Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Liberty, Equality, Fraternity ❯ Chapter I ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimers: We own none of the acts performed by great revolutionaries. We did not invent the French revolution. The characters used have also been borrowed. They belong to we don't know who, but it sure as hell aren't ours. Just don't steal the plot or the original characters ^__^;

Title: Liberty, Equality, Fraternity

Author: Black Mirror, Ephemeris and Little Wingz

Pairings: Eventual 1x2, 3x4, 5xMerian, 2xHilde (one-sided).

Summary: Plunge the Gundam Pilots in the heart of the French Revolution and watch as the plot thickens and as love flourishes and heart are broken. Revolutions, like wars, are never a pretty thing.

Type: Historic, Adventure, Drama, Romance. Hey, it's a revolution!!!

Rating: PG-13 (a little violence maybe. This is war!!!)

Status: Work in progress

Warnings: YAOI!!! Alternate Universe!!! Rating will go up. If ever you have a research to do on the French revolution, please do not base it on our fic ^__^; We just want to make sure. Their will be character deaths though none of the G-Pilots should die.

Liberty, Equality, Fraternity

Chapter I

 

25th of November 1981

 

As it has been a custom for many decades passed, the kings have endlessly governed the region of France, be they good or bad. One generation following the other, sons and grandsons claimed the throne, living sumptuously and expensively all the while forgetting that their subjects, France's people, where not living as capricious a life as their own. What a euphemism! In fact, the French population merely had enough bread to keep their families alive and about. They cursed the aristocrats, cursed their money and cursed their lavish living.

 

In 1775, following the demise of King Louis XV, the good citizens of France placed high hopes in their new ruler, Louis XVI, promptly trusting his judgment, eager to witness some changes in this corrupted monarchy. However, too soon had they envisaged their just country. Their hopes of a new beginning crumbled as they were hastily charged more taxes than they could ever manage to disburse. The newly ranked queen, Marie-Antoinette of Austria, a carefree woman of twenty years of age, had been endowed with the most expensive of tastes. She ignored the minister of finance's, Jacques Necker, many advices and alerts as she gradually drained the royal treasures of every coin they previously held and than some. Besides, who would trust a minister who publicly stated to have the people's accord on every single one of his actions? The French population, who were they to speak of money?

 

As the royal treasures grew thin, the population inevitably followed suit as they also grew thin and weary.

 

In this period of time, the royal family and its court resided in Versailles, a neighbourly town of Paris, the capital of France. This particular court was strictly composed of noble people in other words of aristocrats who possessed the uppermost titles and the largest fortunes.

 

As an air of unsettlement roamed the streets, the population started doubting the royal couple; the king and queen had to produce an heir to assume their role. What excitement acclaimed the newly arrival of Marie-Thérèse, said `Madame Royale', their first born, in December 1778. The population regained a little faith in the royal couple although they had yet to produce an heir that was worthy of the throne, a male child. At last, on the 22nd of October 1781, their first son was born, France's dauphin, Louis-Joseph.

 

As it was a habitual practice in those days, the royal couple set out for Paris in order to present the successor to the throne of France to the people residing in its capital. Urgent matters kept the king in Paris for a few days while Marie-Antoinette returned to her quarters in Versailles with her newly born son and nana.

 

Along the road that separated Versailles from Paris, there was a small town named Nanterre. One of the few pleasure its habitants enjoyed was to observe as the richly ornamented carriages which, they could only imagine, conveyed luxuriously dressed woman and handsomely clad men, strolled down the main street near the edge of the town These carriages were all headed to Versailles or to Paris, following wherever the king went, attending the luxurious balls the queen loved hosting. When they witnessed the passing of the royal carriage through their little streets, for it is effortless to distinguish a royal chariot from another, they sought to welcome their highnesses presences with a speech, though they had none prepared. Yet, seeing that the king was not amongst the present voyageurs, the queen informed them that he would be passing through these streets in a few days and that she would send word to the king of their desire to compliment his greatness. The school's sole tutor and master of the orphanage, Friar Martin, was placed in charge of this delicate mission.

