Disclaimer: I don't own. And I'm sorry for the delay!! Forgive me!! This stupid writer has burdened herself with a double major and all the extra work that goes with it. On the other hand, I'll be rich. Also, the chemistry joke is poor but if you knew the horrors of organic chemistry, you'd make it too. 

Warning: Big, galatically huge words. There will be a common English translation at the end. I'm being sesquipedalian in this chapter! Heehee… Also, so much sap at the end, you would think that I am a tree.

Beat Reader: The illustrious Saihitei no Miko, author of  "Passport not Required."

Chapter Nine: Tasuki's Motives Revealed!

Chiriko had been enjoying the cozy fire of his hearth and a mellow port when the blonde heathen burst in. There was barely enough time to react, much less run before the sadist tied him to his chair. If the recliner weren't so damned comfortable, Chiriko would have given the big galoot a thorough tongue-lashing.

"Stay quiet and you won't be hurt. You are only a bait for a bigger fish." The blonde told him. Chiriko bristled at that but said nothing. Really, the nerve of the man! How dare the Seiryuu seishi break into his house and then claim that he, Chiriko of the Suzaku Seishi, was merely bait?!

Nakago of the Seiryuu seishi. Yes, Chiriko had done thorough research on him as well as on Tasuki of the Suzaku seishi who must be the intended victim of this little heist. Barely a year ago, the two men had been best of friends, comrades under the leader of a united bandit clan. One failed mission claimed the lives of both their beloved leader and friend, Koji, ending any friendship that was between the two men and splitting up the brigands. Now, the two waged perpetual war on each other with all of Konan as a prize. It had been a joke they shared prior to The Mission that the only way to decide who was the better bandit was to see who could steal the country. Funny how after months of feuding, it appeared that neither would win their little bet. How bitter it must be for both of them to know that a lowly con artist, Tamahome of the Suzaku seishi, was going to seize the nation with something as simple as a hunger strike.

Meanwhile, Nakago seemed quite anxious, glancing at Chiriko's lovely grandfather clock every few seconds. "I dare say, Nakago old chap, it seems that Tasuki has stood you up. Perhaps I was not his intended target after all." Chiriko suggested. "If I were him, which I'm not praise Suzaku, I'd be going after that emperor pro tempore in his time weakness. You know, secure the kingdom and all."

Nakago just stared. "If I wanted your opinion, I'd ask for it," he said icily.  Nevertheless Nakago went to peer out the window with a slight frown.

"Methinks the blonde brute is not as confident as he thinks." Chiriko muttered to himself.

"What was that?" Nakago asked. "Don't think of yelling for help. You'd be dead before the first word made it from your throat."

"I never dreamed of it," Chiriko said with as much dignity as he could muster. The truth was he had been thinking of it and rejected the plan completely. He had no neighbors and no one was coming for him for days.

"I'm as stuck as an alpha carbon in a fifteen residue polypeptide," he murmured. "Chiriko my lad, you'll just have to save yourself." He had been an intrepid spirit for as long as he remembered and his days in the Boy Scouts of Konan were not that far behind him. With fingers dexterous from years of scientific manipulations, he managed to free his wrists from the ropes. Yet, for safety's sake, he kept the offended limbs behind his back so as to fool his neanderthal warden that he was still a prisoner.

But when fifteen minutes of eventual waiting had passed, Chiriko decided to make his move. Patience was a virtue he had not yet cultivated; he was only thirteen after all. "I have to urinate," he called out in his most rebellious tone. Nakago tried to ignore him but incessant and determined whining finally brought the servant of Seiryuu over the Chiriko's side.

"I swear if you make one false move-"

BAM!!

"Take that you nescient bastard!" Chiriko crowed as Nakago toppled under the sudden force of his blow. He had hit the blonde barbarian right the base of the skull, rendering him temporarily unconscious. "No one gets the better of Chiriko, strongest warrior of the Suzaku seishi!"

"Strongest member of the Suzaku seishi, huh? Yer coming with me," Chiriko barely had time to gloat before the identical blow he used on Nakago swiftly robbed him of his treasured sensibilities.

***

Tasuki couldn't believe his luck. Not only did he have Chiriko but also he had the singular pleasure of seeing Nakago, his hated rival lying in a careless heap on the floor like so much garbage. Everything was coming up roses.

