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        He'd never felt more like throwing up in his life.

        "My...God," he whispered.  His legs seemed to give way.  Hotohori clutched onto the edge of the wall to support himself, nonetheless sank almost to his knees on the cold, damp floor.  For a long moment, he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, could only stand there and press one hand against his mouth and try not to fall over. 

        Nuriko lay face-down on the cold grey stone, clad in nothing but a pair of torn, muddied trousers, his long violet hair covering most of his body like a cloak, bathing his face in shadow.  Peeking out through the thick tufts of hair, however, were thin, painfully-deep lines of crimson, streaking up and down the smooth, soft skin of his back, crisscrossing over his chest, even slicing down both slim, feminine legs.  What was visible of Nuriko's face was bruised and bloodied, and the breath moved in and out of his thin, cracked lips with audible difficulty...like wheezing.  Once again, Hotohori had the intense urge to throw up.

        After the initial shock came the guilt.

        If he'd only thought to check on Nuriko earlier...if he'd only stayed with him...if he'd only talked to his advisors sooner...if he'd only known...if he'd only figured it out...if he'd only done SOMETHING more than lounge in his comfortable chair and do his paper work while Nuriko was being beaten within an inch of his life! 

        Next came the anger.

        He spun around so quickly that he nearly lost his balance and went tumbling down to the floor.  His advisors had refused to accompany him here, but had sent a guard to guide him--and, despite the fact that the young guard probably had had nothing to do with what had happened, he was here, and that was good enough.

        "THIS MAN," he roared, "IS A SUZAKU SHICHISEISHI!"  His voice echoed heavily through the vast, darkened depths of the palace dungeons, drove the place into a sudden, icy silence.  Consumed with a rage he didn't quite understand, Hotohori latched onto the startled young man's collar, hefted him into the air with a strength Nuriko himself would've envied.  "Find me the man who did this," he continued in a lower, harsher voice.  "Find me the man who did this and bring him to me.  NOW!"
        The guard, dark eyes wide and fearful, quickly disentangled himself from Hotohori's grip, went stumbling backwards towards the stairs.  "H-H-Hai, H-Heika," he managed.  Spinning quickly on his heel, the man bolted back up the stairs, dashed through the door,  and vanished into the upper levels of the palace.

        Once he'd gone, Hotohori let out a heavy breath of air, slumped back against the wall.  He stood there for a long moment, shaking and trying to recover some semblance of control...and, then, he turned, tugged open the barred door, and took a short, unsteady step into the cell.  Nuriko hadn't moved since he'd come, but as he drew nearer, he noticed that one of the man's slim, blood-stained fingers was twitching slightly, that his breathing seemed to be coming more quickly, more succinctly.  Trying once again to drive the shivers from his body, the young emperor moved to Nuriko's side, lowered himself carefully onto his knees...and gazed down at the man.

        Up close, the sight was even more gruesome.  Tangled, blood-matted hair clung against the skin of Nuriko's face and back, hid most of the marks from where the whip had struck him...hid even the mottled bruises on his cheeks, his chest, his shoulders.  Unsure of what to do, Hotohori stretched down a trembling hand, brushed the hair gently away from Nuriko's face...and stopped, startled, as the thick eyelashes flickered...as those soft violet eyes slid slowly, painfully open.

        Nuriko stared out at him for a long moment, breathing heavily through his mouth and looking as if he was trying to gain enough strength to speak.  Hotohori wanted to tell him not to waste his strength with speech...wanted to tell him he was sorry, this shouldn't have happened, he hadn't known...but, his lips were frozen.  He couldn't have moved, breathed, or said a word, even if his very life had depended on it.

        "Hoto...hori...sama," Nuriko whispered at last.  His voice was very, very soft...broken.  He tried to smile.  "I knew...you'd come."
        The tears stung in his eyes.  This was his fault...HIS fault.  Gods, his fault his fault his fault!  "Nuriko," he managed.  His voice was hoarse, heavy with the sorrow and guilt and pain lying thickly in his throat.  "Nuriko...I...I didn't know...I'm..."
        Nuriko shifted slightly on the floor, drew in a long breath, and let it out very, very slowly, as if the simple act of breathing pained him.  "Dai...jobu," he continued in the same soft whisper.  "Wasn't...so bad.  Still alive...ne?"
        Hotohori opened his mouth to say something more...but, at that moment, Nuriko let out a heavy breath, went limp...and his eyes drifted heavily closed. 

        He knew, of course, that he was going to have to pick the smaller seishi up, carry him out of here and to a safer place--he obviously couldn't trust anyone else to such a duty, and to leave Nuriko here was absolutely unthinkable.  But...  He drew in a deep breath, let it out in a shudder of air...and felt the first, hot tears sting against his cheeks. 