 

To everyone's surprise, it was a young man named Camille Desmoulins, a student of Friar Martin, who came up with the speech. The Friar was greatly impressed when this short compliment was presented to him in Latin with its French translation. He immediately proposed that it be this same boy that spoke to the king for all of them. Desmoulins had always been, in his eyes, a very promising student. Having this speech be performed by someone of such young age might also move the king and place the small town of Nanterre under his protective wing. Nevertheless, a small problem put a spoke in his wheels. His student, regrettably, suffered from a serious handicap when it came to public speeches: Camille Desmoulins had a tendency to stutter quite a kit rendering his texts incomprehensible.

 

“In that case,” said the baker, “all we have to do is replace Desmoulins by one of his comrades. Any boy should be equal to the situation.”

 

“What you dare say is absolutely preposterous!” argued Friar Martin. “His comrades, as you have called them yourself, are but mere disturbers of the peace that rules in this town. They will never fall for this kind of gratitude. Can you imagine what would happen if the king should think ill of their performance? Where would that lead us, then? Or, even worse, should this particular child assume this a joke and disgrace the king instead. What then would happen? Should we loose a child? I think not!”

 

A small crowd was growing around the Friar and the baker in wild dispute. Another man took control of the situation.

 

“Seems as though we find ourselves facing a dead end. We do not want any harm to be done to the children yet it is impossible to foretell what their actions might be.”

 

They all pondered at that. A decision had to be taken.

 

“And what if we were to take a child from the orphanage?” the blacksmith ventured. “Even if the child was to be slew, he was worthless to begin with. Nothing useful ever comes out of an orphanage.”

 

Friar Martin knew very well what the man spoke of for he had been in charge of the town orphanage for over ten years now. Be it from lack of tenderness or other reason, never had a bright soul entered or exited the small establishment. The bottled up anger that these children possessed forced them into performing dirty tricks to the villagers. It would have charmed every single soul present at that time and place if they had one less abandoned child to worry about.

 

All eyes averted towards the Friar, awaiting his verdict.

 

“Very well. Send for Maxwell!”

 

Young Maxwell, Duo of his first name, was one of the few lodgers of the orphanage. Friar Martin did not think very highly of him or of his pranks as a matter of fact. Though it was still possible to count his age with both hands, Duo Maxwell was by far the most turbulent of all orphans present in Nanterre. His hair seemed unbelievably long compared to others and he refused to simply attach them but had the young sisters braid them every morning.

 

This young boy was infamous for his rash arrogance and his habit to ignore all rules previously established. To other friars in charge of the children spoke of him as being a youth equipped with the most devious of minds and spirits. It is true to say that Duo was not one to lightly accept authority nor did he remotely pretend to adhere to it. He could not care less about adults and their world of rules and strict formalities and all adults avoided having contact with him. All but one; Father Maxwell. Father Maxwell was the complete opposite of Friar Martin. He respected and loved every child and they replied to this particular attention by respecting him and cherishing his presence. Above all, though it would be unjust to point out favourites, Father Maxwell treasured Duo as if he were his own son. He had been the one who had found him in the streets and had decided that he be brought back to the orphanage. For Duo, this jolly man was like a father figure. He had provided Duo of his name and the latter had one day adopted the Father's last name and inserted it in his own. Self-baptizing, you could say.

 

While Friar Martin's faithful servants searched high and low for the troublesome boy, though he was not permitted to leave the orphanage perimeter, Duo was animatedly discussing with Hilde, a young girl of about his age who had been lucky enough to keep her parents by her side for this long. As usual, they sat by the small lake a little off from the town's entrance, sitting under the wide chestnut tree, letting the morning breeze run through their hair and cool their skin.

 

“… and then Father Maxwell told me to bring a basin and to fill it with water. I was on dishes duty this morning for stealing Jonathan's wooden horse. Honestly! Who wants a stupid wooden horse anyways-“

 

“Then what happened?” Hilde's eyes were like saucers. She vividly listened to Duo's story, gobbling up all the details for she knew that the other children in town would come to her in search of new exciting gossiping.

