Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Caveat Emptor ❯ Chapter IV ( Chapter 4 )

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

Chapter Four

Relena sighed inwardly, wishing there was some way to avoid it. The banquet would go on for hours, making it impossible to help Catherine. Milliardo looked at her in surprise, no doubt confused that she would be so unenthusiastic to attend the celebration of General Treize's return. He frowned at her.

“I know it will be largely members of the Senate and ranking soldiers, Relena, but there will also be ladies your age. You need to meet more women your age.” He paused a moment, as if only at that moment taking in her appearance. “And make sure you are a little more suitably attired! You look like one of the servants! What possessed you to leave your chambers in such a state?”

Touching her loose, unadorned hair defensively, Relena glanced nervously at Hilde. “You made it sound so urgent that I see you. I didn't want to keep you waiting.”

Her brother grunted and turned back to the scrolls before him in a manner that suggested the conversation was at an end. Relena hated it when he did that. Turning sharply on her heel, she marched out of the room, muttering mutinously to herself. Hilde hurried along behind her.

Reaching her chambers, Relena sat down. Hilde stood watching her for a moment, her expression bewildered.

“He makes it sound like I have no friends! Why must I go? I don't want to go!”

The hand maid's mouth dropped open for a moment before she regained her composure. Moving quietly, she began to comb her mistress's hair. The room was silent for a moment while Relena brooded. She jumped, however, at Hilde's unexpected reply.

“The day is still young, My Lady. You could go back and check on his health again before the feast.”

Relena turned quickly to look at the other woman, surprised that she had seen immediately the cause of her vexation. Blinking a few times, she found herself completely without reply. Hilde smiled softly back at her, completely unapologetic in her boldness.

“And for what it is worth, My Lady… I would like to be your friend."

******

The ointment itched. While Heero did not doubt the use of the woman's remedy, the thought did little to reduce the overwhelming urge to rub his back against the course wall. Common sense did, however, over-rule, especially after he had tried to sit up and lean against it. The tattered wounds, though no longer infected, were by no means healed, and the nerve endings had protested clearly at any unwarranted contact.

So instead he tolerated the nagging irritation, as he knew he had managed to do with far greater ordeals in the past. At least he thought he had dealt with in the past. Heero shook his head, his mind a bewildering jumble of memories and thoughts. It was strange. He had an unerring sense of self, comfortable in his skin, knowing almost instinctively his own limitations. But mentally he was at a loss. He remembered nothing of his past, only knowing that he had been wandering in a daze, stripped of all his worldly possessions when the trader had found him. A part of him wished he could remember little of that experience either.

Warily, he tried again to sit up. His head swam, and his stomach pitched with nausea, but he made it upright. He raised a shaking hand to his head and winced when his fingers grazed a hard lump. His hair felt cleaner though. The woman had obviously washed the clotted blood away. He grimaced in memory of the way he had attacked her. The soldier, Trowa he had called himself, was right. It was a miserable way to show his gratitude. Although he wasn't even sure yet why he had been helped. Irritably, he rubbed the chaffed skin of his wrist, still bruised after Trowa had removed the heavy shackles.

For the hundredth time since he had awoken, a vision of blonde hair and blue eyes flashed into his thoughts. What did she want with him? He remembered glancing warily around the tiny room while Trowa had questioned him; sure he felt her presence nearby. But she was nowhere to be seen. The other man had noticed, and almost as though reading his thoughts, gave a most ominous warning.

“She is not here. And if you make one move to harm her, I will cut your throat myself. Never forget your debt to her.”

Heero had glowered at the man's almost nonchalant declaration. He owed the woman nothing, and he resented the soldiers' threat. Who was he to give such orders? Heero sighed, staring into space. But then who was he to take offence? Cursing his misfortune, he reached for a crust of the bread that Trowa had left behind. He tore at it brutally, taking his frustrations out on the inanimate lump of dough, attempting to ignore the hunger pangs that leapt to attention at the very promise of sustenance. Casting the loaf aside, he steeled himself with the pledge that he would consume nothing they tempted him with. He would be damned if he would bow to their control.

“There are many who could live another day on the nourishment of that food you so carelessly cast aside.”

Heero stiffened, a shiver running the length of his body at the softly whispered words. He did not turn immediately, instead allowing the gentle timbre of her voice to sink untainted into his subconscious. Without looking upon her, he knew that it could be no other, this very certainty alone leaving him unsettled in a way he could not understand.

She gazed through the cell bars at him, her expression serene and unreadable. Thinking to unnerve her, he stood quickly and stomped forward. The effect was spoilt, however, as his body protested and he stumbled under another wave of nausea. Sinking to one knee, he waited with shame for the queasiness to pass. He heard her soft gasp, and looking up, he could see that she now crouched level with him.

