A/N: Wow, it's been a while, hasn't it? Five years, in fact. And since I'm here and since there are 225 reviews asking me to update, I thought I would oblige (finally). If you're still following, I admire your dedication and of course, love and worship you. My writing style has changed a bit - for the better, I hope - and there won't be any more songfic chapters, but it's still Kel/Neal goodness all the way.

Whilst Love Lies Bleeding

Life in the palace continued on much as it had always done, despite the events of that week, and Kel couldn't help but marvel at the mundane, how it polished their grief like stones on a riverbed. She felt the loss of her friend acutely, and all the moreso for Neal's steady and wounded presence alongside her. Since that first night, he had not spent another in her room, and instead retired to his own quarters, scrubbed clean of the evidence and the blood that she was sure he could still see despite the maids' best efforts. It was for the best, she had decided, aware that neither of them were capable of making mature and rational decisions in the present climate, not to mention the gossip that edged tantalizingly close to scandalous.

It did not mean, however, that they didn't see one another; their days when not occupied by their Knight Masters were spent on the courts or else in quiet contemplation of some book or other. Whilst it wasn't Kel's preference to spend her free time reading when she could be jousting, she understood that neither was it Neal's to square against her with the sword or the glaive. She worried about him too much to let him alone, knowing that his solitude wouldn't be spent as it had been, writing soppy love poems to the objects of his affection, but instead dwelling on the part he had played in Yuki's death.

Neither of them were entirely sure what that part was, exactly. Kel didn't think it had anything to do with her friend, personally, and suspected that Yuki had simply been there to surprise Neal when she was assassinated. To slight the Yamanis, there was no better way short of targeting Shinko herself, and she was much too well-guarded for that. Of course, if one of her kinswomen could be murdered on palace grounds, it meant that none of them were safe, that the protection had failed. It also meant that the perpetrator was someone who knew their way around the palace.

All of this she mused on as they drew closer to the funeral. They hadn't mentioned it between them since Neal's outburst in her room, but Kel was quite sure he would be among those attending. Whatever his own private feelings on the matter, his honour would not allow him to shirk the duty.

Kel rose that morning as it dawned appropriately grey and dreary, and began her day as she always did, with a glaive dance. Then, once clean and scrubbed, she dressed once more in black – this time as a nod to relative finery that her parents had afforded her on their visit to court. They were also here for the funeral, and would not let their daughter attend in her daily mourning clothes. Not for one of her oldest friends.

There was a knock at the door, and she opened it to her mother, resplendent in her own mourning garb like an ethereal angel of death. 'It is almost time, my dear,' Ilane told her, mild in both tone and expression though Kel was all too aware that her mother was concerned about her.

'I know, Mama. I just need to fetch Neal first.' Ilane looked worried. 'You go ahead, I will join you shortly,' she promised, ushering the older woman out and locking the door behind them.

'Be careful, Keladry,' her mother cautioned gently, and for a moment Kel wasn't sure whether she meant with her reputation or her emotions. Either would have been valid.

'Neal, are you ready?' she called through the thick wood of his door a few minutes later, standing self-consciously in the hallway as servants and nobles alike passed by feigning disinterest. There was a groan from inside the room, and she frowned, resting a hand indecisively on the door handle a moment, before turning it, and letting herself into the room.

Neal sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his bony knees, and face buried in his hands. When he looked up it was to reveal tired, bruised eyes sunken into pale skin. She pressed her lips together and closed the door, crossing the room to kneel in front of him. 'Torturing yourself will not bring her back,' she informed her friend, not unkindly. 'We need to find out why this happened and what it means.' Neal was paying a bit more attention to her now, though he still looked dull with grief.

She narrowed her usually dreamy eyes and rose, placing her hands beneath his arms and – in a rare display of strength – lifting him up. 'But first you need to get dressed and pull yourself together,' she said sternly, steering him in the direction of his dressing room. 'We have a funeral to attend, and no matter what our feelings on the matter, it is our duty.' Opening his closet, she selected his best tunic and hose, shoving them at him briskly. Fortunately he was clear of morning ablutions and had simply neglected to swap his robe for more appropriate attire.

'Our feelings?' he repeated, and she stared at him until he got the idea that he was supposed to support his own weight, before letting him go and stepping away.

