by Raye Johnsen
******
'Fushigi Yuugi' belongs to Watase
Yuu, Flower Comics, Studio Perriot, Viz Entertainment and Pioneer Communications.
Blue comes from the 'One Smart Nyan-Nyan' series by Miome.
This fanfic is written for entertainment,
not profit. If it made any money, the Mt. Leikaku Bandits would demand
an immediate donation.
******
Mitsukake found the note pushed under his door that morning, as he got up.
It still hurt. It would always hurt, facing a morning
without Shouka. But Tama-Neko needed his breakfast; Miaka-san needed her
Shichiseishi; and so he opened his eyes and sat up each morning, breathed
in and out each minute, and ate his meals each day.
His family had told him he would get over it someday,
that what had been a joy would cease to be a chore and become automatic
once more. Part of him prayed for that day to come. Part of him prayed
it never would. If the pain of living without her lessened, he might forget
it had existed. He might forget her.
The square of paper had been folded into quarters. He opened it gently, brushing out the creases. Shouka had loved to write, and he had loved receiving her notes. She had hidden them in the oddest places: between the rows of jars he kept his medicinal herbs in, on the shelf under his clean shirts, in the lunches she made him. A wish for his health and happiness, expressed in cursive characters sketched in watery ink on impermanent scraps of cloth and paper.
She, too, had slipped notes beneath his door. He looked down at the piece of paper he held, and remembered other pieces, not as heavy or as good quality. He read the characters and remembered other words, written in less-literate characters and poorer ink.
And then he read them again, as he realized what he was reading.
It seems so forward of me to write
this letter. Yet I feel I must do this, as this is the only time I may.
I have long admired you;
perhaps you have felt my eyes upon you? You do not seem to know my feelings,
and I cannot say them aloud. I will not, for I know you do not share them.
They remain in my heart, and in my silence you do not have to turn away
from my gaze.
I am committed, as are
you. Neither of us is free to court the other, even if we wanted to. I
know that what I have is far too valuable to throw away.
Yet I must write this
letter, though I will never act upon it. I need to say what lies in my
heart.
I love you.
Mitsukake absently refolded the letter, his mind racing. Who could it possibly be? Miaka? No, she was blissfully happy with Tamahome. Lady Houki? He had barely met the girl when they had all returned to the Palace yesterday. What other women had he met?
He wandered out into the gardens, passing by the beautiful scenes the gardeners spent months planning and planting. Moving absently along the paths, the lovely spring flowers were lost upon him. Finally he came upon a bench beneath a willow, and he sat down.
Who could possibly write him a love letter?
The author was right when she said that he was committed. His duties as a Shichiseishi and as a healer dominated his time, and Shouka...
Shouka wouldn't want him to be unhappy, he knew, but the thought of calling some other woman his wife was still unthinkable. That place was still reserved for her.
He looked around himself, suddenly realizing where he was. This particular bench was close to the Imperial wing. It had been one of Nuriko's favourite spots.
Mitsukake realized that this bench was almost perfectly situated for watching the more public areas of the Imperial wing. Sitting here, one could see the Emperor in his private sitting room. He was having an animated discussion with his wife, or so it appeared; they were both walking around and gesturing at each other.
He smiled. It was good to see the normally-reserved Hotohori catch his Houki up and give her a long, passionate kiss. Although poor Nuriko would probably not have appreciated the sight, loving the Emperor as he had...
A sudden thought struck Mitsukake, casting him back into his thoughts.
What if the letter had been written by one of his fellow Shichiseishi?
Mitsukake shook his head. No, and no. He was mistaken. He had to be. Somebody had mistaken his door; yes, that was it. Tasuki was in the next suite to his, it had obviously been meant for him. One of the Court Princesses that had been married to a Court Lord had clearly taken a fancy to the handsome boy and sent the letter, knowing that she would never have a chance with him. There were no names on the note, after all.
He stood up and began to walk quickly back to his rooms. Tasuki was a bundle of curiousity. If he gave him the note, he'd try to search out the lady; and that could only stir up trouble. No, Mitsukake would burn it, and that would be an end to the matter.
When Mitsukake realized, halfway back to his rooms, that he'd dropped the note somewhere, he did think of going back and looking for it. He had just turned around when another walker spotted him.
"Oi! Mitsukake! How are ya, this mornin'?"
