InuYasha Fan Fiction ❯ A Purity Short: The Fairy Tale ❯ Birthday Wishes ( Chapter 12 )

~~Chapter Twelve~~

~Birthday Wishes~

 

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:Edinburgh, Scotland, UK:

:Saturday, March 4, 2062:

:2:30 p.m.:

 

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Morio caught Aislynn and swooped her off the ground, hefting her into the air as she giggled and screeched. Meara's soft laughter drifted to him from where she sat under a spiny-looking tree in the sparse grass of the Nightsboro gardens. It was an uncharacteristically warm spring day without a hint of snow or rain, and Meara had teased Morio earlier, saying that it wouldn't dare do either such thing, given that it was Aislynn's special day.

 

He'd tucked Aislynn into his bed, and Meara had crawled up there, too, stroking Aislynn's hair and softly humming a tune that was vaguely familiar to him.

 

“What's that song?” he'd asked.

 

Meara smiled. “All the Pretty Little Horses,” she replied softly without taking her gaze off the sleeping child. “My nanny used to sing it to me . . .”

 

Morio nodded and smiled, staring at Meara for a long heartbeat, struck by the complete sense of happiness in her expression as she watched her sister sleep.

 

By the time he'd finished his presentation, they'd both been sound asleep. Morio had stood there for the longest time, watching them. Meara had her arms wrapped around the girl, who was cuddled close against her sister, and both had the sweetest hints of smiles on their faces that Morio had been loath to stir them. In the end, he'd carefully crawled into bed, curling himself around Meara and laying a protective arm over both her and Aislynn where he'd fallen asleep almost instantly.

 

He had woken up this morning with a little girl standing beside the bed, staring at him with her stuffed dog—she'd decided that the dog's name was Rover, and that the pink animal was a boy—clutched to her chest and one of his ears locked firmly but gently in her free hand, staring at him with such intense concentration that he'd blinked a few times before he'd managed a smile.

 

“Morning, Aislynn,” he said.

 

“I'm three,” she announced solemnly, as though to explain her actions by stating her sudden change in age.

 

“So you are,” he agreed, his smile widening as Meara yawned and snuggled closer. “Happy birthday.”

 

“I got a new dress,” Aislynn said, crawling back onto the bed and over Morio to ferret her way between Meara and him. “Meawa . . . it's my birthda-a-ay,” she half-sang, “I get presents no-o-ow . . .”

 

Meara laughed and sat up, sparing a moment to ruffle her sister's downy hair. “You do . . . absolutely . . . Let's go get dressed, all right?”

 

Aislynn bobbed her head once in agreement before scrambling off the bed once more and lifting the long hem of her nightgown as she dashed out of the room.

 

“Is the sun up yet?” Morio asked, arching an eyebrow and slowly shaking his head.

 

Meara turned to look outside and giggled. “Yes . . . just barely . . .”

 

Morio groaned but sat up, too, grabbing Meara around the waist and giving her a sound kiss; her first of the new day . . .

 

“You're going to make her sick,” Meara intoned from her place under the still-barren tree.

 

“Nah, she loves it,” he assured her.

 

“More!” Aislynn demanded, bouncing up and down in Morio's arms.

 

He laughed, tossing her up into the air only to catch her moments later. “See?”

 

Meara shook her head but smiled. “I'm going to fetch her cake.”

 

“Cake!” Aislynn hollered, holding up her stuffed dog by his overstuffed paws. “Rover wants cake, too!”

 

Morio grinned as Meara headed inside. “Rover, huh? Why'd you name the dog `Rover'? He's pink . . . like a girl . . .”

 

Aislynn giggled and wrapped her arms around Morio's neck, letting her forehead rest against his shoulder. She was tiny—so tiny, and not for the first time, Morio had to wonder if telling Meara's father really was worth it, in the end. If what Meara feared came to pass . . . where would that leave the little girl?

 

`It's not up to you anymore,' his youkai voice chided. `Meara's made up her mind. You saw it yourself, didn't you? She's determined this time . . . It's now or never. If you don't let her tell him now, she'll end up mated to that damn bastard, and then where the hell will we be . . .?'

 

“Aislynn,” he said suddenly, nodding toward the dog clutched firmly in her arms.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“If you ever need Meara or me, you can always come to us, okay?”