'Get changed, and for Mithros' sake do something with your hair.'

Neal obeyed in an almost childlike manner, dazedly accepting the items and concealing himself behind the screen to change, whilst Kel paced on the other side like an unexpected drill sergeant. When he reappeared, he was pawing at his brown hair bemusedly, and Kel had him sit as she went at him with a wetted comb.

'Just like second year,' he suddenly piped up, and managed a smile. Kel matched it, until he continued. 'When you were in love with me.'

Cold seeped through her chest, even as a blush rose in her cheeks. 'Very funny,' she answered, trying for nonchalant, though she doubted it was even close. 'There.' Kel combed his hair back from the widow's peak, noticing it was getting long, but thought it looked quite acceptable given what she'd had to work with. 'You're ready. We need to go.'

Neal clutched her arm, their gazes meeting too intensely for the moment, and she held her breath. 'You were in love with me, weren't you?' he asked, the desperation clear in his voice, though what purpose an affirmation would serve she wasn't sure. She had thought she loved him, but childish infatuation wasn't the same as love and it wouldn't warm him now.

'Neal –'

'I know,' he sighed, bowed his head and rose, but did not release her. 'We need to go.' Instead, he tucked her hand into his elbow and escorted her from the room like one of his ladies in a fine gown. As the approached the chamber in which the funeral would take place, only Kel could feel how tight his grip on her truly was.

The funeral itself was fitting, though it dragged interminably. The Yamanis were not preoccupied by death, and instead sought to celebrate life, but they were certainly sticklers for ceremony. This was not the first of it's kind to be held; Yuki's body would travel by sea to her homeland and final resting place, her ashes to be scattered to the four winds as was their belief. For all those who could not or would not journey to the Isles, the funeral in Corus served as a memorial.

Neal was forcibly separated by their seating arrangements on arrival, though Kel wasn't sure that was an entirely bad thing. Kel and her family were seated close to the Princess as trusted advisers and confidants, as were her Yamani ladies. The whole lot of them, though they showed no outward emotion, were strained to Kel's eyes.

Once Yuki was laid to rest, the congregation filtered out, a select few following Shinko's tacit request to join the royal family in their drawing room. There they celebrated the life of Yukimi noh Daiomoru with stories and laughter and warmth; all the things that she had stood for. Kel was curled in an overstuffed armchair with a delicate glass cup of blossom tea, listening to Owen relate a practical joke their friend had pulled on Wyldon, causing his hair to turn blue for three whole days. Neal was sitting cross-legged at the foot of her chair, nursing a small brandy and staring into space.

'She said we were too similar,' he said suddenly, causing a lull in the conversation as everyone looked at him. 'That's a laugh, isn't it?' Neal continued bitterly, and at a glance from Shinko, Kel knew it was time to go.

'That's enough,' she muttered, rising and pulling him to his feet, straightening her tunic as she did so.

'Please excuse us, your majesties,' Kel said respectfully as she bowed to Shinko, Roald and his parents, a hand on Neal's back forcing him into a bow at the same time, causing him to almost spill his drink. 'Squire Nealan is still in shock.' They all looked sympathetic, and she knew he'd hate it, all too aware of what they were thinking.

Neal fell face first and fully dressed onto his bed when they reached his room. At a loss, Kel bustled around, closing the curtains against the dark night, and picking up clothes and books he'd discarded carelessly. A tidy environment wouldn't necessarily promote a tidy mind, but she was reluctant to just stand there waiting for him to break the silence.

When she looked up he had turned over and was watching her. 'Stay with me,' he whispered, eyes turned up to hers pleadingly.

'I don't –'

'Please,' he swallowed hard. 'Please, Kel.'

The girl sat down hesitantly on the edge of his bed, for the first time unable to reconcile herself with the idea of her best friend, and lost as to his motives. One moment he was fine, and the next there was this strange tension between them where none had existed before. It was during one such contemplation that she felt the warmth of his palm against her cheek, sliding to the back of her neck. Kel didn't resist as he guided her forward, their lips meeting with a hesitance that was all her. Neal kissed her deeply with a desire, or even desperation, that translated into urgency; his fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her in close. She could taste the sweet and bitter of the alcohol and him, her lips parting easily to his silent demand, allowing herself to be consumed by the heat between them.