Author's Notes: All right, I give in. -_-;; I'll write a Nuriko/Hotohori fic. BUT it will have a catch. Darn Ryuen and her fantastic stories! (Shame on me for being lazy and not reviewing them yet...) Anyhow, this was a story that came popped into my head while I was bored in study hall: a \ meeting of souls at a moment that could not possibly be brighter for both individuals. Who knows, it just may turn itself into an epic one of these days. ^_~ This story is an answer to Hotohori's point in Moment in the Sun: where does his chapter with Nuriko end? Probably the only story you will ever get me to write where these two get together.
Another note: Again, this does not follow the Hotohori novel that was written for his past. _ I'm sorry, but unless I find a translation, I'm afraid I'm going to be unable to use it. Summaries just are not enough. However, I did salvage at least one part of the novel: the friendship between Nuriko and Houki. Let that be to your satisfaction until now.
Dedication: Ryuen and Roku-san: Thanks for all the encouragement, and never forget what a pair of wonderful authors you are!
Warnings: Major character death, angst, swearing, very slight shounen-ai, but not in the sense one would think.
Spoilers: From episode 33 and beyond.
Dictionary: All foreign words in this fic are italicized. (Unless they already are.)
seishi = warrior/s
okama = homosexual/gay
no da = Emphatic placed at the end of the sentence. Has no real translation, but most accept it to mean "ya know."
na no da = Don't ya know.
Wo ai ni = Chinese for "I love you." (The Japanese form being Aishiteru.)
-sama = suffix added to the name of a highly important or powerful individual
ne = right
ohayo = hello/good afternoon
Obligatory Disclaimer: I own no part of Fushigi Yuugi or any of its characters.
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Story of a Lifetime"Do you think he'll ever tell Hotohori the truth?"
"About what?"
"You know. His feelings for him."
"Nuriko? Who knows? Possibly, but probably not. You know how secretive he is about it. Besides, could you imagine what would happen if Hotohori didn't return the feelings?"
"Hehe...things wouldn't be too damned pretty 'round here if His Royal Narcissism had it against the okama."
"Not funny you guys. You know how Nuriko feels. I just think...I feel bad for him. He loves Hotohori so much, and...he doesn't even know."
"Not that he'd be able t' see even if we were able to pull him away his mirror for five fucking minutes."
"Tasuki! Stop it. I'm serious! Nuriko just looks so lonely anymore..."
"Love will always be like that, na no da. Both you and Tamahome should know that better than anyone else, no da."
"Chichiri..."
"Loves come to us all in time, no da. A person can't be pushed until they are ready to love."
"But still...I just hope Nuriko finds the strength to tell him before...well, before it's too late."
He could see streaks of violet and the glimmering of stars. In the distance, he could hear the melodic sound of Miaka's voice echoing in his ears as all faded away. The snow was cold all around him, his body buried halfway into the drift where he had collapsed. There was so much pain...
Snowflakes fluttered down from the sky, signaling the coming of another storm. They fell on his lips, their essence sweet and refreshing. He wanted to wipe them away from his eyes so he could see her more clearly, but he no longer had the strength. What had remained of his powers he had spent on removing the obstacles that remained in the path of his priestess' victory.
His mission was over.
He had served her to the best of his ability, and then he had loved her with all that he had held within him. He had given his life for the sake of their survival, and he had suffered and rejoiced alongside of them as each victory and defeat continued to only strengthen the bond they shared.
I gave everything I had...
Shutting his eyes gently, Nuriko smiled faintly, a new melody filling his ears. There were many he regretted never speaking with. Most of all, there was an emperor in a land far from here who would never know just how beloved he was. An emperor who, despite never giving him his heart, had given the warrior something worth just as much, if not more. That name echoed in his heart as he began to fade away.
Hotohori...
"Miaka..."
The girl gazed at him desperately, and he could see her straining for a comfort to her sorrows, searching for an answer to deter the inevitable from occurring even as she loved so deeply.
"Miaka...don't cry." Nuriko forced her soft green eyes to meet his own violet ones. "I'm not going to die from something like this...and leave you all around." Because I've already died, but you brought me back to life. As long as we have faith in each other, we never die...
He blinked as Miaka began to weep. "Damn it, you cry so easily. You're such a glutton, a klutz, an idiot, and reckless." And just so much more...
She whispered his name, the liquid lamentation falling down her cheeks as he looked on helplessly. In all her ordained power, there was nothing she could do to help him...
"You're someone that I...need to...protect," he wheezed, "But...you have...other good qualities, so I can...say such things to you..." Nor could I ever truly mean it..."So...so...so don't lose. No matter...what..." Because we never lose, because we always have each other.
There was so much he still wanted to say to her, so much he had never said. He wanted to reach out and touch her hand, wipe away the blood and stand strong again to protect her, turn to her and see that beautiful smile alight upon her face as he revealed the truth of his heart.
Perhaps Tamahome would assist him where death had stolen his own breath.
There were also questions. So many unanswered uncertainties. What would become of the Suzaku seven without his presence? Who would watch over Miaka when she stumbled into trouble again? How would the others react to his death? How would...Hotohori react?
So many unfinished tasks and so little time to reflect. His vision started to blur, and a distinct feeling of feather lightness took over his frame. Suddenly, there was no pain, no dying body to weighing his soul down. He was in the air. Free floating, his body became transparent and intangible. Looking down, Nuriko could see the forms of Miaka and Tamahome below him, surrounding his body.
Miaka's voice distinctively called sounded in the air, "Hey, why are you so quiet? Cut it out!" He could feel the icy blade of her sorrow cutting through him sharply as she began to sob uncontrollably. In the distance, he could see the others running towards their comrades and fallen friend. Guilty for causing them all such pain, he began to move back down towards the ground below, intending to at least bring some spiritual comfort.
"Ryuuen! Ryuuen, where are you? Come out now!"
Nuriko froze at the sound of a voice he had not heard for far too long. Trembling, he turned and faced the young girl running towards him with her hand outstretched. "Suzaku..." he breathed.
"Silly, my name isn't Suzaku, it's Kourin! And you're late! C'mon Ryuuen, Mama and Papa are all waiting for you! And Uncle Hino, Aunt Miyuki, and everyone else!" Kourin huffed, stamping a foot. "You're late! Now hurry up or Mama's gonna get angry with you again!"