For a moment, he was mesmerised by the soft blue of her eyes, drawn into their liquid depths. She blinked; the action almost seeming to happen at a decreased tempo, so that he could map out the path of her dark lashes. There was so much expression in those eyes. Kindness… and pity. Heero hardened himself with this realisation. He did not want her pity. Glaring at her, he clambered back to his feet, refusing to acknowledge the tremble in his limbs and the beads of sweat at his brow.

She straightened with him, one hand resting against the cell bars as the other swept the light shawl from her head, revealing herself completely. What little light that had found its' way into the Palace's dank underbelly, now settled on the golden highlights of her hair, casting an almost eerie halo about her. The soft strands of hair, their very texture haunting him still, were no longer unbound but rather styled in the tight curls that were such the height of fashion. She was clad in fine linen robes and intricate jewellery adorned her hair, ears, throat and fingers.

Heero's glare darkened even more, instinctively thinking to drive her away before she could bewitch him any further. Instead, her expression only became troubled… concerned for him, and Heero's stomach twisted with an indescribable ache. It confused him. Why would such a woman show compassion for some random slave? Nobility had no care for the poor and the weak. A wave of anger washed over him, certain that he was not and never had been one of the inferior classes. The soldier who had questioned him had seemed to know more than he was willing to reveal, and was obviously dutiful to this woman's wishes. Did the soldier know who he was? Or more importantly… did she?

“I am pleased to see you are much recovered.”

It was a moment before he realised that she was speaking to him, his vision involuntarily drawn to the movement of her lips. At a loss for any reply, he grunted, the sound insolent and disrespectful. The woman merely shrugged it off, nonplussed by his attitude. Instead, she reached a hand through the bars, offering him a bundle of fruit wrapped in linen.

“I thought these might help you feel better.”

No sooner had the words left her lips, when she found herself jerked forward, her shoulder jarring against the bars. The linen bundle burst open on impact with the floor, the fruit scattering. She gasped softly, her eyes widening in surprise and she winced at the sting of his fingers biting into her wrist. He realised his mistake the moment he leaned in close to her, his face level with hers. Thinking to frighten her, instead his anger and frustration melted away once confronted by her calm expression. She was not afraid of him. How could she not be afraid of him?

She blinked slowly, serene and compassionate. She could not be real. He loosened his hold on her wrist, and let his thumb trace the bruised skin. With a mind of its' own, his other hand reached for her cheek, expecting to find her a strange figment of his imagination.

But nothing in his imagination had ever possessed such soft skin. He snatched his fingers back, ashamed at his lapse. Dropping her wrist, he sneered at her. She was confused, it was obvious, and she appeared about to say something when she was interrupted by what Heero assumed to be her handmaiden.

“My Lady, Your brother will be unhappy if you are any later for the banquet. We should go.”

The Lady smiled at her assistant, gracing Heero with a last level gaze. He watched her turn elegantly, walking from his sight without looking back. Reaching down, he scooped up a ripe apple, rolling it in his fingers thoughtfully. She wanted something from him. He simply had no idea what it was.

And could he possibly deny her anything when the time came?

******

Treize watched the Senator. He was, by no means, a boy, although his blonde locks and flawless complexion made it easy to underestimate him. The fine lines that deepened when he smiled were very little indication of his maturity. But his eyes, those deep watery blue depths, held the key. They betrayed his shrewdness, his intelligence… his control.

In a Senate made up of bickering, withered old men, Quatre was an exception. Never had a man been raised to member of the senate at such a young age. Seeing his first battle at the age of sixteen, he had risen quickly through the ranks and his skill in the art of battle strategy quickly brought him to the attention of Caesar. Enticed with the offer of a high ranking in the Emperor's army, Quatre had declined. Instead he had asked to take his father's place in the Senate, still vacant since the elder Winner's suspicious death. His request was immediately granted, bringing about grumblings from amongst the other senators, many of whom were apprehensive of the younger man's intentions. Some even went so far as to warn Caesar that Quatre may be plotting against him. But Milliardo was undaunted, even amused at the idea.

After all, what did he have to fear from his own cousin?

Now, ten years later, Quatre had gained much support and respect from amongst the other politicians, earning the position of Chancellor to the People. Treize could not deny that he respected the man, even if perhaps it was a grudging respect. The Senator's passion for the welfare of Caesar's people was undeniable. He argued forcefully against taxes that the more grasping politicians believed essential, knowing that the coins taken from the needy merely served to line the pockets of the prosperous.

It was this unrelenting sense of righteousness that had earned Quatre more than his fair share of enemies too.