        "This is my fault," he whispered.  And, even though Nuriko couldn't hear him...  "Nuriko...I'm so sorry.  I'm so...so...so sorry."
        He didn't know how long he sat there, his back leaning weakly against the cold bars, the tears sliding in soft trickles over his cheeks...but after an indeterminate amount of time, he pulled himself together, drew in a deep breath, and knelt at Nuriko's side once again.  Careful not to touch against the more severe wounds, he wrapped his arms around the slim body and brought Nuriko gently to his chest.  The boy cried out at the motion, his features suddenly contorting in agony, every muscle in his body tensing...and then, he relaxed again, went limp in the young emperor's arms.  Kneeling there, Nuriko gathered against his chest, Hotohori was suddenly and painfully struck by just how small the other man seemed, just how thin and fragile he looked, how frail, how weak...gods, what kind of monster could've had the heart to do this to him??  And, why hadn't Nuriko fought back?  Why hadn't he used his strength, gotten away before they could hurt him...before they could beat him this badly?
        Putting the thoughts out of his head as best he could and vowing to deal with them later, Hotohori rose to his feet, readjusted his grip a bit on the body in his arms, and began to make his way towards the door.  As he moved, Nuriko's long hair swept down nearly to the floor, brushed against his legs, made it difficult to move without tripping...  Realizing rather suddenly that he was going to have a hard time getting up the stairs if such a problem was allowed to continue, Hotohori came to a careful halt, lowered Nuriko gently to the ground and lifted the silken lengths of his hair.  A few minutes later, he'd tugged them as best he could into a thin, simple braid, and then let the braid rest lightly over the man's smooth, bloodied chest.  Once again, he drew Nuriko up into his arms and rose to his feet, but this time, the young seishi didn't cry out...he merely lay there, breathing heavily, and didn't move. 

        The young emperor took a long step out of the cell, let a brief shudder run through his body...and, then, he began the long, excruciating climb back up the stairs.  The steps themselves were old, cracking slabs of stone, and there was no railing or banister to speak of...not that he'd have been able to use such a thing, even if it'd been there.  His hands were quite full, as it was.  As he moved, he kept a careful watch on his feet, sure to check just where he planted his shoes, to ensure he didn't slip, fall and kill them both...  As he walked, however, he couldn't help but notice that--now that the hair had been pulled, mostly, into the braid--Nuriko's face seemed, startlingly enough, to be mostly intact.  That soft, feminine beauty was still there, and his skin--although bruised rather badly at the round of his cheekbone and stained with trickles of blood--was still smooth, pale, and soft...  Nuriko was still beautiful, even after having been beaten.

        It seemed important.  Hotohori didn't know why.

        It took a painfully long time to get up those stairs, and even longer to navigate his way through the palace walkways, get Nuriko back to the safety of his own room.  It wasn't until he stepped inside, saw the upturned table and the brown, lifeless floweres that he remembered that this room wasn't safe at all, that this was where he'd been taken, where the hell had begun...  Hotohori stepped back out of the room, spun on his heel, and began the long trek to his own quarters.  A few of his advisors saw him as he approached, rushed up to meet him...but, except for a curt, "I'll deal with you later," he completely ignored them.

        Nuriko hadn't made a sound during the entire trek, but now that they reached the warm safety of Hotohori's chambers, now that the young emperor laid the seishi gently onto the soft mattress of his own bed...the young man began to cry softly.  Startled and pained by the sudden show of emotion, Hotohori stared down at Nuriko in absolute helplessness, tried to figure out what he could do, what he could say...was the boy even awake?
        "Nuriko," he said softly.  A few moments after he'd lowered the eighteen-year-old gently onto the mattress, he'd gathered a bowl of cool water and a rag, had placed it on the table next to the bed.  He reached into it now, pulled out the rag and dabbed, very carefully, at the mottled bruise on that smooth, pale cheek.  "Nuriko...I'm sorry.  It should never have happened.  Please.  Don't cry..."
        He wasn't even sure if Nuriko was conscious or not until the man drew in a deep, shuddering breath, stopped his weeping for a moment to speak.  "Not...because of the pain," he whispered.  His voice was so low, Hotohori had to lean close to hear it, press his ear almost against those thin, chapped lips.  His lips bent upwards into a very small, very weak smile.  "So...kind," he concluded softly.

        "So kind...?"  It wasn't until he repeated the words himself that he realized what Nuriko meant, that he realized that it was his own kindness that was causing this weeping...that these were tears of thanks, not tears of pain...gods.

        He felt, if possible, even lower than he had a few moments earlier.

        But, Nuriko had seemingly passed out again, was now lying weakly on his back, breathing quietly through his mouth...and, so all Hotohori could do was dip the rag again into the cool water, begin the slow process of dabbing at Nuriko's many wounds, stemming the trickling flow of blood from the thin, angry gashes.  At one point, he rediscovered common sense and had one of his servants summon the palace physician, waited rather anxiously as the short, overly-jolly man plodded into the room, plopped down on the bed beside Nuriko and began running his hands gently over the thin, prone body.  Nuriko winced every time those pudgy hands touched against one of his wounds, but the doctor either didn't notice or didn't care, because he continued the inspection until he'd touched nearly every inch on which Nuriko had been injured.  By the end, tears of pain were trickling weakly over those pale cheeks, but Nuriko seemed to be asleep...if his breathing was any sign, anyway.

        "Heika-sama," the physician said at last.

        Hotohori held his breath.