Tasuki strolled up, beaming happily at him.
"I'm fine," Mitsukake replied. "How did you sleep last night?" A sudden, wicked thought struck him. "Did you see any more ghosts?"
The redheaded Shishiseishi laughed. "Nah, but I don't mind tellin' ya, when I saw th' Empress, I was FREAKED! I swear, she looks just like Nuriko!" A sudden flash of pain flared in his eyes.
"Yes, I know," Mitsukake said gently. Tasuki had been the first to arrive on the mountain, and he had held an obscure relationship with the other Shichiseishi. For that matter, he had been there for Chiriko, too. "It startled everyone."
"She even has the same voice, ya know? She says hello, and all I could think was, he's ba~ack, you know, like in those scary stories ya Mum tells ya t' make ya do what y'r told when y'r a kid..."
In the ensuing conversation, Mitsukake forgot all about the anonymous love letter.
******
Houki was walking through the gardens that afternoon.
It hadn't been that big an argument, really; she'd just picked at something and he'd responded, she'd taken the opposite point just to be contrary, and it had all gone downhill from there.
I love him, but does he love me? He's an Emperor, and I'm just a country girl.
Houki conveniently forgot about the extensive training in Courtly Manners every member of the seraglio went through. She also ignored the memories of those very intense weeks when she and the Emperor had been working together to save his life. She was working herself into a nice little depression and she didn't need to be contradicted out of it, thank you very much.
And now the Priestess of Suzaku's back. He still loves her, I know he does. I resemble Lady Kourin, and everything happened just as she died. He doesn't love me, he loved them, I'm just second prize, and now...
She sat down heavily on her favourite bench, under a willow tree, and almost missed the crackle of paper as she did. Standing up, she retrieved the square of folded paper from the bench.
Hardly anybody comes here - this is my favourite sitting spot, everybody knows that. This must've been left here deliberately. I wonder what it says?
Unfolding the paper, Houki was prepared for anything. Another death threat from a disappointed member of the harem, an attempt at bribery, a request for patronage.
Anything, that is, except what the letter actually said.
"It seems so forward of me to write this letter..."
As she finished the letter, she sat down hard again. This time, she wasn't depressed at all.
********
Hotohori sat in the antechamber of his suite, sipping pensively at a glass of wine.
That afternoon, after Houki had come back from her walk, she had seemed... distracted. Her mood was much lighter than it had been for some time. She had been... distant, yes, that was the word. She had maintained a distance, and then she seemed to have come to some sort of decision over dinner.
Hotohori smiled as he remembered exactly what had happened after dinner. Houki might have been inexperienced, but she was very imaginative.
His marriage wasn't a folktale, by any means. It might have appeared that way - beautiful maiden rescuing and marrying the high lord - but Hotohori was finding that 'happily ever after' was requiring a lot more work than he had thought. Nights like tonight, though, made him very hopeful.
He knew what had really caused the argument earlier. He needed to find a way to reassure Houki that he did love her that she would believe.
His eyes moved over the moonlit furnishings, the scattered clothing on the floor, the note poking out of the pocket of Houki's discarded over-robe...
Another death-threat? I wonder how it's worded this time.
He bent over to pluck the piece of paper from the floor. Opening the note, he began to read.
"It seems so forward of me to write this letter..."
Hotohori read to the end of the note, his expression becoming more and more blank as he had to exert more and more control over himself. When he came to the end, he calmly refolded it, walked to the covered walkway that connected his living quarters to the rest of the Palace, and flung the piece of paper away as hard as he could throw it.
He stalked back to his bedroom, staring with hungry, possessive eyes at the sleeping form of Houki. His Houki.
She stirred as he watched her, blinking awake under his avid gaze. "My Lord?" she asked muzzily. "What's wrong?"
He strode over to her, bending down to claim her lips in a possessive kiss. "Mine," he declared, when their mouths broke apart. Pressing himself down onto her, he kissed her again, bruisingly hard. "You are mine."
Houki had no chance to answer, as her husband used hands and lips and body to stake his claim.
Hotohori had no intention of letting her answer. He had lost Miaka to Tamahome; he would not lose Houki too.
She was his.
******
Tamahome woke just as dawn began to tickle the east horizon. The soft light that sneaked over the edge of the world, just before the sun poked her head up, illuminated his room in soft pink and gold.