"Kourin..." The tears came unbidden. They fell through the crisp air, crystallizing into white snowflakes that lazily fluttered through the atmosphere. "Kourin..." Impulsively, he ran forward and pulled her into a tight hug, clasping the small body desperately to his chest, melding into the warmth he had missed so much in the past few years. Losing her had devastated his soul; finding her again rebuilt it.
"Kourin," he said softly, burying his nose into her hair and inhaling the faint scent of flowers that had always surrounded her in life. "Kourin." It was the only word he could force his lips to form, and he repeated it like the passionate mantra of a monks' prayer. The guilt from her death eight years ago lifted from his soul, and Nuriko's death remained a fleeting memory.
Death had worth in its own ways.
For a few moments, they remained as they were, tightly embracing one another as the wind blew around them. Then Kourin spoke, "Ryuueeeeeeen...you're squeezing too hard."
Realizing his mistake, Nuriko pulled back, laughing through his tears of grief and joy. "So I am. Sorry Kourin."
The little girl giggled. "It's okay, Ryu, but we have to go now. Mama wants us to hurry." Seeing her brother look back hesitantly at the sight of his suffering friends, Kourin tugged on his hand. "They'll be okay Ryuuen. They have Suzaku with them. Now it's your time to follow us."
Nuriko nodded quietly before tightening his hand gently around his sister's delicate one. "Let's go Kourin. I've missed coming home with you for a long time." He reflected. "Too long."
"Well, if you weren't so stubborn then you could have come a loooooong time ago, but noooooo." Kourin eyed him suspiciously. "And who said you were allowed to wear my dresses?"
He burst with outright laughter at that one. It was true; he had never received her permission to wear them. How wonderful to be asked questions with answers so simply answered...
Another tug on his hand, and he conceded to leave. Suddenly, he was flying above the clouds, his spirit soaring past the mortal realm and into the stars. There was a flash of blinding brilliance, and then there was utopia.
Forgive me everyone, but this is one journey I have to make alone. Miaka, Tamahome, Tasuki, Chiriko, Mitsukake, Chichiri...and Hotohori. I'll miss you all, but never lose faith in each other. Life is a novel that whose plot we all must follow, and believe me when I say that our story is far from over...
I'm sorry, everyone...
Hotohori, Miaka...Wo ai ni...
"Did you feel him leave?"
"I don't care...I just want him back."
"At least he's happy now with his sister."
"Who gives a damn about his sister, we need him here, not in the afterlife!"
"Tasuki..."
"We've all lost something today, a part of us that can never be replaced. But we must live. He wouldn't want us to mourn as we are now. He would want us to smile and laugh, just like he's probably doing now. We must keep fighting, if only for the sake of his sacrifice."
"Well said, Chichiri."
"My knowledge comes from a place different from your own. It is our hearts that allow us to mourn as we do, and it will be our souls that will help us rejoice in his memories for years to come."
"I...I miss him already. I don't...what are we going to do without him?"
"Live, I guess."
"And get back at the bastards who did this!"
"Don't worry Tasuki, they'll pay..."
"Hey...if we all felt Nuriko's death, doesn't that mean that Hotohori must know of it as well?"
"That's right! I wonder...I wonder how he's taking it..."
He had turned away every hand of comfort offered to him. There was no man or woman who could bring consolation to his bleeding soul, no soothing touch that could mend the shattered soul within him. Even as ambassadors from Konan sent for word from Hokkan, Hotohori knew already what events had transpired.
Nuriko had died.
The truth clawed and tore away at his soul like a voracious tiger having finally cornered his prey. The pain of losing a fellow warrior was torment enough, but the agony of the emotional turmoil that roiled within him was unbearable. Memories flashed past his mind's eye as he stumbled to his chambers.
Nuriko, sweet and funny, laughing at something Tasuki had done.
Gone.
Nuriko, silly and queer, returning the stare of a maid as he pulled on a dress.
Gone.
Nuriko, beautiful and loving, gazing at him with a longing he couldn't quite place.
Gone.
His hands trembled as he pushed open the large oak doors that led to his quarters, body beginning to shake as he staggered to his bedside. Unable to hold himself any longer, he collapsed on the silken sheets, burying his face into to the softness of the pillow, not bothering to hold back his emotions as they completely overwhelmed his being.
The river of tears seemed to have no end as he eased his grief with child's cries. The love he endured Nuriko had been no less than that he had borne for his mother or even Miaka. Knowing that he had forever lost the comforting presence of his fellow seishi, Hotohori no longer held regard for station or regal bearing when it came to the love of his comrades.
He felt confused. Misplaced. Incomplete. The loss of Nuriko's camaraderie had torn a piece from his heart, the emotional ferocity of the moment a jagged blade that sliced through the tender strings of his heart.
What was he going to do now without Nuriko's ever-devoted presence nearby to help him survive each lonely day as emperor? Who was going to support him when all others had become his enemy? Where could he go when he needed to find solace in the will of another free spirit? How was anyone else going to...understand him?
Life was never going to be the same without the violet-eyed warrior by his side.
And he cried. Wept and lamented until he could no longer offer any more tears to the world around him. When the sobs eventually subsided, and his grief slowly drained away, leaving him cold and empty, his heartbeat a dull throbbing in his chest, Hotohori simply gazed blankly out the window towards the stars.
Towards Nuriko.
"Is this the end," he said softly to the empty air around him, "Is this how we close the chapters of our life together?"
A knocking sounded from his chamber door.
"Who is it," he asked drearily.
"Your highness, the court advisors sent me to comfort you. They said Your Highness was grievous at the loss of a friend."
Anger flooded his being. "Leave me to my suffering! Tell the ever-wise advisors who plague this palace that no carnal touch can relieve the pain of one's soul!"
A pause at his words, and then, "I did not come here to offer you my body, my lord. I came here to console you because I...miss Kourin too."
Hotohori's head jerked up. Who was this woman that knew Nuriko and Kourin as one and the same? Pulling on one of his robes--careful to push back his mussed hair out into a decent style--he came to the door, opened it, and...froze.
Houki stared boldly at her bedraggled emperor as he gripped the doorframe with trembling hands. His eyes ran over her body, seemingly in disbelief that she stood in front of him. She spoke bravely, "What ails you Saihitei-sama?"