The bundle behind him stirred and groaned. It seemed his esteemed colleague was waking up. And if his initial struggles were any indication, he wasn't happy about being trussed up and battened to the rear end of the horse like so much unwanted cargo. But when Tasuki glanced at his prisoner, the boy's face became instantly inscrutable. It was as if they were playing a game to see who would blink first. Tasuki squared his shoulders and continued the trek. He wasn't going to let one scrawny kid ruin his good mood.

Night fell and the real danger of his horse going lame in the oppressive darkness was the only thing stopping Tasuki for the time. It wasn't because he felt bad for the kid. Nope, definitely not. If he took extra care to unbind Chiriko's wrists and to give him the only blanket, well, it was only because he was trying to use the manners Koji had so ruthlessly instilled in him. It wasn't like he cared or anything.

It was when Tasuki was scraping more food on to the kid's plate when Chiriko spoke up at last. "You don't have to treat me like I'm a neonate," he said witheringly. "I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

"Is that the way to talk to yer elders, boy? What if I had been waiting to kill you? Why tempt me?" Tasuki inquired easily. Time to put his plan into action.

"I'm not afraid to die." Chiriko told him with false bravado. "Besides if you kill me, you won't get your wish to Suzaku."

"You got a lot of sang-froid for a pipsqueak." Tasuki replied mildly, mussing Chiriko's hair. "And yer right; I'm not gonna kill you. I don't think I'd stand a chance; you sure took care of Nakago like a professional. Do you have a master or are you autodidactic?"

Chiriko looked startled before offering his answer tentatively. "Autodidactic." Whatever he had been expecting in Tasuki, this certainly wasn't it! The bandit had a vocabulary that rivaled his own. Not even scholars used words like 'autodidactic' in ordinary conversation but here was a bandit, who should be basically uneducated, conversing like he had been studying esoteric texts his whole life.

"Very admirable," Tasuki commented. He provided no other bits of conversation for a while. Every once in awhile, an ember in the campfire popped and hissed in protest of the extreme heat. It was Chiriko who could no longer stand the silence.

"Why did you kidnap me?" He burst out. Despite his better judgment, he was growing fond of the solitary criminal who was carelessly concerned with his captive's comfort.

"I didn't kidnap you, I rescued you." Tasuki told him with a twinkle in his eye. "You may be a formidable little fighter but Nakago has tricks up his sleeve that would flatten even you."

"But, but you tied me to your horse! And you hit me over the head!" Chiriko sputtered.

"All for your own good. You could have fallen from my excellent equinine escort," Tasuki alliterated. "Hitting you on the head was a result of my clumsiness and excitable nature. Please forgive me that. But Chiriko I only did it because I need your help," Tasuki told him intensely.

"You do?" Chiriko said faintly.

"Yes. I need the help of the smartest person in Konan and you are the obvious choice."

"Don't try appealing to my vanity," Chiriko said even though inside he was flattered.

"You're right; honesty is the most direct route to one's goal."

"Getting revenge on Nakago?"

"Mmm… not quite. Grounding Nakago into dust will be a happy conclusion to my dream but it isn't my entire encompassing objective. What I really want is control over my own destiny."

"That seems…reasonable." Chiriko said tentatively. Self-determination was the greatest gift of man.

"It does, doesn't it?" Tasuki agreed. "But as a Suzaku seishi, it's nearly impossible because of the priestess. Have you ever given thought to what that mark on your foot means? It's a celestial brand, tying you to the whims of a foolish female from an alien world. I just want to be free of such obligations. If the priestess of Suzaku makes the right wishes, we can be forever free and happy."

"What wishes are the right wishes?" Chiriko asked warily. Tasuki was making sense but if his plan included violence to any woman, Chiriko would have no part of it.

"Her first wish would have to be to protect Konan from outside dangers, of course. That is what she came to this world to do. Her second wish should be to grant the Suzaku seishi their fondest wish as payment for services rendered. And her third wish would naturally be to return to her home dimension."

"That doesn't seem so bad," Chiriko said with relief. "But how are you planning to make her wish these things and why do you need my help?"