The General flinched, the movement almost imperceptible, as the subject of his musings turned and met his stare. Treize dipped his head once in response to Quatre's own nod, raising his goblet of wine in greeting. The other man merely blinked slowly, his expression sombre and enigmatic, before turning back to an older man who appeared intent on gaining Quatre's full attention. Senator Dermail. Treize wondered what the grasping old fool was campaigning for now.

“You seem distracted, My Lord. Do I not please you?”

Turning quickly towards the woman who sat at his feet with offerings from the feast, Treize took her hand and pressed it gently to his lips. “Of course you do my Lady.”

Flushing with pleasure at the General's choice of title, the woman smiled back at him. Une was certainly no Lady. Like many of the other servant women in the hall, her purpose was merely to provide for the guests' every pleasure. And Treize knew from previous experience that Une was extremely good at her task. Almost vaguely, he ran his fingers through her long, brown hair, savouring the silky texture against his skin. Regaining his attention, she pressed a slice of fruit to his lips and let him taste its' sweet flesh. She gazed at him with clear admiration, her attention undivided.

There was a sudden quietening amongst the banquet guests, followed by hushed whispers at the arrival of the young Lady Relena. Treize followed her with his eyes, noticing the disgruntled expression on her brother's face. He was obviously unimpressed by her tardiness. However, she all but ignored Caesar's dark glare, and instead made a beeline for her favoured cousin, who welcomed her with open delight.

Une noticed Treize's line of vision, and her eyes narrowed a little with a hint of jealousy, perhaps misinterpreting the reason for the General's attention. The woman's sweet and gentle expression slipped, if only for the briefest moment, to be replaced by one that was cool and hard. Sighing inwardly, Treize could not help but question the motives of Gods who would create a woman that challenged, impressed and affected him but yet he could not have. He cared deeply for her, and knew that he possessed her heart. But she was a slave, a station she would never be able to raise above. No matter how much he wanted to tell her the emotions in his heart, he could not bring himself to encourage false hope for something he could never provide her. Wishing to distract her, he tilted her chin back towards him, his words hushed.

“What news from the Palace do you have for me, My Lady?”

He listened quietly as Une told him of various intrigues, both political and social. Treize was well aware that knowledge was power, and he encouraged her to tell him everything she had heard, no matter how trivial a piece of gossip it may seem. Her eyes and ears were keen, and her devotion to him made her eager to please. These merits alone made her an excellent spy.

So as not to bring attention to their conversation, Une continued to offer slices of fruit and grapes. She smiled seductively at him, so that the casual onlooker would assume her words to be mere flattery and charm. To be heard divulging Palace matters, even to the General, would be considered most treacherous indeed. But such risks were an element that Une thrived upon. Her final information amused him, and he chuckled softly at her words.

“…doesn't know that she spent the entire night at his bedside. He would have a fit if he did. Heaven forbid his precious sister should soil her skin with a lowly slave. It seems she defies him more and more each day.”

Treize quirked an eyebrow at her and glanced back again to where Relena was seated.

“Is that so?” he murmured thoughtfully. “How very interesting. How very interesting indeed.”

******

“Your Brother is quite right to be upset with you, cousin. You risk too much by wandering into such a place as the slave markets.”

Relena pouted, feigning ill humour at Quatre's lecture. “But Trowa was with me. I was perfectly safe. Honestly Quatre, you're becoming quite boring in your old age.”

His eyebrows shot up in mock horror at her taunting and he held a hand to his heart as though wounded. “Be not so quick to judge, My Lady. After all, it is only five short years until you too will be this old. Enjoy your youth while you can, for it is fleeting.” He smiled softly, leaning back in his seat. “So tell me more of this intriguing purchase.”

“I must admit, Quatre, he has me most captivated. There's something… I don't know… mysterious about him. Like he is not all that he appears.” Relena paused a moment, sure that she had seen the briefest flicker of emotion in her cousins' expression. “He is no mere slave, I am sure of it. There's something dark… secretive about him.”

Quatre nodded slowly, and Relena could not help but feel that he was troubled by something that he could not, or would not, share with her.

“And what do you plan to do with him? You cannot keep him locked away forever, and I highly doubt Milliardo would let you keep him in your chambers.”

Blushing deeply at her cousins' innuendo, Relena stuttered in reply, “Of course not! There is plenty of work on the Palace grounds. Pagan will find some form of employment for him. That is, after all, what he was purchased for.”

Gracing her with a most sceptical glance, Quatre's reply was interrupted by the arrival of Senator Dermail and a young woman. Relena looked at her with curiosity, thinking the blonde haired girl was most certainly familiar but sure that they had not been introduced. The Senator bowed officiously to them, before gesturing towards his companion.

“My Lady, may I introduce my Granddaughter, Dorothy, to you. The Emperor was most fervent that you should become acquainted.”