 

“Then I went and did as I was told-”

 

“Just like that?” Hilde asked, curious. “You just did it?”

 

“Got to listen to Father Maxwell. We don't want to have him against us, now do we?”

 

She nodded, giggling a little.

 

“Then I walked in front of Friar Martincompetent's room and just happened to be side tracked. I get a little dreamy sometimes. In front of me flew a monarch. Beautiful, orange, red and black coloured swirls of rapid wing movements.”

 

Duo raised himself from the ground and imitated the butterfly's flight seemingly dancing and hopping from one solid root protruding the ground to another as Hilde's fascinated eyes watched, a smile illuminating her childish features.

 

“-and so, enchanted as I was, I forgot the basin. I had placed it down on the ground to follow the flying wonder and never came back for it. Guess where I set it down.”

 

Hilde smiled, not answering, practically shaking with enthusiasm.

 

“Guess! Come on, guess.”

 

Duo promptly let himself fall beside Hilde only to get back up again as she dared answer.

 

“In front of Friar Martin's door.”

 

The joyful young man imitated the Friar's action in a mutely fashion. From the proud expression his face always wore with his nose high up, pointing the sky, right down to his scornful expression once his shoes were filled with the cold water from the basin.

 

“This must be that awful rabble-rouser's fault,” Duo said in deep voice, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to act the part. “Why, he is absolutely impossible to live with. I would rather have him dead and buried than near my superior self ever again.”

 

As Hilde started a fit of laughter, Duo ultimately followed suit, laughing to his heart's consent, abandoning his career as an actor for a slight moment.

 

“You know,” Hilde said, drying her eyes, “Father Maxwell won't be able to protect you forever. Though he does try his best, troubles will eventually catch up with you. You do, after all, attract as light does insects.”

 

Duo sighed. He knew she spoke the truth.

 

“You can't go on like this eternally. Anyway, you'll grow out of prank ideas at one given point.”

 

Taking up his act anew, Duo straightened himself, lifting his head, his nose reaching out towards the skies above.

 

“What a preposterous idea! How dare you claim that I could run out of adventures? People will someday make books out of me.”

 

“And you'll probably end up being the only one reading them. Who wants to read any stories concerning a little-catholic-Father-Maxwell-favourite boy?”

 

She looked away for a moment, and Duo took this opportunity to tackle her. Together, they were able to laugh and breathe. Though it may have bee no more than childish love, an unbreakable friendship was somehow growing gradually at their contact.

 

The laughing fit was brought to a halt when Duo heard someone call his name from afar. A young boy of about twelve years of age ran towards him, half his face covered by a lock of chocolate-brown hair.

 

As soon as the newcomer was close enough to speak to the longhaired boy without having to yell, he monotonously spoke the message he had been charged with.

 

“Duo, Father Maxwell sent me to retrieve you. You must come back to the orphanage at once. It seems as though Friar Martin has been looking all over for you. He must not have appreciated the basin trick you pulled on him.”

 

“I told you you wouldn't get away with it, scoundrel,” Hilde mocked, pointing her figure towards him. Taking on a prideful expression, she continued in a deep voice, as deep as she could manage, “Someday, people will make books out of me.”

 

At loss for words, Duo simply stuck out his tongue and followed the newcomer, Trowa. Trowa and the braided boy had met a few years past when Father Maxwell had brought the small child back to the orphanage with him. He had charged Trowa to take care of the youth and the latter had done exactly so; taking him under his wing, he protected him 24/7, never letting the smaller child out of his sight. For Duo, Trowa had become an older brother. For Trowa, Duo was both a brotherly figure and also the only friend he had ever had. If given the opportunity, he would follow him anywhere.

