Chapter 57
That Winter Day
It was a cold, colorless day early in winter when word reached the seraglio that the war was over. I was alone in my room, sitting comfortably beside my burning hearth when Naho knocked on my door and informed me of the news. It was so sudden and unexpected that it frightened me rather than excited me, and I felt my heart speed up within my chest and my lungs draw air quicker, and I knew that there was a reason for the abrupt halt of the war. Something had happened other than victory or loss.
Without thinking, I rose from my chair and left my warm fire behind me. I threw my door open and commanded the attention of a servant walking down the veranda toward the seraglio gates.
"You there!" I called. "What has happened on the eastern front? Has Konan lost or triumphed?"
Without a moment's hesitation, he replied, "Neither, my lady. Konan has both won and lost this war."
And that is how I learned of Emperor Hotohori's death.
I sit here now in the midst of the magnolia trees of the seraglio courtyard, my mind flashing with images of this day. The sun is setting over the west wall and the air has an unnatural chill to it, even for winter. I saw such sorrow today, sorrow that I thought I knew from my many years of being tortured with it. But my heart is frozen with what I witnessed today. I was there when the imperial soldiers sent from the battlefield informed Lady Hoki of her husband's death. Her eyes died before she turned slowly and went back into her room, closing the door silently behind her. She had taken up temporary residence in the seraglio until His Highness returned, but now we all knew it would now become permanent.
I am still haunted by her eyes and by her quiet, peaceful reaction to the news. She was a lady to the end, and will always be a lady. Not once during her husband's absence did she betray her fear or grief, and not once did she weep or mourn his loss. Would she now? I sit here alone in the silent, cold beauty of the courtyard and mourn for Konan and our uncertain future. I sit here and mourn the loss of my emperor, my benefactor, and my friend. I sit here and mourn for my empress and her undeniable grief. I sit here and long for my husband to be here and comfort me. I still have his letter to me, the one telling me of his dream. It came true. Konan won the war. But we lost our emperor in the process. Was it the blood on the magnolia that symbolized the loss of life for the sake of victory? I care little about whether or not I will ever know. All that is of importance now is that the war is over, and yet our troubles are not. I sense unbalance clinging to the coldness of the winter air. I sense chaos and fear and violence, and I know that something momentous is about to happen to Konan - and to the place where our priestess calls her home.
**************************************************************************** ************************
Two days later, he comes back to me for the second time, and I am there to receive him. There is a soft knock of my door, and when I answer it he is there waiting for me. The weariness of his soul covers his handsome, dirty face, and the mischievous gleam to his eyes has diminished noticeably since our last meeting nearly a month ago. The war did the damage that both he and I knew it would do. His spirit has suffered greatly; it is horribly obvious in how the skin of his beautiful face has suddenly creased in places that used to be smooth. It is only after I notice the injuries of his soul that I notice the bandages wrapped tightly around his naked chest and the cloth sling supporting his limp arm. His black overcoat, his only protection against the winter chill, is draped lifelessly across his shoulders. His hair is tousled, dirty, and needs to be trimmed. His face is bruised and smudged with dirt and mud, as is every other exposed part of his body.
"Sorry," he replies quietly, "I should've cleaned up before I came to see you. I just got back a few minutes ago, and I - I didn't want to wait to come see you."
"I'm glad," I answer quietly, stepping toward him carefully as if the movement of my body could cause his injuries even more pain. My hand extends toward his dirty face, and I press my knuckles gently to his cheekbone. The moment my skin makes contact with his, I hear him draw a sharp breath as if startled. Uncertain, I begin to withdraw my hand, but he grabs my wrist and presses the back of my hand to his cheek. He moves my hand within his, kissing my palm, smelling the perfume clinging to my wrist. And he sighs heavily and deeply, breathing my skin into him. And when he has filled himself with me, I gently slip my arms around his injured torso and pull him into my embrace. Slowly and peacefully, he accustoms his body to mine, learning our shapes and angles again, and then he embraces me as well. And when I hear a final sigh of relief, telling me that he believes I am here with him, I take his hand and lead him inside, closing the door behind us.
"Would you like me to draw a bath for you?" I ask, smiling as we walk to my bedchamber. "Or is there somewhere else you need to be?"
"No," he says quickly, "Only here."
Without speaking, I lift his heavy black coat from his shoulders and seat him in front of the hearth. "Wait here," I whisper, running my fingertips over his face. His uninjured arm lifts and he takes my hand in his, pressing my palm to his cheek again. Our eyes meet and watch each other for a long time in silence, the warmth of the fire and the adoration in our gazes causing our eyelids to droop. I lean in and softly kiss his forehead, keeping my lips pressed to his war-damaged skin for a long time. I've missed him so horribly that I can feel the pain rising in my chest again, as if my longing for him knows that he has returned and that I have no reason to long any more. I smile at him, and he graciously returns it, his face becoming alive behind the war mask of dirt. Yes, we are here, together. Again.
