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 even 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, even 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, especially after the death of Tatara who was in the same situation Tamahome had been dreading. 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. One out of two were respectable odds.
  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