 

Both boys ran to the orphanage, Duo racing Trowa to the finish line: Father Maxwell waiting crossed-armed in front of the gates. Just as the good Father was about to explain to Duo the situation he had placed himself in, Friar Martin caught up with them. He seized Duo's ear between his callous fingers and dragged him to his office where Desmoulins was already waiting, nervously fidgeting from one foot to the other. Friar Martin forced Duo to sit on a chair and then let go of his ear and sat down behind his massive wooden desk. Camille nervously smirked at Duo, his fingers somehow tangling themselves together.

 

“There! Now that we are comfortably settled, I shall explain to you both the situation, though Desmoulins is already well informed. The king will travel by Nanterre tomorrow morning and I have proposed to give a speech in his honour-”

 

“What great news! Though I can't even remotely imagine what anything like this has to do with measly little me.”

 

“-Desmoulins has composed it for this occasion especially-”

 

“Unless you just brought me here to ask me to behave which I solemnly swear that I shall not-,” Duo said, raising his left hand and placing his right over his heart.

 

“-and you shall recite it.”

 

“-you can't force me to be good either because…” Duo's amethyst eyes popped out of his head. “What?”

 

“We need a child to recite the speech and you know very well that our dear Camille can't do it and you seemed like the perfect replacement.”

 

Duo frowned, looking at Desmoulins and trying to figure out why he was the perfect replacement for this studious student. He pondered for a moment and responded:

 

“And what if I simply decide to mess everything up and make a fool out of everyone in this town by representing them.”

 

Friar Martin grinned malevolently. It seemed as though he had been awaiting such a comeback.

 

“You shall do no such thing for the king could very well decide to have you hung for your impertinence if ever you had the ill luck of offending his majesty.”

 

Pouting dramatically, Duo glared at the Friar.

 

If only looks could kill, he told himself, a grumbling sound coming from deep down in his throat.

 

“Why me, oh! Great Commanding Being?”

 

“Let us simply say that the slight shoe-bath I received this morning somewhat guided my choice. Father Maxwell will be in charge of preparing the compliment with you and, should you fail to impress the king, the blame will not fall on you…”

 

He did not have to finish his sentence for Duo knew very well what followed.

 

With a simple hand gesture, he shooed them out of his office, never bothering to leave his chair. Once outside and free to say what ever pleased them, Camille glanced at Duo for a moment but quickly turned his attention to the floor anew.

 

“S-sorry Du-Duo.”

 

Duo placed his hand on Camille's shoulder, reassuring him. He looked up, his head a little higher than Duo's.

 

“I ha-hadn't p-plan-ned for t-this to hap-happen.”

 

“Why are you sorry? It's all that Martincompetent's fault. Don't beat yourself up over this. It's only a little speech anyway. No one's going to get killed over such an elementary thing.”

 

Camille smiled; glad to see that Duo held no grudges against him. Being Friar Martin's favourite student and having a handicap like his did not grant him many friends. Both orphans, slightly jealous of how the Friar treated him, and his comrades from class, because of his habit to stutter, pestered him day in and out.

 

They both went their separate ways, Camille returning to his studies while Duo walked towards Father Maxwell who was presently busying himself at reciting this morning's events to Trowa. Seeing his younger protégé approach, the shorthaired boy could not help but sigh.

 

“I know!” Duo replied, lifting his arms in the air. “I got myself all jumbled up in a mess again. But, if you'd only seen his face this morning. I swear it was all worth it. God! Can't the guy take a joke?”

 

Father Maxwell gave him a fierce look.

 

“He'd have one too many jokes to forgive. I would request that you not speak so commonly about Friar Martin. Now, this is how tomorrow events will go: his majesty's carriage will stop by the gate and you shall advance towards him and kneel-”

 

“Kneel? Nobody said anything about kneeling” Duo yelled, exasperated. “This is unfair. Send that stupid Friar grovelling in front of the king's goddamn carriage.”

 

“You put yourself in this position, Duo, and please use a different tone. Once you have kneeled, you will speak the compliment, which I suggest you study tonight, and, as the carriage takes its leave, you will be permitted to rise.”

 

Brooding, Duo mumbled underneath his voice about grovelling and stupid pigheaded priests. Father Maxwell handed him a small sheet of paper with various ink smudges ornamenting it. Duo read it, his lips forming the words without his voice ever being heard.