"I'll ask her to make those three wishes. If she refuses, myself and the other seishi who are loyal to me will simply not participate in the summoning of Suzaku. Where you come in is in strategizing. I can't ask the other seishi to join me if I can't find them. So far as I know, three celestial warriors are blinded by the priestess. The only one I can't find is Mitsukake. With his inclusion into our group, we will have a majority within the seven of us."

"And what of your plans to take over Konan?"

"Rumors," Tasuki said dismissively. "Lies spread by Nakago in order to discredit me throughout the empire. They're part of the reason I have such a bad reputation. What do you say Chiriko, do you want to be part of something bigger than yourself? Something so unique that history books will be written solely on the part you play in this game?"

History books written entirely about him? You bet Suzaku's fine-feathered fanny he wanted in! "Deal," he said confidently. He was going to go down in history as the seishi of Suzaku who saved Konan! 

As Tasuki shook the young man's hand, a feral smile crept across his face. Everything was going exactly according to plan. Soon the Priestess of Suzaku would be his and after that the world!

***

Meanwhile …

The seashore was beautiful. It had a rough kind of power that Hotohori pictured Suzaku possessing. He envied the tumultuous waves their ability to crush every obstacle in their path whether it be rock or earth or boat. If only he had that kind of power. He certainly already had the beauty but the power to totally destroy the annoying brats who followed his every move-yes that would indeed be a gift from heaven.

"Ooh, I still can't believe that such a lovely lady like yourself is a warrior of Suzaku. Are all the other seishi as exquisite as you are?" Suboshi cooed. Hotohori swallowed his urge to vomit and plastered a fake smile on his face. From the corner of his eye, Hotohori thought he saw Chichiri shake his head in disgust.

"Not all of them but Nuriko is far more beautiful than I." He replied in a high falsetto. Nuriko. His wife was surely in deadly danger now along with his priestess yet all he had been doing was fooling around with these Seiryuu asses. Hotohori let himself think briefly on the woman he had taken for bride. If he contemplated his actions too long, he would begin to feel guilty about refusing the beautiful princess. He had seen her heart shining in her cool, liquid eyes and in his fear he had retreated behind hasty words. After all, why would a woman he just met possible have any feelings for him? How could any woman? He was unlovable; even his mother didn't love him. His father had spent years drilling that into his head. An emperor must be above any mortal feelings. He must isolate himself from the petty affairs of the heart. Not that a bastard like Hotohori would ever attain the blessed position of emperor but just in case the country was so unfortunate, he should know a few of the tricks. Hotohori was not allowed pets; affection for dumb animals was something that commoners had. Hotohori was not allowed any friends; they would only use him to get to the emperor and besides why would they like a bastard like him? Hotohori was not allowed the affection of a nursemaid; if anyone of his many servants showed a tendency for extra fondness for the young prince, she would be dismissed.

He heaved a heartfelt sigh. His life up until meeting Miaka had been like a scene from a nightmare. It was no wonder he had tried to kill himself…

"What are you thinking about, no da?" Chichiri came to stand by Hotohori's side. The monk's pale hand reached to his face and tugged at a piece of loose skin under his ear. His smile tore free and fluttered onto the sharp peak of a moist rock. Politics had trained Hotohori to show no emotion but the removal of Chichiri's grin didn't really surprise him anyway. Somehow, the young emperor had sensed a kindred spirit in the solitary monk. It wasn't just the bond of brother warriors; he felt that with that cunning con artist that was keeping his throne warm; this was something deeper. Hotohori just knew that Chichiri was a product of misery, the same as he.

"I was just thinking," Hotohori began softly, gaze fixed on the distance, "That the time I have spent with the Suzaku seishi has been the happiest of my life."  He pushed his sleeve up past his elbow, revealing a long, white scar that followed the pulsing blue vein in his forearm.  Absently, he traced it with his thumb.  "It hurts to know that Miaka will have to leave soon and that she will do so without ever returning my love – I've seen the way she and Tamahome act together - but for the first time, I have people I care about to help me bear it."  He lapsed into silence, lost in his thoughts.

"I can't claim to understand everything that has happened between you and the priestess but I'm willing to listen to you if you'll return the favor sometime," Chichiri said. He waved the twins away to the forest under the pretense of needing wood for the fire. It would take them a while to find a scrap of wood in there.

"What is between Miaka, Nuriko, and I is… complicated," Hotohori finally said after moments of screaming silence.