He stood up and walked over to his money jar. Counting it always soothed him. It was his security and his future. One day, maybe not that far away, this money would pay for a farm, with a little house and a stream nearby. It would pay for a quiet wedding, and he would bring his new wife to her new home. It wouldn't be terribly grand, but Miaka had chosen him. She knew his background and she loved him anyway. That was why he saved so fervently; he had to be wealthy enough to give her the lifestyle she deserved.
Resting on top of the jar, just beneath the window, sat a folded square of paper. Tamahome stared at it, stupefied for a moment, then quickly snatched up the jar.
A few minutes later, he was breathing a lot easier. Whoever had put the paper there hadn't touched his money. In fact, whoever had done it had done him a favour, pointing out just how easy it was to steal.
Thank you, friend, whoever you are. I owe you.
Now he turned his attention to the paper. It was actually a larger sheet of paper, folded into quarters. He unfolded it, realized it was a note, and began to read.
"It seems so forward of me to write this letter..."
He sat heavily on the bed, his mind whirling. How...? Why...?
He had a sudden flashback.
Miaka standing on the broken wall, the rain running down her face, mingling with her tears. "It does matter... it does... because I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU!!"
His rejection had hurt her terribly, enough to break her health entirely. Could he hurt another woman so again?
Reading over the letter again, he saw there were no names on it. It could be from anyone. Who did he know who could read and write this well?
A soft knocking came at the door. "Tamahome?" Miaka's voice came through the door. "May I come in?"
Oh no! I can't let her see this!
Tamahome began to scramble to his feet. He threw the letter out the window, accidentally knocking his money jar over. He scooped up the coins quickly, counting as he did so. They were almost all there...
Almost. One was missing.
Where had it got to? He had to find it! Every one was valuable; one might mean the difference in the purchase of their home!
He began to search for it, reaching under the clothes chest as Miaka entered.
Naturally enough, she asked him what he was doing. He told her.
"You stayed up all night to count money?" she asked, horrified. "You'll destroy your health!"
Tamahome smiled as he continued to search. I'm sorry, lady, whoever you are, but you're right. I'm committed, and I'm happy. I can only wish you the same.
******
Chichiri was heading to breakfast as a square of heavy, folded paper landed right in front of him.
What's this?
He picked it up.
"It seems so forward of me to write this letter..."
Oh my, was all that he could think.
******
Breakfast was somewhat strained.
Mitsukake carefully scrutinised each and every one of his fellow Shichiseishi. Tamahome was playing the gallant to Miaka, a fatuous smile on his face as he did so, obviously oblivious to the rest of the world. Scratch him from the list.
Hotohori looked tired, as if he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. He was also acting extremely possessive of Lady Houki, monopolising her conversation and attention. No, he wouldn't have written a love letter. The obvious recipient was obviously receiving far more personal attentions.
Tasuki was acting like his usual self - a bandit with a hangover. Or, in other words, Let's Ignore Him Until He Mainlines Five Pots Of Tea. Mitsukake mentally shook his head. Tasuki emitted testosterone the way Tama-neko shed fur - copiously and continuously. If he, Mitsukake, had been female or feminine, then possibly. But not as he was.
Chichiri - no. He had the memory of his Shouka, and Chichiri had the memory of his lady. Even if the monk had recovered from his loss, he would look to a lady first.
Hotohori, for his part, was looking at Tamahome suspiciously. Whoever had written Houki that note was committed to someone else. But Tamahome seemed perfectly happy with Miaka.
Miaka... he felt a pang. The girl had been his first love, and a part of his heart would always be reserved for her. But she was happy with Tamahome. He turned back to his own wife... who had just bestowed a dazzling smile on the serving boy. The boy blushed as Houki turned back to her plate.
He immediately set about snatching her attention back. The boy, and the rest of the Palace, would have to be shown that Houki was his wife, and not fair game.
Tamahome didn't notice any of the undercurrents. He was too busy adoring Miaka.
Tasuki also ignored the tensions around the table. He was too busy trying to convince his Reason and Common Sense that he would, indeed, live by a new moral code, as soon as they shut up and called off the mad little stonemasons.
Chichiri was in a daze. Who would send me a love letter?
******
After breakfast, all the Shichiseishi split up. Chichiri, reasonably enough, headed for the Temple of Suzaku.
