Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Ivory Tower ❯ Chapter 5

Title: Ivory Tower 05/?

Author: Quirk othe Trade

Series: Gundam Wing

Pairing(s): 2x5, 1x4?

Archive: Yes, please; just tell me where.

C&C: Please! It can only help me get better. <quirkothetrade@yahoo.com>

Category: Alternate Universe/ Fantasy

Rating: G or PG, very tame

Warnings in this Chapter: Major o-o-c, plot device characters, miscommunication, secrets--- you know the drill….

Disclaimer: I only own the story, not Gundam Wing or any of its characters. Truthfully, I think I wouldn't be doing this if only they had put out more on Gundam Wing, either on the story itself or the characters.

A/N: I've used as J.E. Zimmerman's `Dictionary of Classical Mythology' as reference. The deities used in this story are merely twisted versions that I've come up with. Choris takes the place of Thalia in the Three Graces, though `Charis' is another name for the Three Graces. Choris is probably a spin-off or something, but with a Thalia already in the Nine Muses, I didn't want a repeat. Also, I made a mistake in the third chapter: Sappho is considered the tenth muse, I think, not the ninth. I don't know how I missed that… I'm sorry. Sorry for this chapter being late, too; more RL bull. Thank you for your patience, everyone, and enjoy. Oh!! Watch for notes at the end of the chapters.

Beta-ed by: Mako-Chan!! Love you!

Key: (thoughts)

 

 

"I was thinking of holding the ball on Mt. Latmos. What do you think?" Dorothy sat among her cushions, the writing tray on her lap. WuFei sat neatly on a single white cushion before her, the half veil tucked in the sash at his waist.

 

"Alright."

 

"I was thinking of a buffet, rather than a banquet." She paused at his grimace. "What?"

 

"Buffets have a tendency to turn ugly, and they bring out the worst in people."

 

"Humm. But that's interesting, isn't it? Well, that's okay. There will be tables on the other side of the dance floor."

 

"But--- if you set them on opposite sides, people dancing will run into people carrying their food to the table."

 

Dorothy sighed. "That's what makes it so interesting."

 

WuFei willfully suppressed the urge to frown. "Mistress---"

 

"Dorothy."

 

"Dorothy. Why must everything be interesting?"

 

"I'm Fate, WuFei, and I've been alive a very long time. What else is there for me?"

 

Next, he willfully suppressed a sigh. "Alright. Buffet and tables on the opposite sides of the dance area."

 

Dorothy dutifully wrote it down, a pleased half smile quirking the corner of her mouth, the quill moving almost thoughtlessly across the paper on the writing tray. “As for music, I was thinking maybe two or three different d.j.s. We'll need a little bit of everything; some techno, a bit of hip hop, oldies, country, a few operas--- now what?"

 

"Let's decide on music later. Maybe we could ask a few people what they'd like to hear." (Opera? Just who among the Archetypes listened to opera?)

 

"WuFei, SHEILD! Otherwise, people can hear your thoughts, remember? And Treize, Ares and Adonis like opera. And a few others. It's not so bad, once you get used to it. Old Thoth is a video game and anime addict, so be prepared for gaming tunes, too. These aren't the type of people you're used to dealing with; they aren't the upper crust of human society. These people are Archetypes, once and occasionally still worshipped as deities, and very used to getting their way.” She frowned and shook her finger at him.”Watch out for Ares. He's a vindictive little shit. Relena stole his shield once, and he gave orders to his apprentice, Milliardo, to get her."

 

His face lit up with a question.”Who's---?"

 

"Relena is Aeolus' apprentice. Aeolus is God of Wind. Relena likes to play tricks on everyone she can reach, and to date, I think she's gotten Ares three, four times. Although, not since then..."

 

"But I thought the Archetypes weren't allowed to harm each other's apprentices?"

 

"Well, Relena's a special case. It's not really her fault." A strange look passed over her face. "But that's another issue entirely."

 

"Is something wrong?"

 

"Ah! I know! I'll send a note to Pluto and Adez. Adez is always out at the latest clubs and social outings causing trouble; I'll ask her to handle the music. She already knows everyone's tastes, anyway."