Although I could call Naho much quicker and easier by pulling on the silk cord in my bathing room, I opt to call on her personally. I have developed a strong bond with my little maidservant, and I often try to remind her that she is my equal rather than my inferior. Instead of asking her to do something for me, I often ask her to assist me with it.
She answers her door with the wide-eyed inquiring face that I have come to love. "Yes, Lady Tansho? Are you in need of my assistance?"
"Yes, Naho," I answer, "Would you please help me heat water for my husband's bath? He's just returned from the battlefield and I would rather him bathe before he rests on my freshly cleaned linens."
My darling little maidservant giggles happily and agrees without hesitation as she always does. With two of us working, it takes only half an hour to heat the jugs of water over the seraglio's giant hearth in the laundry room and carry them to my quarters, where we empty them carefully into my jade-tiled bath. Tasuki watches us with guilt in his tired, beautiful eyes, and I must reassure him time and again that this is no trouble for Naho and I at all. I am overwhelmed with happiness as I walk back and forth from the laundry rooms to my chambers, carrying the heavy jugs of hot water on my hips. I have my husband back, and for the first time I truly feel like a wife. But it is not because I am working to make my husband comfortable, it is because I feel such indescribable love while I am doing it. I do not realize that I have been smiling non-stop until Tasuki bursts out laughing as I am pouring the last jug of water into the bath.
"What?" I demand, plopping my tired hands on my hips.
"You haven't stopped smiling since you started lugging them damn things back and forth!" he exclaims happily, grinning at me. "What the hell are you so happy about?"
I laugh out loud at his ridiculous question, but I opt to ignore it for the time being. I turn to my grinning little maidservant and kiss her cheek. "Thank you so much for helping me, Naho. You can return to your room now if you'd like."
She bows slightly to me, then takes her leave, a happy smile still on her pretty face. After the door has closed behind her, I return my attention to Tasuki and sigh deeply.
"Why the hell am I so happy?" I retort sarcastically. "I am happy because you left me a second time and came back to me a second time. That's why, my dear."
He smiles gently and nods his head in agreement. "That's a damn good reason to be happy, Tan baby. Damn good. Now come here and help me up - I've got a knee giving me hell since a damn horse kicked me a couple of weeks ago."
I laugh heartily, then seal my fingers over my mouth when I see him frown and narrow his eyes playfully. "Damn horse," he mumbles as I help him rise from the chair. I kiss his shoulder affectionately and lead him toward the bath. The air of my bathing room is thick with the warm steam coming off the jade-tinted water, enveloping us quickly in its midst. I leave him for a moment to scatter some bath salts in the water to help soothe his muscles, then return to his side to help his undress.
"Is it your arm or your shoulder that's injured?" I inquire as I inspect the sling supporting his muscular forearm.
"Shoulder," he mutters, grimacing and gritting his teeth as he removes it from the sling, "Took an arrow in the shoulder blade not long ago. It's healing good; I just keep it in the sling to keep from moving my arm too much." I slip the cloth sling off his shoulder and take a quick look at the angry red arrow notch in his shoulder blade. It has already begun to scab over, meaning it's well on its way to healing, but the scar will be a crooked and rather large one. I've never seen an arrow wound before, so I wonder for a moment if this is what the shape of it is supposed to look like.
"And your chest?" I continue, lifting his uninjured arm to search for the ending of the bandage. I hear him snort in disgust, and I shoot a questioning glance at him. He pouts at me like a child.
"Same damn horse that got my knee got my ribs too," he replies, every single word covered with malice. I try with all my power to hold back the laughs that my lungs are dying to spout, but I accidentally crack a smile in the process and let my retort slip.
"Please don't tell me that the horse shot you with the arrow as well," I say, grinning madly as I unbind his chest.
"Dammit, Tansho!" he yells, "That ain't funny and you know it!"
Still grinning, I nod my head in agreement. But when I am done unrolling the bandages from his chest, I lift my eyes to his annoyed ones and let him see inside me. His face softens, and we both understand that my words meant nothing. He lifts his good arm and settles his hand on my shoulder, then lets it slip down my arm, smoothing the silk of my sleeve. He leans into me and places a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth, making me inhale quickly.
"The water will get cold," I whisper suddenly, making him withdraw. He sighs and rolls his eyes playfully, but still slips his hand into mine and squeezes it gently.