He sat in seiza before the golden statue of the Phoenix God of the South.
Love, Chichiri had reasoned, was forever lost to him. He'd had his year of love, now he was enduring his lifetime alone. The letter opened up a horizon hitherto undreamt-of.
Somebody loved him. Somebody who wanted nothing from him; somebody who didn't even want his love in return. Chichiri felt a sudden sympathy for the unknown lady, brushing the truth she couldn't even put a name to onto the flimsy paper, waiting in hiding to fling it at his feet. He could have trod on it, stepping on her heart.
It always came back to that. Somebody loved him. Some girl, wed to some lord or bound in some servitude, watched him from afar. And he didn't even know her name.
Meditation, usually a good tool to find solutions, wasn't being helpful either. He had, literally, no idea what to do.
Finally he stood up and began to walk out of the temple. "Lord Suzaku," he breathed, as he stepped out, "please, send me a sign. Some advice. Tell me how to handle this!"
A sudden gust of wind snatched the letter out of his hands, blowing it straight up. Up, up, and out of sight.
Chichiri smiled sourly. "'Let it go', huh?"
A woodlark, perched in a nearby tree, chuckled at him.
******
Yui woke up and stretched. In a few days, she would be riding to witness the first skirmish of Koutou against Konan's heartland. She wanted to see it, to witness Miaka's ultimate downfall with her own eyes.
She wandered over to the window, looking out over the city. It was noisy already. She shuddered. For all that Tokyo was noisy, there was something alien about the noise of this city.
A square of parchment was resting on the sill.
Yui picked it up and unfolded it.
"It seems so forward of me to write this letter..."
A love letter?
It had to be from Suboshi, of course. The young Shichiseishi was devoted to her. She had comforted him after the loss of Amiboshi, and he had done his best to be there for her.
All Nakago's charm aside - and it was remarkably easy to set aside - it was Suboshi she would truly miss. Soi was quiet, loyal, and as self-effacing as a blackboard eraser. Nakago was using her to further his own agenda. Fair enough; she was using him to further hers.
But Suboshi had been on her side, completely and totally. He was hers; the only thing in this whole sorry book-world worth anything. She had lost everything here: her so-called best friend, her virginity, her self-respect, her heart and her purpose. All she had left in life was summoning Seiryuu, revenge and Suboshi.
And she couldn't let herself care about Suboshi. She could not. She was going to leave. She had lost everything else; she couldn't let herself lose him. She couldn't let herself have him in the first place.
Yui bent her head over the small note. It was obviously heartfelt. "I am committed elsewhere, as are you, yet I must say what lies within my heart," she whispered.
But nothing lay within her heart; nothing and too much. Too much pain and nothing she could put into words.
"Oh, Suboshi," she sighed. "I wish things were different. I wish you had been born into my world so we could have met there. I wish I could love you."
There was nothing else she could say.
Ten minutes later, as she left her room for breakfast, there was no hint of anything out of the ordinary.
But at the bottom of the small chest that held Her Holiness the Priestess of Seiryuu's personal belongings, that she had threatened the maids with sudden death should they touch it, there lay a square of folded parchment. If anyone unfolded it, they would have found several of the characters so carefully inscribed on it blurred, as though by tears.
******
"Did he get it?"
Blue smiled at Her sister. "I delivered it directly to his room. He got it yesterday morning."
The young Nyan-Nyan smiled with relief. "Thank You, Elder Sister."
"You know," Blue said, "You probably could have approached him Yourself, and You might have received a positive answer."
The younger demi-goddess shook Her head. "No, Elder Sister," She replied firmly. "It's better this way. He doesn't care for Me; but he knows now that he's cared about, and that will help him more."
Blue sighed softly. "If You're sure...." She said unhappily.
"I am. Please, Elder Sister," She added, "don't look so sad. I'm happy. I have said what's in My heart. And, even if Lord Mitsukake will never know who I am, I do, and that's enough."
Blue looked after Her younger sister's retreating
back. "I don't think I'll ever understand love," She murmured, before
returning to Her own chores.
Author's Notes:
Tea, especially black tea, has as much caffeine as standard coffee. Drinking tea is as sobering as drinking coffee (ie, not very, but it sharpens your reflexes and mind so you can give the appearance of sobriety).
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