Disclaimer: The characters found within this fanfiction belong to the very talented Manga-ka, Nakamura Shungiku and her manga Junjou Romantica.

THE VOICE

Alone he sat in the darkness of his own room, a room devoid of light, save for the flicker of the firelight, the only source of warmth throughout the mansion. There was nothing and no one who could console him from his decades long grief, not even his servants dare try any longer to bring him out of his lonely and constant melancholy.

Twenty long years had passed and still he hardly spoke to anyone other than over matters of the estate and even then his words were monotone and usually required on a yea or a nay. Ever since the day he had lost his lady love, his beautiful fiancee in a horrific carriage accident, the master of Nightsong Estate, had not been the same.

For hours at a time, he would sit in the darkness of his den, in the same old chair in front of the fire, day after day, night after night. He only got up to use the chamberpot and to eat, though often he took his meals in front of the fire, so as to avoid any and all human contact.

Though if he had to meet with anyone, out of duty, out of necessity for the king and for the country, he would rise from his comfort zone and step out into the light, only for as long as the meeting took, before returning, inevitably back to the dark den.

The servants that brought him his food and took the chamberpot to clean did not try to touch nor to speak to him for fear of his wrath.

They'd learned years ago, not to upset the man, although he need use no words, his eyes were so cold, so seemingly devoid of emotion that many had come to fear him. There were even rumors that he were no longer human.

Those rumors had been rolling around the countryside for years, putting people off trying to enter the employ of the Earl of Nightsong, fearing for their very lives. There had even been some whom had left the mans employ, thinking him to have become a madman capable of all manner of evil, insane acts.

Still, however, there were those whom remained ever loyal to the Earl, whether it was he whom had given them their jobs or his parents before him. Their trust in him never wavered, they simply did not wish to upset him in any way, though they prayed every night for his absolution from the anguish he had had to endure throughout the decade.

Even then, even now, he was alone. Everything and everyone died, eventually, there was no way to prevent it. Yet, it had been so very unfair, his beloved bride-to-be had died too young, older than himself yes, which had caused a stir among what people thought of as proper society. No, her death had been an accident, the carriage falling apart and she plummeting to her death as the coach, without the horses to turn it, had fallen over a deep ravine.

Now, his deep dark violet eyes, sometimes mistaken for midnight blue depending on his mood, gazed into the flickering flames of the fire before him. The servants had all gone to their own quarters to rest for the night, very few, if any remained awake during the night, too frightened by the darkness, the cold that permeated within the walls of Nightsong Manor. The only sound was the howl of the wind and the crackling of the fire as the embers flared up and then fell.

At least, that should have been the only sound. But it was not, there was another sound floating on the breeze, through the draft of the shuttered window. Someone, outside, was singing.

The dark haired man stood up, enchanted by the hauntingly beautiful song, wondering if it were a siren, or perhaps the song of an angel of death, come to finally reunite him with his long deceased bride. Mayhaps now, was finally the time he'd be able to escape from the half-life he had been living, which he hadn't even actually been truly living at all.

Whomever, whatever the voice belonged to, he was determined to find them and so, swinging his coat on, which the maids or butlers kept from gathering dust, he left his den. He left not just his den, but the Manor itself, of his own accord, without having to be prompted by someone higher in the hierarchy than he himself, Miyagi You.

He followed the voice, into the wood outside the back of his mansion, though it was dark out, there had been a number of nights where the servants had been unaware, when he'd take a stroll through a hardly used path. The path he had last shared with his beloved long since deceased.

As he approached the spring of water that he and his long lost lover had shared, his eyes had grown accustomed to what little light there was available from the heavens to light the way.

With his night accustomed vision, his brows furrowed, unsmiling as he saw two shadow figures ahead. One looked like that of a horse, perhaps his missing prized black stallion, but the other looked to be human. He wondered if it were a thief, but perhaps the origin of the voice he'd heard.

Quietly, he walked up behind the slender figure, hearing the now whispered song cease as the youth fell to the ground to partake of the water. With his own hand, he reached out to touch the strangers shoulder and demand answers from him.