 

“Latin? Why in Latin? I hate Latin and I can barely understand it.”

 

“I don't believe you have a say in this matter. You will also read the English translation.”

 

“Who on earth invented stupid Latin anyway!”

 

“It is God's language, young man, and I would ask you not to insult it in my presence.”

 

Then, an idea struck the longhaired orphan.

 

“If I manage to impress the king, would that mean that he may get me out of this meaningless town?”

 

Father Maxwell pondered for a moment than answered, rubbing his hands together, hoping the slight friction would restore the blood circulation and help keep them warm.

 

“Perhaps.” He paused. “Are you planning on leaving us, dear child?”

 

Sheepishly, Duo continued, hoping he would not further offend the elderly man.

 

“Anything to get away from Martincompetent, yes.”

 

“Where would you be had I not brought you here?”

 

Duo smiled.

 

“Dead from starvation.”

 

Father Maxwell nodded and, soon after, took his leave, considering the conversation finished. He knew Duo would do what was asked of him though a nagging presentiment forced itself upon his, his inseparable friend, insomnia, following its lead.

 

“Duo,” Trowa murmured, looking ahead as the sun reached its highest peak in the sky, “will you take me with you. If you leave.”

 

Duo gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder and replied in a jovial voice:

 

“Have you ever thought otherwise? I'm not leaving without you, Tro. Don't even count on getting rid of me that easily.”

 

At that, Trowa smiled. This smile was precious. Only Duo could bring out this kind of reaction from Trowa and every second of it was important, cherished and loved. The braided boy gave his genuine Duo-smile and headed off towards the orphanage dorm in order to study his text. Though he had every good intention of revising it a few times, paper in hand, he fell asleep.

 

When he awoke, he noticed that a typical school uniform for the non-orphans had been left by the edge of his bed. It was morning already and the king would be arriving soon.

 

“So, I'll be in disguise, huh?”

 

He pulled of his clothes and threw them on his bed only to replace them with cleaner and quality ones.

 

“I hope I get to keep these after my show.”

 

After tying his shoe laces, he hurried to the window, assuring himself that the king was no where to be seen and was quite disenchanted when he noticed that it had rained all night long and it wasn't showing any signs of stopping soon.

 

Just then, Father Maxwell rushed into the dorm room, waking everyone as he made a beeline towards Duo.

 

“Duo, Camille has composed a new speech: much shorter yet more appropriate with today's weather. You will be saying this one in its stead.”

 

Duo nodded. It was plain to see that this was not exactly the opportune moment to have an anger fit. Everyone seemed stressed. They willed everything to be perfect and prepared, for everything to go precisely as planned. If he ruined this, no one would ever forgive him.

 

Friar Martin gave orders here and there unceasingly, sending dark glances in Duo's direction, mutely ordering him to behave, if that was ever possible.

 

Another orphan boy who had been charged with the surveillance of the main road came rushing through the orphanage halls.

 

“Here the king comes. See the carriage of his royal highness arrives,” he yelled placing his rounded hands in front of his mouth, his voice echoing through the stoned corridors.

 

All the children hustled out of the establishment and raced through the streets to gather with the villagers at the main gate, where the king would pass and halt. Duo was one of these children, his hair freshly braided, his new clothes utterly immaculate, neat as a new pin.

 

The carriage stopped in front of the gate and Father Martin pushed Duo forward, applying a small amount of pressure on his back. He came to a halt at the instructed place but hesitated before kneeling. The ground, usually hard and sand-coloured was now soggy and pitch-black. Swallowing the lump that had settled in his throat, he brought himself down on one knee then on the other, letting his kneecaps dig into the spongy matter. He could hear a few laughs come from the gate.

 

“You'll pay for this, Martincompetent,” he thought. “Oh! You'll pay good.”

 

He unrolled the sheet of paper his left hand held and noticed he had taken the wrong one. Instead of bringing the one Father Maxwell had entrusted him with this morning, he gripped in his humid hands the previous version of the compliment. He'd have to try to remember the latter on his own, without any pointers.