"Trust me when I say that I understand complicated love. I fell in love with the someone that my best friend cared for. After they died, I thought my heart did too until I met someone who I could care for only to be rejected for the specter of lost love. Is yours so much more difficult?"

"I am married to a stranger who seems to have fallen in love with me at first sight. I love a woman who may or may not be in love with her roommate. And I don't think I can bring myself to love my wife." Hotohori finished softly.

"Why?" Chichiri asked gently. "Is she a shrew? A slothful wench? A dog?" He spread his cloak on the ground and sat on it and after a moment's hesitation Hotohori joined him.

"Nuriko is a striking beauty which is part of my concern. Beautiful woman can't be trusted. They'll shred your heart like it was nothing but tissue in their hands."

"Sounds like experience talking no da."

"It is. I've never spoken of it, though."

"They say that things bottled up inside you will fester until they are released. I have a first hand understanding of that. If you think you can tell me, I wish you would," Chichiri told him. Both men continued staring at the sea as it rolled and festered. The sky above was gray and leadened with storm clouds. Yet in the distant horizon, the sun peeked out like a bright fingernail.

"Perhaps you're right. It's about time, I think." Hotohori agreed. Drawing his knees to his chest, he hugged them tightly as he had never been held. With his eyes never leaving the horizon, he began to speak.

***

A sharp autumn wind stirred, bringing with it the first bitter promise of winter.  Hotohori watched with an appreciative smile as a leaf fell from the tree above him.  It hung suspended in the still air for a long moment and then fluttered towards earth in a whisk of graceful movements.  He bent down and picked it up, admiring the brilliant shade of scarlet that only nature could produce.  It was the same rich crimson of the dying sun at dusk, or of a phoenix's blazing feathers...or of blood. 

He glanced inadvertently down at his bandaged wrists, his smile disappearing.  A feeling of alien detachment settled over him as he stared at the injury.  He lifted his first two fingers to his arm and pressed down; first hesitantly, then with more authority.  Blood oozed from the half-healed wound, stain­ing the light cotton gauze that covered it red.  It hurt, but at least it was the dull, throbbing pain of a physical wound. 

The sound of quiet weeping broke his mood and brought Hotohori to his feet.  Slowly, he followed the sound, stopping every few feet to rest.  Losing so much blood had made him weak to the point that simply walking was an ordeal that left him drained and spent.  That had been the reason for sending him to the remote country manor of one of his more distant cousins; so that he might regain his strength in peace.  Well, that and so rumor of the incident couldn't circulate through court and embarrass the family. 

His quest for the source led him to a woman.  She was sitting on one of the many ornamental benches the gardens boast­ed, her head bowed and her shoulders racked with sobs.  He stepped closer to her, laying a hand hesitantly on her shoul­der.

"Oh!"  She jumped back a little, apparently unaware of his approach.  A pair of large azure eyes stared up at him in fright.

For his part, Hotohori could only stare back.  She was the most breathtaking creature he had ever seen.  Her every feature was exquisite perfection.  Lightly perfumed hair fell to her knees in a cascade of golden-blonde ringlets.  Her fair skin practically glowed in the silvery moonlight.  She moved her full red lips silently in fear.

"Oh!" she repeated.  "Who are you?"         

He blinked several times, trying to gather his scattered wits. 

"Hotohori, my lady," he replied, taking her delicate hand and dropping a light kiss on its satiny back.  "Forgive me if I startled you," he continued sincerely, "But I heard crying and wondered at its source.  Are you well?"

She flushed prettily, dropping her eyes.  "Oh, 'tis nothing, m'lord.  Only..." she hesitated slightly, then shook her head.  "Never mind.  The trivial sorrows of the likes of me could not possibly interest a great lord such as yourself."

His expression grew shadowed.  "Sometimes," he began quiet­ly, "Some­times it is the little things that tear at you the most.  They build up inside of you, hammering for release so that you begin to despair of ever feeling sane or human again.  And you learn, despair is the most dangerous of emotions.  It's a leprosy of the soul.  It eats away at all of your hopes and dreams until one day you wake up and realize that where your heart should be there is only a vast, aching empti­ness."  He finally focused on her and gave a sad smile.  "So no, my lady, however minuscule your problems may be they are in no way trivial."  

