F A L L E N

by Ryuen

1.  Shards

~*~

He had always, even before the realization of love, adored the way their voices blended in laughter.  There was just something about the way Nuriko's higher, huskier voice melded into his own gentle bass; it was a harmony of kinds, forming a new and beautiful melody that neither man could possibly have created alone, and it never ceased to send a warm and comfortable peace into the young emperor's heart. 

Now, as he sat before the vanity, combing and shaping his long brown hair, Hotohori found himself wishing that that pleasant laughter could follow him into the audience chamber.  Suzaku knew he would certainly need that peaceful feeling today.

"Ne, Hotohori-sama," Nuriko was saying, smiling reassuringly as he worked a towel over his damp, cropped hair.  "I'm sure it'll be fine.  You shouldn't worry about it so much."

Sighing, the young emperor let his arm sag to his side; the moment his fingers left it, the high imperial bun flooded down over his shoulders in a wave of silken chestnut, and then lay still.  "I know," he admitted quietly.  "But I can't seem to help myself.  It has, after all, been several years since I've seen him, and--"  He shook his head, letting his tired gaze drift to the array of combs, brushes, and clasps on the vanity table.  "When I was small, Lao was my mentor and tutor--my substitute father, mother, and older brother.  He was everything to me, Nuriko, but I allowed my mother to dismiss him over her own petty whims.  I...I can't imagine he was terribly pleased with me for that.  Why would he return now, after so many years, and request an audience with me?"

Shrugging and tossing the towel at a nearby chair, Nuriko moved to the younger man's side and placed his hands on the broad, velvet-encased shoulders.  "It'll be fine," he soothed, offering the mirror a wide smile over Hotohori's shoulder.  "You're the emperor, now, ne?  Not a child.  It'll be fine."  And then, cheeks flushing a deep rose, Nuriko leaned in and pressed his lips lightly to the younger man's cheek, holding them there for only an instant before drawing back with a shy smile.  "It'll be fine," he repeated softly.

Despite himself, Hotohori smiled.  "Perhaps you're right.  In any case," he continued, returning to the task of twisting his hair into the imperial bun, "I'm afraid I'll most likely be gone for most of the day, again.  After the audience session is finished, however, I would be honored if you would join me for dinner."

A flicker of some emotion passed through Nuriko's eyes, but vanished beneath a tight-lipped smile before he could put his finger on it.  "Will this, ah...be a dress dinner?" he asked.

Snapping the last hair clip into place, Hotohori let his arms fall and turned to face the smaller man.  "I've already told you," he said quietly.  "You needn't pretend anymore if you don't want to.  People will talk regardless of who I am involved with, so long as I am involved with someone.  If they must talk, let them at least talk of the truth."

Again, that flicker of emotion touched the small seishi's features, but was swallowed up even more quickly by a smile than the last one.  "Hotohori-sama, I don't mind...pretending.  Anyway, what with the war and all that's going on...  You need to have their respect, Hotohori-sama.  That's what's important."  The unspoken, Not me, hung in the air between them for a few moments; just as the young emperor was drawing breath to comment on it, another thought struck him, making his eyes narrow.

"Nuriko," he said slowly, "have any of my advisers...spoken with you lately?"

There was a brief pause, and then Nuriko laughed softly and moved to a nearby chair, on the back of which hung a green tunic and pants.  The violet-haired seishi was still clad in the soft blue robe he'd slept in, which criss-crossed over his chest, was cinched with a piece of matching fabric at his waist, and then hung down nearly to his knees.  As Hotohori watched, the eighteen-year-old gathered the tunic and pants into his arms and started for the door to the bath, seeming very purposely to be avoiding the young emperor's stare.  "W-Why would your advisers want to talk to me?"

"Perhaps," Hotohori said levelly, "to advise you against allowing anyone to know that the emperor of Konan is romantically involved with a man?"

