you can think to do is to comment on his hair??
Before he had a chance to scan his mind for something
more appropriate to say, though, Nuriko had pulled free and leaped to his
feet. The smaller man turned around,
then, arms folded lightly over his chest, and shrugged. "It's not any different than it's
always been," he offered. He
smiled a bit, touching at his hair.
"If anything, it's getting a little long."
Hotohori frowned, opened his mouth to say something--but, then, suddenly, Chichiri was standing in front of him, giving him the wide, fake smile of the mask, and coming up behind the monk were Chiriko and Miaka.
"Hotohori!" Miaka crowed, pushing past
Chichiri and dashing up to give him a quick hug. "I'm so glad to see you!"
Had the world gone crazy? Nuriko talking in a low voice and shrugging away from his touch? Miaka running to him like they were long-separated lovers? Overwhelmed and confused, he returned his gaze to the monk, searching desperately for some sign that this wasn't all a bizarre dream--and, Chichiri quickly drew the mask from his face, set it down on the desk, and locked him into a one-eyed stare.
"Gomen ne no da, Hotohori-sama," he said. His head bowed slightly. "To avoid being detected by the Seiryuu seishi no da, I had to use as little magic as possible to get us here." He scratched his head. "We didn't know where in the palace we were going to end up until we got here no da."
"It's good to see that you're well,
Hotohori-sama," Chiriko said formally.
The boy was standing on the side of Chichiri closest to his desk, far
removed from his other two companions and not even glancing in their
directions. "If you'll excuse me,
I'm going to go to my room and unpack my things."
The young emperor managed a slight nod through his
frown. "H...Hai, of course. It's good to see you, also, Chiriko."
The boy gave a short bow, then lifted a bulky satchel from the floor and hurried to the front of the room. A moment later, he'd slipped outside, turned onto the palace walkway, and vanished from view.
"Ne, Nuriko!" Miaka exclaimed once he'd
gone. Her eyes were wide and smiling,
and her fingers had found their way to the small seishi's bicep. "I wonder if the snacks I left in my
room are still there!!"
Something...is definitely going on. Miaka is much too cheerful, and Nuriko and Chiriko are acting...strangely.
The violet-haired seishi let out a short sigh. "Hai, hai, let's go."
It wasn't until the two had left the room and Chichiri had twitched a finger at the door, sent it slamming shut, that the monk spoke.
"Sumimasen, Hotohori-sama, but I only have a few
minutes to explain this all to you.
Tasuki, Tamahome, and Mitsukake are waiting for me in Hokkan no da, and
we need to set off as soon as possible."
The monk's shoulders slumped slightly, and he stepped forward, leaned
his back up against the desk Hotohori still sat at. "Something has happened no da. You probably sensed it when, a few days ago, Nuriko...died."
His eyes went wide; something icy and numbing began to
creep over his skin, making him shiver.
"Hai, I did feel it."
His voice slipped into a whisper.
"But...but, if he died...if he died, Chichiri...then, who--?"
The monk's eye drifted closed. "I'll explain this as quickly as I can
no da. About four days ago, Nuriko was
badly injured by the Seiryuu shichiseishi Ashitare, while trying to get to the
shinzaho no da. Mitsukake wasn't able
to reach him in time, and he...died.
Thanks to his sacrifice, Miaka was able to get the shinzaho no da, which
we've brought back to Konan to keep it safe while we get the other no da." The monk's voice darkened. "Have you ever heard of kaisei no
mahou, Hotohori-sama?"
Startled by the sudden subject change, the young emperor blinked. "Resurrection magic? Hai." And, only an instant later, it clicked. "Masaka! You...you don't mean...Nuriko--!"
Chichiri nodded. "Hai, Hotohori-sama. Chiriko brought him back using kaisei no mahou this morning."
"But...but, kaisei no mahou can go
horribly wrong! It can bring a soul
back..." His words faltered.