 

He stared up at her, dark eyes narrowed suspiciously. (She didn't answer me, and she deliberately skipped to a different subject. What's wrong with this Relena?) "About---"

 

"Do you want to know some of the tricks Relena pulled off? All of them are rather impressive. She's stolen his shield, his spear, and a couple of locks of hair. The spear's the best, in my opinion. When she stole his spear, she left it in the treasure vault of the Hidden Palace--- Magda's place."

 

"What's so bad about that?" (The way she jumps from subject to subject makes my head hurt.)

 

"The treasure vault is guarded by hordes of oogie bogies."

 

"Oogie bogies? Those are the figments of shadow thoughts I read about, right? The ones that feed on emotion and become monsters?"

 

"That's right, but mostly, they'll feed on dark emotions, like fear. The results certainly keep Trieze's army busy."

 

"What happens if they feed on joy?"

 

Limpid blue eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in thoughtfulness. “I don't know. I don't even know if they can feed on anything besides negative emotions. What an interesting idea. Hum. Hummmmmmmmm.”

 

“Uh, Dorothy?” His mistress was looking entirely too interested in that thought. “Why do they hang around the vault room, anyway?”

 

“Oh, that's the only place that Magda Therese can stand them. They'd be welcome over at Pluto's place, but they're afraid of everyone there. Magda is one of the only Archetypes who can stand having them around at all.”

 

“Why-“

 

“Pluto's realm is Hell (1). I thought everybody had gotten the hang of the Archetypes by now. Or is it that you're just used to the Chinese Archetypes? I---”

 

“No, it's just very different from this view point. And I'm trying very hard to understand and keep everything straight,” he interrupted, raising his hands, palms out, pacifying.

 

Tilting her head, she gazed at him. “Maybe you still need time to adjust? That fire was only about six months ago, and it took you a full month to recover. That's slow when you've been infused with the liquid light for the first time and been fed nothing but ambrosia and nectar. Human bodies usually regenerate very quickly with just a little of any of that, and you didn't. I wonder what that means.”

 

“I'm sure I don't know.”

 

“Hum. On second thought--- I'm going to send a note to Pluto and Adez, and I'll just let Adez handle the entire thing. You, I want you to do nothing but read those texts. You're going to need as much knowledge as possible to keep up, I'm afraid, because things are going to get very interesting very soon. Oh, and your training, too. You're still recovering, after all, and you're going to need your strength.”

 

“Mistress…” Something in her expression alarmed him, more than her words did---much more.

 

“Oh, don't worry, WuFei. It's just someone trying to conquer the world or some such thing again. It happens almost every day. The only thing different this time is the method.” Limpid blue eyes gazed at him in his gaping speechlessness. “Do you want to hear a story, WuFei?”

 

Wordlessly, he nodded. (It happens almost every day?)

 

“Thousands of years ago, a girl cast a spell in a time when magic was waning, and it has thrived ever since. To her, it was simply a prayer, but the more she prayed for it, the stronger it became. She prayed, `Dear Mother and Father, when this earth is thrown into darkness, please let heroes come forth to push the darkness back. No matter what may happen in time, let the heroes come forth and keep everyone safe.' A simple human female made that prayer into a spell, and it has come true, WuFei. Granted, the spirit with in that human shell was anything but simple, but what she prayed for is still in motion, and even when it's time for everyone to return to the Godhead, this planet will still echo with her prayers. Tell me, WuFei. Did you ever want to be a hero?”

 

(Is she talking about me? Is she making fun of me?) He frowned up at her, dark eyes narrowing again. “A hero is simply someone who does what they have to in a time of crisis.”

 

“A hero is still a hero.”

 

“There are no more heroes.” He stood abruptly, openly glaring at his mistress. “Heroes belong to the past when people needed something to believe in. It's been hundreds of years since anyone needed that kind of imagery to get through life.”

 

“I'm not making fun of you, WuFei, if that's what you think I'm doing. MeiLan was saved by you, and that makes you a hero in her eyes. If you must know, I agree with her. And you're wrong, apprentice. Not a day has ever gone by when we all HAVEN'T needed something to believe in.”

 

“So what do you believe in?”

 

She smiled at him. Anger made him tense, evident even through the flowing robes. Even his hair seemed tense. (Oh, WuFei. If there's one thing I will do, I'll find a way for you to leave this wretched tower.) “If you must know, for the most part I believe in myself, and every once in a while, I believe in a prayer. And I always believe in the stars.”