"I'd better get cleaned up then," he replies, moving around me and toward the bath. I steal a glance as he unties his trousers and lets them fall lazily at his ankles, then smile in amusement as I remember the first time I saw him entirely naked. It wasn't until our wedding night, the night that I taught him how to swim in the ocean. Of course I had caught quick glimpses of him during the many times before that we had made love, but never had I seen him like he was that night.
By the time I've returned from my daydream, Tasuki has already waded his way into the steaming water and settled comfortably in a corner, both elbows propped up happily on the edges. I chuckle lightly at the sight of him and am happy that his spirit is beginning to mend. He wouldn't be so light-hearted if it weren't.
"Would you prefer lavender or sandalwood soap, my darling?" I inquire, grinning affectionately at him.
"Sandalwood," he answers quickly, "Lavender reminds me of old women."
I burst out laughing at his comment but give him a disapproving look as I retrieve the soap and come to kneel at his right side. "You shouldn't say such things about the elderly," I explain, "They've been around a lot longer than we have. That's why they're so wise."
"That's also why they smell so damn weird sometimes. Wouldn't you smell weird if you've been around over half a century?"
Once again I can't hold it back, and I erupt into fits of giggles that makes me feel ashamed after I've calmed down again. "I think that war has made you bitter, my dear," I remark.
I see the jovial glint in his eyes dim dangerously to a smolder, telling me that I have said something to re-open a wound in his soul. Ashamed and taken aback that I've done such a thing, I withdraw from him slightly, my knees sliding across the smooth tiles of my bathing room floor. "No, Tan," he whispers, turning around to look me in the eyes, "Don't leave me. You didn't do anything wrong." He reaches his hand out to me and I slip mine into it very carefully. "It's just that word. I've come to hate the word 'war' - that's all."
"I'm sorry," I whisper, slowly and carefully moving back towards his side. Without thinking, I grab a yellow sea sponge from a basket nearby, rub it into the damp sandalwood soap, and begin to gently bathe my husband. I begin with his shoulders, gently washing around the arrow wound and over the muscular curves of his arms and upper back. And as I move my hands, I feel him relaxing, coming to know my touch again. And suddenly I long to talk with him about the war. I want to know anything, anything at all that he is willing to tell me. I want to help heal him by being his target. I want him to use me to cleanse his soul of all the injuries the war left there.
"Tell me," I suddenly whisper, my mouth close to his ear.
He turns to look at me, but there is no anger or any other hard emotion in his lovely green and gold eyes. There is something that resembles hope, as if he knows I desire to help him. "About the war?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.
I nod, rubbing the sea sponge gently over the large bruise on his chest and side. "Whatever you want to tell me, I'd like to know."
He swivels his torso back around so that he's facing the wall again, and I see him nod slowly and gently to himself as well as to me. And then he begins to speak to me in his smooth, gently-accented, loving voice that I have memorized and stored inside my heart. His words move over his lips carefully and slowly as if he's afraid they'll frighten me. I continue bathing him as I listen, and when something interests or surprises me, I ask a question, and he is happy and quick to answer. And the days and the weeks and the months go by in his words as he talks and tells the stories of the war, and I listen with wide eyes and parted lips, enveloped. At times I am saddened, and at other times I am enthralled or horrified or shocked or sickened or encouraged. I listen closely as he expresses his guilt of accidentally killing Soi, the sole woman among the Seiryu warriors, when he was in fact aiming for Nakago; and as he relates how the priestess and Tamahome vanished, how Mistsukake was injured and how he died, the cheerful reunion that he had with Koji and the others from the mountain, how he fought next to his friends and his countrymen. I find myself longing to have been there with him, to have seen and heard and felt what he did. But when he reaches the last day of the war, the day His Highness died, he stops and stares ahead of him as if he is either horrified or fascinated by the memory. And when he turns to look at me, I discover that it is both.
"I don't think I can ever forget what happened that day," he replies softly, his eyes narrowed in their gentle, thoughtful way. "It was like it wasn't even real. I don't know if it really happened, actually."
"What was it?" I whisper, inquiring him as gently as my furious curiosity will allow.
"His Highness had attacked Nakago, Kutou's general and one of Seiryu's warriors, and had been mortally injured and thrown from his horse by his energy explosion. Me and Chichiri and a bunch of the other soldiers saw what happened and came to his side, praying like hell to the gods that he was gonna make it. But he was so bad off -" My husband's voice is replaced by a deep, thick sigh of a painful memory, and I can see the lines of his face deepen. But I can also see his desire to continue, to share this memory with another person, and he begins to speak again. "And then we heard her. We heard Miaka's voice coming from above us, from the sky." He turns once again to stare at me with his beautiful eyes, and I see in them that they're searching for an answer.