"Nur-Nuriko?"
She gave him a pitying glance. "No, my lord." Houki blinked back tears. "No, not Nuriko, not Kourin, but...Houki. A friend to both." She smiled gently. "A friend to you, if you need."
He reached out a hand, grasping hers tightly. Warm. Her hands were so warm. Just like Nuriko's had been...He recalled with fond reminiscence now the few time Nuriko and he had ever touched. Passing a scroll or a plate, pressing backs against one another as they fought, shaking hands as they met. If only...
"Come with me," he said abruptly, "There is much we can share with one another."
For a moment, Houki simply gazed at him worriedly, and then she smiled. A Nuriko smile.
And then there was hope.
"Did you see her? For a moment, I thought Nuriko had returned from the dead."
"How could he go and do something like that? After all we've been through, he has to go and resurrect a bunch of painful memories."
"But...Lady Houki. The resemblance is just unbelievable. Do you think that maybe...Hotohori returned Nuriko's feelings?"
"What? Now th' emperor's gone okama on us too?"
"No, that's not what I mean. Hotohori isn't like that, but maybe a part of him did love Nuriko, even if he never got a chance to tell him."
"That's his own damned fault if he never told him."
"You can't say that. Maybe something was holding back, maybe-"
"Let's change the subject, Miaka. I'm tired of digging up the memories of people I've loved and lost."
"But-"
"There's no point on focusing what could have been."
"...But what if it could still be?"
Houki grasped her husband's hand tightly as the rest of the Suzaku seven passed by, making their way to their quarters for a night's well-deserved rest. She had not missed the looks that passed over their faces as they saw her. Some were of shock, some of sorrow. There was fond reminiscence for a few and bald outrage for the others. Shutting her eyes, the empress forced the image of their dejection at her identity out of her mind.
Then again, what had she expected? Houki herself had been shocked at the familiarity between her and Nuriko, so who was she to begrudge the questionable gazes of the Suzaku seishi?
Nuriko...
The young man's name floated through her mind like a butterfly in the warm air of an early spring. Before Hotohori had revealed to her the truth of the young man whose soul reflected her own like a mirror, Houki had known only of Nuriko from the friendship they had formed in the harem. In fact, she had known her then as Kourin, the mysterious young woman who had been accepted into the harem without forewarning or notice. The curious girl who hid her body from those of the other girls, who tended to possess incredible strength in the most entertaining of situations, who became one among a hundred faces who gazed on longingly as their emperor simply passed them by without a glance.
Then she had learned the truth, and her sorrows had been ever more grievous than before. The story of a young man, so lonely and haunted...Houki could hardly bear the thought that her lovable, cheerful companion had been such an unhappy individual. Yet it was true, and she was forced to hold that knowledge within her every time she reminisced.
Because a butterfly born in an early spring always lost its wings before its friends even learned the joys of flight.
Her eyes fell on her emperor and newfound husband. His face was unreadable, mouth drawn into a small frown, eyes dulled from the days she had first glimpsed him in what seemed so very long ago. Even with only a few months marriage, though, she knew what was on his mind.
He was ashamed. Perhaps not of her, but maybe of their...past. Of Nuriko.
She was sure that Hotohori had anticipated the reactions of the Suzaku seishi to her appearance when they came home. It was part of the reason he had rushed their wedding, in addition to the needs of two lonely souls who found solace and love in one another. (The least of which had been the joyful encouragement of the advisors who were happy that their throne was now secure.)
And they did love one another. Houki doubted neither her affections for her emperor nor his for herself. Hotohori was not a man who would pursue a woman unless for love. What she questioned was his lover for her reflection.
Lying in his arms in the maddening darkness of the still night, one could not fight the encroaching thoughts and doubts that shadowed her mind even in the most intimate of situations. Had he loved Nuriko or had he wished it? Did he desire the seishi or had he forgotten? So many possibilities and no way to answer them.
The priestess of Suzaku finally left the room, followed by the palace advisors who feared that she would cause significant damage to the new paintings recently placed in the right wing, leaving Hotohori and Houki alone in the throne room.
Houki glanced at her husband's blank features, felt his hand tighten around her own, and then she sighed, wondering when they would be able to spread their own wings.
"Tamahome, may I speak with you for a moment?"
"Yeah Hotohori, what is it?"
"About Nuriko...did he say anything before he died."
"What-why-Of course he did. He...He told Miaka to-to..."
"I'm sorry to force such troubled remembrance upon you, but...I must know."
"Why?"
"I would just like to know. I cared and loved him as deeply as you did, Tamahome..."
"Not quite enough, you didn't..."
"What?"
"Nothing Hotohori. Anyhow, Nuriko told Miaka that he cared about her and... that she and the rest of us should... never give up."
"Is that all?"
"That's all. What? Did you expect him to spend two hours lamenting? He was dying you know..."
"I know these must be such terrible memories for you, my brother, but I just want to know, was he...happy when he died?"
"He died honorably and bravely for the sake of his priestess. For the sake of us all."
"You misunderstand me. Did he smile? Did he die knowing that everything was complete? Was he content?"
"Nuriko? I wouldn't know, but then I'm not the one you would have to ask to know the answer to that question..."
"...Alright then. Thank you anyhow, Tamahome."
"Hotohori?"
"You do know that Nuriko-Never mind."
"Nuriko what, Tamahome?"
"Forget it, Hotohori."
"I...Alright, I understand."
"Hotohori?"
"Yes, Tamahome?"
"Why did you marry Houki?"
"Because I loved her. And because I needed an empress"
"Did you really? Or were you in love with-never mind. People will do what they will."
"I didn't marry her because she looked like Nuriko, if that's what you mean."
"Then why?"
"Because I found in her somebody that I could love."
"But the resemblance is so strong..."
"So it is. I believe I am forever indebted to Nuriko for bringing us together."
"Is that really all it is?"
"...No, but why reflect on what could never have been?"
If only.
Those two words define the story of men's lives. If only life were easier. If only I were more wealthy. If only I were powerful. If only I could change. If only I knew love. So much we mortal men desire and so little we receive. Desiring so much that we are not and only ending up less. That is hope, that is possibility.
We are slaves to the promise of possibility.