 

She nodded though he didn't delude himself into trying to believe that she really understood what he was saying.

 

“The black thread looks funny, don't you think?” he asked, fingering the jagged stitches he'd used to close up the tear in the animal's seam.

 

“It's a stripe,” Aislynn said.

 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “A stripe . . . Don't forget it's there, okay?”

 

Aislynn nodded. “Okay . . .”

 

Morio sighed. Shifting his gaze around the quiet gardens, he couldn't help the slight shake of his head as he took in the grim visage of the old graying stone castle. Though the place had been completely modernized somewhere along the way, the absolute foreboding of the structure, itself, made him wonder just why anyone would want to live in such a place as this. High turrets accented the thick stone walls . . . tall parapets where the ancient wars between the clans were waged . . . Even the lead-glass windows that sparkled in the early afternoon sunshine were disturbingly empty. He'd noticed that the MacDonnough family didn't seem to hold much stock in ambient touches, such as curtains, aside from the simple sheet-like damask treatments draped over the top of the gleaming brass curtain rods. Everything about the castle bespoke a rigidity that made the place seem that much more unwelcoming. After the casual home where he'd spent his childhood, it was a stark and painful reminder of a childhood that was spent behind locked doors, alone . . . always alone . . .

 

He'd promised that Meara would never be alone again, hadn't he? That wasn't the trouble; not at all. The idea of leaving Aislynn to blunder her way through the same sort of existence bothered Morio more than he cared to think about or admit. This place, this castle—this fortress . . . it wasn't a place to raise children . . .

 

A flicker of white in one of the upper windows caught his eye, and he stopped, absently stooping down to set Aislynn on her feet. If he believed in ghosts, he might have sworn that was what he'd seen. Shaking his head to dispel the fanciful thought from his mind, he narrowed his gaze on the window. The flutter of white came again, and he frowned.

 

“Gathering wool, are you?”

 

Morio grunted and glanced at Meara as she passed with a tray that held the cake as well as delicate white bone china plates, tiny silver forks, along with tall, frothy glasses of lemonade and crisp white linen napkins.

 

“I thought I saw something . . . in that window . . .”

 

Meara glanced over and followed the direction of his gaze as she stepped up beside him and wrapped her arms around his. “Hmm . . . those are Mother's rooms.”

 

“Your mother.”

 

“Yes . . .”

 

Morio shook his head, unable to comprehend the odd quiet, the undertone of sadness, in Meara's voice. “Doesn't she ever come down here?”

 

Meara sighed. “No . . . Aislynn . . . she was born in there . . . for all I know, I was, too.”

 

She lived in the eastern turret of the castle? A strange sense of horrified fascination crept up Morio's spine. What kind of woman was she, to confine herself like that; never to come out to see the world; never to spend time with her children? Maybe his mother wasn't exactly conventional, but she'd always been there with a hug or to tousle his hair . . . What had Meara had? What would Aislynn have if Meara wasn't there for her?

 

It was that question that spurred Morio on; that burning question that made him move his feet; to stride toward the imposing edifice of the castle. Meara called after him, but he didn't stop. The sound of Aislynn's laughter drifted to him, and he grimaced. He wasn't certain what he thought he could accomplish, but he had to try, didn't he?

 

Striding down the meandering hallways, he veered down seemingly endless corridors in search of the eastern turret. The sparse staff that he passed paused only long enough to spare him curious glances, and though he could have asked any of them for directions, he didn't. Had any of them ever seen the elusive lady of the manor? He had to wonder, didn't he . . .?

 

Stopping abruptly outside a nondescript door, he stared at it for a long moment before hesitantly lifting his fist to knock. No one answered. He wasn't sure he had actually expected anyone to. All the same, he couldn't help but wonder just what the woman inside was really like . . .

 

Meara's mother.

 

He knocked again, a little harder this time. Determination set in, and he couldn't help the strange sense of urgency he felt. For reasons he didn't quite understand, one thing was clear. He had to meet this woman, this mystery.

 

A third knock availed him nothing, and he scowled for a moment before slowly reaching for the shining brass knob.

 

Turning he handle and pushing it open, he peered inside with a scowl. “Hello?” he called into the empty receiving chamber. Devoid of even the basest of comforts, the room seemed stark, cold. `Surely the rest of the suite can't be this bad,' he thought as his frown deepened. `How could anyone live like this . . .?'