Tears filled her eyes, and to his dismay, she began crying again.  "No," she whimpered, waving him off, "It's not that.  It's just that I have never heard anything described so perfect­ly.  No one I have ever met can even fathom how I feel, yet here you are a perfect stranger, who understands what I'm going through even better than I do."  At that, she broke down and sobbed in his arms.

When she had stopped trembling, he spoke.  "Are you all right?" he queried softly.   

"Better, thank you."  A fiercely protective instinct roused in him as he looked down at the vulnerable figure in his arms.  "I'm sorry that I broke down on you like that my lord, but-"

"Hotohori," he interrupted firmly.  "Call me Hotohori."

That earned him a wan smile.  "Very well, then, Hotohori.  Please, call me Dafne.  I am sorry that I put you through that, but things have getting so . . . unbearable lately."

"Do you want to talk about it, my lady?" he asked, feeling a keen empathy with her.  "I am certain that I would understand." Again that dazzling smile.  "I believe that you would, Hotohori."  She sighed and leaned back in his arms, resting the back of her head on his shoulder.

"I suppose," she began hesitantly, "It all started with my family.  Mother died young and my father just never seemed to care much about me.  After all, he already had an heir. What good was I?  The first time that he noticed me was when I came of age to be sold into marriage.  That was the only way he could see me as an asset to him.  Even if I wasn't male, the family name still had enough value that a union with me could be bought at a high price."  He blinked.  She could have been describing his child­hood exactly and said so.

She gave a small laugh.  "See?  We have much in common already, Hotohori.  Only, he actually did succeed in selling me and to a more hateful man I could not be wed!"  She sighed, her outburst subsiding.  "He is three times my age, a dirty, old lecher interested only in his business.  The only time I see him is when he comes to me at night."  She gave a shudder of real loathing.  "And then...Sometimes I believe that there is no end to pain in my life.  And then I think maybe it would be best to simply end it all."

"What stops you?"

"Fear.  And hope.  I know that if I do take my own life, I will be sent back to earth as a demon, never to be reborn.  But if I go on, there is always the hope of rebirth."

Hotohori stared at her.  Religion had never even entered the equation when he had made his attempt despite his destiny as a Suzaku seishi.

"Your faith is so strong," he said wonderingly. 

"Strong?  No, I am weak, finding comfort behind the shield of Suzaku's benevolence.  Truth, I would not have the strength to do away with my life, unless I were much more sorely pressed by misfor­tune.  I lack the courage."

"But what courage is there in opening your veins?" he argued, feeling all of his doubts rise up behind him in a flood.  "Only a true coward would do so.  What honor is there in taking the easy way out?"

"What honor is there in staying in an unbearable situation?" she retorted.  "That does not make you strong, it only makes you a masochist.  Did not a wise man say, 'It is silliness to live when to live is torment?'  The strong man is the one who can rise out of despair and find hope anew."

She hesitated a fraction of a second before plowing on.  "Please, forgive me if I am too forward, my lord.  I would not presume to judge, having only known you a short while, but it is my humble opinion that you must find away to release some of the despair you had spoken of earlier, before it consumes you."  She held his eyes with her own.  He met her gaze for a heartbeat, then shook him­self free.  This was the most strange­ly inti­mate conver­sa­tion he had ever had. 

She stood up gracefully and leaned over, planting a light kiss on his cheek.  "Anyway, thank you for listening to me." 

Then she was gone, leaving Hotohori alone.  He raised his hand to his face and gently touched the spot where she had kissed him, eyes fixed on the moon.

***

"Ah, cousin!" Lord Toshihito hailed Hotohori genially.  "I am glad to see that you are recovering from your recent incapacita­tion.  Are you well?"

He sighed and forced his expression into one of pleasant neutrality.  There was no choice; he'd have to talk to him now.  He made his way slowly over to his whitened head.  He really was not in the mood to speak with anyone.

"I am feeling better, thank you," he replied with a cordial smile.  "I wish to offer you my thanks for your kind hospitali­ty."

The old man beamed. "Tush, I am always willing to do a service for the emperor's child.  What else is family for?"

"Yes, what else?" he asked dryly.

"Ah."  Toshihito brightened as he spied someone in the crowd.  "Dafne, my love!  Come to me."

Obediently, she strolled over, brightening when she saw whom he was talking to.