Even an emperor such as I am plagued by their dark voices, though I feel my story most pathetic. I have everything, yet I have nothing. A kingdom of people to love me, yet I only found love when the life of another I cared for was sacrificed.
I asked for knowledge, and I was told to study further, an act that only resulted in acknowledging how little one man may know. I asked for strength, and I was given my duty as a Suzaku seishi. I asked for understanding, and I received more questions. And then I ask for love, and when it appeared to me, I was too blind to see it clearly.
If only.
Why couldn't I see that Nuriko loved me until now? Is it because of the time of night? Perchance I fear the coming events of tomorrow and have forced myself to contemplate the error of present? Am I simply allowing my imagination to run away with wild, idle fears? I suppose I'll never, as only the wisest can answer the doubts and pains of our hearts.
Tomorrow the inevitable battle with Kutou that we all feared will take place. Even as I write, my fingers growing cold as the icy grip of night and death descend, their armies are marching towards my country, pillaging and ravaging the villages of poor individuals who live on the outskirts of this land.
If only I had more power and political skill, I could have possibly stopped this war.
Our priestess and her lover have abandoned us in these dark times. Back to her world have they gone, or so I'm told. It is said the priestess of Seiryuu is gone as well. Could it be hope? Possibly not. Seiryuu's warriors are of a crude and malicious appeal. I feel that some ill and unthrifty deed is afoot, a coming portent of terrible might and evil. Safe as she is in her own world, I fear for Miaka.
So many worries to be comforted, so many desires to be sated. So many words that fell on deaf ears, so many mistakes to be rectified.
If only Nuriko had been a woman. If only I had not been an emperor. If only we had met in different circumstances. If only life were not so disconcertingly cruel.
If only I hadn't been so blind.
If only.
That is the retelling of one emperor's life summed in one simple phrase.
If only.
The wind howls louder now, and the temperature of night seems to plunge once more. The hair on my neck pricks as Death's cold, suffocating touch brushes against my neck, leaving a faint reminder of a dark Fate to come. I shiver, robes useless in the onslaught of my reaper's dark touch.
If only I had the strength to live.
My fingers are so cold now that I fear I'll drop the pen soon. My fingers tremble, my body shivering. I need warmth to saturate my soul and fulfill me, sate my insatiable needs, vitality to infuse my spirit with the will to move on.
If I turn around, I will catch a glimpse of my beautiful wife, her hair cascading over her shoulders, falling in ripples and waves on the pillows, her skin ivory pale in the beauty of the full harvest moon. If I turn around, I could bring myself to come to her, place the chill of my body next to the warmth of hers, place a hand on her stomach and feel the soft beat of two hearts becoming one. Then I would know that I am loved, and I could be comforted.
If only.
I can barely hold the pen now, so I am afraid that I must leave off on this note: I am emperor, but only a man. I am the whole of an empire's might, yet I am only a piece in the grand scale of all things. I am grand, yet am I pitiful, humbled in the wake of the gods. I am beautiful, yet I am revolting. I have the wisdom and teachings of a thousand best-learned men in my history, yet I am as ignorant and unknowing as a commoner.
I had dreams. Beautiful ones. Fulfilling ones. And now I have only broken pieces. Tortured ones. Haunting ones.
I tried, I failed. I rejoiced, I sorrowed. I created, I killed. I helped, I ignored. I loved, I lost. I began the story, and now I will close it.
I am a man, chosen by gods, ordained by higher powers, given to the people. Yet I am still only one man, and I can only do so much. If I could, I would wish to become so much more.
To Nuriko, to Houki, to Miaka, to all who are beloved, forgive me for what I am and what I could never be, for having to abridge this version of my life before we ever even had a chance to begin.
If only.
Hotohori let the pen slide through his fingers and fall to the table as easily as he had allowed Suzaku's blessings to waste away in the sands of time. He glanced once over at Houki, serene and slumbering, before gazing at the picture of the seven Suzaku seishi Miaka had taken of them all together in a time of happiness and joy now too long forgotten. Then he turned his eyes to the glimmering stars above, and he wept.
"Didja see th' look on Hotohori's face when he entered the battlefield today? He looked so...sad."
"Consider that we're about to go into battle, no da."
"Yeah, but so are me an' you. Do you think he's, you know, scared?"
"If I knew what ailed Hotohori, I would help him, but all men must face the demons of their own heart alone."
"But-"
"If mortal hands could heal mortal sorrows, then I wouldn't be wearing this mask...no da."
He struggled to open his eyes, but he his body was too weighted by the pain of his corporeal injuries for such actions. The sounds of battle filled his ears, men fighting and dying in a futile battle to protect the ones they loved. Damn them all...
The sight of cold blue eyes and a dark, commanding voice spinning a web of horrific deceit and malice filled his mind's eye. Nakago...Hotohori mentally shuddered. He had to keep fighting so Seiryuu's celestial warrior would never enter the world of his beloved priestess and harm those he cared about. After all they fought, after all they had lost, he could not give up now and let the dragon have his victory.
But he couldn't move, his body too injured. Voices sounded around here, coming closer, eventually recognized as those of Chichiri and Tasuki. He had to survive for them too.
And then...there was light.
"Hotohori!"
The fallen emperor blinked, distinguishing the voice. "Mi...Miaka?" He heard her voice faintly again, and he whispered softly, "Miaka...Miaka's voice from the sky?"
"Hotohori, Tasuki, Chichiri? Can you hear me? It's me!"
Hotohori opened his eyes. "Miaka?"
It was like a dream, too ethereal to be of a mortal men's desires, too distant to be true. But he smiled anyway, not questioning Suzaku's blessings. He had been given the chance to hear her once one last time before she died.
"I'm sorry everyone, so sorry! But I can't come back anymore! I can't come back!"
The smile grew gentler with each melodic note that fell upon his ears. Didn't Miaka understand yet? Death was never an obstacle to those who served the god of love. Though her physical body may be locked in another word, the sound of her voice and the knowledge that her spirit was ever tirelessly fighting beside them was enough to quell the ceaseless turmoil within him. One day, she would understand that there were no regrets.
Except one. Cold blue eyes and the dank, choking scent of iniquity filled his mind once more. Nakago...