One glimpse of Nuriko's face, pale and tight, before he vanished into the bath room, was enough to confirm the young emperor's suspicions.  What Nuriko said, however, was, "Ne, Hotohori-sama--shouldn't you be going?  They'll be waiting for you..."

For a moment, he saw himself leaping from his chair, dashing into the bath, and sweeping Nuriko up into his arms, holding him close until that quaver faded from his voice and he knew that it didn't matter what anyone else thought...  He certainly wanted to.  Despite the fact that it had been less than a week since he had realized the feelings he held for the smaller man, it felt, somehow, like he'd held them for much longer than that.  There was an age and maturity to the love he felt for Nuriko that surpassed even the few years they'd known each other, and when he lay there in the dark of his bed at night, Nuriko's body a warmth in his arms, it seemed almost...familiar.  But...

Sighing, Hotohori rose to his feet and--after one more quick glance in the mirror--slipped his hands into the folds of his robes and started for the door.  He had a sudden urge to pry more information out of Nuriko, demand to know which of his advisers had spoken to him and be sure to set whoever it was straight...  He sighed again.  But, I have a country to run.  He knows that.  He knows that I would much rather be with him, but that my duty as emperor of Konan outweighs even what I feel for him.  He must know.  "I'll see you in a few hours," he called to the closed door.  And I'll have a little talk with my advisers in the meantime, he added silently.  One of them will tell me who it was...if it wasn't all of them, that is.  "Will you be having lunch with Miaka again today?"

There was a brief pause, through which the young emperor could hear the rustle of cloth.  "Iie," Nuriko said at last, voice muffled slightly by the door.  "I was...I was going to eat with Houki today.  In the gardens."

Hotohori frowned. Something seems odd about his voice...  Before he could puzzle out the strange tone, however, there came a pounding on the door to the outer chambers, and the sound of one of his advisers' voices, loud and impatient.  The young emperor winced.  "I will see you tonight, Nuriko," he told the door.  "I..."  He swallowed, a tingle traveling the length of his spine.  "I...love you."

And then, as the adviser's voice rose again, Hotohori turned and hurried for the door to his chambers, and was soon hurrying down the walkway with a scolding voice in his ear.  He was halfway to the audience chamber before he realized that the reason Nuriko's voice had sounded odd...was because the smaller man had been crying.

~*~

The sobs came quickly this time--more quickly than usual, at any rate.  He barely managed to slam the bath door behind him before that familiar ache started in his chest, and only an instant later, the tears were streaming down his cheeks, clogging his nose and choking down his throat.

Get control of yourself, Nuriko!  He's still out there!  Do you want him to see you crying?  What do you think he'll think if he sees you like this? 

"Will you be having lunch with Miaka again today?"

It was an effort, but after a few deep breaths, greatly camoflauged by the rustling of cloth, he was able to come mostly under control, and actually managed to draw enough breath to speak.  "Iie," he answered, scrubbing at his eyes and resisting the urge to clear his throat.  "I was...I was going to eat with Houki today."  Scrambling to reinforce the lie with something that might sound believable, he added, "I-In the gardens."

That, at least, would probably be true.  The beauty of the gardens, and the soft way the various scents--jasmine, lilies, river salt, and churned earth--mingled in his nostrils made life seem almost worth living; small wonder he spent so much time there, in the only place outside of Hotohori-sama's arms where the pain seemed to fade.

It wasn't always like this.  I was...I was happy once; I know I was.  I just can't seem to remember what it felt like...

The thought trailed off as there came a sudden pounding from the outer chambers; it would be Eiri-san, Nuriko knew, scolding the young emperor for his tardiness.  Since Nuriko had returned to Konan a week ago, Eiri-san had arrived with a similar message almost every morning; the Court was abuzz with rumors that Heika-sama was involved with a woman who made him consistently late for his morning audience session.  Few of those rumors were terribly kind, making him glad that Hotohori seemed oblivious to them.