        "The boy will be fine.  These wounds need to be bandaged, and it'll be awhile before he's strong enough to move very far from the bed...but, he'll be fine.  Whoever did this to him..."  His eyes narrowed, studied the young emperor almost accusingly for a moment.  "...was very careful not to hit him anywhere that might kill him.  His head, you'll notice, is basically untouched--it's mostly his arms, his back, and his legs that were struck."  The man cleared his throat lightly, rose to his feet.  "Whatever the case...I'll send a man over to bandage him in a few minutes, and after that, if you just make sure that he's fed well and not beaten anymore--"  Those dark eyes narrowed pointedly again.  "--then, he should pull through without any trouble at all."
        He thinks I did this to him.

        He wanted to protest, to say that of course it hadn't been his idea that Nuriko be brutalized this way, that he'd never been unkind or hurtful to the man before in his life...but, the words stuck on his tongue, wouldn't come.  Because...it was his fault.  He hadn't struck the boy, but he might as well have, for all it mattered.  His advisors had been acting on what they thought he would want...gods, he should've known how they would react to finding out that Nuriko was a man!  He should've known and told them not to hurt him--gods, he should've known!!

        But, he hadn't.  He hadn't known or guessed or even suspected...and, Nuriko had been beaten...badly.  If he were Nuriko...gods, if he were Nuriko, he would never be able to forgive the arrogant, stupid emperor who'd never thought to check on him, never thought to ask where he was...never noticed he was missing until it had already been many hours...until he'd already been dragged to the dungeons, humiliated, tortured, beaten...

        "Thank you," he told the physician, very quietly, the anguish dragging his face towards the carpet.  "I...appreciate it."
        This was, of course, the man's cue to leave...but, he didn't leave.  He stood there, just beside the bed, and stared at the young emperor's face, stared at him with a thoughtful, perplexed look on his face.  Finally, Hotohori realized he was the subject of inspection, lifted his head to look at the man...and frowned.

        "W...What is it?" he asked.

        The man studied him for a moment longer, his large, dark brown eyes blinking rapidly, the thick tufts of his mustache twitching...and then, he reached forward a hand, patted the young emperor gently on the shoulder.  "I'm sorry," he said quickly.

        "Sorry?"
        "Yep.  Didn't realize...didn't think."  He smiled slightly.  "You didn't do this to him, Heika.  I thought you might've...but, you know what?  Somebody like that doesn't bring the kid back to his own chambers, doesn't sit there and take care o' the kid with his own two hands.  Most of all," he added with a wider smile, "somebody like that doesn't look like he's about to hurl all over the carpet, if you'll pardon my metaphor.  Nope.  You didn't do this.  But..."  He trailed off, frowned.  "But, if you didn't, Heika...who the hell did?  Here, I was thinkin' only the emperor himself could call for this kinda punishment...and gods, on somebody this young, this small?  Who did this to him, if it wasn't you?"
        Of course, he had no obligation to tell this man anything.  In fact, if he was smart, he'd thank him for his services, send him away, and never speak to him again until he had more need for a physician...but...  He frowned.  But, there was something...kind in those eyes, something that was truly, genuinely interested in knowing what had happened...and so, despite his better judgment, he lowered himself into the chair beside the bed and began to speak.

        "It was my advisors," he said in a low voice.  His hands folded over his lap, smoothed absently at the soft fabric of his robes.  "They thought...that I would've wanted it this way, and so they..."  He closed his eyes.  "So, they did this.  I didn't realize what had happened until it was already too late."
        The doctor nodded speculatively, tapping one pudgy finger gently against his chin.  "Hmm," he murmured.  "Seems like you got a couple o' naughty guys tryin' to get themselves up over your authority, huh?"
        He blinked...then realized the portent of the comment, shook his head.  "No, no, it's not like that at all.  They were acting on what they thought I would want...and..."  His voice sank a bit.  "Truthfully, they were right--they were acting by law."
        The man raised a thick, hairy eyebrow.  "Law told 'em to beat this poor kid within an inch of his life?"
        "No," Hotohori said, very quietly.  "Law told them to execute him.  But...he's a Suzaku shichiseishi, so they only had him beaten...  Good God."  His eyes widened, a sudden realization slicing through him.  "If...if he hadn't been a shichiseishi...gods, they would have killed him...and I'd never known about it until it was too late...gods.  He'd be dead..."
        The doctor took a short step forward, patted him lightly on the shoulder.  "Don't stress about the might've beens, Heika.  The kid's alive, isn't he?  He's safe and sound, gonna be fine...so, don't stress about it."  THe man paused for a second, studying him with a strange, thoughtful expression on his face...and then, he straightened, brushed a bit of imaginary dirt from his tunic, and headed for the door.  "Well, I'll be sending some men over soon to bandage him and give you more instructions.  Bye-bye for now..."
        Hotohori watched him go, managing only a small, "Goodbye..."
        And, then, the man was gone...and he was once more alone with the beaten, brutalized body of his friend.  Sighing softly, Hotohori reached into the bowl of water and began to dab at the wounds again, the words of the doctor circling in his mind as he did.  It was almost twenty minutes before the men came with the bandages, and by then...Nuriko was conscious.

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