Chapter Two is now posted, Chapter Three complete.

Chapter Two: Dragon's Fall

Clair became painfully aware that the undivided attention of everyone in the room was fixed entirely on her.

No. No, no, no, no! The word echoed in her head, over and over again, like the tolling of a funeral bell. Not Lance, not him! He would never do that! Never! Not Lance! Clair found herself incapable of escaping from the vicious cycle of her own thoughts. She pressed her hands to the sides of her head, hard, and bit her lip, but Pryce's revelations invaded her mind and strangled her protests like creeping vines.

- can't take it any more –

- Distressed, Clair stood up sharply and swept from the room, knocking her chair over in the process. She strode through her old Gym with great speed, blindly pushing open doors and stumbling down staircases. Hot tears pricked at her eyes, burning as they begged to fall -

- all of a sudden, why –

- She had to keep it together, appear composed. This wasn't like her – not in the slightest. Weakness, emotional insecurity was an unforgivable flaw in a leader. Tears were for behind closed doors, yet she'd just made a fool out of herself in front of her entire Cabinet, throwing a tantrum like some child –

- I shouldn't be overreacting like this, I don't even know if it's true, oh please, please let it not be true –

- Clair wished she knew where she was going, what she was doing, anything, anybody, something, someone –

- even if it is true, I shouldn't get so messed up so fast. He's my cousin, and I worry about him, but even so . . . why am I so upset about this? It's not –

- She didn't even know where she was anymore. The Gym's corridors were all starting to look the same, beginning to blend into a whirl of fluorescent lights and whitewashed walls. Bright colours turned to grey, and suddenly it was not walls rushing at her face but the floor –

- what's happening where am I what's going on –

- There were voices, footsteps, shouts and whispers, tears running down someone's face, her face, flowing unchecked –

- why is everybody making such a fuss –

- The light was gone, gone, nobody was speaking anymore, and Clair let herself relax . . .

***

"Hey, little cuz," Lance said, reaching out to take her hand. His normally solemn face was lit up by his smile, a cheeky grin that she hadn't seen for years. Clair's breath caught in her throat as she leapt forward to embrace him.

"I'm older than you, you know," she admonished him, tapping him on the nose. Then, suddenly, she remembered. She sat back on the crisp white bed she found herself in and regarded him critically.

He was still the Lance she used to know, that was for sure. His shocking red hair was just as messy and spiky as always, and he was wearing his black and gold Champion's costume, complete with cape.

"I know that," he said, chuckling easily. Had Lance ever been this relaxed?

"Th-they were saying horrible things about you!" she blurted out all of a sudden. "You wouldn't do anything like causing the Split, would you?"

Lance seemed to be taken aback. For a split second, a twist of what looked like anger contorted his face, but the next split second, the impression had passed, and Clair wasn't sure if she had even seen it. "Of course I wouldn't! How could I ever do a thing like that?"

Clair felt as if her heart had been freed of a huge weight. Of course Lance wouldn't be that way. He wasn't like that. He chuckled and ruffled her hair fondly.

"It's always like I'm the bigger cousin, isn't it? You act so tough for everyone to see, but you're not really that strong at all, are you? You don't need to push yourself so hard, Clair. All you're doing is wearing yourself out for the sake of your reputation. Just relax every now and again."

Clair smiled. She felt like she was floating. "Only when you're around, Lance." It was the truth. Lance was like a healing balm; he had an immediate soothing effect on her. "I'm glad you're innocent . . ." she murmured as she felt herself drifting away again. "I'll tell Pryce when I get back . . ."

Lance's face, beginning to blur against the wall behind him, grew suddenly grave. "Clair . . ." he said. "Clair . . ."

"Clair . . ."

***

"-air! Clair!"

"Lance?" Clair mumbled sleepily, forcing her eyes open. A familiar face floated over her, indistinct and distant. "Izzat you?"

"Wake up, Clair." She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. It wasn't Lance after all. Just Pryce, leaning anxiously over her. The room that she could see behind him was ascetic and white, nearly empty save for a few small machines on a desk in the corner and a lonely-looking calendar on the wall opposite. The ceiling was empty save for a slowly rotating fan.

