Hallo, 'm finally back! Had to get into that "going to stop shirking and finally do another chapter" mood. Even I find myself rather exasperating once in a while; like yesterday I was bored so I translated and labelled my CDs in Latin. Why? Apparently because I felt like it.
Ugh, I'm boring, too.
So my soundtrack for Gundam Wing became Cornu Machinae; Military Wing of the Machines. Spirited Away is now Furtivus Ab Manum; Stolen by Spirits.
Most confusing is .hack/SIGN. How the hell do you translate that? Fictus Rēs; False Reality.
I'm just going to do my interpretation of "witless woe was ne'er beguiled" and if it isn't right, you have my permission to:
A) Flame my lights out
B) Do a fanfiction on The Angel poem yourself and do it your way (probably the right way.) I'll look forward to reading it!
Note: Seeing as I haven't read #5 (damn) there's no real time frame for this story.
I feel like the characters are OOC in this first part. But hey, it's a dream; whaddaya expect?
I Dreamt a Dream! What can it mean?
And that I was a maiden Queen:
I Dreamt a Dream! What can it mean?
And that I was a maiden Queen:
-
-
"Tomonori-san."
The voice was faint and almost imperceptible. Nakaura turned around quickly and almost tripped on the hem of his dark robe.
Oops, how embarrassing!
But then he frowned and fingered the material; it was expensive stuff. Not like the cheap thin dyed cotton he was used to; this was not so much a robe as raiment.
Then he forgot about it as one of the few angels of his court bounded up to him, smiled brilliantly, and bowed. Amou straightened to speak but then gasped and covered his mouth, blushing furiously. The other man suppressed a smile; Amou was just too endearing when he blushed so.
"Er," Amou's wings riffled uncomfortably. "I-I mean, Tomonori ouja-sama." A/N: I looked up the Japanese word for 'king' on the Internet and ouja is what I got. Do correct me if I've erred.
What was that? Nakaura's glasses practically slid off his face. Was Amou talking to him?
A delicate pink cherry blossom drifted by his cheek and he turned to look around him, robe billowing at his ankles. They were in a garden. It looked ancient; moss snaked through the gaps in the cobblestones and some of the stone benches were in ruin. Yet, the rows of cherry trees brought life to this place; the wind played with the branches and send cascades of fragile petals around them.
"Tsukasa, why are you talking to me like that?"
Amou squeaked. Leaning forward he smiled reproachfully. "You're not supposed to call me that, Tomonori ouja-sama," he whispered conspiratorially.
"Er, yes," Nakaura replied, blushing a little as he remembered. Show no favouritism to your courtiers. Where did he remember that from? . Then memory came to save him. Just after the coronation, I think. "Thank you, Amou-san."
Amou nodded politely and accepted Nakaura's offer of a stroll about the gardens. "It's getting colder," the boy remarked and pulled his deep red cloak closer, shivering. Nakaura agreed and after discussing the weather for a bit they rambled onto topics of court, the garden, music, and other similarly pleasant topics.
The dark-haired man sighed. "It still feels strange, being king. I don't even know how, really. Do you think our country would have been better off if I had abdicated in favour of someone else?"
Amou smiled. "Don't think like that. I knew you even before you were crowned. You'll be a wonderful king, ouja-sama."
"Thank you, Amou-san," Nakaura replied again. He couldn't remember for how long they walked along and chatted.
"Oh!" Amou exclaimed suddenly, interrupting himself in mid-sentence. He had an appointment somewhere else. "I'm very sorry, ouja-sama, but-
"-No no," Nakaura cut in, smiling benevolently. "I apologise. I've kept you here for long enough. Goodbye, for now, Amou-san."
"Goodbye, Tomonori ouja-sama!" Amou replied brightly and tried to disguise his hurry with a brisk walk. "Ah!" he yelped as he stepped on his cloak and almost fell into the welcoming arms of a rose bush. Nakaura laughed quietly to himself. Apparently he wasn't the only one who'd had problems.
