Um, hello. I'm new here. Please have mercy on me and my soul. (His name
is Suboshi and he's hanging on my wall right now.)
This is a Fushigi Yuugi fanfic I've written... I was interested in
somebody please telling me what they think of it. As far as C&C is
concerned, really I'm not looking so much for grammar as for
ideas/wording/charactization judgments. (I know that my grammar is awful
without being told. ^_-) I hope there are some other Fushigi Yuugi fans
on this list that'll read this fic.
Um, also, this has spoilers for the FY TV series up to the end, and
takes place after Miaka has returned to her world. It's going on the
idea that instead of popping up magically and without explanation (as
Tamahome did in the anime -_-;;;) Tamahome is trapped in his world and
Miaka is trapped in her world.

I hope you enjoy! C&C is longed for desperately, but... please be
merciful on me! ^_-




Parsley, Sage, Rosemary & Thyme



 He walked silently through the small garden of the palace, absently
noticing that some of the flowers were blooming early this year. Since
the summoning of Suzaku, it seemed that new life had come to Konan-kokou
above and beyond the Miko's wishes...
Suzaku was empowered by the summoning as much as Suzaku no Miko was.
Suzaku no Miko. Miaka. He choked, and suddenly the pale moonlight was
reflected from tears that still came so easily.
 It had been 2 years. Two years in a world where he felt constantly
attacked, constantly on the defense,  though no one had attacked him
even once in the entire time since they had left Miaka in her world.
Even Tasuki knew better than to try sparring with him or joking with
him. Emptiness inside. There was nothing inside of him left to laugh at
a joke, he felt. His heart was gone, had been torn away from him by some
trick of destiny, and now his heart was secreted away in a world so
distant that he would not know how to even begin to try to find it.
 Perhaps it was a world from long ago, before even the Four Countries
and the Four Gods had become ancient history. How far would it have to
be, for her to have been so unaware of the Four Gods before she came
here?
 Maybe it was not a matter of another time, but another place. Perhaps
she was from one of the stars, a small star that wasn't part of any of
the major constellations, but just a small and unassuming star that
looked down from the heavens. Would she think to look down every now and
then, and look for the boy she had left?
 He tried to summon up the strength Tatara had had when left by his
love, to just hope for her happiness in her own world and to hope she
fell in love again and lived a very, very happy life. As much as he
tried, though, he couldn't find that same serenity. He wanted her to be
happy... but, selfish idiot that he was, he wanted her to be happy with
him! And him happy with her. What else did he have, but her? His family
was gone. His friends mostly lay dead and cold, some in distant lands
and some brought home. Each death had hurt him so deeply, after his
family's death. He didn't even want to think about the night after his
family died. The next day he had done his best to seem happy and
cheerful. But the night before, the pain felt like too much to bear. Did
Miaka even realize how close he had come to simply joining his family?
Did she realize that she, and she alone, was the reason he still lived?
He couldn't die because she needed him.
 But each death had cut so deeply into him, after that. He didn't say
it. He didn't even know if he could find it in him to say words to
describe how it felt. Nuriko's death was the worst, because it was in
his own arms. Like Yuiren. Nuriko had become like his older brother...
and Nuriko died, just like his real family. Nuriko was alive and happy
and laughing, and then... he wasn't. Miaka's reaction didn't help. He
knew he'd overreacted, that she needed him to snap her out of it but his
treatment of her was far too rough. He was so angry that Nuriko had been
taken away too.
 He'd never been so close to Chiriko. None of them had, even though
Chiriko seemed to have developed deep attachments to Tasuki and
Mitsukake. Chiriko had been a child, and so none of them really had
anything in common with him, despite his seemingly mature ways. But
Chiriko's death hit something in Tamahome very deeply. Chiriko was a
child, who gave up his life as an expensive gift. Unfair! And when
Chiriko had told them to leave, Tamahome had had to. He didn't leave
just to protect Miaka... he left because he couldn't watch another
friend die, especially not as slowly as Tamahome knew Chiriko's death
would be. He felt like a coward, but that was how it was. He couldn't
take it happening again.
 Mitsukake's death was like a distant touch, as was Hotohori's until he
arrived back in his own world once more. They seemed unreal, as though
they couldn't be dead yet. As though he expected time in his own world
to stop as soon as he entered the Miko's world. Mitsukake's death didn't
really affect anyone, except for Chichiri, it seemed. But it made
Tamahome think. Mitsukake made a gift of his life, as had Chiriko.
Chiriko had done it to save his friends, but Mitsukake had saved the
lives of strangers. Why? The answer was simple, Mitsukake had nothing
better to give his life for. His loved one was gone, and he had no
family that Tamahome knew of. After the war, what would he do? Stay in
the palace as Tamahome did now, and live off of favor earned as a Suzaku
shichiseishi? Perhaps Mitsukake had been the wise one. Perhaps, when
Nakago had left Tamahome for dead, Tamahome should have stayed that way.

