Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Skywind ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Gundam Wing, and I do not make any money from the writing of this fanfiction.

 

Chapter 1

 

Quatre sat at the table quietly, his eyes on the open book in front of him, but he was not really absorbing a single word of what he was supposed to be studying. Spring had come to Veran Hall, as it did to every place on Winseria, and he was feeling it flowing through him. He wanted to be outside, feeling the sun warm on his face, the sweet breeze in his hair - not stuck in this dusty library memorizing old spells that weren't even used any more.

 

He sighed and turned a page to keep up appearances, not paying attention to his surroundings. So when an ancient, gnarled hand landed on his shoulder, he jumped and gasped.

 

“Oh!” Color flooded his cheeks as he realized Master Landros himself had tapped him. “S-sir!” He started to rise out of reflex.

 

He allowed Quatre to stand, an amused smile on his face. “You are bored, yes?” he asked gently, his musical accent, as always, sending a touch of delight through Quatre. Master Landros had that effect on everyone; there wasn't a person in Veran Hall that didn't adore the sweet old man and his beautiful voice.

 

Unfortunately, there wasn't a person in Veran Hall that could lie to the old man, either. Quatre could feel his face burning with embarassment, and he looked down as he stammered, “Y-yes, sir.”

 

Master Landros's silence made him look up, as the old man wasn't one to pause for long in conversation. He found him regarding Quatre thoughtfully. “You remember our conversation some time back, do you not, young one?”

 

Quatre's face burned even more. That Master Landros would think that he would forget anything he said! “Y-yes, of course, sir!”

 

“Yet you persist in the behaviors I have asked you to tame.” There was no rebuke in his tone, but Quatre's face burned even more.

 

He regarded him in silence for a bit more, then actually sighed, and placed his hand upon Quatre's shoulder, his smile warm and understanding. “It is spring, I suppose it is not entirely your fault. You may have a break, young one. Go outside and take some fresh air.”

 

Quatre left the library almost ready to cry. He so wanted to make Master Landros happy. He remembered the conversation they had had almost three months ago.

 

“If you are to become a mage, young one, then you must learn discipline. You are, at this moment, not suited for the calling. You are impulsive, restless. A mage must have patience. You have much difficulty studying the simplest of the old tongues, when to be a strong mage you must be fluent in the most difficult of them. You have a continuous need for sound, for music and laughter and talk, when mages have need for silence to focus on their works and studies. You let the smallest things distract you, when such distractions could be fatal when casting spells of greater strength. You continuously question your instructors, when they are older and wiser than you by far. Do not question what they tell you, and you will learn more.”

 

He had been caught in his spell-binding voice, the sheer musicality and power of it, when he leaned forward and their eyes locked. Dizziness struck Quatre, and he felt like he was falling into a well, about to drown, when his voice pulled him out, providing him with a lifeline.

 

“You must promise me that you will try harder, young one. You have tremendous magical potential, but you will never learn to use it if you do not tame these behaviors. You do not have to kill them off - indeed, that would be most unwise, as they are a part of who you are - but you must learn to have control, over yourself and your impulses.”

 

He considered the conversation and the advice he had given him as one of his few treasures. His words remained forever in his mind. He tried so hard to obey his advice, but he kept slipping - like this afternoon.

 

He sighed in frustration, but as he opened the door and stepped out into the courtyard and felt the sun radiant on his face, he couldn't help but feel his spirits lift. Master Landros is right, he thought determinedly to himself. It is just that it is spring.

 

He stepped more fully into the sunlight, and as always felt a rush of strength and - he didn't know the precise word for it, maybe an awareness. But it was an awareness unlike anything anyone else he knew had. In the sun, he could feel currents of wind, but not only the air flowing - he could smell the scents upon it with the same keenness as a wild thing, and he knew instinctively where each individual breeze had come from. Sometimes he heard voices carried upon the wind, voices from far away that no human should have been able to hear over such a distance. His eyesight was one of amazing clarity, even at night, and each time he stood in the sun he felt that sharpness increase a little. His hearing was on par with his eyesight.