A quick backward glance and flaming cheeks. And then Amou scurried off; Nakaura watched his retreating back pensively.
Nakaura was getting along well; the old king had died, leaving him as the next in line for the throne. And his best friend Tsukasa Amou was going to stay here at court permanently. Tsukasa.
You're not supposed to call me that, Tomonori ouja-sama, Amou had admonished mildly, his stunning eyes bright and pale eyebrows lending a mischievous air.
Nakaura sighed. Court protocol dictated it and he could see the sense. Distance was necessary.
But then why did he feel so unhappy?
After dinner, Nakaura found himself on the balcony; everyone else was most likely asleep but this night a strong bout of insomnia had attacked him unawares. The soft wind threaded itself through his hair as he attempted to hook it back behind his ears.
Night.
There was something about it; mysterious yet calming. Alluring and frightening. Things that seemed to be a flower or a tree under the sun grew shadowy mantles and muted colours with the coming of the moon, the master painter. Casting an ethereal glow, an array of subtle hues from her palette as she ascended into the sky to watch her artwork transform.
Nakaura breathed deeply and began to slowly walk along, trailing one hand at the railing and the other at his side. The moon acknowledged him and sent a beam of light down to greet him as she drove away the clouds that suppressed her luminescence.
At the same instant, a small voice near him cried, "Eeep!"
Nakaura violently started and stumbled back in a flurry of black cloth, as did the fellow balcony-haunt beside him. Wait, that dark red cloak. "Amou-san?"
Amou came forward into the shaft of moonlight. That great paper sky-lantern adored him too and included him in her painting, touching his hair with stardust and making his pale skin shimmer as it soaked up the very light that touched him. "T-Tomonori ouja-sama!" he exclaimed, his incandescent cheeks now tinted the colour of roses. "What a pleasant surprise!" He bowed haphazardly, his wings glowing milky-white.
Nakaura smiled and nodded, replying something to the same effect and the two stood leaning against the railing, watching the portrait-like landscape in silence.
"You…you know," Nakaura said after a time. "My advisors called me to a meeting today."
Amou turned to listen to him, one elbow resting against the railing, his chin propped up in his palm.
"It's a sort of tradition that I never paid attention to, actually, but it's done after a newly crowned king assumes the throne."
Nakaura turned to look at his friend, his dark eyes intense. "They want me to get married."
Amou blinked. Then blinked again. Astonishment clouded his features momentarily but he finally managed an, "Eh?"
"Within the next few months," Nakaura continued wearily. "Delegations, letters sent out to the kingdoms, trumpeters, ambassadors, in short, a very noisy mess."
"Oh," Amou replied and in the cloak of shadow, his eyes looked like twin violet blossoms.
"Unless I've already someone in mind," Nakaura said casually, looking down at his tightly laced fingers, trying desperately to ignore the warmth radiating from the angel beside him and how close they were standing.
"That would make everything easier, ouja-sama," Amou agreed, nodding his head, wings shifting slightly around him.
"I have," Nakaura continued and then swallowed nervously. "It's you."
Amou looked at him in shock and then took a few stumbling steps back from the railing. "What? N-No, it can't."
Nakaura faced him and smiled uncertainly. "It can; it is."
Amou clasped his hands to his temples. He was trembling. "No!" he shouted. "I don't understand why…why would you- I can't marry you! It will never be!"
"I'll have no one but you," Nakaura whispered sadly.
The boy shook his head violently, pale feathers scattering about him. The angel's face was ashen and the blue eyes gleamed with unshed tears. "What will your courtiers think? You won't have heirs! This will be your ruin!"
"I don't care," Nakaura replied tersely, his mouth compressed into a stubborn line. He took a step forward. "Tsukasa."
"Amou-sa-," the boy corrected automatically but Nakaura interrupted him.
