Originally, this fic was supposed to be a study of life, attitude, character and key events in a world where Rihan had not died, but as I got further along some AU hints started to mix in. In the 30k+ words that I have written so far they don't really matter yet, though.

Without further ado, I present you The moon, a reflected illusion

Act I

dreams and regrets' afterglow

"How is Rikuo?"

"He's fine," said the old man, puffing on a smoke. "Wondering if you being sick will get him out of attending human school."

Rihan dearly wanted to laugh, but he had a feeling that his chest was not up to the task yet. "He's my son – he'll keep trying till he's sitting on a mat. Or chair. It's chairs nowadays."

The old man managed only a quick grin, but given that intensity and Fear were still fairly rolling off him, Rihan had not expected much else. His temper must have been horrible when he still was like this even now that everyone was reasonably sure Rihan would survive.

"What happened."

Aaand there it was. Not even a question.

Had it been anything less than barely escaping with his life, Rihan would have been able to quote that he was his own man, adult, that he was able to deal with his own problems, that the geezer didn't need to butt in, and so forth. He would be able to avoid admitting that sentimentalism and a wish that should have long been buried made him lower his guard.

But Rihan did almost die. He was almost killed. Under circumstances that, by all rights, were not supposed to be possible. And that made it not an issue between father and son but from leader to predecessor.

He sighed. "It was a trap. I walked right into it. I thought it might be, but -"

The first Nurarihyon eyed him. "But what?"

It stung, still, or maybe that was the wound. "We have a problem, Old Man. And no, I don't just mean this." He added at the glare he got. "Someone knew of the poem. And the flower. I walked right into it." He ran a hand through his hair, the best he could do without being able to move.

The glint in the First Commander's eyes sharpened. With a click he emptied his pipe before biting down on the stem, hard.

Near everyone in their Clan knew that Rihan had married before Wakana. Most knew the name of the woman. Less knew why she wasn't around anymore. Hardly anyone knew why she left Rihan. Even less knew of the letter and the flower. Those who knew what was written in it Rihan could count on one hand. And all of them were old, trusted retainers inherited from the first generation.

Was one of them a traitor? Had one of them just let something slip? Or was their security so faulty that someone could sneak into the Nidaime's private quarters and get a hold of one his most treasured possessions?

Otome was dead, had passed away in seclusion. Could someone have gained the information from her before she died?

And, perhaps most importantly, for how long has this been planned? Who pulled the strings? What did they hope to accomplish, killing the Nidaime but leaving the future Sandaime unharmed?

In face of all those unanswered questions, the actual circumstances that near bestowed catastrophe upon the Nura Clan were all but negligible.

Maybe keeping Rikuo on the compound for a few years longer wasn't such a bad idea. He was still only four. Six was an early enough age to start.

...Or maybe ten. Or twelve. Or, like, never. Who needed human education?

Rihan just had the feeling he wouldn't be able to weasel that past Wakana.

"You're confined to bed rest." The old man decreed. "Maybe after, if you get your head on straight, I'll go on a trip."

Ouch. There it was. Rihan really wasn't in a position to roll his eyes. He kind of deserved the dig. Though he was sure the old man would keep nagging until it was way past used up.

He took the towel from his head and smacked it in the geezer's face. "Your bedside manner is horrible. I want to be tended to by my beautiful wife and not an ancient fossil."

TBC