That morning, the young lad had set out on a glorious new adventure, his fathers ship, which had been lent to him, having finally been anchored on the shores of England. There was so much to see, to explore and he was so very far from home, sailing on the cargo ship that had dealings with one specific port off the northern shores of England. They were there to negotiate a deal regarding trade.

The young fair haired lad however, had gone off, away from his guardians whom his father had paid five times the usual wage to keep watch over him and if he returned with him, unharmed they'd get double what he was already paying them. Yet the boy of seventeen had escaped their eye.

The very reason, their young lord, Takatsuki Shinobu, had gotten into quite a bit of trouble. He'd brought it upon himself, walking the roads alone, without backup or protection of any kind in all his regal splendor, marking him for what he was, a little rich boy. A lone little rich boy, ripe for the pickings.

That was what the leader of a group of bandits had thought, when first they had seen the pretty boy just lazily walking down the road.

The order had been given, by a masked man, "Aye ye lot, donnya see thar, a wee li'l babe righ' outta tha cradle 'e is. An we all 'as mouths ta feed at home don' we?" A pause while waiting for the affirmation, "Well then, why don' we 'ave ou'selves a li'l fun 'an see ifn 'es got any gold on 'im, ev'n if 'e don', 'is clothes look migh'y fancy don' they?"

And then, out of no where, the young man had been surrounded, weaponless, save for his mouth.

"What do you think you're doing?" He glared at the men, not wishing to appear weak, nor as frightened as he inwardly felt. He believed it best not to show fear in the face of the enemy and right now these men were his enemy, for their will he was certain was ill.

"We be gettin' ou'selves some gold ifn ye 'ave any and e'en ifn ye don', yo' clothes will fetch in a pretty lil bit o' somethin' so that we can feed ou' families."

Yet before the youth could offer them something better, like a job, they were upon him, tearing his clothes from his body, revealing how small and truly frail he was. They didn't seem to care about his welfare, some of them even snickering at how unmanly he looked, a proper little rich boy.

Although not all little rich boys had been born with such a frail looking physique, it had to do with genetics, not what he was born into or raised to be. The only thing they left behind was a horse they'd stolen earlier from some nearby mans estate. For no one had been able to ride the horse, everyone had been thrown off, as though the horse knew that none of them were its master. That or the horse were still wild and untamed, longing to be free.

Gray eyes gazed into dark brown, standing up, shivering. "I don't know your name horse, but its rather nippy out and the day grows long and night is just a short time away." He carefully approached the black horse, which stood seventeen hands tall.

The horse bobbed his head, allowing the recently robbed youth to stroke his mane and along the side of his neck. When the dark beast, as the bandits had called him, began to move, the young lord from a distant country followed.

Daylight had all but completely disappeared as evening came and went, the stars beginning to form in the night sky, and still the horse and the boy walked on, endlessly, never stopping.

They entered a long forgotten path, leading into the wood, but beyond that, something, the young man was sure, was there, for he had seen the smoke in the sky. Whatever it was, there was a fire, be it a lone person in the wilderness, a camp or even a home, he was going to it, as it seemed was also his new furry friends destination as well.

Yet the darkness at it descended, the limbs and foliage of the trees hiding most, if not all the light given off by the moon and the stars, making the forest much darker than the open land.

Shivering, the fair haired lad sighed and began to sing, though his mouth was parched from thirst, it had been hours since he'd last had a drink, hours even since he'd had his last meal. If only he hadn't wandered off, perhaps he'd be back in the comforts of his fathers cargo ship. Although, that life was so boring, being taken care of and not being allowed to explore, whether he was on his own or not. Where was the adventure in that, he wondered.

He sang an ancient song, the meaning of the words long since forgotten, yet the sound of them left them in no doubt that it was a tragic love ballad of some ancient civilization of people. People long since lost to the world, but living on through bits and pieces of their culture, including the haunting song that the young man sang in the night.

Gray eyes blinked as the magnificent black horse came to a halt and he looked down to see a stream of water. Falling to his knees he thanked the animal before taking a scoop of water in his hands and sipping it. It was delicious, natural spring water.

He just about jumped out of his own skin, when from out of nowhere a hand gripped his shoulders, "Who are you?" the voice demanded.