"What happened next, Tasuki?" I ask, raising my eyebrows gently.
His eyes close slowly and mournfully, and his head tilts down toward the warm bath water. "She begged Hotohori not to die." My beloved husband then begins to sob with a power that could only come from the wounded soul of a warrior. "She begged him with everything she had, but he couldn't help it, goddamn it. He couldn't. And we watched him die as her voice echoed around us, begging him not to. I could sense her everywhere, and I know Chichiri and Hotohori could too, and it was killing us not to be able to see her or touch her. She's in her own world; I know it. And I want to think that she and Tamahome are safer there than here, but I don't think they are. I don't think any of us are safe yet, Tansho."
His eyes are far away, and I know that a part of him is still on that field, kneeling next to his dying emperor, listening to his vanished priestess's voice echoing in the clouds. I lean close to him and touch my cheek to his hair, letting the scent of battle that still clings to it be inhaled into my lungs.
"Did our emperor die listening to her voice?" I ask, not really knowing why I am asking it.
"Yes."
"Then we should be content to know that he died softly."
"Yes," Tasuki whispers, slipping his hand over mine and turning his face up towards mine. "Yes, we should. He died very peacefully, as he deserved to."
What has just been said between us has left an unexplainable heaviness on me, like a wet linen covering my skin. There is an uneasiness in the air around us, and yet there is also a wonderful sense of serenity that makes me close my eyes and move my body closer to my husband's. He is here, and that is all. What has been said will be worried over later, not now. Now is ours, and it cannot be taken from us.
"I'm going to ask Naho to fetch you some fresh bandages and drop your clothes off at the laundry rooms," I reply, pressing my lips softly to his cheek, "Stay here and finish up. I'll be back in a moment to help get you dried off."
"I'm not totally helpless, you know," he announces, lifting an eyebrow.
"Just pretend you are, then."
He smiles at me, his lips forming that lovely lop-sided smirk that makes warmth spread through my insides. "Alright," he agrees.
I get up and make my way to the far side of my bathing room where the silk cord dangles oddly from the hole in the ceiling. I tug on it twice and in less than a minute I hear the timid knock of Naho's little knuckles on my door. I gather my husband's trousers, overcoat, and boots and go to open the door for her. When I nudge open my door with my hip, I am surprised to see that the sun has already set over the western wall of the seraglio. I have forgotten that night comes much quicker in winter than in summer. Naho stands in front of me, her petite frame outlined by the night, a soft smile on her youthful face.
"My lady?" she replies, "You called for me?"
"Yes, Naho," I reply, "Could you please run some errands for me? I need you to drop these off at the laundry quarters to have them washed. Tell the chamber maids that I also need a fresh new shirt for my husband," I reply, carefully transferring Tasuki's clothing from my arms to my handmaid's. She gathers them safely to her chest. "And when you have dropped them off, could you please go to the physician's quarters and fetch some fresh bandages for Master Tasuki, as well as something for his bruises and arrow wound? I'm sure the physicians will give you what they think is best."
"Of course, my lady," he answers happily, "I'll be back as soon as possible." She bows and gives me one of her never-ending smiles before scurrying off in the direction of the laundry rooms, the bundle of clothing wrapped securely in her arms.
I stand on my threshold for quite a long time after she's gone, simply gazing up into the black sky. The stars are bright tonight, brought to life by the deepness of the dark winter night. Any moment now I expect to hear the lady priestess's cheerful voice drift down from the darkness above me, but it doesn't. I have no doubt in my mind that Miaka spoke to Hotohori as he lay dying on the battlefield. And I have no doubt that everyone that was present there heard her voice coming from the sky. This world is no longer the normal one that I lived in before I fell in love with a warrior of Suzaku. I am not shocked or unbelieving of anything now that I have known Tasuki.
I smile happily to myself. My life has altered so wonderfully since I have known that man. He has brought so many things to me. I can only hope that I have brought him the same amount in return. In only a few more months, I will have known him nearly a year now. How drastically one's life can transform within a year. How beautiful it can become.
A/N: Hey there all. I hope life's treating you well (mine's sure giving me a run for my money ^_^) But all's well. I hope that you enjoy this chapter. I wrote it about a month before Christmas, during a very difficult time in my life, and I think that I included many things within this chapter that acted as a sort of therapy for me. My writing this chapter helped me a lot, and I must say that it's one that's very special to me (partially also because it's the one where Tansho learns of Hotohori's death and Tasuki returns.)
See you guys later!