 

He got no response and nearly turned to leave. A soft clatter, little more than a dull thump, sounded above him, and he strode inside, letting the door close behind him with a small click. Passing through the antechamber as he headed toward the stairway, his footfalls resounded like the report of a rifle in the stillness. The old stone steps were steep, winding around the turret onto another level much like the one below—cold and empty . . . a desolate place . . .

 

The third landing ended abruptly at another plain wooden door. Morio could hear someone shuffling about inside, and he knocked on that one, too.

 

“Come in,” the soft voice called out, muffled but discernible. The voice sounded much like Meara's, and Morio had to grit his teeth, unaccountably worried about the woman he'd find on the other side of the door.

 

`Don't be stupid, baka,' he told himself sternly. `It's Meara's mother . . . just her mother . . . don't read more into it than that . . .'

 

Still, it took a moment before he gathered his wits enough to reach for the handle. The brass lever gave under his hand with ease, and he blinked for a moment as the brightness of sunshine filtering through the myriad of windows in the circular room engulfed him. It wasn't a bedroom; more like a small living room—small by the castle's standards, anyway, and this room was quite comfortably appointed. Delicate yet comfortable looking chairs . . . a chaise lounge . . . a richly upholstered Victorian-style settee . . .

 

Beautiful paintings adored the walls. One of them looked like it might have been painted by his uncle, Cain Zelig . . . elegant statues of marble decorated occasional tables around the chamber, and in the midst of it all was a tiny slip of a woman; a dark haired beauty with the deepest, most soulful brown eyes . . .

 

“Who are you?” she asked, her eyes flitting over him but not actually seeing him.

 

“Hello,” he greeted, bowing low in deference to the woman; his would-be mother-in-law. “My name is Morio. Morio Izayoi.”

 

“Izayoi . . .?” she repeated, fine lines appearing between her eyebrows as she pondered the name he'd given.

 

“You are Meara's mother . . . Aislynn's mother . . .”

 

A vaguely confused expression crossed her features, and she shook her head just a little. “Meara . . .? My Meara . . . Today is her birthday, isn't it?”

 

Morio frowned. “No, my lady . . . today is Aislynn's birthday.”

 

A sudden laugh rippled out of her, and she waved a hand, fluttered her fingers in blatant dismissal. “Meara loves cake . . . Did you buy her the cream cake she loves so, Ian?”

 

Morio shook his head, unable to grasp the madness that surged around him, thick in the woman's youki. “Would you come out and see her? Wish her happy birthday?” he found himself asking, unsure where the words had come from.

 

“O-o-outside?” she stammered, her laughter dying as a look akin to fear surfaced on her countenance.

 

“Just for awhile,” he said softly, slowly reaching out to her, offering her his hand.

 

A thousand emotions rippled over her features; a million thoughts, none of them solid. She seemed to be completely unsure, and yet there was a certain gravity in her gaze when she finally looked at him. “You . . . you'll stay with me? You won't leave me?”

 

“I . . . I won't leave you outside,” Morio replied.

 

 

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Meara looked up when Morio finally reemerged from the mansion only to do a double-take when she saw the waif of a woman he led by the hand. Clinging to his arm with her free hand, her gaze darting hither and yon as though she expected someone or something to jump out at her, Alesia Bellerophon MacDonnough seemed to want to run away yet she didn't though she hung onto Morio as though her very life depended upon it.

 

“M-mother . . .?” Meara said quietly as she shook her head in silent question.

 

Morio smiled. “She thought she'd come out and wish Aislynn a happy birthday,” he replied.

 

“She is three this year,” Alesia said, her gaze finally coming to rest on Meara. “Where is my girl?”

 

Meara stared at her mother for a long second before slowly turning and clapping her hands. “Aislynn! Come here,” she called.

 

Aislynn stopped chasing the bird and skipped over, her gaze steady as she glanced from her sister to her mother and back again. “Mama . . .?”

 

“Happy birthday,” Alesia said in a vague sort of way.

 

“You came down to have cake?” Aislynn asked carefully.

 

“Cake,” Alesia echoed. “Yes, cake . . .”