Hotohori began to speak. "Miaka...Kutou's army withdrew...Konan's all right, now." Miaka's voice, desperate and straining, filled his ears, but he ignored her, continuing, "Just one regrettable thing...I couldn't defeat him...Couldn't even slow him down..."
"What? Who's 'he'?"
"Please tell Tamahome...he's probably the only one...who can defeat him..."
Chichiri's hand appeared on his shoulder, gently easing him down. "Please, Lord Hotohori, don't speak."
"Hotohori, don't you dare! Don't you dare die! What...what'll happen to Houki?"
The sounds of his wife's name sent his head swimming in the warm ecstasy of fond reminiscence and warmth. Houki would grieve, that Hotohori knew well enough, and he himself bereaved the loss of a lifetime with her, but there were still no regrets. He had chosen a strong, loving woman for his bride. She would make it, come hell or high heaven.
But even then, she would never have to grieve so terribly because seishi never truly died. Their carnal devastations were merely a sign of transition from mortal barriers to a higher understanding and spiritual state of being, a place where all spirits came together and were joyful. As long as they had each other, death would never prevail entirely.
Realizing he had yet to answer Miaka, Hotohori spoke once more, "Houki...is waiting for me. My child...until I see his face...I won't die..." Because a man who loves never dies.
"Hotohori...That's right...You'll probably have a good-looking son someday..." Miaka desperately searched for some shred of reasoning that would persuade her seishi to continue living on, anything to give him hope for generations to come. "A beautiful son, Hotohori, that's why you can't--"
"Miaka...let's all meet again someday...We'll surpass the boundaries of time and worlds...and probably meet again..." Shuddering, Hotohori shut his eyes as the warm tingle of Suzaku's power gently brushed against his soul, calling to him, gathering his spirit into its arms and beckoning him to follow into the heavens. Just for a moment, he resisted, allowing the memories of those come and gone to flow through his mind. Tamahome, Miaka, Tasuki, Chichiri, Chiriko, Mitsukake...Houki and Nuriko. Thank you for everything you taught me, thank you for loving me when I so selfishly had no heart to give... "I was very happy...to have met all of you…To have met you, Miaka...Be happy...Miaka."
Clutching the picture of the Suzaku warriors that he had brought with him tightly to his chest, Hotohori allowed the memories of his childhood flow over him. The acute ache of his loneliness, the curiosity inspired by his place as a warrior of Suzaku, the sense of duty that had filled him at the sound of the title, and finally the spark of hope that had ignited itself within his heart at the belief that somebody could possibly ease the sorrowful solitary lifestyle he led as the heir to Konan's throne.
And then he let the memories fade away, and he smiled again, recalling the utopia of recent times. Faintly, he heard Miaka call out to him, but now he ignored her, submerging himself in the warmth Suzaku provided as his spirit began to rise from his prone, dying body. His eyes tilted to the pale blue sky, he could make out the forms of companions once lost now reaching out their guiding hands and calling him...He clutched the picture one last time as he began to ascend.
"I loved...and became happy."
"Suzaku...I can't fucking take this shit no more. So many of us have died already! Now Hotohori's gone and left us...and he left a wife and a fucking kid behind! It isn't fair!"
"Life isn't fair. Learn that lesson well before you go on in life."
"But I...I fucking miss him, damnit!"
"We all do, but we have to move on. There is still a war being fought against the Seiryuu."
"But...gods, damnit he deserved better than that! If it wasn't for that fucking bastard Nakago..."
"Chichiri, Tasuki! We need you in the priestess' world now!"
"Do you want your revenge Tasuki?"
"Anything for th' other guys."
"Then follow your heart, and keep in mind that we'll all meet again someday."
"But it hurts so damned much..."
"Of course it does, but we are seishi, and it is our duty to suffer..."
Little Boushin gazed up happily at his father, joyfully calling out his name as he rushed into the arms of the one whom he had never met, yet in his tiny heart had known all along that this man had watched over him from the day of his birth. Papa wasn't dead, just away...
Miaka felt the tears of joy well in her eyes as she looked on to where all three royal family members rested on Houki's bed, the said empress clutching their beloved child close to her breast. Words could not possibly describe the pleasure and delight at being given the privilege to help Hotohori satisfy the darkest regrets of his past.
Too lost in the happiness of the moment, everyone failed to include the emotions of a particular violet-eyed warrior in their celebration. Nuriko's eyes settled on the child held between his emperor and Houki, the kaleidoscope of rising emotions twisting within him. Bitterness, anger, jealousy, pain, sorrow, satisfaction, hope...Was there ever a release?
He raised his eyes above the heads of his friends, trying to catch of a glimpse of Hotohori's hazel beauties reflecting his own. However, it was only Houki who had the strength to turn to Nuriko, flowing her once-friend a sad and pitiful look. Nuriko averted his eyes; he did not need pity.
He needed resolution.
Silently, he walked outside the doors to Houki's quarters, leaving the woman behind with only an unctuous smile to comfort her, feeling the light breeze of the warm afternoon pass through his transparent form. That's right; he was no longer of the living, was he? Nothing he could offer to sway the hearts of an emperor.
He moved to the edge of the porch, watching the courtiers march, seriatim, across the gardens as they listened to the head advisor speak of what was to come in Konan's future.
Nuriko was aware of very little around him, lost only in the depth of his own thoughts and confusion. So much to learn and know, yet so little time. So much to say, yet no words to speak the truth. So much to feel, and no wisdom to help sort through them. He shut his eyes tightly, hand tightening on the railing in front of him. For as difficult as it was touching human flesh, quantum mechanics were ridiculously easy for a spirit form to grasp.
Taking a deep breath, Nuriko let it out slowly, forcing his acrimony and frustration leave his body through that breath. The sun fell upon his body, falling through his form in slanted waves of translucent light. When he was alive and solid, it used to reflect off the soft hues of violet in his hair.
When he was alive, that is.
Hanging his head, Nuriko took a few more unneeded, ragged breaths before turning around to face the room where the other seishi resided, his body pressed against the cold stone. Miaka was now sitting with Houki; Hotohori was nowhere to be seen. He idly looked around, trying to decide where the emperor had gotten to, when suddenly there was another spirit brushing up against his own. A familiar one.
"Yes, Hotohori-sama?"
"You can dispense with the pleasantries, Nuriko, I know what you're thinking."
Violet and hazel clashes harshly. Since when had he known? Had the others told him? Rage flooded his being.