The woman bowed elegantly to them, her sharp blue eyes flicking across to Quatre before settling on Relena. Perhaps she was mistaken, but Relena was sure she noticed her cousins' posture becoming stiff and withdrawn at the new arrival. Before she could wonder about it a moment longer, he stood and gently gave his apologies. Blinking with surprise, and disappointed that their conversation had been cut so short, Relena watched his retreating back and was left to ponder his sudden departure.

******

“So tell me, General, would you rather the thrill of the battle field or the subterfuge of the Palace?”

Treize looked up quickly, the briefest glimpse of surprise flashing across his face. Quatre smiled to himself, feeling a twinge of amusement at catching the other man off guard. Taking a seat, he watched as the General waved away the whore that was serving him, curious at the ill concealed disappointment on the woman's face.

“Subterfuge is a rather mild way of describing it, wouldn't you agree Senator? Somehow I think I much prefer the tact and diplomacy of the battlefield myself. Far less cut throat than the Senate.”

Quatre smiled politely at Treize's words, ignoring the other man's attempt at a veiled insult. He was well aware that Treize felt him a coward for abandoning the battle field for the senate, and using his family name to bend modus operandi to suit himself. He was not troubled by this, though. The General was of a military lineage, it would never have occurred to him to follow any other course. The man was by rule flawless, so Quatre was unable to resist taking a dig at recent reports.

“I heard a rather disappointing whisper that you have mislaid a rather valuable piece of espionage equipment. Extremely careless wouldn't you think?”

Treize scowled at Quatre, his normally controlled mask slipping dramatically.

“Perhaps you should concentrate more on watching your own back, Senator, rather than concerning yourself with the affairs of his Highness's army.”

Quatre smiled back, his lips set in a thin and grim line.

“Do not trouble me with idle threats, General. He may have disappeared, but perhaps you should be a little more disturbed by the prospect of what information was returned before his loss. And you should be concerned, my friend. For you should know, even better than I, that nothing went beyond Aquila's notice. Nothing.”

Treize blanched, unable to recover his composure quickly enough to conceal his shock. Quatre stood slowly, his features set in an enigmatic smirk. Satisfied that he had done enough to unsettle his rival, he nodded briefly before moving away.

Yes, the Palace provided a great deal more intrigue and deception than the battle field. For while in battle you faced your demons, in the Senate you swam with sharks.

******

His blade sank deep, slicing effortlessly through the barbarians' inadequate armour. His opponent's life blood gushed warm on his hands, slickening his already stained sword. He ignored the man's final groan, too crazed by the thrill of the battle. Heero kicked him aside and moved on to his next rival.

His heart beat an erratic tattoo in his chest, and every nerve in his body burned. Swinging his sword in a deadly arch, he felled another foe, not even pausing in his progression. Ahead of him, he saw a soldier cut down from his mount, the animal rearing over backwards from the weight of his rider. The horse hit the ground hard, the already dead soldier crushed beneath him. Scrambling to his feet, reins flapping, the stallion bolted past Heero, brushing against him. Fleetingly, his nostrils were filled with the smell of sweating horseflesh, the aroma dusty and familiar. For a moment his senses tuned out the screams and crash of battle, instead reminding him of racing a headstrong pony across sunburnt fields where nothing could catch them but the wind itself.

His name was shouted clearly, only a moment before he found himself pitched to the ground. He looked up, just in time to see the lethal arc of his assailants axe. The large man's eyes were bloodshot with rage and spittle dripped from his lips onto his whiskers. Twisting beneath the man's weight, Heero struggled in vain to lift his sword to block the strike, but to no avail. He waited for that final blow, prepared to meet the gates of Elysium, unafraid to die. If the God's chose for his death now, then he was ready.

The blow never came, instead the barbarian let out a great scream before slumping lifeless, the handle of a Roman blade protruding from between his shoulders.

“You should be more careful Brother. Where would you be without me to watch your back?”

Heero smiled grimly up at the other soldier, pulling himself free of the heavy bulk. Jumping quickly to his feet, he glanced around them, before turning a dark scowl on his ally.

“Where is Quatre? By the Gods, Trowa! I thought you were going to keep an eye on him!”

Trowa raised an unconcerned eyebrow, wrenching his sword free from the fresh corpse and shrugging towards a blonde headed soldier only yards away from them. His back to them, the man had locked swords in combat, obviously dominating his opponent.

“I think he's handling himself very well for his first battle. At least he's keeping his mind on his enemy.”

Heero scowled in response, turning his back on both Trowa and the conversation, instead hurling himself back in to combat, pressing the moment of vulnerability from his mind and again becoming engulfed in the exhilaration of the mêlée.

******