Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Caveat Emptor ❯ Chapter I ( Chapter 1 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Chapter One

The pungent, coppery stench of blood hung in the air and assaulted his senses. Burning fabric and flesh turned his stomach. It was not a smell that was unfamiliar to him, but he knew this time the images that surrounded him would haunt him forever.

They were dead. All of them. Slaughtered, ambushed, and betrayed. The occasional popping from dying embers, the soft creak of his armour, the clink of his sword in its scabbard, were the only sounds to be heard in the otherwise silent glade. As he stared at the scattered bodies that surrounded him, he felt a building rage unlike any he had ever felt before.

They were innocents. Women and children. They had no place in this scene of devastation. Bile rose in the back of his throat at the sight of a young mother, her bloodied body slouched over the infant she had tried to protect. The child's fingers were tangled in the woman's long, dark hair, seeming to cling desperately to her even in death.

He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing if only to block the hideous image, even for a moment. But the memory remained vivid and palpable in his mind's eye, taunting him, sickening him. He could feel the clench of his fists, the knuckles whitening with the force, and he pledged his own personal vow.

He would have revenge. He would hunt down the bastard responsible. And he would have his revenge.

*****

“Wake up maggot,”

Heero let out a grunt, as a well-placed foot sank into his stomach, winding him. He glared up at the large, heavily built man that towered above him, grinning down through blackened teeth. Refusing to be intimidated, he rose stiffly onto his haunches, before spitting insolently at the mans' feet.

“You arrogant little bastard,” the man roared, his heavy fist cracking against Heero's jaw before he was able to avoid it. The impact knocked him back down. Quick to grab the filthy, tattered remains of the slaves' tunic, the man jerked him upright; his clenched hand raised to deliver another vicious blow.

“That's enough!”

The rough jab of a walking stick to the large mans' ribs emphasized the command. He dropped his quarry, not unlike a chastened hunting dog. The elderly trader pushed him out of the way, muttering incoherently under his breath. His twisted fingers knotted in Heero's dirty mop of hair, and he tugged roughly at it as he glared at the slow progression of blood that now trickled from a fresh cut below the young mans' eye.

“Idiot,” he spat. “He's not sold yet! Do you think Caesar will part with his coins for damaged goods?”

The man scowled, crossing his arms across his chest. “Caesar will not part with anything for this rubbish. The trip will be a wasted one. The woman is sending us on a fool's errand.”

The old man chuckled. &nb sp; &nb sp; &nb sp;

“I believe that Caesar would do anything that young woman bid of him. But then, I think any man would. Am I right, boy?”

He directed his question at the silent, morose figure that he still inspected closely. The dark promise in the deep blue eyes sent a shiver through the elderly trader's being. The man was an enigma. The trader almost cursed the day the Fates had brought the slave into his presence. He shook his head, trying to unsettle the feeling of apprehension.

“What do the Gods have planned for you, lad? I have the feeling that I shall hear of you again.”

******

Milliardo frowned at the crisp parchment, unsure if he were angered or impressed by the audacity it represented. Rereading it once, and then again, he rolled it back up and began to tap the scroll against his open palm as he glared down at the messenger who waited for his reply.

“Go back to Your Queen, herald. Go back and tell her Caesar shall meet with her when Caesar feels inclined to meet with her. And perhaps, in the meantime, she will remind herself of the correct etiquette required when addressing Caesar. I am beginning to gain the impression that her Late Father was lax in her education. Emphasize to Her, that if she continues to press her case, I shall not see her at all, and the protection of Rome shall be revoked.”

His tone was firm as he instructed the trembling envoy. His cool manner induced more respect than any roar of anger could. He waved his hand and the little man almost fell in his haste to leave the great hall to return to his ruler. Watching the man depart, Milliardo bent his head at the sound of a low chuckle. Sighing, he turned to his elderly advisor.

“She is, if nothing else Pagan, persistent.”

The white-haired man nodded, his keen eyes glinting beneath his heavy brow. “Egypt's fledgling Queen is obviously keen to gain your approval, Caesar. She is all too aware of the advantage of having your patronage. It would serve to gain favour in the eyes of her people and respect from neighbouring territories. It is not unreasonable to consider Alexandria a weakened city, until the Queen establishes her ascendancy.”

Milliardo nodded, and tried to envisage the mysterious woman who had taken it upon herself to petition him relentlessly for an introduction. He remembered, vaguely, a plain and skinny child that he had played with at the age of ten, when the King of Egypt had met with his father some years ago. His imagination conjured up an almost masculine, dominant female of little appeal. Shuddering, he made a mental note to delay their meeting for as long as possible.

A servant appeared at the door, bowing apologetically. Milliardo waved his hand, summoning him over.