 

Morio led the way to the table while Meara stood dumbly, unable to do more than watch as Morio helped Alesia into a chair.

 

“Girl,” Alesia called, her eyes settling on Meara. “I should like a blanket, if you please.”

 

Meara frowned but nodded, turning to head back inside to find a light blanket for her mother. `Girl . . .?' she wondered. `How did Morio talk her into coming outside . . .?'

 

She shook her head as she opened a small closet near the back door. Pulling down the softest wool blanket off the shelf, she gave a mental shrug, pausing to gaze out the glass door before heading back outside once more. Aislynn was handing Alesia a delicate white flower—one of the first of the uncommonly early spring, and she knew. Morio hadn't coaxed Alesia out of the house for her, had he? He'd done it in hopes that Alesia would spend more time with Aislynn . . .

 

He was a good man. She'd known that ever since the first moment she'd met Morio Izayoi. As frustrated as he might get with the given situation, he really did try, didn't he? He'd always tried to understand; to be supportive, and while she'd always felt as though she was giving him the short end of the stick, he'd tried not to make her feel worse for it, too.

 

The fleeting image of Aislynn, snuggled in Morio's lap, came back to her, and she smiled. She couldn't help it, could she? The girl had looked so comfortable, so reassured in the knowledge that Morio wouldn't let anything bad happen to her that she couldn't really help it, could she? Cuddled there like the angel she really was, Aislynn's eyelashes lay, long and thick on her rounded pink cheeks . . . Aislynn had felt the true warmth, the generosity of love that she should have felt all the time. It was Morio's gift, wasn't it? The man didn't know how to be selfish. She'd seen it; his innate ability to give and give of himself; his spirit that reached out to everyone, drawing them near and holding them as close as he would his own family without really trying at all . . .

 

Meara sighed, pulling open the door and stepping back outside once more. Aislynn's laughter drifted to her. The girl was holding Morio's hand on one side and Alesia's hand on the other, dancing with the two of them in a small circle, and as she drew nearer, she heard the familiar sound of the child's nursery rhyme that Aislynn and Morio chanted: Aislynn's voice as clear as a bell; Morio's pitifully off-key though she had to give him points for trying.

 

`Ring around a rosy,

A pocket full of posies,

Ashes, ashes,

We all fall down.'

 

With that, Aislynn let go, flopping down in the sparse grass as a shriek of laughter swelled in her and burst. Morio leaned down to help her to her feet once more, and the dance resumed.

 

Catching sight of Meara, Morio grinned and stopped, letting go of Aislynn's hand and reaching out to her. Meara set the blanket aside and ran over, slipping into the circle, taking Morio and Aislynn's hands as she blinked quickly, willing away the unsettling moisture that blurred her vision. They sang the song once more, Aislynn's laughter filling the air as she and Meara dropped to the ground. Morio laughed softly as she got to her feet, pausing just for a moment to brush off Aislynn's neat white dress.

 

A foreign sound filled Meara's ears, and she stopped still, listening. Alesia was watching Aislynn—really watching her—looking at the child as though she were really seeing her—and she was smiling. The smile trembled like a new leaf in an early spring wind, but it stayed as the softest chimes of laughter ebbed from her, warming Meara through and through, and she realized with a startled glance that she'd never, ever heard her mother laugh before . . .

 

“I can show you my rocks!” Aislynn announced proudly, letting go of Meara's hand and grasping Alesia's arm with a gentle but insistent tug.

 

Alesia looked somewhat alarmed for a moment, glancing at Morio as though she were afraid to let him go. He smiled and nodded. “I'll be right here,” he said.

 

She nodded, too, finally letting go of Morio's hand and following Aislynn across the garden to the small stone bench where Meara knew Aislynn hid a little box with her favorite rocks—pretty ones she'd discovered on her own solitary adventures around the estate.

 

“How did you get her to come outside?” Meara asked softly, smiling as Aislynn spoke in rather animated fashion to the mother she'd only just met.

 

Morio shrugged, waving when Alesia glanced back at him. The gesture seemed to lend her strength, and she smiled a little uncertainly. “I just asked her to . . . asked her if she'd come down and wish Aislynn a happy birthday.”

 

“I cannae believe it,” Meara whispered, shaking her head in wonder. “Is there anything you can't do, Morio Izayoi?”