"-No. It's Tsukasa. It will always always be Tsukasa. I can't bear to pretend that you don't mean anything to me. I can't keep silent anymore and keep on smiling at you as if all I want from you is your friendship."
"I-I don't even know if I can remain friends with you anymore!" the stricken boy gasped and Nakaura felt his eyes prick and his cheeks dampen. Immediately, the angel softened and stepped forward to take the other man's hands. "Oh, no, I didn't…please, please don't cry, Tomonori-sa-, er ouj-"
"-Stop," Nakaura replied, shaking. "Don't…" There was a space of silence.
"Tomonori-san," Amou whispered finally, looking away. Nakaura hated it when Amou felt as if he couldn't look him in the eye. He reached out to lift up his chin but the angel jerked away as if he had been burned.
"I can only think of you as my king," he said pleadingly. "Nothing else. Nothing more."
"Not even a friend?" Nakaura didn't recognise his own voice.
"It…" Amou bit his lip. "It's against protocol."
"I can't have your love or your friendship?"
"It's wrong." His reply was barely audible. "As much as I wish…I'm sorry. I can't give you either of what you want. It hurts me to see you like this and know that it's my fault."
"Oh, Tsukasa." Nakaura enveloped him in an embrace but a scant second later, the angel pushed him away. His angel, his friend. Repelling him as if he were anathema. Clouds covered the moon once more in an inescapable jail and all light vanished. "Tsukasa?" the man said with alarm.
A fierce wind stirred up and the cloak rippled about the boy, its folds the colour of blood. No, it was blood, dripping, oozing, matting blonde hair into a crimson mess. Amou held his hands before him, staring in horror at the sticky syrupy blood covering them. And then he looked up at the other man. Nakaura's heart felt like it was being ripped apart. The abject fear and revulsion in those beautiful blue eyes cut him deeper than if a dagger had been planted in his chest.
The angel opened his mouth and screamed.
And screamed.
And screamed.
"Tsukasa!" Nakaura shouted and tried to reach him but something was binding him back, keeping him from reaching the one he loved. "Tsukasa!"
His head flopped onto something soft. "Tsukasa," he mumbled in distress and shifted uncomfortably, still caught in something. But the wind had ceased to shriek in his ears. He sat up suddenly, breath coming in gasps. A dream. He lay back down and detangled himself from the blankets. It had been like this almost every night; in his dreams, he confessed his love to Tsukasa. Told him everything he stopped himself from saying in real life, tried to make him understand. But the angel always rejected him; he always died, covered in blood.
Nakaura's fears took on different masks in his dreams- in this one they had been king and courtier- but the result was always the same. He always ended up miserable and alone. He always ended up hurting his angel.
Nakaura's breathing finally slowed; he turned to one side and lay curled up in his protective cocoon of blankets, which were unable to shield him from his own dreams. The dark-haired man closed his eyes but sleep did not come to him.
Guarded by an Angel mild;
Witless woe was ne'er beguiled!
-
-
He must have finally gone to sleep somehow because the next thing he remembered was Tsukasa's voice near him, repeating his name urgently. He wanted to go back to sleep- he was tired, so tired- but then caught the worry in the Eraser's voice. His eyes fluttered open.
"Tomonori-san, are you alright? I didn't see you up; I got worried."
Of course; I'm always awake early on weekends. Ugh, my head.
He felt a soft cool touch on his brow. "Hmm," his angel murmured. "You don't seem to have a temperature."
"I-I'm fine, Tsukasa. Just a little tired, I suppose." But then he started to cough raggedly. Uh oh.
The Eraser's brow wrinkled and he stood. No, don't look like that, Nakaura wanted to say.
The boy picked up the phone in Nakaura's room and slowly dialled a number. "Hello, this is Tsukasa Amou…yes. Er, Tomonori-san can't come to the services today."
The other man surged up to protest but the Eraser laid placating fingers on his arm. The back of Nakaura's hand tingled at the touch.