"This is my cousin Hotohori," he introduced, then turning to him.  "Hotohori, this is my lovely young wife, Dafne."

He bowed slightly.  "The lady and I have met previously."

She smiled slowly.  "'Tis always a pleasure to see you, Lord Hotohori.  But come, what's this?  You're my dear husband's cousin?"

"But of course!" Toshihito exclaimed, delighted with the opportunity to expound on his royal lineage.  "Hotohori is the son of none other than our great Emperor who is my fourth cousin thirteen times removed."

"A prince!"  Her eyes widened in respect and she immediately dipped into a low curtsey.  "How could I not have known?  A man as gracious as you could be no less."

Hotohori flushed, feeling flattered yet uncomfortable.  "It is no great thing to be a prince, my lady," he demurred.  "My birth is not something that I earned by my merit.  It makes me no better than any other man." 

His cousin cut in, looking scandalized.  "Of course it does!  You are royalty, man!  We are far superior to these filthy peasants you see about us.  You're demeaning yourself to claim equali­ty with them is a disgrace."

He winced, sensing that he hadn't scored any points with the host.  The hostess also served him a gentle rebuke.

"Of course we are better than peasants, Prince Hotohori.  Look at them!  They spend all day wallowing in dirt, struggling to eke out their pathetic existence.  If we were not clearly superior, our situations would be reversed.  Don't you agree?"

She smiled up brightly at him.  Mesmerized, all he could do was nod mutely.

***

"That was my first sign that she wasn't all sweetness and light," Hotohori reflected, twirling a blade of grass between his thumb and index finger.  "But did I notice?  No.  If you remember anything about this, let it be that if you meet someone too good to be true - run.  There is no such thing as a truly selfless person."

"Don't you think that you're just a little too young to be that jaded no da?"                               

"Aren't you a little old not to be?"

***

"Hotohori, such exciting news!" a voice exclaimed in girlish glee.  He turned to face Dafne, wondering a little jeal­ously who or what could have put such a sparkle in her eyes.

"Guess who arrived late last night!" she continued.

"Suzaku?" he hazarded. 

"No silly," she laughed, bubbling with barely suppressed excite­ment.  "The emperor!  He's having breakfast with Toshihito right now!"  

His stomach dropped to his boots.  He hadn't seen his father since the incident that had sent him here.  He wasn't quite sure what to expect, but it probably wasn't parental concern.

"Hotohori?" Dafne asked, realizing that something was wrong.  "Oh, I'm sorry.  I had forgotten that he was your father.  I suppose this all seems rather commonplace now." She looked crestfallen.  "I truly am sorry, though.  It's just so difficult to think of you as not only a man, but a prince."

He stiffened in shock.  That was the first time he had ever heard that.  For most people, it was a struggle to see around the title he bore.  No one he had ever met thought of him as simply a man.

"I didn't offend you, did I?" she asked, taking his length­ening silence to mean anger.

"No," he reassured, casting her a sweet smile. 

"Thank goodness!  Come, join us for breakfast?"  She held out her arm invitingly.

He bowed, taking it.  "I would be delighted to."            

The table groaned under the weight of all the food placed on it.  Every inch of the dark mahogany wood was covered with platters.  There were fruits, vegetables, hams, sausages, and omelets.  He counted at least half a dozen different types of breads before giving up.  Each dish looked more deli­cious than the last.  None of it appealed to him in the least, though he did spare a brief moment of pity for the cook of the understaffed castle. 

"Hotohori, how are you?"  The emperor's cold voice rang out above the low conversation of the hall.

"Better, sire," he said, bowing respectfully.  He began eyeing the room's exits warily, feeling like a caged ani­mal.                        

"Sit down," the emperor commanded, squash­ing his half-formed hope of being able to make a gracious exit.

"As you wish, sire."  He held out a chair politely for Dafne, then took his own seat gingerly beside her. 

"Uh..." he hesitated, uncertain of what to say.

"Have you eaten?"  His father gave him a sharp glance.  "You look pale," he said accusingly.

He took a sticky sweet roll wordlessly.  This unfamiliar act paren­tal con­cern made him nervous.  What was he up to?  Under the stern glare of his father, he picked it up and began to work his way though it doggedly.