"...changed." Suddenly
feeling vaguely sick, he brought a shaky hand to his face, pressed an index
finger and thumb against his eyelids.
"Soo ka," he whispered.
"So, that's why he's acting strangely."
"There is good news, too, no da. And, some things you should know before I
leave no da. First of all, whatever
might've gone wrong, that is the shichiseishi Nuriko no da. He has Nuriko's strength, Nuriko's symbol,
and most of Nuriko's memories."
"Most of?"
The monk's eye closed; his eyebrows pushed together on his forehead. "Hai. He remembers some things very clearly no da...and some other things not at all. He doesn't remember his sister, for example, whose death was what prompted him to crossdress in the first place. And..." The elder seishi drew in a long breath, let it out slowly through his nostrils; his eye slid open. "And, he doesn't remember being in love with you, Hotohori-sama. It's as if the past has been rewritten in his mind--he remembers you, he remembers being here, but he doesn't remember crossdressing or being in the harem or falling in love. You might have noticed, he's acting a lot more like a man than he ever has before no da."
His mouth felt dry.
His soul felt dry.
"W...Will he ever be the same again?"
The monk gave a helpless shrug. "I can't say no da--I doubt anyone can. Even Taiitsukun doesn't practice kaisei no mahou, so I doubt that even she would be able to help no da. So, all you can do is be careful around him, and remember that--even if he is acting differently--he is Nuriko. And, this might only be temporary no da. He might wake up one morning and remember everything...or, he might spend the rest of his life living like this, not remembering. All we can do is watch him no da...and wait."
~*~
He felt cold. His hands were clammy against the doorknob, his fingers trembling against the cool brass in a quick, unsteady rhythm. This...this couldn't be right.
"This isn't my room," he whispered. "This...this is a girl's room. This isn't my room."
And, yet...yet, somehow...it was.
Despite the weeks it had been empty, the air didn't smell stale or dusty--there was the soft fragrance of lilacs, and the clean, rich smell of moist topsoil and spearmint leaves. The room itself was fairly small and square-shaped, with an elegant cedar-wood bed pressed against the right hand wall, its mattress covered neatly in thin blankets and a variety of soft, malleable pillows. Behind the bed, tucked in the far right corner of the room, was a collection of vases and potted plants, arranged carefully on a step-like shelf made of dark, polished wood, and just next to the shelf was a large bureau, topped with a variety of brushes, ties, and combs, as well as an octagon-shaped box made of glass and thin shafts of wood, in which could be seen a flood of elegant jewelry.
This was, unmistakably, a woman's room, a woman's things--a woman's silken dresses, peeking out from the depths of the warddrobe. So, obviously, this wasn't his room--Miaka had made a mistake, pointed him in the wrong direction, of course. Of course. Just the wrong room, that was all.
But...but, he remembered this place, he remembered having the room next to Miaka's, remembered sitting on that bed and leaning his head back against the wall and listening to the drama unfolding between his miko and fellow warrior. He remembered, also, the night Hotohori-sama had charged in and threatened Tamahome with his sword, proclaimed his love for Miaka in loud, clear words that struck into his heart like...
He stopped. His knees felt weak and shaky all of a sudden, and there was something like pain building inside of him--and, yet, it wasn't pain. It was an ache, a strange, unfamiliar but so familiar ache that started in his stomach and branched upward and clenched at his throat...
Like the Hand. It clenched at his throat like the Hand, except this touch was warmth and anguish and longing. What...what was happening to him?
His legs were going to buckle. He was going to fall. And, if he fell, he was going to cry. He could feel it inside of him, could feel the heavy sobs climbing up his throat, begging for release...
"No," he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and stumbling back from the door. He struck into the hard wood of the walkway railing a moment later, stood there shivering for a long moment before he could gather the strength to move. "No," he whispered again, teeth gritted and eyes still tightly closed. "No."
And, then, he turned and stumbled away, and did not look back.
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