Hey, everyone :) this is the result of my overactive imagination XD Enjoy, and please review :D
Don't own, don't sue XD
It's not fair. It's not fair; open your eyes big brother. Please, big brother, open your eyes…
Nunnally screams when Jeremiah comes up to her and tries to take Lelouch away.
"No, you can't!" She cries, throwing her arms over him. To protect him. "You can't take him away, please! He's all I have!"
"Princess," Jeremiah says, gently, softly. "We'll prepare him for a proper burial, but you have to let us take him.
"No! When he wakes up…he's gonna be upset if I'm not here waiting for him!" (Denial. He can't be dead. He can't…)
Come back come back come back, open your eyes, big brother. Please, just open your eyes…
"He…he's dead," Jeremiah said, his voice trembling. "You… know that." (He'd known. He'd always know Lelouch's plan- that didn't make it easier when he'd died.)
Nunnally's wails are desperate and heartbreaking- tears begin to flow anew. She's trembling now- as Jeremiah cradles Lelouch carefully in his arms, her hand remains outstretched toward him, eyes sparkling with tears of grief.
Jeremiah wants to cry- but the tears will not yet come.
Nunnally screams in anguish, collapsing in on herself, sobbing uncontrollably.
It's not fair. It's not fair.
Jeremiah is remembering.
Remembering a time when Lelouch was young, and had fallen deathly ill; his cheeks had flushed red with fever, the rest of him pale, deathly so. The young prince had slipped away, into a sleep so deep that nobody could wake him. A nurse had to attend him at all times, to care for him.
Jeremiah had passed his room once while this wicked fever raged. The nurse had a cloth and cool water, and was bathing the boy in it- an attempt to get the fever down.
He remembers this, because Lelouch is just as helpless now. Just as limp and lifeless. Just as impossible to awaken.
All the blood makes his shirt stick, and it takes a struggle to remove it. The crimson red tainted the pale skin of his chest, stained the soft skin of his stomach.
Jeremiah is finally able to cry. Carefully, through his tears, he cleaned the gaping wound, washing all the blood away. He even washed the blood off Lelouch's hands. (Slender, graceful, with long, thin fingers. Lelouch had always been delicate.)
He binds the wound and redresses him- dresses him in the black clothing of funerals and mourning. He brushes his hair until it shines, and lays him out on his bed.
Like this, he looked as though he were sleeping- like he decided to take a nap after working too hard.
(But if he'd only taken a nap, he would have been breathing…)
I'm not quite sure…how I should feel…
Suzaku stared at Lelouch's body, conflicting emotions running through him. Hatred, abandonment, admiration, exasperation, sorrow, relief…
Should he cry now? Should he say something?
He settled for just watching. Not moving. Not saying a word.
He'd really done it. He'd really killed his own best friend- stabbed him through in front of the entire world. And now- he'd be condemned to wear that mask for the rest of his life. The mask of Zero.
That's what Lelouch wanted him to do...
He looks so peaceful now…
Lelouch vi Britannia had obtained the serenity in death that he was never able to experience while alive. He was finally at rest- finally free.
In life, Lelouch was always troubled, amethyst eyes dark- he was the walking dead, even as he lived. Seeking that sweet release- seeking solitude- his one and only selfish desire- the desire to die.
Goodnight, sweet prince; and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.
-Hamlet, Act IV, scene ii.