"Where the bloody hell am I?" she demanded, forcing herself upright, pushing aside the voluminous white sheets that she found blocking her way.

"The medical bay," said Pryce, gesturing around the room. "I had them bring you here after you passed out."

"The medical bay?" Clair snorted. "I don't need any stupid medical bay!" Rapidly, she swung her legs off the bed and stood up. "See?"

Pryce shook his head. "Ah, well. That's the Clair I know. You've been awake all of fifteen seconds and you're on your feet again. There'll be no chance of getting you back in that bed, I suppose?"

"Like hell there will. Where did those jokers put my boots?" she wondered irritably, noticing that she was barefoot, though the rest of her clothes – the Gym Leader outfit she'd taken to wearing again lately – were mercifully still present, sans the cape, which she'd left in her room. Pryce sighed and pointed. Clair followed his outstretched hand and located the calf-height blue boots with their black rings, sitting neatly at the foot of her bed. She grinned and tugged them on while Pryce observed her silently.

I know what you're thinking, Pryce. I never could read you, but in this situation, anyone could guess. It's not hard. You're wondering what happened to me. Wondering what happened to the Clair that ran around the Gym like a madwoman before passing out in tears. Wondering why I'm not reacting now.

"I'm not going to do that again," she promised aloud.

"Do what?" Pryce asked calmly.

"C-cry like that." It made her flush a little and stumble over her words to even say it out loud. "I don't know what came over me this morning, but I'm alright now. I've given up on being the sick, ineffectual President I was turning into. I'm going to be the Gym Leader I once was. I tried to do that this morning, but I couldn't hold it. This time, I will. I'm ashamed of how I acted, and I apologise."

Pryce nodded. "I'm glad to hear that. Now you're starting to sound like the Clair I used to know. Does this mean you're going to try and work out what Lance is up to and put a stop to it?" There was no reply for a moment. Clair sat on the edge of the bed, her blue hair highlighted by the harsh, fluorescent lights set into the ceiling, her head bowed. "Clair?" Pryce ventured, a little uncertainly.

". . . wouldn't . . ." she said quietly, still looking down. Pryce's eyes narrowed curiously.

"I'm sorry?"

"Lance is not behind this," Clair said, a little louder. "He's incapable of doing something so horrible. Why would Lance want to start a civil war in Johto? It doesn't even make any sense. And besides . . ."

"Besides what?" asked Pryce. He seemed to be getting a little frustrated, she thought, even though she knew he would refuse to show it.

"Besides . . ." He told me so, she said to herself. "Never mind," she said, aloud. "All I'm saying is that I believe in my cousin. Is that so wrong?"

"It's not wrong to believe in him, no, but this is taking things a little too far. I saw with my own eyes what he did, and I know there was something horribly wrong with him."

"You can't prove that," she challenged.

"Perhaps I should have just let you go along to this special meeting of his and let yourself be manipulated, then," he sighed. "Listen, Clair. Blackthorn needs – no, Johto needs you to fix things. Nobody else can do this. The other Gym Leaders were the only ones with the strength to stand up to Lance, and they're all under his power. I'd do it myself, but I'm getting too old to do this sort of thing by myself. It has to be you, Clair!"

"I'm going to do everything I can," Clair said firmly, "to prove that Lance is innocent! I know you have no reason to lie to me, Pryce, but I really don't want to believe you this time."

Pryce sighed again. "So be it. I can see that you will not be swayed like this. Either way, however, our first priority from now on should be locating Lance."

"I'll agree with you on that one." Clair nodded in acquiescence and strode from the room.

It's not true, she thought once again. It can't be true. But unlike before, there was no panic. Earlier, she had reacted rashly and gone way over the top, and she knew it. Now there was no frantic denial, only a calm, rational resolution.

I'll clear your name, Lance.

***

Clearing Lance's name, however, turned out to be harder than it sounded.

Clair stood before her Cabinet, chin up and back straight. "I must apologise for my earlier behaviour," she said. "Now, though, in the light of the new . . . information provided this morning, we have an important issue to cover. Before we get into any details, let me ask this right off the bat: does anyone have any clue whatsoever regarding the whereabouts of Lance Dragonchild?"