He was just reaching for the strip of fabric that held his robe together, hefting the green tunic in his free hand, when he heard--muffled through the door but so seemingly-sincere that it brought tears to his eyes--the murmur of Hotohori's voice:  "I love you."

The words sent a tremor down his spine and a weakness to his knees; it seemed a strange reaction to the words he'd longed to hear for so long, but the casual, familiar tone beneath them...   It made them seem realer, somehow.  It made him actually think that perhaps he should believe them.

"I love you, too," he whispered.  The young emperor was already gone, of course, most likely working his way towards the audience chamber, but somehow, he felt better just for having said it.

The warm feeling, unfortunately, didn't last long.  He dressed slowly, pulling the fine, gold-embroidered green tunic over his head and tugging it down over his hips; by the time he'd slipped into the loose-fitting, cream-colored pants and secured them at his waist with a length of gold fabric, nothing remained of the warmth but a vague memory.  Suddenly finding himself, again, at the point of tears, Nuriko let himself slide to the floor and drew his knees to his chest.

The feeling was familiar, by now; it began with a dark, swirling dizziness, circling around his head and making everything--objects, rooms, emotions, memories--seem blurry and dim.  Next, there came that frightening, familiar darkness, clenching at his heart and dragging him downwards, into a heavy black sea that wrapped around him so tightly that he could barely breathe, dragging him down through the murky water until he'd sunk so deep that there was no light, no warmth...nothing...nothing...nothing...

The first time it had happened, only one day after Hotohori's kiss sent the memories of the afterlife flooding back into him, he'd been sure he was dying, and that thought had not been unwelcome.  Had someone asked him to describe how it felt, to be sucked into that darkening sea and pressed between the waves, he wouldn't have been able to find any words with which to speak of it; few words ever came to him when he was in that place, and when they did, they were too loud and echoed maddeningly in his brain, driving him ever closer to the certainty that there would only ever be one way to escape.  Yet, there were words for it, small and inaccurate as they were; he felt tiny.  Insignificant.  Unimportant.  Suffocated and unwanted and helpless.  Lost.  Lost and alone--forever, forever alone...

There was very little that he could do, when the depression struck.  He could cry; that helped sometimes, as the purging of tears often drew him enough out of the emotional paralysis to break free.  He could go out walking or running, too, although it was rare that that kind of energy was available to him during times like these; as such, he usually just sat still on the floor for a few hours, sometimes falling asleep and sometimes just staring blankly and suffering, until something changed.  Sometimes, the depression would slide away of its own accord after enough time had passed, leaving him in a thankful peace...and sometimes, it would stay until he did something about it, or--at the very least--until someone came calling, and he was forced to hide it beneath the mask of a smile.

Nuriko slumped wearily against the door.   I can't go through this again.  Suzaku, please...there must be something I can do, some way I can break free of this...  Please, there must be.

He sat there for a few moments, waiting irrationally for some answer, and then sank a bit more and soon found himself lying on his back on the floor.  The words had begun to spin in his head, dark and accusing and jumbled, in a variety of voices that all sounded suspiciously like his own:

...don't deserve to live can never be together need an heir don't see why you'd ever think he'd love you doesn't really love you anyway paradise no pain don't you want to go back there? get to live when she didn't don't deserve him won't respect him anymore if they find out he's involved with a man don't you want to go back there? no pain...

Clapping both hands over his ears as if it would help, Nuriko sat up and crawled to his feet, glancing around the luxurious bath in desperation.  The floor was a smooth and polished blond wood, the bath itself a deep, rectangular basin cut into the center of the floor.  A variety of scented soaps and oils and flower petals sat in a delicate basket at the edge, sending out a steady stream of perfumed air, and beside them was a pile of towels, several wash cloths, and a small container of hair-soap, all of which were the same crimson shade as Hotohori's imperial robes.  As Nuriko's eyes drifted from one object to the other, he caught a glimpse of movement from the other side of the room, and found himself staring, suddenly, at his own reflection in the huge, half-spherical mirror that adorned the far wall. 