 

As he stood in the sun, a breeze brushed past him, and he felt the welcome within it. The trees in the courtyard rustled with the wind, a soothing, peaceful sound that drove away some of the self-directed frustration he was feeling. A rare bird, one of few brave enough to enter the magic-soaked grounds of Veran Hall, started to sing a merry tune. The forces of nature were welcoming him back from the entrapment in the library.

 

Listen to yourself, he thought. Entrapment indeed. I was supposed to be studying the ancient spells of Thiemos, and instead I had to get bored and have Master Landros take pity on me. The self-directed disgust, calmed for a moment by the soft greetings of nature, returned in full force, and the single bird took flight, leaving Veran Hall and him behind.

 

He walked across the courtyard to his favorite bench, which sat squarely in the brightest patch of sunlight. He sat down and closed his eyes, intending to meditate.

 

There was a sharp rustle in the branches of the oak tree nearby. His eyes opened, and he looked toward the tree with curiosity. The spells that surrounded Veran hall prevented any creature that represented danger from entering the grounds. Unfortunately, it also caused most other harmless animals - squirrels and birds and such - discomfort, and as a result there were almost never any animals in Veran Hall's courtyard. What wild thing had had the courage to ignore the wards?

 

He closed his eyes again after a moment of silence, and the rustle sounded again. He opened his eyes just in time to see a golden streak leap from the tree to land squarely in front of him some ten or twelve feet away.

 

Quatre caught his breath, his heart pounding. He had never seen anything like this creature. Its main body was that of a golden cat, but this cat was by far the biggest specimen he had ever come across, its head reaching his hips as it stood on all fours quite easily. And it had wings. Sleek, golden, feathered wings proportional enough that Quatre was easily able to see that they were meant for practical flying.

 

It sat down on its haunches and regarded him with bright violet eyes as any cat would, inscrutably. A muscled hundred and fifty-pound, beautifully golden, winged inscrutable kitty.

 

Quatre tried to remain calm as he ran the various descriptions of the magical creatures he had studied through his head. None of the descriptions came close to the creature sitting so calmly in front of him.

 

A movement brought his attention back to the creature. The cat thing was moving, standing and pacing toward him.

 

The creature paused, and gave him a blatantly miffed look. Cat thing, indeed!

 

Quatre's heart nearly stopped. Had that thing just - !

 

Not thing, the words chimed impatiently in his head, and they were definitely not his own thoughts.

 

Quatre tried to clear his mind. “I - I'm sorry, I've never seen anyth - anyone like you before,” he stammered. Definitely a magical being of some kind, but -

 

The cat gave him a condescending look, then seemed to soften. No, you wouldn't have. My kind do not often enter human places.

 

“Wh-what are you d-doing here?” Quatre asked.

 

The cat paced toward him until it was a mere three feet away. My paw is hurt.

 

Quatre looked at the creature's forepaws, and for the first time noticed that the left one was not completely clean like the rest of the polished fur. It was matted with old blood. “Oh!” He started to step toward the cat, the automatic reaction to help the creature so strong within him he didn't even think.

 

There is a large splinter of wood driven into my paw, the cat's voice said. Will you pull it out for me?

 

“Of course.” Quatre knelt before the large cat, reaching out for the wounded paw. The cat extended it toward him, settling on its haunches as it did so.

 

Quatre studied the paw, spotting the trouble almost immediately - a ragged piece of wood was indeed driven deep into the center of the paw. It was not large enough for the cat to be able to pull it out with its teeth on its own, but big enough that it had to be causing the creature a great deal of pain.

 

Quatre bit his lip. “I can pull this out, but it is likely to hurt a great deal,” he warned the creature.

 

That is all right. I have some natural healing ability that will allow me to dull the pain and close the wound once the wood is out.