 Hotohori's death was strange. He felt sorrow, but like with Mitsukake's
death, it wasn't pain, exactly. Hotohori had been a rival, but a
respected rival. Chichiri had told Tamahome some of what had happened
while he was gone, knowing that Tamahome would want to hear. Tamahome
had extrapolated the rest. So Hotohori had died for Miaka's happiness...
along with Tamahome's. Well, one out of two was respectable enough.
  Tamahome made a choked noise that sounded like a strange mutation of a
laugh, as he brought his arm up to wipe his face off with his sleeve.
The smell made him wince slightly. He hadn't bathed in over a month, he
realized suddenly and without worry. That explained why none of the
servants were frequenting his room with worried fussing and offerings of
food. He ate little, and slept little, mostly laying awake in bed all
day waiting for night, and at night he wandered the empty halls of the
palace in thought. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He remembered
hearing that the Empress was sick. Sometimes the servants seemed to
almost forget that he was still alive as they entered his room to clean
up, and would gossip and chit-chat right in front of him. The Empress
had been sick for a while. Tamahome frowned at the thought... Hotohori
would be very worried. Even if Hotohori had married her as a Miaka
replacement, which Tamahome had secretly thought from the moment he
first met her and learned her identity, Hotohori would be very
displeased to learn that she was sick or injured. Tamahome smiled to
himself and decided to glance in on the Empress's quarters. Most of the
guards were slow anyway, and easy to dodge, so he could sneak in
unannounced. She'd be asleep by now, and without having to talk to her
or listen to her offer condolences or advice or say how happy she was to
see him out of bed, he could see just how she looked.
 Her bedchambers seemed large and empty when he arrived there. Surely
she wasn't dead... he would have heard about that, wouldn't he? But
then, a soft whimpering noise told him that not only was the room not
empty, but the fellow occupant was either dreaming vividly or awake.
 He walked quietly to her bedside. She was indeed awake, laying on her
stomach, muffling sobs with her pillow. Two years later and she still
cried like this? He looked at himself, and was ashamed for even thinking
her feelings strange; some pains never faded. She didn't seem to notice
his presence, and for some odd reason he felt dirty just watching her
cry like this without her being aware. He coughed, and she suddenly
jerked around, staring up at him. She was a sight, her eyes puffy and
red, her face too thin and pale, her hair messed. She winced, and he was
reminded briefly of what kind of shape he must seem to be in as well. He
sat down on the bed beside her, and she didn't seem horrified, just
wary. He stared at her for a minute, then opened his arms to her. She
stared back, before sitting up and leaning against him, allowing him to
wrap his arms around her. Silently, they sat there for what could have
been minutes or hours. They were in accord.. their pain was the same,
and it was a pain so sharp only they knew what it truly felt like, it
seemed.
 Finally, he looked down at her quietly. She wasn't particularly
pretty... on closer inspection she looked absolutely nothing like
Nuriko. Even the hair was wrong. He sniffed it... it smelt of scalp and
nothing more romantic than that. Her mouth was just slightly open, her
lips parted but not exaggeratedly. It looked as though she just didn't
feel the energy to bother closing her lips or opening them further to
talk. He bent down and kissed her lips, very lightly. She looked back at
him, and he could see the same blank sadness in his own eyes reflected
back through hers.
 "Could I marry you?" he asked suddenly, but without fanfare or
excitement. She thought for a minute, before answering.           "You
could." she said.
 "May I?"
 "If that's what you want."
 "Then I will." And Tamahome kissed her dry lips again. She closed her
eyes and leaned up against his chest. The empty feeling inside of him
lifted for a moment, ever so slightly. Tamahome wondered if this was
what Hotohori would have wanted.
  The moonlight began to fade as the sun rose over Konan.

The End



Well, it's not the best, but I tried... ^_^;; I'm just a beginner at all
of this, so don't flame me too bad. Private comments
can go to mearl.dox@person.net!


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Mearl Dox wrote this. She's to blame!
http://come.to/suboshi   http://fly.to/mitsukake
"We thank you for liberating us, *and* for not killing thousands of
innocent bystanders this time." --Coluan
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