 

 

 

(What the hell was he talking about? Adez is two faced?) Duo landed in the inner courtyard of the Hidden Palace without much thought, brooding over Hephaestus' words. A shriek made him jump a mile, and he whirled with a snarl.

 

One of the Keres cowered away from him, and he took a deep breath. No sense in scaring the servants.

 

“I'm sorry. What can I do for you?”

 

The pale, shapeless specter--- looking like nothing more than an over grown, thinking ameba--- shrieked again, more softly, and a shapeless limb reached forth offering a piece of paper. He took it, and the limb retracted into the mass of its body before it turned and faded away like it had never been.

 

“Thanks,” Duo said to the thin air, and read the note. “Magda Therese has gone to see Pluto? Ugh. Not Hell again…”

 

Grumbling under his breath, he whisked himself away to his rooms and began to strip carelessly, leaving clothing and shoes strung haphazardly across his bedroom on the way to his bathing room. Being loud and messy helped with the Keres. Give them something to do, and they had no time for mischief. Technically evil spirits, they disliked loud noises that weren't made by them, especially cheerful ones, and since they seemed to dislike messes, he followed Magda Therese's lead and strode to be as messy as possible.

 

Through a doorway partly hidden in shadow, he entered the bathing room. Instead of a sunlight spell, a moonlight spell was used to gently light the area, casting a dreamy and relaxing glow. The literal waterfall at the far end of the room tumbled into the pool at its base, the edge becoming shallow as it tried to stretch toward the doorway, stone blocking off the edge before the water could reach it. The profusion of potted plants ran riot on the old, time-polished oak slates that compromised the floor and steps down into the pool, like a small wharf. Ivy curled around the rim and trailed into the water, while gardenia shrubs scented the air and miniature banana trees stretched upward, moonflowers climbing the walls hung with netting for just that purpose. The fluffy towels and bath sheets were neatly stacked on one of two cedar wood benches right by the door, the floating tray with soaps and hair care products on the other. The cedar wood towel racks were ready to be hung with wet towels before them. Taking the tray, he bathed quickly, the cascading water dispelling some of his mood. Dragging himself out, he made his way to the towels. Winding a towel around his hair, he wrapped another one around his waist.

 

On his way out, he paused and considered the room. Then, he set to work. He pushed plants out of alignment, threw all but one of the extra towels haphazardly about the room, and left the benches under the waterfall. Then, he drew the towel from around his waist and tossed it into the confusion, dried off with the one he had left, and then tossed it into the mess, too. Leaving the one on his head, he padded into his bedroom, noting the mess still on the floor. Good; the Keres weren't supposed to be in their private suites while they were there.

 

He opened his wardrobe and pulled on boxers before starting on his hair. A warm breeze spell dried the mass of his hair in a few moments, and then he sat down at the dressing table in his room. Picking up the ebony handled hairbrush, he began brushing from the ends up. By the time he was done, it was straight and shiny in the light. Braiding quickly from centuries of practice, he tied it off with a black hair elastic. Then, he returned to the wardrobe and pulled on faded jeans and a white, sleeveless mock turtleneck. Over that, he donned a button-less shirt with bell sleeves that fell just past his wrists in a shade of violet-black, the color making his eyes more lavender than blue. A matching sash was looped around his waist twice and the ends tucked in at his back. Carefully pulling out his necklace, he readjusted it around his neck. Pulling a dark pair of socks and boots out, he stepped away from the closet and paused before the full-length mirror to the right of the closet doors. Studying his reflection, he decided that he looked fine, even with his shirts playing peek-a-boo with his shoulders. Pacing over to his bed, he sat down long enough to put on his socks and shoes.

 

Then, he began trashing his room. Bedclothes went on the floor, pillows were thrown into separate corners, and half the contents of his work desk were scattered across the floor. Five bags of black hair elastics joined the mess and all the extra hangers in his closet did as well before he decided it was enough. Then, he exited his suite and leaned against the wall across the hall, waiting. He didn't have long to wait. Approximately two minutes later, shrieks and wails of horror came through the walls of his rooms, even with their extreme thickness. He smiled and strolled away. (I want to see you, WuFei…)

 

 

 

Hephaestus sat the worktable farthest away from the forge, sketchbooks scattered and stacked before him. Each notebook was carefully stamped with name, number and date on the spine and cover with gold foil. Two of the black, leather bound volumes were directly before him. One was still fairly new, and a mechanical pencil nestled between its open pages, either side covered in sketches for Duo's request, the date noted in the corner. The other, opened on top of the first, was battered and old looking, the once heavy leaves more delicate than they had been once, and the gold lettering--- in paint instead of foil--- too new and bright to be original. It was this one he was looking at; a notebook dedicated to a single subject.