 

He shrugged again as a rather embarrassed expression surfaced on his face. “There're lots of things I can't do, Meara,” he reminded her.

 

She shook her head. “I don't think so,” she said softly. “You . . . you amaze me.”

 

“It's nothing . . . I was just hoping that maybe your mother would spend some time with Aislynn . . . maybe see that it'd be okay to spend more time with her later on, too . . .”

 

Meara digested that in silence. She'd love for that to come to pass, wouldn't she? Then maybe she wouldn't feel so guilty at the prospect of leaving her dear sister alone in this place when the time came . . .

 

“It'll be all right, won't it?”

 

Morio's smile faltered, and Meara sighed. “I hope so,” he said, unable to muster the bravado to lie, she supposed.

 

“Are you sorry you met me yet?” she asked, only half teasing.

 

“Never,” he growled, a vehemence in his voice that took Meara by surprise. “Don't ever say damn stupid stuff like that, Meara. I'll never be sorry I met you.”

 

Still, she sighed and grimaced, unable to put a good face on it, even though that was what he wanted. “I would be if I were you.”

 

“Good thing you're not me, then,” he remarked rather stiffly though he tried to smile.

 

“Morio . . .”

 

He sighed, shaking his head and quickly rubbing his temple in an infinitely weary sort of way. “Meara . . . your mother . . . she's not . . . Do you think she . . .?”

 

“She's mad, isn't she?” Meara asked hesitantly.

 

Morio grimaced, slipping an arm around Meara's waist. He'd said once that Japanese weren't usually given to public displays of affection, but that he could make a few exceptions for her. She'd smiled at the time and tweaked his ear. “She thought . . . she thought I was your father even though I told her my name.”

 

Meara nodded, leaning against Morio's arm as the full implications of his words sank in. “I don't think she's ever been completely sane . . . not since I've known her, anyway . . .”

 

“She seems to be having a good enough time,” Morio added in a tone that Meara understood was an attempt at making her feel better.

 

“I can't believe you talked her out of her chambers,” Meara mused once more as Aislynn crawled onto the bench beside Alesia with the little box of her treasured rocks in her arms. Smiling bashfully at her mother, the child methodically removed the intricately carved lid to reveal the stones she'd so painstakingly collected. Alesia smiled just a little. It was enough of a reward for Aislynn.

 

“She acted like she hadn't realized she was allowed to leave the tower,” Morio said with a shake of his head.

 

“I don't remember having ever seen her come out of there,” she confessed. “Maybe she forgot how.”

 

“Well, she knows the way down to the garden now,” Morio mused. “If she'll just do it . . .”

 

“She thought I was one of the staff,” Meara said quietly, unable to brush aside the faint trace of upset that accompanied the realization.

 

Morio winced. “She keeps calling your sister `Meara' . . . I don't think she's realized that you've grown up and that Aislynn exists at all . . .”

 

Meara digested that for a moment, heaving a sigh as she tried to ignore the feeling of hopelessness that welled inside her. “She'll . . . be all right, won't she . . .? Aislynn, I mean?”

 

Morio didn't answer right away as he took in the moment between mother and daughter, and something in his gaze made her sad . . . “Aislynn will be all right, too,” he said.

 

Meara sighed. His voice had sounded hollow, as though he didn't really believe the words he was saying. She could only wonder if he had any idea that she'd heard it . . . or that she felt the same way, too . . .

 

 

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A/N:

 

Just a note … with the start of the school year here (yes, it starts early …), things are quite hectic here, so bear with me in light of the sporadic updates for the next two weeks while we get back into the swing of things around here. Thanks for reading!

 

All the Pretty Little Horses… Copyright 2006 All Media Guide, LLC. All rights reserved … Classified as an American folk song, but for some reason, I've always thought it sounded more European than American…To hear a midi of this lullaby, here is a link … http://www.alansim.com/amerhtml/ame094.html

 

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Final Thought fromMeara:

Mother …?

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Blanket disclaimer for this fanfic (will apply to this and all other chapters in Fairy Tale): I do not claim any rights to InuYasha or the characters associated with the anime/manga. Those rights belong to Rumiko Takahashi, et al. I do offer my thanks to her for creating such vivid characters for me to terrorize.

 

~Sue~