"My apologies Sire, but a merchant has arrived at the Palace, and is requesting your attention. He says he comes at the bidding of the Lady Relena."

Milliardo raised an eyebrow and glanced sideways at Pagan, his curiosity piqued. He nodded and sent the servant on his way. Obviously his younger sister had found something in the market to her liking. He wondered briefly why she had not simply paid for it with the coins he had given her. He smiled to himself. It was good to have her home again. The palace had been far too quiet without her.

The gentle grin froze on his lips, at the appearance of a small rabble. A short weasel of a man led them, aided by a knobbed staff, gripped with a buckled claw of a hand. His long, grey hair fell in greasy clumps and his beard stuck out from his chin to an almost lethal point. Behind him followed a large and brutish example of a man, the expression on his face alone suggesting a depleted intelligence. He held the ends of a heavy chain in his large hands, a chain that dragged behind them a pitiful excuse for human chattel. The battered form stumbled to a halt as the trader and his assistant stopped to bow low to the Emperor.

"I thank you Sire, for granting us an audience." The old man's voice matched his oily complexion.

Milliardo nodded, glancing at the man, and the slave behind him.

“Yes, yes. Enough. I have little time for nuisances, old man. I suggest that you make your point with some haste. What do you want?”

The trader stuttered, his head bobbing his assent nervously as he indicated towards the bound man behind him.

"A most respectable young Lady inspected my wares only this morning, Sire, and made an offer on this slave. The Lady asked that we present ourselves to you, and request that Sire complete the transaction. She claimed that she was the sister of Caesar, and that you would grant us assistance."

Milliardo glared at the man. Was he lying? Why would Relena have been in the Slave markets? As unlikely as the story seemed, he knew his sister well enough to know that it did hold some credibility. He glanced back at the slave, wondering what could have possessed her to make such an offer. The man stared ahead, not seeming to focus on anything, there in body but perhaps not in mind. He stood with his feet planted firmly, his stance arrogant and obstinate, despite the heavy manacles that revealed his enslavement. His eyes glittered with hostility, an unyielding spirit still clear in spite of the punishment his body had obviously endured. Milliardo frowned, grimacing at the man's bruised, bloody body and the filthy rags that covered him.

Casting his eye around the hall, he noticed that the guard he had sent to accompany his sister on her visit to the markets now stood patiently in one of the doorways. It amused Milliardo that the soldier had waited so long, ready to defend her, even to her own brother.

"What was she doing in the Slave Markets, Captain?"

Trowa bowed low to him as he stepped forward.

"I have no idea why she wanted to go there Sire; only that she was most determined. I advised My Lady against it most strongly, but she would have none of it."

Milliardo nodded. Yes, he was most familiar with his sister's will. He had faced it more times than he could recall. If women were permitted to hold any true power in their society, she would have been in the Senate, perhaps held the very title of Emperor. She made him proud. She also made him crazy.

"With respect, Sire, I do not think she had started out with the intention of purchasing. It was merely curiosity. And then it was a kind heart that lead her to make an offer to the Trader, nothing more."

Milliardo let out a martyred sigh, waving Trowa aside as he glared at the old man still waiting impatiently.

"I have very little time for such trivial meetings, especially over such poor quality merchandise. Request or not, I am amazed that you should dare to bring such wretchedness before me. I cannot think of a reason why I should not send both you and your wares to satisfy the appetites of the beasts in the Arena."

The trader visibly paled, his hand tightening impulsively on his walking cane. Milliardo swallowed back the urge to laugh at the man's cowardice. He turned to a servant that hovered nearby, his manner cool but his words terse.

“Go summon my sister.”

******

He was tired. His most recent beating, and the long walk from the markets to the Palace, had drained his last vestige of resilience. Each ragged breath seethed through his clenched teeth, as he struggled to conceal the gradually increasing pain in his side. He blinked slowly, his eyelids heavy and his head spinning. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, wincing when his tunic pulled against the crusted wounds on his back. His skin burned, the puckered lesions angry with infection.

The heavy scowl that he directed towards the front of the room was more from habit now, rather than inclination. He was finding it hard to comprehend exactly what was taking place between the Trader that owned him, and his customer. Apathy washed over him, and he allowed his thoughts to drift beyond the stone walls, his heavy iron manacles, and the increasing numbness of his body.

He thought of open space, clean air, and peace. His heart yearned for release from this captivity. For freedom.

******

Relena walked briskly towards the Great Hall, the soft clicking of her shoes muted against the cool pavers of the long corridor. She smiled graciously at a passing senator, hoping her current state of agitation was not too obvious. Her hands plucked at her skirt, and she chewed her lip while silently cursed her misfortune. She had hoped to speak to her brother before the trader arrived, but she had underestimated the old man's eagerness to complete the exchange. She grimaced as she anticipated the hasty convincing that would now take place. She fervently hoped that none of the senate still remained in her brother's company.