"Don't get worked up, Nuriko. I know it must seem odd that I married a woman who resembled you so strongly, but you must forgive the deception of appearances. Do not worry, I harbor no carnal intentions towards you, if that is what you fear. You're death simply brought us together."
Nuriko blinked, long lashes batting against his cheeks like butterfly's netted wings. "What?" So Hotohori didn't know? That truth seemed almost as painful as the first...
"I just wanted to thank you, Nuriko. Though you're death tore a piece of my soul from me, it also helped me find love among the women of my court." He smiled ruefully. "Who could know that such beauty could be born of an event of such sorrow? I am indebted to you, Nuriko, for your devotion, however unintentional, even in death. Thank you...Nuriko."
Taken aback by his words, Nuriko could only gaze at his emperor uncomprehendingly. He really had no idea...
For a few moments, a loud silence fell between them. Butterfly's eyes fluttered against those of a hazel wood flowers. This was destiny, this was emotion. This was Fate, cruel and unwanted, yet so blindingly beautiful.
Nuriko trembled. "Hotohori-sama, I..."
"Yes, Nuriko?"
"I just wanted to tell you that I--" He made the mistake of looking beyond Hotohori's eyes and catching a glimpse of Houki playing with her child, lifting the tiny Bishounen high in the air as he cried out "Papa!" over and over again.
This was love. Love was sacrifice.
"So few understand how difficult love is, no da. Love isn't just flowers and happy words and smiles, it's about sacrificing everything you care for in order for that person to be happy."
This was love: Houki laughing and smiling as her son as he gleefully cried out his first words. This was love, standing in front of him, smiling sadly at him with hazel wood eyes, who had, moments earlier, embraced his long lost wife with as much passion as his heart could muster.
This was love better saved for another lifetime.
Nuriko smiled. "Nothing Hotohori-sama." He paused, then brought his hands to his face and cooed happily, "Now c'mon, let's go play with that adorable son of yours."
This was resolution.
"I wonder what Houki'll do all alone with that baby. I mean, raising a fucking kid and taking care of a country and all must be real tough."
"She'll make it. As long as she knows her husband's spirit is watching over her, she'll be all right."
"I'll jus' trust you with that one."
"It's the best we can do."
"So...where the hell do we go from here?"
"Who knows...just to wherever the heart takes us."
"It is time."
Simultaneously, five faces turned to meet the intimidating visage that was the great Creator of the Universe of the Four Gods, Taiitskun. There was no question as to what she was talking about; the seven seishi of Suzaku had waited long enough to be reborn.
As if on cue, several Nyan-Nyan's began running about, clasping hands and forming a circle around a lifted platform that bore the mark of Suzaku upon it. With the wave of Taiitskun's hand, the platform suddenly seemed to disappear, and mists gathered above the heads of the Suzaku warriors before descending to form a swirling circle of kaleidoscopic colors that eventually sharpened into an image of blue sky and white clouds. For a few moments, everyone was silent in awe of what was to come.
Taiitskun waved her staff impatiently. "Chiriko, you first. As the youngest of the Suzaku, you should be reborn immediately."
The tiny warrior gazed up at his ruler with a slight smile before moving closer to the platform. Seconds before he left, he quickly ran over the large form of Mitsukake and gently hugged the healer's legs. "Thank you, Mitsukake-san, for everything." He turned and faced the rest of him. "Thank you all for what you shared and taught with me! I only regret that our time was cut so short. Hopefully, we shall all meet again."
With that, the little boy turned and bravely walked up the platform. He took a deep breath, and then he moved forward, stepping into the pan of sky below him. There was fleeting vision of a phoenix within his sight, and then he was filled with the most brilliant, indescribable feeling of hope and love before everything turned white, and he was gone.
"Mitsukake, you next. Shoka has already been reborn, and you can afford to wait no longer."
The large man nodded solemnly, but the smile he wore belied his grave expression. With a faint wave to those he had bonded with, Mitsukake entered the realm as silently as he entered their lives.
"Nuriko, now you."
The violet-eyed warrior swallowed, turning quickly to face Hotohori next to him. "Hotohori-sama," he whispered softly.
"Nuriko..."
The two seishi came together, hands clasping tightly, pulling their bodies close so that the heat radiating from one another's melded and brought warmth reached to a place beyond their bodies. They gazed deeply into each other's eyes, straining for an answer and, for once, finding it.
Nuriko shut his eyes tightly. It was now or never. "Hotohori-sama, I-I..." He bit his lip, and finally it came. "I just wanted to tell you that I've
love you. In fact, I've loved you from the
day I laid eyes on you." He
laughed lightly and shook his head humorously.
"I know it must sound strange, but I--"
"I know."
Nuriko balked, pulling away from Hotohori for a moment. "Y-Y-You knew?!" He stumbled backwards, slightly dazed. "What do you mean you knew?"
"I know you loved me." Hotohori smiled. "It took...a long time for me to realize it. Too long, in fact. You were already gone when I did."
Faltering, Nuriko fell silent for a moment. He had known? All along? Why had...Nuriko shut his eyes again. There was only one other question to be asked. Carefully, he spoke, "Hotohori-sama, did you...did you ever, even for the briefest of moments...love me?"
His emperor fixed him with a sorrowful gaze, and Hotohori paused before answering, looking for the right words. Finally, he spoke, "Perhaps, Nuriko, if the circumstances had been different. Had you been a woman, or if I my body had not been owned by the country I ruled, then..." He trailed off, knowing that he needed to say no more.
Oh cruel and unloving fate, oh merciless, unforgiving gods...Nuriko fought the tears even as they came, the bitter warmth tracing wet patterns on his pale, delicate cheeks. If only...How he loathed the phrase.
"Nuriko."
The young man looked up slowly, his hollow gaze coming to level with Hotohori's. He was taken aback to see the same tears that marred his features welling up in Hotohori's. "Hotohori-sama..."
"Nuriko...what did you say to Miaka when you died?"
Blinking, Nuriko gazed uncomprehendingly at her emperor. "What do you mean? I don't understand, Hotohori-sama..."
Hotohori sighed. "I mean, what were the exact words you said to her as you died."