Clair glared around the table, her faint hope extinguished as the assembly shook their heads. "No? Nobody? Then I suggest you focus all of your attention on locating him! This is officially your top priority from now on. Whether or not what was said before is true, I do believe he was involved somehow with the Split, and it is true that he has not been seen since a few months before it." She scanned the table again. Silence. Only a round of quiet nods confirmed that anyone was listening. "Good." She pulled her chair forward and sat down, glancing across the table at the lanky blonde.

"Truman."

"Yes? What is it?" he yawned.

"What's the normal agenda for today? Who's at war this week?"

"Goldenrod and Azalea, Prez." Clair ignored the jab.

"I wasn't being serious, Truman? What's going on? I rely on you to keep me informed."

Gideon stretched luxuriously. "No joke, hon. Old Bugsy did something to get up Miss Whitney's nose, and now he's under siege."

Clair sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose in exasperation. "What's up with that? Bugsy and Whitney always got on so well, and now . . . this?"

"Don't be so naïve, Prez," Gideon warned. "It's been like this for two years now. Don't tell me you've just realised now that everyone's acting funny."

"Almost makes you wonder if there's something wrong with their heads," Pryce said quietly from his seat in the corner. Clair froze, turning to glare at him.

"I've told you already, Pryce," she said, fighting the urge to throw something at him, "there is no way your crazy story has any truth to it!"

"With all due respect, Prez . . ." Gideon said. "The old man's story actually fits, you know." Clair whipped her head around to glare at him instead.

"The nerve of you people," she muttered, standing up and kicking her chair aside. "Alright, that's it! Today's meeting is officially cancelled. Spend the rest of the day looking into any sightings of my cousin in the last two years. Fetch me immediately if you find anything."

This is just like how I used to be, she realised as she kicked the door shut behind her. Something goes wrong, and straightaway I snap at someone and storm off. At least I'm not going to fall to pieces this time. I'm done with that.

Clair stopped in the middle of a corridor. People skirted her as they went about their business, not daring to bump or jostle her. What was she going to do now? Her Cabinet members would by now be trawling through databases, searching for sightings of Lance. Well, Gideon Truman would, at least. Although he was a pretentious ass, she knew he would be doing what she told him. The others were meek and silent, but probably wouldn't have any luck with their searches, if they even bothered to begin. They were all useless. Truman rarely contributed anything useful, but at least he contributed something. She might as well have appointed fourteen carrots to the Cabinet, and it would have made no discernible difference.

So what do I do? The sensible thing, of course, would be to start her own search, but she had no idea where to begin. She felt drained by the day's events, and berated herself for it. You're tougher than this, Clair. Harden up. But the more she worried at her subconscious, the further it seemed to expand, until all that was left in her mind was the need for sleep.

Clair glanced at a clock on a nearby wall. It was only four-thirty, but the hell with that. Slipping down a side corridor, she made her way out of the building.

Blackthorn was, as she had predicted, drenched. The rain was falling thick and fast, and apparently had been for quite some time. The footpaths were slippery and the gutters were running full with black water. The sky was coal black, despite the early hour, thanks to the heavy, bulky thunderclouds that stretched from horizon to horizon. As she stood under the eaves, a crack of thunder rumbled across the sky like a freight train, bringing with it a flash of lightning.

Clair briefly considered calling a taxi, but decided against it. She didn't terribly want to talk to anybody right at that moment, so she set off at a brisk walk for the outskirts of the city.

In the peaceful days of Gym challengers and Badges, Clair had lived in a little house right next to the Gym and the Dragon's Den so that she could be on hand whenever she was needed. Now, however, she opted for a larger property as far away from the Gym as possible. It was inconvenient, for sure, but it was helpful for escaping from her job, even just for a little while.

As Clair strode through the streets of Blackthorn, the city became noticeably less urbanised. Of course, even in the very centre of town, Blackthorn was a very low-rise, traditionalist city, but out here, the city seemed to blend into nature. Houses were hidden from view behind stands of trees that were whipping around in the wind. A few brave (or Water-type) Pokémon were playing in the streets, streets which seemed to alternate randomly between tar seal, gravel and dirt; or rather, mud.