Aama
That Winter Day
It was a cold, colorless day early in winter when word reached the seraglio that the war was over. I was alone in my room, sitting comfortably beside my burning hearth when Naho knocked on my door and informed me of the news. It was so sudden and unexpected that it frightened me rather than excited me, and I felt my heart speed up within my chest and my lungs draw air quicker, and I knew that there was a reason for the abrupt halt of the war. Something had happened other than victory or loss.
Without thinking, I rose from my chair and left my warm fire behind me. I threw my door open and commanded the attention of a servant walking down the veranda toward the seraglio gates.
"You there!" I called. "What has happened on the eastern front? Has Konan lost or triumphed?"
Without a moment's hesitation, he replied, "Neither, my lady. Konan has both won and lost this war."
And that is how I learned of Emperor Hotohori's death.
I sit here now in the midst of the magnolia trees of the seraglio courtyard, my mind flashing with images of this day. The sun is setting over the west wall and the air has an unnatural chill to it, even for winter. I saw such sorrow today, sorrow that I thought I knew from my many years of being tortured with it. But my heart is frozen with what I witnessed today. I was there when the imperial soldiers sent from the battlefield informed Lady Hoki of her husband's death. Her eyes died before she turned slowly and went back into her room, closing the door silently behind her. She had taken up temporary residence in the seraglio until His Highness returned, but now we all knew it would now become permanent.
I am still haunted by her eyes and by her quiet, peaceful reaction to the news. She was a lady to the end, and will always be a lady. Not once during her husband's absence did she betray her fear or grief, and not once did she weep or mourn his loss. Would she now? I sit here alone in the silent, cold beauty of the courtyard and mourn for Konan and our uncertain future. I sit here and mourn the loss of my emperor, my benefactor, and my friend. I sit here and mourn for my empress and her undeniable grief. I sit here and long for my husband to be here and comfort me. I still have his letter to me, the one telling me of his dream. It came true. Konan won the war. But we lost our emperor in the process. Was it the blood on the magnolia that symbolized the loss of life for the sake of victory? I care little about whether or not I will ever know. All that is of importance now is that the war is over, and yet our troubles are not. I sense unbalance clinging to the coldness of the winter air. I sense chaos and fear and violence, and I know that something momentous is about to happen to Konan - and to the place where our priestess calls her home.
**************************************************************************** ************************
Two days later, he comes back to me for the second time, and I am there to receive him. There is a soft knock of my door, and when I answer it he is there waiting for me. The weariness of his soul covers his handsome, dirty face, and the mischievous gleam to his eyes has diminished noticeably since our last meeting nearly a month ago. The war did the damage that both he and I knew it would do. His spirit has suffered greatly; it is horribly obvious in how the skin of his beautiful face has suddenly creased in places that used to be smooth. It is only after I notice the injuries of his soul that I notice the bandages wrapped tightly around his naked chest and the cloth sling supporting his limp arm. His black overcoat, his only protection against the winter chill, is draped lifelessly across his shoulders. His hair is tousled, dirty, and needs to be trimmed. His face is bruised and smudged with dirt and mud, as is every other exposed part of his body.
"Sorry," he replies quietly, "I should've cleaned up before I came to see you. I just got back a few minutes ago, and I - I didn't want to wait to come see you."
"I'm glad," I answer quietly, stepping toward him carefully as if the movement of my body could cause his injuries even more pain. My hand extends toward his dirty face, and I press my knuckles gently to his cheekbone. The moment my skin makes contact with his, I hear him draw a sharp breath as if startled. Uncertain, I begin to withdraw my hand, but he grabs my wrist and presses the back of my hand to his cheek. He moves my hand within his, kissing my palm, smelling the perfume clinging to my wrist. And he sighs heavily and deeply, breathing my skin into him. And when he has filled himself with me, I gently slip my arms around his injured torso and pull him into my embrace. Slowly and peacefully, he accustoms his body to mine, learning our shapes and angles again, and then he embraces me as well. And when I hear a final sigh of relief, telling me that he believes I am here with him, I take his hand and lead him inside, closing the door behind us.
"Would you like me to draw a bath for you?" I ask, smiling as we walk to my bedchamber. "Or is there somewhere else you need to be?"
"No," he says quickly, "Only here."
Without speaking, I lift his heavy black coat from his shoulders and seat him in front of the hearth. "Wait here," I whisper, running my fingertips over his face. His uninjured arm lifts and he takes my hand in his, pressing my palm to his cheek again. Our eyes meet and watch each other for a long time in silence, the warmth of the fire and the adoration in our gazes causing our eyelids to droop. I lean in and softly kiss his forehead, keeping my lips pressed to his war-damaged skin for a long time. I've missed him so horribly that I can feel the pain rising in my chest again, as if my longing for him knows that he has returned and that I have no reason to long any more. I smile at him, and he graciously returns it, his face becoming alive behind the war mask of dirt. Yes, we are here, together. Again.