Tsukasa covered the mouthpiece for a moment and smiled brilliantly. "Don't worry, Tomonori-san; I'll take care of you."
Augh, how could he fight against that! His resolve crashed down around him and he lay back against the pillow. Tsukasa hung up quietly and turned back to the priest. "They said they'll be able to find someone else. Er…I can make you some tea, if you'd like."
"Hmm? Yes, thank you, Tsukasa," Nakaura replied, smiling warmly.
The boy blushed furiously and mumbled, "You're welcome, Tomonori-san," before retreating to the kitchen to put a teakettle on boil.
Nakaura must have drifted back and forth from consciousness as Tsukasa bustled about. He was woken once when he heard a sudden metallic crash and Tsukasa's surprised exclamation and then a second time when the Eraser brought him his tea, steaming and sweetened to his taste. He sat cross-legged across from the boy, holding the cup delicately and sipping from it occasionally.
He was almost through with his second cup when Tsukasa suddenly said, "What's wrong, Tomonori-san?"
The man realised he had been frowning. "Oh, it's just my…my head hurts a little; don't worry about it."
"I can help!" the boy chirruped and set down his own teacup.
"I wouldn't want you to trouble yourself-
"-It's nothing, really. Let me help!" the Eraser persisted but then blushed at his audacity.
Nakaura had to hide a smile. "All right," he conceded.
As Tsukasa inched a bit closer, the priest gulped and tried to quell the flip-flopping in his stomach. Flustered yet determined, the young Eraser reached out and gently put his fingers to the man's temples. As he exerted his power, wings unfurled from either side of his head with a quiet fwoop. The boy massaged little concentric circles and then sent some healing power out to soothe away the sharp pain that was bothering his friend.
Nakaura closed his eyes as he felt the soft touch against his skin and the even softer brush of wings at his sides. As much as the priest thought of Tsukasa as the kind easily flustered boy that had lived with him for the past years, whenever Tsukasa used his powers and assumed his true form, Nakaura was reminded that there was another side to him. The side that was a formidably powerful Eraser; the dark past that was tainted with blood, which still saddened his angel to this day.
But I still love him; the Eraser part of him and the part that I've always known. Can't he see that for me there's no distinction? He's just…Tsukasa. My Tsukasa.
He met Tsukasa's eyes. What would it be like to kiss him right now? To feel those soft lips against his. To have those fingers stop and slide from his temples to cup his face, to pull him closer. It was such a little distance…such a little distance to disaster. His chest still ached phantom pains from where his angel had pushed him away in his dreams. He tried to remind himself that he was pretending that he didn't feel anything other than fondness; it was for Tsukasa's sake. But inside, he knew that he couldn't keep fooling himself and the sadness he felt when Tsukasa smiled at him and affection reflected in his eyes but not the kind of love Nakaura wanted from him; he couldn't ignore the little twinge his heart gave every time the Eraser was near him.
The Eraser flushed slightly as the priest looked into his eyes and slowly dropped his hands, drawing away to smile anxiously. "Is it better, Tomonori-san?"
"Yes, my headache's gone." But the itch in the back of his throat came back again to replace it and Nakaura only had time enough for a "Thank you so much," before he turned away to cough roughly behind his hand.
Tsukasa ran off hurriedly to find some medicine for him and the priest's shoulders sagged in small relief as the boy left the room, though he kept coughing. He had to always be on guard whenever Tsukasa was around him now; some of the times in the past when he had hastily left the room to 'find something; excuse me, it will only take a moment' had been when he thought his emotions would overwhelm him. Nakaura dragged himself to the bathroom to splash cold water onto his face, as if hoping that the water would wash away the unwanted daydreams of taking Tsukasa into his arms.
It was getting more difficult for him to pretend.
Comments? Questions? Call 1-800- REVIEW-BY-CLICKING-ON-THIS-LITTLE- UNASSUMING-BUTTON-AT-THE-BOTTOM.