Before entirely aware of what he was doing, he found himself walking forwards, side-stepping the array of bath items, and moving towards the mirror.  Once he'd halted in front of it, he spent a long time staring into it, taking in his short, disheveled violet hair, his puffy, blood-shot eyes, his too-pale face, his small, too-thin body that looked almost painfully-out-of-place beneath the fine green tunic... 

...don't deserve him don't deserve to live won't respect him if they know so much pain here never escape never never never escape nothing you can do have to live with it forever until you die don't deserve him doesn't love you until you die...

Crying out in frustration and anguish, Nuriko pulled back a fist and, before the thought of just what he was doing occurred to him, hurled it forward and let it slam into the mirror.  The reflection of himself shivered once, as if begging to be allowed to remain, and then splintered into a thousand shining pieces and exploded from the wall.  He closed his eyes reflexively, shards of glass prickling against the skin of his face and arms, and it seemed a very long time before he could find the strength to open them again.

When he finally did, he stared at the wall in shock.  Nothing remained of the mirror at all except a thin frame of wood; his fist, meanwhile, was still pressed to the wall where the glass had been, knuckles white, the warmth of blood trickling down over his fingers.  Fascinated rather than alarmed, Nuriko pulled the injured fist away from the wall and stared at it, examining the slender length of glass that had buried itself within the flesh.  Tendrils of scarlet oozed from the wound, seeping down towards his arm, but strangely, the low tremor of pain felt...somehow welcome.  Not only that, but all traces of the depression, of that dark, suffocating sea, had vanished beneath it, as easily as if they'd never been there at all.

Shaking his head in astonishment, he crossed to the bath and grabbed one of the towels; he would have to get rid of it afterwards, of course, and it would no doubt be a difficult thing to get Hotohori-sama's mirror fixed before the young emperor returned in the evening, but he doubted it would be impossible. 

Maybe I will have lunch with Houki, he thought, using the towel to gently tug the glass from his hand.  The flow of blood increased, as he'd expected it would, but the other towel, dipped briefly in the cooling water of the bath, stemmed it almost immediately.  The pain remained, however, as did the strange, inexplicable feeling of satisfaction. 

The flow of blood was just beginning to fade off, leaving him with a dull ache in his hand and two very blood-stained towels, when he heard the sound of the outer chamber door opening.  He gasped, glancing at the broken mirror guiltily, and spent a long moment praying that it would only be one of the maids, coming to clean up and drain the water from the bath...

"Nuriko?  Ne, Nuriko, are you in here?" 

Miaka.  Eyes going wide in panic, the small seishi got to his feet and hurried over to the bath door, pressing his body against it in case the girl thought to try the knob.  Naturally, if she was looking for him, she would check this room before leaving; there would be no pretending that he wasn't here.

"I'm, ah...I'm in here, Miaka," he called, forcing a note of joviality into his voice.  "I'm getting dressed."

He heard the sound of shoes on carpeting; a moment later, Miaka's voice came again, this time from just on the other side of the door.  "Ohayoo!" she greeted cheerily.  "I was just going to get some breakfast, and I thought you might want to come along."

"Ah..."  He glanced around the room, searching for some excuse.  "I can't," he said at last, a measure of relief seeping into his tone.  "I was just about to take a bath."

There was a slight pause.  "I thought you were getting dressed."

"Undressed," he corrected.  "Ne, though, why don't we have lunch?"  He smiled, feeling more like himself than he had since Mount Black.  "If you're done with breakfast by then, that is."

Miaka giggled.  "Hai, hai, I will be.  I'll see you in the dining hall in a few hours then, okay?"

"Hai.  See you then."

He waited until the click of the door closing before letting out a deep sigh and sinking to the floor.  His hand throbbed in time with his heartbeat, tingles of pain lancing up his arm, but aside from that minute anguish, he found that the depression had fled down into the deepest parts of his heart, and for the first time in days, he felt truly free.

~*~