Racking his brain for memories, still not quite understanding Hotohori's point, Nuriko replied, "I told her never to lose hope, that she should never give up no matter what and win this battle." He smiled suddenly. Fondly. "And we did."
"Why don't you listen to your own wisdom?"
Nuriko looked up startled. "What?"
A tender smiled appeared upon Hotohori's lips. "I said it couldn't be in this life, Nuriko, I never said I couldn't love you. Perhaps, in our next life, we'll have a chance. After all, the tale of Suzaku's warrior never does truly end with death." As if to punctuate his point, Hotohori spared Taiitskun a glance. "Ne, Taiitsukun-sama?"
The Creator did not answer him, just rolled her eyes, not attempting to hide her exasperation at having to watch another couple pronounce their love in such a dramatic manner. Considering whom she had dealt with before, one could not particularly blame her, either.
For a moment, Nuriko simply stared at Hotohori, his body trembling. Another chance in another life? It seemed too good to be true...Newfound tears filled his eyes. All he ever wanted...Nuriko reached out a hand, and Hotohori's came to follow, palms pressing together and fingers intertwining tightly. He smiled. "We got together from now on, ne?
"Of course."
"Hotohori..."
The smile grew ever more tender. "Nuriko..."
Suddenly, the purple-haired okama burst out laughing. Surprised by Nuriko's mirth (and slightly miffed that he had ruined a perfectly wonderful dramatic moment), Hotohori asked what ailed the warrior.
Wiping tears from his eyes, Nuriko answered, "You realize that for the past five minutes, we've sounded like a bad rendition of Miaka and Tamahome?"
Hotohori stared at Nuriko strangely for a few seconds before the realization sank in, and then he, too, joined in on the laughter. Thinking of it now, they had been a just a little overdramatic...
"I'll see you two have wasted enough time giving me an oddly repetitious performance that I've seen a thousand times. Now, if you don't mind, would you like joining the rest of your seishi in the other realm?"
Hilarity subsiding at the booming sound of Taiitskun's voice, the two warriors nodded, smiling as they walked up to the platform. Gazing into the wide expanse of the blue sky below them, Hotohori suddenly grasped Nuriko's hand, pulling the warrior around to face him. "Whatever happens now...happens, right? We will make it."
Nuriko smiled ruefully. "Let what dreams may come...come."
Then he let go of Hotohori's hand and jumped in, smiling as the warmth flowed through him, and his wings were able to spread once more.
"So they're gone now, eh? Where do we go from here?"
"I guess we'll just have to wait until they show up again, no da."
"Really? That long?"
"It shouldn't be too long. The Suzaku seishi never truly die; we just have to find each other again."
The young woman sat on the lonely beach, her body leaning against a sand dune as the waves as she scribbled furiously into a notebook she had resting on her lap. Above her head, birds cried and swooped down, gathering fish from the lake directly ahead of her. It was a mild and windy day, the drop in temperature having signaled the transition from summer to fall, but she did not seem bothered by the weather, wearing only a thin cotton dress and shawl draped over her shoulders.
Presently, the woman stopped writing, glancing out into the horizon where the sun was setting, its darkening rays spreading a pattern of brilliant red, oranges, and yellows across the evening sky. Pushing an irritating strand of dark brown hair behind her hair and away from her brow, she went back to her writing, only to be interrupted after her pen as another strong breeze carried the feather out of her hands and into the wind. Standing quickly, she ran after it, her feet making soft patting noises in the sand.
Bending down to pick it up when she finally caught up with it, she was suddenly aware of a person in the distance walking towards her. She was unable to make out any distinguishing features, so she decided to simply wait until the person came closer to greet them. Besides, she would like to know how that person made his or her way to her beach in the first place.
Walking a few meters back, she returned to her place at the rock, leaning against the cool stone of the grey slab, and while she waited, she began to write once more.
Eventually, the figure emerged from the mists of a vague reality as a young man with dark hair, his breeches pull up, coat thrown over one shoulder. She waited until he was but ten meters away from her or so before calling out to him.
"Ohayo, stranger! What brings you to these parts?" she called out amiably. The young man paused, as if only noticing her for the first time, before continuing on and coming closer to her.
Amused back the lack of response, she called out again, only a less friendlier tone, "Hey you! What are you doing my father's property?"
That made him stop.
Now only a few feet away from her, she stole quick
glance at him. Raven hair fell over
both sides of his face, the bangs shadowing his eyes while the rest was tied
back in a tight braid. His body looked
slender under the baggy clothes he wore, his skin pale in the light of the
evening sun. Finally, he lifted his
head, and she caught a glimpse of bright eyes over delicate features.
"Ohayo," came
the response.
The girl blinked once before smiling; she had been so caught up in studying his profile that she had not noticed his response.
"Hello to you too. So tell, what exactly possessed you to walk on someone else's property?"
The boy turned his gaze from her, glancing at the ocean. Her nervously pulled a hand through his hair, pushing the bangs back. "I didn't realize it belonged to someone. I'm sorry for intruding."
Her look softened. "It's all right. My father doesn't particularly care anyhow. Most people depend on this lake for water as is. No harm in that, ne?"
He nodded hesitantly before turning back to the lake. The look in his eyes seemed distant, as if looking beyond her...
"What is your name?"
Startled, the young man turned around, facing her. "What?"
"Your name?"
"Oh." He blushed furiously before replying. "Ko. Chou Ko."
She smiled. "Shii Aira. Now, you didn't answer my question before, what brings you here?"
"I..." Ko visibly struggled for an answer, turning his eyes from her again and running a hand through his raven hair. Again. "I don't know."
Another series of blinking for Aira. "You don't know? Then...well..."
"I don't know why I came here," he said, cutting her off, "I just...did. It was as if something were drawing me. I couldn't explain it."
Aira laughed aloud. "Many people say that about this area. You see that over there." She pointed to some hills in the distance. "That's where the history books say the infamous battle between Kutou and Konan took place more than fifty years ago. It's also where the emperor and Suzaku warrior Hotohori fell protecting his country."
"That's a sad story."
Glancing over at him, Aira gave him a queer look. "Why would you say that? We never knew them. Besides, it's all in history."
"History is what makes us who we are. A person's life never truly does come to an end."
"The tale of Suzaku's warrior never does truly end with death."
Aira blinked as an unknown voice echoed those words in her head. Who was that? "Did you say something, Ko?"
