Memento Mori - Challenge 10/Kenren
Title: Memento Mori
Author: helliongoddess
Summary: A tribute to a gallant warrior.
Warnings/ratings - Definite spoilers for most recent chapter of Gaiden, rated G, no warnings.
Disclaimer - Saiyuki is all Minekura-sensei’s, no claims implied or intended.
Submitted for saiyuki_time comm challenge #10 - Kenren. 700 words. The initial story was completed in under 45 minutes, but I do confess to having taken considerable time in editing and researching some of the details. Given the subject I wanted to make sure it was all as appropriately done as possible.
The red leather dress uniform is pressed, cleaned, neatly folded, and the brass buttons polished. All the ribbons and medals of honor are precisely in place, much more so than they ever were when it was actually worn by the uniform’s owner. The dragon insisted it be in the casket, since there was not a body to place in it, since the formalities of Tenkai insisted that there be a military service with full honors for all officers killed in the line of duty.
The flag-draped coffin lies in state in the front of the Hall of Supreme Harmony as the mourners silently file past. Kanzeon Bosatsu and the Jade Emperor are seated on the dais at the head of the Hall. The Emperor is weak and pale from the recent attempt on his life in the same pit of insanity and deep treachery that cost this fallen warrior his life. The royalty is wrapped in layers of dark somber finery, and mourners are heard to remark sotto voce that they can not recall ever seeing the Merciful Goddess looking quite so subdued.
The dragon’s own distinguished and fearsome kin from the army of the Western Seas serves as honor guard for the long ebony box, which is much the same color as the greatcoat its new resident wore so often in his life. Goujun stiffens as the brittle-faced hypocrite Li Touten files past the bier, and as his claws clench tight, pricking his palms, small ruby drops stain his pale skin. “Soon…,” he thinks, his gold and cherry amber-colored eyes dark and glowering under his pale arched brow.
The correct words of regret are said, all the formalities to honor a fallen comrade are observed, and finally one lone trumpet sends out a lamentation to resound from the vaulted ceilings of the Hall. The residents of the heavens slowly file out, returning once again to their luxurious quarters in the Palace or their grand celestial estates. Most will forget who they were mourning by dinner that evening unless his name happens to come up in a passing conversation. Some few will remember, and perhaps spend an uneasy hour or two over a snifter of excellent cognac pondering the meaning of this passing of an immortal. They had thought residence in Tenkai was an insurance against the rude inconvenience of death.
Back in the empty Hall of Supreme Harmony, his heart feeling like a chunk cut from the cavernous Hall’s cold marble floor as it lies hard and heavy in his chest, the dragon king Goujun stands tall and stiff-backed by the casket. One gloved hand rests lightly on the gleaming ebony surface, but his saurian eyes are fixed on the future. His memory is flawless and unforgiving, and his people are long-lived.
“This does not end here, General,” he murmurs, his deep voice rich with feeling now that none may hear. He touches the gleaming wood one last time before departing the Hall . “Soon,” he utters again, the simple word both a promise and a salute, before the clicking echo of his brisk silver-tipped bootsteps resounds against the high intricately-carved walls.
Meanwhile, in a meadow nearby the Jade Palace, on a gentle rolling hill, one blanketed at present with an embarrassment of buttercups, three friends sit under a sakura tree. This particular tree has a well-worn spot on one sturdy horizontal limb, one that they all know well. They have a pot of good sake, and some excellent teacakes, and there is nowhere else they would rather be at the moment than right there, with each other. They are all too aware that soon - too soon- they will have to move on, and say goodbye to meadow, and the tree, and the well-worn limb, and quite possibly each other. But not before they take a moment to enjoy some of the fine sake, and appreciate the gentle roll of the hill, and the vaulted blue sky, and the warm sun, and the sakura’s soft pink blooms. There is at least time for that. This is his lasting gift to the three friends: that there always is, that there simply has to be, time in life for that.
~owari~