By the time Clair reached her house, she was soaking wet and her boots were splattered with mud. Feeling slightly pissed off, she fumbled in her pocket for the key as she stood shivering on the porch, but before she could find it, something small, blue and ridiculously fast cannoned into her midriff with enough force to nearly knock her off her feet. Clair laughed as her Dratini wound its way around her body and up onto her shoulder, squeezing her head affectionately with its tail and squealing happily, its enormous brown eyes shining with joy. Clair scratched its head fondly with one hand as she opened the door with the other. Dratini shot ahead, glad to be out of the rain.

"How did you manage to get stuck outside?" she asked it, shaking her head as she followed it into the living room. Two Dragonair were coiled up on the couches in front of the fireplace she'd left burning for them that morning. They greeted Clair sleepily when she came in, but seemed unable to keep their eyes open for very long. "I know how you guys feel," she said, yawning, and went to run a hot bath.

While the tub slowly filled with steaming water, Clair fetched two more Poké Balls from the nightstand in her room and, crossing to the window, released their inhabitants outside. Beneath the window was a small lake, part of a wide river that ran the entire length of Johto. She'd had a small part of it diverted through her back yard for the Gyarados and Kingdra that were now happily racing around in the water. They didn't seem bothered by the rapidly worsening storm, so she let them be for a while.

After soaking in the bath until the water got cold, Clair tried to go to bed. Somehow, though, she couldn't quite manage to. Instead, she wandered around the house, preoccupied, setting everything in order. Dirty dishes from that morning were slotted into the dishwasher. Her wet clothes from earlier were tossed into the washing machine. Piles of magazines were neatly stacked in a corner. All five of her Pokémon were recalled and the Poké Balls placed carefully in a drawer. It was therapeutic for a short while, but she could not avoid the question forever.

What am I going to do? Sighing, Clair crawled into bed and buried her face in her pillow. For a few minutes she simply concentrated on keeping her breathing slow and even in the hope that it would help her get to sleep, but to no avail. Annoyed, she tossed the pillow across the room and kicked the sheets off, sitting up and swinging her legs off the bed and onto the floor. Why couldn't she sleep? She was so tired – exhausted even – but something prevented her from finding the rest she so dearly desired.

Lance . . . it is true that I haven't seen you since before the Split, but that doesn't mean anything, right?

But then, if you weren't up to something, where did you go? The official statement from the Indigo Plateau had said that the Elite Four and the Champion were moving overseas to avoid getting caught up in the conflict, and Clair had never really found any reason to doubt that, but as time wore on, she had found herself wondering more and more why her cousin never even called.

Can it be, then, that you actually did have something to do with the Split? Are you even alive? Knowing you, you probably tried to stop it and got yourself in trouble. That would be it. Lance definitely had something to do with the Split, but there was no way he could have caused it. Pryce must have been lying. Why would he do that? He was one of her most trusted friends; he should have no reason to lie to her.

But he did. Whether she wanted to believe it or not, Pryce had lied. For whatever reason, he had fed her a fabrication that he knew would rattle her and it seriously pissed her off.

"I should go look for him myself," Clair said aloud, snorting. "It'd do more good than sitting around here."

With that intriguing notion floating in her mind, Clair retrieved her pillow from where it had fallen, against the opposite wall, straightened the bedclothes as best she could, and finally managed to drift off to sleep.

***

The dragon tamer's red hair, no longer perky and sharp, fell, lank and greasy, around his harrowed face like a tattered curtain. There was fire in his eyes, a terrible, consuming, burning fire that threatened to engulf him. As if to defy the flames of agony, though, tears were streaming down his cheeks, rivulets of salty water that flowed without restriction. His mouth was opening and closing helplessly as he shook his head uncomprehendingly.

"No, no, no . . ." he mumbled, nearly incoherent. Horror showed on every inch of his face; pure, unadulterated agony brought about by the sight that met his eyes. "What have I . . . done? No!"

The acrid, choking scent of smoke hung in the air. "Help me . . ." Lance whispered, "please . . ."