 

The door to the rest of his home opened, and he looked up. He watched the graceful movements of his second wife, Choris, as she moved toward him. She carried a platter laden with grapes, bread, cheese, two fine stemmed glasses, and a bottle of wine.

 

“Share a snack with me, dear?” she asked. One of the Three Graces, she was a classic beauty with porcelain skin and deep brown eyes. Shining blonde hair was pulled back into a twist. A beauty mark graced her left cheek up high, accentuating the elegant bone structure of her face. A fitted pantsuit, the same pale, moist pink of a rose at dawn, displayed the body beneath it, strappy white open-toed sandals gracing her perfectly formed feet. Pearls nestled in her earlobes and the hollow of her throat in swirling silver settings of Hephaestus' own design; the pearl on her finger in platinum.

 

“Of course,” he answered gravely, and shifted everything before him aside to clear a space. She set the tray down, seated herself sideways on the bench facing him and reached to tear the bread apart as he reached to open the wine. The first few moments passed in companionable silence as they began to eat until she caught sight of the drawing in the open sketch book on top.

 

“Is that the notebook on `Pain of Death'?”

 

“Yes. Duo showed himself today, bearing more tears and seeking a favor. There's more than enough to finish the whip now.” He popped a grape in his mouth.

 

She swallowed a mouthful of bread. “Is such a thing necessary? It's such a dangerous weapon, a weapon capable of killing an Archetype. What if it falls into the hands of one with a grudge against one of us? We would be forced to combat it.”

 

“I understand your point, Choris. But for there to be good and evil, the choices must be laid before everyone.” He sipped from his glass.

 

She turned her face away from him. “I know--- to perfect their souls. But it rubs me the wrong way. It reminds me too much of Adez.”

 

“In what way?”

 

“She is said to have once been a thing working toward the greatest good, but now she's a dark, twisted creature, a doll possessed by her sorrow. You said before it uses sorrow. Sorrow easily overtakes humanity. Whoever bears the `Pain of Death' will become just like her if they aren't strong enough. ”

 

“You know as well as I do that she is two-faced,” he rumbled, swinging around to fully face her. “If you speak of her weaponry, her guns have nothing to do with it; she is firmly in control. Adez merely strives to protect the Star Child inside her at any cost. You would too, after such a horror has been committed upon your person. If she is overprotective, then she has cause to be.”

 

“She has killed so many. Can that be justified?” She asked, glancing sideways. “Even for the Star Child?”

 

“We are not Dice, nor possess her powers. And I will not judge my friend for what I know not of.”

Reaching out, he cupped a hand around her head and drew her forward. Placing a gentle kiss on her mouth, he drew back a bit and looked at her closely. “What really ails you?”

 

She looked down at her knees, long lashes concealing her eyes. She whispered, “I dreamt the moon fell from the sky.” Her eyes filled with tears as she glanced back at him.

 

He was quiet, simply gazing her with his love and support in his eyes. “The moon fell from the sky, and the world died encased in water. Adez stood atop a peak with a little girl in a blood drenched gown in her arms, and corpses gathering in the water at her feet.” Tears trickled down her smooth cheeks as she spoke. “I've never been afraid of Adez till now.”

 

He gathered her up against his chest as she began to sob and rocked her. “I'm not precognitive like the Camenae. I don't know what it means, and I don't know what to do, Hephaestus.”

 

“It's alright, it's alright. We'll go talk to the Camenae and get it sorted out.”

 

TBC…

 

1 Pluto doesn't rule hell, but the Underworld (Tartarus) of Roman mythology. In this mythology, everyone went to the Underworld after they died and, based on their life's deeds, either had a very good time or a very bad one. `Hell' is a perversion of the name Hel, or Hele, a Norse goddess of the dead, and belongs almost solely to modern Christianity. For this story, though, I have twisted things around to suit my own twisted plot purposes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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