"We were just having a discussion with Our cousin," he informed Hotohori, falling naturally into the royal plural.  "We were noting the number of years it has been since the bandits of Mount Reikaku have left their foothills. Perhaps now is the time to bring a squadron of soldiers up there to thin their numbers."

The dough turned to a lump in his throat.  He put the roll down, appetite now complete­ly gone.

"I'm sure you are right," he said falsely.

"Do you remember the last scourge, Hotohori?" he asked remi­niscently.  "It was something like five years ago.  You were just a lad.  We took you and your brothers to see it.  Do you remember the way the blood ran down the mountain?"

"I remember the way they screamed," he muttered, feeling ill. How could he forget?  The mountain villages had been quiet for years until the imperial army came pouring through them like a tide of death. Women, children, and the elderly died under the indiscriminant blade of the soldiers. Hotohori had watched as a boy his age was cut apart slowly while trying to defend a smaller child with hair like a flame. The look in the young boy's eyes as his friend died and as the lecherous soldiers closed in was something that Hotohori could still see behind his own eyelids. And his scream…  It was the most chilling sound he had ever heard.  It was full of animal pain and desperation, holding nothing sane or even remote­ly human in it.  That had driven more forcefully than any­thing else could the fate of those who caught the attention of his temperamental father. Hotohori carried the heavy knowledge in his heart that he was living on bor­rowed time.  

***

"The problem with knowing that you're condemned," Hotohori said pensively, "Is that you have to live in the moment, because you have no future.  But what are you supposed to do when the moment holds nothing for you but pain?"                                            

"Hope," Chichiri replied simply.

That earned him an ironic smile.  "About what?"

"About-" He paused, comprehension dawning.  "Ah."

"You see?" he asked softly.  "Someone once said that while man can live with misery, he cannot live without hope.  I had lost hope before I even knew what it was."                

***

Hotohori found himself staring up at the evening sky from the place where he had first met Dafne.  Nature itself seemed ill at ease that night.  The moon smoldered dangerously behind the cover of roiling clouds.  In contrast, the stars seemed to burn omi­nous­ly bright.  He shiv­ered a little at the driving wind's chill bite.              

"Waiting for someone?" a familiar voice inquired archly.

Hotohori turned to Dafne without surprise.  "Waiting, no.  Wishing, yes."

"And who might this lucky person be?"

He gazed at her intensely.  "I think you know."

She walked into his embrace.  "Tell me about her," she whispered.

His arms closed about her awkwardly.  He rested his head on top of her golden one, breathing in the fresh scent of roses. 

"She's my angel," he said artlessly.  "I met her at the worst time of my life and she gave me hope.  She knows all of my pains and insecurities, yet doesn't shun me.  Instead, she cares for me, as a person, not as a prince.  She is the only person who has ever worried about me, and for that I love her."

"What does she look like, this paragon of yours?"

He pulled her closer.  "She's as ravishing as she is kind.  My lady is as pale as the moonlight, with her golden tresses falling about her in a cape.  When she looks at me with her beautiful sapphire eyes, I am lost, completely at her mercy.  I would do anything to hear her say that she feels for me a frac­tion of what I do for her."

Dafne reached up, her lips meeting his own.

"I love you, Hotohori."    

***

"And of course," Hotohori said bitter­ly, "I believed every word she said, like the gullible idiot I am."  He glared at Chichiri, cutting off his companion's protest before it had fully formed.  "Don't try to argue because you know I what a blind fool I was."

"But you meant well," he pointed out.  "You didn't know that she was playing with you.  You trusted her."

"Oh no," he said with a harsh laugh, "I didn't just trust her, I was madly in love with her.  I was alone and desolate, full of all these feelings that I couldn't even talk about, much less get rid of.  Then she came in and said she felt the same things.  Here was someone I could talk to and trust, I thought.  Here was someone who understood me.

"Naturally, she didn't actually feel any of the things that she claimed.  She only pretended to so to get me into bed.  I was just another rung she used on her climb up the social ladder.  After all, the emperor's son was a good catch, even if he was only a bastard.

"Can you even imagine how I had felt?  No one in my life had ever given a damn about me, then to hear her say that she loved me... The warmth and affec­tion she lavished on me was like feeding liquor to a drunk.  I was beyond caring about any incon­sistencies in her stories.  I was in love," he said, heaping a load of scorn on the last term.