 

He hesitated slightly at first but than found his train of thought.

 

“R-rex auguste, hodie cum Phoebus se in imtrem converterit, unum te habemus Solem.”

 

A few muffled laughs continued to accompany his speech but he paid no heed to them and continued, reciting the translation, which he knew much better than the Latin version.

 

“Alas, Your Highness, Phoebus refuses to let the sun shine. Therefore, in the present day, you are our only Sun.”

 

Everyone held their breaths, waiting for the king's response though none came.

 

“Sire,” one of the king's valets audibly ventured, “the compliment has been brought to an end.”

 

The king signalled for them to depart.

 

As soon as the carriage headed off, Duo lifted himself off the soft ground, not believing what had just happened. Actually, what had not happened. He had practically crawled in the mud only to pay tribute to the king's greatness and never had that Supreme Being responded to his fine words, be it by words or by movement.

 

Had Trowa not advanced through the crowd and grabbed Duo's shoulder in order to jolt him out of his trance, the latter would probably still be waiting for some kind of answer. The awkward silence that reigned in the small streets was enough to drive anyone mad and so Trowa lead Duo in the direction of the lake.

 

“Was that really France's ruler? A man that does not even bother to listen when a flattering remark is being spoken to him? Did I do it all for nothing?”

 

Trowa watched Duo with fascination. Rare were the times had he seen his friend this contemplative.

 

“Friar Martin should leave you alone for a while for you did well. Think of that as being a positive outcome.”

 

Duo did not bother to answer for his previous encounter had left him wordless.

 

Hilde ran towards them, as energetic as ever.

 

“I couldn't even get a glimpse. The baker's fat spouse blocked my view. So? So, what did the king say?”

 

“It's more what he didn't say” Trowa answered in Duo's stead.

 

A look of confusion crossed her face and distorted her features.

 

“How can a man who couldn't care less about his people properly govern a country? As soon as I manage to get out of this forsaken town, I will head for Paris and take care of this wretched politic mischief.”

 

Hilde laughed at this idea, unbelieving any of these words.

 

“And what do you think you're going to do?” she asked, mocking him. “Start a revolt?”

 

A cornered smile appeared on Duo's rosebud-pink lips, his large eyes glistening in a most mischievous way. It was quite clear to see that his mind was composing something, a master plan of some sort.

 

In a quite banal tone, Duo corrected her slightly sarcastic remark:

 

“Not a revolt, a revolution!”

 

Trowa looked at him doubtfully.

 

“But you're absolutely oblivious about everything concerning politics.”

 

“Better start being interested then, shouldn't I?”

 

Duo grabbed hold of a branch from the chestnut tree and climbed onto it. He then raised his left hand high up in the air and spoke in a very stern voice:

 

“I, Duo Maxwell, solemnly swear to you, Louis XVI, that in no longer than ten years, you will hear of my name spoken by every individual in Paris. And to this, I shall hold true.”

 

 

-end of chapter 1

 

Historic Facts:

 

The compliment was actually said by Robespierre (he'll come in later chapters) to Louis XV and the king truly did not deign answer him.

In 1781, Desmoulins would actually be 23 and he grew up in Guise, not in Nanterre

Nanterre may not even have had an orphanage.

Friar Martin is an original character.

 

Author's note: Hell…o there! Welcome to our story! We really hope you liked it and also hope to get your opinions on it. The first chapter is a bit slow, but don't worry. Other characters will work their way into the story in the next chapter.

 

About the Historic Facts, this is a section that will be included at the end of each chapter and that will include the actual facts they may have been distorted by our story. This is an AU concerning the French revolution, but some of the facts will be altered since Duo and the other pilots have nothing to do with the Revolutionaries of that period.

 

Last note, this story will also be translated in French. It will eventually be called Liberté, Égalité et Fraternité, for those who are interested.

 

Thanks for reading!

 

Ja ne…

 

~*~*~*~

 

~Ephemeris, Black Mirror and Little Wingz