Although I could call Naho much quicker and easier by pulling on the silk cord in my bathing room, I opt to call on her personally. I have developed a strong bond with my little maidservant, and I often try to remind her that she is my equal rather than my inferior. Instead of asking her to do something for me, I often ask her to assist me with it.
She answers her door with the wide-eyed inquiring face that I have come to love. "Yes, Lady Tansho? Are you in need of my assistance?"
"Yes, Naho," I answer, "Would you please help me heat water for my husband's bath? He's just returned from the battlefield and I would rather him bathe before he rests on my freshly cleaned linens."
My darling little maidservant giggles happily and agrees without hesitation as she always does. With two of us working, it takes only half an hour to heat the jugs of water over the seraglio's giant hearth in the laundry room and carry them to my quarters, where we empty them carefully into my jade-tiled bath. Tasuki watches us with guilt in his tired, beautiful eyes, and I must reassure him time and again that this is no trouble for Naho and I at all. I am overwhelmed with happiness as I walk back and forth from the laundry rooms to my chambers, carrying the heavy jugs of hot water on my hips. I have my husband back, and for the first time I truly feel like a wife. But it is not because I am working to make my husband comfortable, it is because I feel such indescribable love while I am doing it. I do not realize that I have been smiling non-stop until Tasuki bursts out laughing as I am pouring the last jug of water into the bath.
"What?" I demand, plopping my tired hands on my hips.
"You haven't stopped smiling since you started lugging them damn things back and forth!" he exclaims happily, grinning at me. "What the hell are you so happy about?"
I laugh out loud at his ridiculous question, but I opt to ignore it for the time being. I turn to my grinning little maidservant and kiss her cheek. "Thank you so much for helping me, Naho. You can return to your room now if you'd like."
She bows slightly to me, then takes her leave, a happy smile still on her pretty face. After the door has closed behind her, I return my attention to Tasuki and sigh deeply.
"Why the hell am I so happy?" I retort sarcastically. "I am happy because you left me a second time and came back to me a second time. That's why, my dear."
He smiles gently and nods his head in agreement. "That's a damn good reason to be happy, Tan baby. Damn good. Now come here and help me up - I've got a knee giving me hell since a damn horse kicked me a couple of weeks ago."
I laugh heartily, then seal my fingers over my mouth when I see him frown and narrow his eyes playfully. "Damn horse," he mumbles as I help him rise from the chair. I kiss his shoulder affectionately and lead him toward the bath. The air of my bathing room is thick with the warm steam coming off the jade-tinted water, enveloping us quickly in its midst. I leave him for a moment to scatter some bath salts in the water to help soothe his muscles, then return to his side to help his undress.
"Is it your arm or your shoulder that's injured?" I inquire as I inspect the sling supporting his muscular forearm.
"Shoulder," he mutters, grimacing and gritting his teeth as he removes it from the sling, "Took an arrow in the shoulder blade not long ago. It's healing good; I just keep it in the sling to keep from moving my arm too much." I slip the cloth sling off his shoulder and take a quick look at the angry red arrow notch in his shoulder blade. It has already begun to scab over, meaning it's well on its way to healing, but the scar will be a crooked and rather large one. I've never seen an arrow wound before, so I wonder for a moment if this is what the shape of it is supposed to look like.
"And your chest?" I continue, lifting his uninjured arm to search for the ending of the bandage. I hear him snort in disgust, and I shoot a questioning glance at him. He pouts at me like a child.
"Same damn horse that got my knee got my ribs too," he replies, every single word covered with malice. I try with all my power to hold back the laughs that my lungs are dying to spout, but I accidentally crack a smile in the process and let my retort slip.
"Please don't tell me that the horse shot you with the arrow as well," I say, grinning madly as I unbind his chest.
"Dammit, Tansho!" he yells, "That ain't funny and you know it!"
Still grinning, I nod my head in agreement. But when I am done unrolling the bandages from his chest, I lift my eyes to his annoyed ones and let him see inside me. His face softens, and we both understand that my words meant nothing. He lifts his good arm and settles his hand on my shoulder, then lets it slip down my arm, smoothing the silk of my sleeve. He leans into me and places a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth, making me inhale quickly.
"The water will get cold," I whisper suddenly, making him withdraw. He sighs and rolls his eyes playfully, but still slips his hand into mine and squeezes it gently.