Any hope that she had succeeded in entering the hall without Milliardo's knowledge was promptly shattered as she was met by a rather cool and unamused tenor.

“Ah, my dear sister, there you are. Perhaps you would like to come over here and tell me exactly WHAT you have been doing?”

Fixing a serene smile on her face, Relena moved towards Milliardo's throne, purposefully ignoring the motley gathering before him. She sat gracefully on the stool beside him, momentarily forgetting her resolve, and glancing towards the Trader and his `wares'. Her gaze fell on the battered form of the man that had captured her fascination and blanched.

Relena turned innocent blue eyes up to Milliardo.

“I went shopping.”

Her brother stared her, his eyebrow raised and expression thoroughly unimpressed. She blinked back at him, her careful mask of honesty threatening to slip. She decided against smiling at him. It would perhaps be pressing her luck a little too far.

“So it has become apparent. I am, however, at a loss for exactly what you were doing in the slave markets. And on foot!”

Relena cringed at the slight rise in Milliardo's voice. Time for a quick change to plan B. Swallowing her pride, her disposition swiftly changed to that of the pleading, hopeful younger sister.

“Please Milliardo. It isn't so much to ask, surely?” She pouted, her eyes betraying her disappointment. “You did promise me a welcome home present.”

She overcame the urge to gag at her own pretended sincerity, and managed to glance up at him through lowered lashes, hoping to feign timidness. He was, of course, her brother, so perhaps such actions would prove futile. But he was also male, and therefore bore an insatiable ego. It was a method that she knew other women swore by.

“I was thinking more of jewellery or clothing, Relena. Something a little more practical than THAT.”

Milliardo gestured disdainfully at the slave and Relena winced, embarrassed by her brother's lack of compassion. Glancing towards the object of his ridicule, her heart dropped as her eyes met his; disheartened by the empty stare she received in return. She noticed the cut under his eye, along with the fresh swelling down the left side of his face. He swayed, the movement almost imperceptible, and Relena hoped that her brother had not seen it.

"What is one more slave, Milliardo? He could work in the gardens. Help in the kitchens. Why, within a week, I doubt you would even recognise him." Relena grimaced before fixing her best, imploring gaze at her sibling. "Please, Milliardo."

He glared for a moment, letting out a sigh as he threw his hands up at her. Relena could not help a small smile as she realised she had won him over. Again.

"Very well then. You shall have your way, Sister. Though I fear, sometimes, you ask too much of me."

"But that is why I love you, Brother Dearest." She laughed and kissed him quickly on his cheek, knowing that his ill humour was no more than bluster.

"Pagan," Milliardo gestured to his advisor. "See that the man receives his payment. But make sure he does not try to insult your intelligence with some over inflated price. He shall receive exactly what he deserves."

Pagan nodded sagely at his Emperor, before sending Relena a most sly wink. She smiled softly in return, and then rose to reinspect her purchase.

******

Heero had been watching the exchange between the old man and the Roman leader with a sense of separation, the incessant throbbing at his temples making it difficult to focus. He knew that the trader was anxious to complete the sale, but Caesar seemed firmly disinterested. Sighing inwardly, he thought with some foreboding of the walk back to the market that lay ahead. The old man would be far from happy. The concept alone drained what little strength he had left.

He had long since passed the point of awareness when the golden haired vision floated into the room. His head pounded, his eyes blurring with pain and fatigue. Squinting, he was unable to determine if she were there, or merely a figment of his fevered imagination. She perched beside the Emperor's right arm, speaking so softly that he could not hear her words. At one point, she looked at him, her eyes piercing through his delirium and creating a sensation he could not decipher. She glanced away again, and he glared at the floor, confused.

Suddenly, he realised that the trader was bowing low, a satisfied tenor in his gravely voice. The large ox of a man that held his chains leaned toward Heero, the stale stench of his breath adding to the waves of nausea that were already washing over him.

“The Gods are smiling on you today, maggot. See to it that they don't send you back, or I'll give you a beating that you will never forget.”

The man had thought to make the threat a veiled one, unnoticed by those in the room, but it was not to be. There was the soft swish of cloth and the determined click of a heel, and the buffoon started sharply at the even, yet hard voice behind him.

“Leave him alone. He is no longer your concern, and I would appreciate you not touching my property.”

She turned, her features softening as she lifted delicate fingers to touch Heero's face. His eyes flickered at her caress, and for a moment the pain and nausea were all but forgotten. He shifted his weight, swaying with the effort.

“It's alright, you're safe now.”

Her soft words echoed in his head, having no genuine opportunity to sink in before his thoughts turned to darkness and he felt himself falling to the floor.

******