Chichiri blinked, unsure of what to say.  The cynicism of his words only thinly masked the pain underneath. 

"I'm sorry," he offered lamely. 

"Don't worry about it," Hotohori said, letting out a shuddering breath.  A shadow of his old gentle smile returned to his face.  Chichiri's mental sigh of relief ended abruptly as he heard the second half of the sen­tence.  "It was my fault.  I should have known better than to trust her.  Why should she have been any differ­ent?  After all, she's only human."   

He stared at him in dismay.  "Just because one person has be­trayed you, there's no reason give up on humanity," he argued.  "Not every person who comes up to you with a friendly word is just using you."

Hotohori dropped his mask of good cheer, his voice harden­ing.  "But you don't understand.  They all are.  It's not just Dafne who has betrayed me.  It's every­one I've ever met, contin­ually.  I am tired of having my trust abused day after day by those who only care about what they can get out of me.  Frankly, I'm tired of trying to believe in people.  I can't do it any­more.  When I reach into myself to find some measure of faith or compas­sion, I come up empty.  There's nothing left inside me."  He cradled his head in his hands weari­ly, falling silent for a moment.  Then he sighed without ever looking up.  "I'm tired of having it all turn to shit on me," he mum­bled.    

Chichiri blinked, everything finally coming together.  He took Hotohori's arm gently and studied the scar.

"So that's why you tried to kill yourself," he said simply.

"Yes."  He looked up, meeting the monk's eyes for the first time.  "They...um...they...found me in time to...stop the blood­."  He spoke hesitantly, as if afraid of condemnation.  Slowly he continued.  "I never tried again.  After I met Dafne, I never felt the need to.  She gave me something to live for, illusionary though her love was." 

He gave a soft laugh, his attention ab­sorbed by the scar.  "Do you know, there was actually a period of time when looking back on the episode frightened me?  Not because of any fear that if pushed hard enough, I might try again.  No, what really got to me was how I felt when the blood started flowing out of my veins.  As I stared at that pool of scarlet staining the white marble floor, I felt...relieved.  Happy even.  Back then, I simply could­n't relate to the man I had been.  It was as if every­thing that I felt were the memories of a different person.  But now..." His lips curved into a small humorless smile.  "I think I know where I was coming from."

"So you're happy and depressed at the same time? You must be hell to live with," Chichiri cracked. He let his smile fade as he considered the young prince seriously. "You've spent your whole life surrounded by people yet you were alone. I can understand that. You're afraid that now that you found people who won't let you be alone, that they'll hurt and use you like Dafne did. I understand that too. But for your own good, Hotohori, you must trust someone. Taking a chance with people is what being human is about. And if you aren't going to do that, you don't deserve to protect Miaka." 

"What?" Hotohori asked, startled.

"If you won't commit your whole heart and soul to protecting her, you might as well just give up and kill yourself for real this time. We were born to serve our priestess no da. If you can't do that, you don't deserve the precious life Suzaku gave you," Chichiri told him slowly. It was as if his message was not only for the young emperor but for himself as well.

"We've both been remiss in caring for our priestess and all the women in our lives. Right now, Miaka and your wife are wandering the countryside. We can't be sure that Nuriko can protect Miaka alone no da. It is our duty as Suzaku no seishi – no, as men – to guard them from harm no da. So what do you say? Are you with me?" Chichiri stood up and offered his hand to Hotohori. The emperor accepted it with no hesitation.

"Let's go."

TBC …

Glossary:

Sesquipedalian: a writer who uses very big words

galoot- a very British insult that means something along the lines of clumsy ox

an alpha carbon in a fifteen residue polypeptide - the first carbon attached to the carboxylic acid functional group in a peptide. ^_^ It's usually smooshed between a lot of stuff

nescient- adj. Ignorant. Therefore 'you nescient bastard' is Chiriko's way of saying you ignorant bastard, a very nasty insult in his mind.

battened- to fasten or secure. Batten down the hatches! Aye, aye Captain!

neonate - an infant in the first 28 days of its life

sang-froid - bravery in the face of danger OR in even more common English, balls.


Autodidactic- an autodidact is a person who mastered something without formal learning so the adjective form would mean...

esoteric - not generally intelligible; meant for people with special interest or knowledge.

~ While you're down here, why don't you review? ~