"I'd better get cleaned up then," he replies, moving around me and toward the bath. I steal a glance as he unties his trousers and lets them fall lazily at his ankles, then smile in amusement as I remember the first time I saw him entirely naked. It wasn't until our wedding night, the night that I taught him how to swim in the ocean. Of course I had caught quick glimpses of him during the many times before that we had made love, but never had I seen him like he was that night.
By the time I've returned from my daydream, Tasuki has already waded his way into the steaming water and settled comfortably in a corner, both elbows propped up happily on the edges. I chuckle lightly at the sight of him and am happy that his spirit is beginning to mend. He wouldn't be so light-hearted if it weren't.
"Would you prefer lavender or sandalwood soap, my darling?" I inquire, grinning affectionately at him.
"Sandalwood," he answers quickly, "Lavender reminds me of old women."
I burst out laughing at his comment but give him a disapproving look as I retrieve the soap and come to kneel at his right side. "You shouldn't say such things about the elderly," I explain, "They've been around a lot longer than we have. That's why they're so wise."
"That's also why they smell so damn weird sometimes. Wouldn't you smell weird if you've been around over half a century?"
Once again I can't hold it back, and I erupt into fits of giggles that makes me feel ashamed after I've calmed down again. "I think that war has made you bitter, my dear," I remark.
I see the jovial glint in his eyes dim dangerously to a smolder, telling me that I have said something to re-open a wound in his soul. Ashamed and taken aback that I've done such a thing, I withdraw from him slightly, my knees sliding across the smooth tiles of my bathing room floor. "No, Tan," he whispers, turning around to look me in the eyes, "Don't leave me. You didn't do anything wrong." He reaches his hand out to me and I slip mine into it very carefully. "It's just that word. I've come to hate the word 'war' - that's all."
"I'm sorry," I whisper, slowly and carefully moving back towards his side. Without thinking, I grab a yellow sea sponge from a basket nearby, rub it into the damp sandalwood soap, and begin to gently bathe my husband. I begin with his shoulders, gently washing around the arrow wound and over the muscular curves of his arms and upper back. And as I move my hands, I feel him relaxing, coming to know my touch again. And suddenly I long to talk with him about the war. I want to know anything, anything at all that he is willing to tell me. I want to help heal him by being his target. I want him to use me to cleanse his soul of all the injuries the war left there.
"Tell me," I suddenly whisper, my mouth close to his ear.
He turns to look at me, but there is no anger or any other hard emotion in his lovely green and gold eyes. There is something that resembles hope, as if he knows I desire to help him. "About the war?" he asks, raising his eyebrows.
I nod, rubbing the sea sponge gently over the large bruise on his chest and side. "Whatever you want to tell me, I'd like to know."
He swivels his torso back around so that he's facing the wall again, and I see him nod slowly and gently to himself as well as to me. And then he begins to speak to me in his smooth, gently-accented, loving voice that I have memorized and stored inside my heart. His words move over his lips carefully and slowly as if he's afraid they'll frighten me. I continue bathing him as I listen, and when something interests or surprises me, I ask a question, and he is happy and quick to answer. And the days and the weeks and the months go by in his words as he talks and tells the stories of the war, and I listen with wide eyes and parted lips, enveloped. At times I am saddened, and at other times I am enthralled or horrified or shocked or sickened or encouraged. I listen closely as he expresses his guilt of accidentally killing Soi, the sole woman among the Seiryu warriors, when he was in fact aiming for Nakago; and as he relates how the priestess and Tamahome vanished, how Mistsukake was injured and how he died, the cheerful reunion that he had with Koji and the others from the mountain, how he fought next to his friends and his countrymen. I find myself longing to have been there with him, to have seen and heard and felt what he did. But when he reaches the last day of the war, the day His Highness died, he stops and stares ahead of him as if he is either horrified or fascinated by the memory. And when he turns to look at me, I discover that it is both.
"I don't think I can ever forget what happened that day," he replies softly, his eyes narrowed in their gentle, thoughtful way. "It was like it wasn't even real. I don't know if it really happened, actually."
"What was it?" I whisper, inquiring him as gently as my furious curiosity will allow.
"His Highness had attacked Nakago, Kutou's general and one of Seiryu's warriors, and had been mortally injured and thrown from his horse by his energy explosion. Me and Chichiri and a bunch of the other soldiers saw what happened and came to his side, praying like hell to the gods that he was gonna make it. But he was so bad off -" My husband's voice is replaced by a deep, thick sigh of a painful memory, and I can see the lines of his face deepen. But I can also see his desire to continue, to share this memory with another person, and he begins to speak again. "And then we heard her. We heard Miaka's voice coming from above us, from the sky." He turns once again to stare at me with his beautiful eyes, and I see in them that they're searching for an answer.