"No," he said, unmoving, "What makes you say that?"
"Nothing," she said softly, clutching her book closer.
Ko noticed this. "What are you writing?" he asked softly.
"Writing?" She glanced down. "Oh, you mean my book?" Aira laughed. "Oh, nothing much. Just a silly, romantic story about a court lady and her love for an emperor she'll never have."
"That doesn't sound too silly to me."
"Huh?"
Ko finally turned to face Aira, his face leaving the shadows of his profile. She gasped as his eyes leveled with her own. Gentle violet melded with bewitching hazel, dazzling red light sparking between them.
Pulling away, but not averting her eyes, she demanded, "Who are you?"
"Give me your hand."
She was surprised at the request, but she did it anyway, reaching out her small hand to brush up against Ko's. Their fingers strained, reaching for something beyond this realm, beyond this life. Warmth met long dormant warmth, sparking a reaction from their souls. A light, fluttering feeling filled Aira's body, filling her with the most indescribably beautiful sensation she had ever felt before. Her soul was on fire, yet there was no pain, her spirit free-floating above the vast realm of humanity, lost in the haze of dazzling colors.
Images and memories from a life not quite her own flashed through her mind, the transient visions accompanied by every kind of emotions: loneliness, hate, happiness, joy, sorrow, bitterness, promise, love, and hope.
Hope.
Aira's hand dropped away from Ko's, and she took a step back, clutching her book tighter. He was right, she thought with a smile, the story didn't seem so silly now.
Hazel eyes turned upwards before diving into an ocean of violet once more. "It took you long enough, you know."
Ko grinned. "I could say the same for you..."
Reaching out his hand again, he waited until Aira's hesitantly wrapped around his own, tightening it into an unbreakable bond. He clasped her close to him tightly before reaching down to stroke her chin. "I waited so long..." Ko bent and kissed her forehead. "So very long."
Nodding, Aira wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him close for a tight hug. He returned the gesture, wrapping slender yet strong arms around her shoulders, his chin coming to rest on his forehead.
This was love.
Pulling him down slightly, Aira reached up on her tiptoes and whispered softly, "Is this the end of our story?"
Ko smiled, cupping her face gently in two hands. "Perhaps. It only ends when we want it to."
"Then I wish this to be the never ending story!" she laughed.
"Come with me. I think we both have a lot to share with one another."
"Indeed," Aira replied, linking her arm with his. The couple slowly began to make their way back to Aira's house down the beach.
However, at the last possible moment, the young woman turned back, loosing her arm from where it was intertwined with Ko's, and ran to the rock she had been writing under. Ko looked on curiously as she dug a small hold in the sand, placed the unfinished book with its pen into the small crevice, and then placed rocks around it so it wouldn't fall out. Her work done, Aira then came running back to him.
When her arm was securely linked with his again, Ko fixed her with an odd look.
Aira simply smiled. "For future generations," she explained, "So they can have a chance at authoring the end of their own stories as well."
Ko beamed down at her gently in return, and the pair made their down the sandy beach, bathed in the rays of the crimson son, now into the light of eternity and beyond.
"Do you believe in happy endings, Chichiri?"
"I believe that all happiness is found in love and faith. It is up to the owner of life's novel to write their own endings."
"So...you do?"
"Yes, Tasuki, I do believe that anyone can have happy endings."
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Final Notes From the Author:
I've never been a particularly huge Hotohori/Nuriko fan at any length. I prefer to think of most the characters in Fushigi Yuugi. However, upon reading some utterly pieces of literature, I was driven to write at least one story myself that allowed Suzaku seishi Hotohori and Nuriko to come out together with a happy ending. However, I must say, I am damned proud of this story.
This story is not at all anti-Houki. I love Houki. In fact, I highly sympathized with her dilemma. She's a very sad, poignant character in a series that tends to just rub her off as unimportant. I think a lot of people forget how strongly she fit into the lives of our emperor and okama, so I felt it necessary to write into this story that she and Hotohori did love each other, and that Houki was an important force in her own ways. I highly support anyone who finds it in them to write a good story about her occasionally.
This story is also not entirely Hotohori/Nuriko. Notice that throughout the story, I push the idea that Hotohori could not love Nuriko fully unless they were in the traditional male-female roles. I do not believe Hotohori is sexually attracted to men. While the idea may have some merit that lies in his love for flattery and narcissistic tendencies, I just cannot see him being be able to work in a functioning relationship with another man.
The same goes for Nuriko. Nuriko may claim to love Hotohori, but notice that he makes this claim this while he's in his "Kourin" modes. Personally, I don't think Nuriko is gay either. I may call him gay in story context, I can have other characters call him gay, but in the end, I think it's a matter of psychological transition. As Nuriko, he loved Miaka. As Kourin, he loved Hotohori. It's a matter of who he wants to be.
Also, I didn't want to make this piece the regular slam-bam-thank-you-ma'am shounen-ai fics I see out there. I have nothing against shounen-ai or yaoi. Hell, I love the genre. I just don't believe that Hotohori and Nuriko are able to get together and work out. (Not saying that it can't be done. There are some fantastic authors out there who can actually pull it off. Like Ryuen, who is mentioned in the first notes.) Therefore, I wrote this fic to put forth the possibility that Hotohori's possible love for Nuriko was more the desire for what could have been had things been different, and their reincarnations allowed for that difference.
The bits and pieces of dialogue between scenes are the Suzaku seishi, excluding Hotohori and Nuriko save for that one piece between Tamahome and Hotohori, and they are thrown in there for effect. They can give you a view that neither Hotohori or Nuriko can give you, so I thought it would be interesting. I personally like how it came out.
For those who are wondering about all the butterfly imagery involving Nuriko...well, that stems off from a few things. Firstly, if you look into the art books, there are several drawings of Nuriko where he has butterflies around him, and secondly, his last name "Chou" means butterfly. Cool, eh?
Finally, if you haven't figured it out yet, Shii Aira is Hotohori's reincarnation and Chou Ko is Nuriko. If you put their names together in English format--Airashii and Chouko--you get the Japanese words "pretty" and "butterfly." Nice, eh?
I do hope you enjoyed this story. I know I liked writing about it. Who knows, it may just turn into a series. ^_~ Thanks everyone for reading, and have a wonderful day!