"What happened next, Tasuki?" I ask, raising my eyebrows gently.
His eyes close slowly and mournfully, and his head tilts down toward the warm bath water. "She begged Hotohori not to die." My beloved husband then begins to sob with a power that could only come from the wounded soul of a warrior. "She begged him with everything she had, but he couldn't help it, goddamn it. He couldn't. And we watched him die as her voice echoed around us, begging him not to. I could sense her everywhere, and I know Chichiri and Hotohori could too, and it was killing us not to be able to see her or touch her. She's in her own world; I know it. And I want to think that she and Tamahome are safer there than here, but I don't think they are. I don't think any of us are safe yet, Tansho."
His eyes are far away, and I know that a part of him is still on that field, kneeling next to his dying emperor, listening to his vanished priestess's voice echoing in the clouds. I lean close to him and touch my cheek to his hair, letting the scent of battle that still clings to it be inhaled into my lungs.
"Did our emperor die listening to her voice?" I ask, not really knowing why I am asking it.
"Yes."
"Then we should be content to know that he died softly."
"Yes," Tasuki whispers, slipping his hand over mine and turning his face up towards mine. "Yes, we should. He died very peacefully, as he deserved to."
What has just been said between us has left an unexplainable heaviness on me, like a wet linen covering my skin. There is an uneasiness in the air around us, and yet there is also a wonderful sense of serenity that makes me close my eyes and move my body closer to my husband's. He is here, and that is all. What has been said will be worried over later, not now. Now is ours, and it cannot be taken from us.
"I'm going to ask Naho to fetch you some fresh bandages and drop your clothes off at the laundry rooms," I reply, pressing my lips softly to his cheek, "Stay here and finish up. I'll be back in a moment to help get you dried off."
"I'm not totally helpless, you know," he announces, lifting an eyebrow.
"Just pretend you are, then."
He smiles at me, his lips forming that lovely lop-sided smirk that makes warmth spread through my insides. "Alright," he agrees.
I get up and make my way to the far side of my bathing room where the silk cord dangles oddly from the hole in the ceiling. I tug on it twice and in less than a minute I hear the timid knock of Naho's little knuckles on my door. I gather my husband's trousers, overcoat, and boots and go to open the door for her. When I nudge open my door with my hip, I am surprised to see that the sun has already set over the western wall of the seraglio. I have forgotten that night comes much quicker in winter than in summer. Naho stands in front of me, her petite frame outlined by the night, a soft smile on her youthful face.
"My lady?" she replies, "You called for me?"
"Yes, Naho," I reply, "Could you please run some errands for me? I need you to drop these off at the laundry quarters to have them washed. Tell the chamber maids that I also need a fresh new shirt for my husband," I reply, carefully transferring Tasuki's clothing from my arms to my handmaid's. She gathers them safely to her chest. "And when you have dropped them off, could you please go to the physician's quarters and fetch some fresh bandages for Master Tasuki, as well as something for his bruises and arrow wound? I'm sure the physicians will give you what they think is best."
"Of course, my lady," he answers happily, "I'll be back as soon as possible." She bows and gives me one of her never-ending smiles before scurrying off in the direction of the laundry rooms, the bundle of clothing wrapped securely in her arms.
I stand on my threshold for quite a long time after she's gone, simply gazing up into the black sky. The stars are bright tonight, brought to life by the deepness of the dark winter night. Any moment now I expect to hear the lady priestess's cheerful voice drift down from the darkness above me, but it doesn't. I have no doubt in my mind that Miaka spoke to Hotohori as he lay dying on the battlefield. And I have no doubt that everyone that was present there heard her voice coming from the sky. This world is no longer the normal one that I lived in before I fell in love with a warrior of Suzaku. I am not shocked or unbelieving of anything now that I have known Tasuki.
I smile happily to myself. My life has altered so wonderfully since I have known that man. He has brought so many things to me. I can only hope that I have brought him the same amount in return. In only a few more months, I will have known him nearly a year now. How drastically one's life can transform within a year. How beautiful it can become.
A/N: Hey there all. I hope life's treating you well (mine's sure giving me a run for my money ^_^) But all's well. I hope that you enjoy this chapter. I wrote it about a month before Christmas, during a very difficult time in my life, and I think that I included many things within this chapter that acted as a sort of therapy for me. My writing this chapter helped me a lot, and I must say that it's one that's very special to me (partially also because it's the one where Tansho learns of Hotohori's death and Tasuki returns.)
See you guys later!
Aama