 

Quatre hesitated a moment, then murmured, “All right,” and took hold of the splinter. It was strangely difficult to get a grip on the splinter; it was slick and persisted in trying to escape his pull. Quatre frowned and focused his whole attention upon it, all of his awareness. The splinter went dull in his fingertips, and he was able to pull it out with a few tugs.

 

The cat pulled its paw out of his hand and ran its tongue across the wound. Quatre watched in amazement as the wound closed and the cat cleaned the remainder of the dried blood from its paw. Once it finished, it looked him directly. Thank you…?

 

Quatre realized it wanted his name. “I'm Quatre.”

 

Your full name?

 

The question caught Quatre off guard. He hadn't thought about his family name in so long; last names were not used in Veran Hall. His head actually hurt as he attempted to recall his surname. Yet his family name was a part of who he was, was it not? “…Winner. Quatre Raberba Winner.”

 

Winner? There was a sudden sharpness in the cat's tone. This is your family name?

 

“Yes,” Quatre answered, tensing in nervousness at the cat's reaction. What on earth could have caused the cat to react in such a way to his last name?

 

The creature stared at him a moment, then just as suddenly as it had tensed, it relaxed. My name is Liandramonedarym.

 

Quatre blinked, and tried to pronounce the name. “Liandrameno…?”

 

Lian will do, or Sandrock if you like. The cat's tone was amused.

 

“Lian,” Quatre echoed, smiling. “That's a nice name.” And he meant it.

 

My kind are not cats. You humans call us the reanlos.

 

“Reanlos,” Quatre echoed thoughtfully, filing the information away in his mind. “How did you come to be hurt in such a fashion, Lian?”

 

There was a feeling of hesitation from the cat, then Lian answered, I was hunting on ground that was part of the territory of another, and was…clumsy.

 

Quatre was not foolish, and his senses were telling him that although what Lian said was truth, he was leaving out a great deal. He?

 

Yes, he, Lian agreed. I am male.

 

Quatre's cheeks flushed. “Can you hear everything I think?”

 

Just your surface thoughts. I have no way of delving into your private memories or your subconscious.

 

Quatre still frowned a little, and decided to change the subject. “Why were you hunting on the territory of another?”

 

I was not hunting for food. I sought - an object that belongs to me that has gone missing.

 

“What sort of object - ?”

 

“Quatre!”

 

Master Landros's shocked voice startled him, and he rose to his feet to face to venerable old man. “Master…?”

 

“Get away from that creature!” he commanded.

 

“Master - it is all right, Lian is not -“

 

Landros's eyes went dark with anger. “You question me?” His hand came up, and he traced a glowing symbol in the air. All of a sudden, Quatre's feet were moving of their own accord toward Landros.

 

“Wha -!” Quatre cried out in alarm. “Master Landros?!” Master Landros was using a compulsion spell upon him? But those spells were not sanctified by -!

 

A solid force knocked Quatre off his feet and sent him sprawling into the grass. Lian stood over him, snarling at Master Landros. You dare use compulsion on a Winner? There was more rage in Lian's voice than any emotion Quatre had ever sensed from another before.

 

“Lian, let me up!” he protested. “Master Landros was just -“

 

“Quatre is mine,” the old man said, his voice colder than ice, shocking Quatre. “His family name means nothing here. You will step away from him, reanlos. NOW.” Compulsion snapped through the air, aimed at Lian instead of Quatre.

 

The cat's lip curled back, exposing pearl-white fangs in a sneer. Your pathetic human magic has no effect on me.

 

“Back away from him,” Landros said in a voice of iron. “I'll not have my apprentice corrupted by your accursed ways.”

 

Winners belong to no one but themselves. Quatre does not even know of his heritage, does he?

 

Landros's eyes widened. “Fool boy!” he fairly hissed. “You gave the creature your name?”

 

“B-but, master, he just -“

 

“Be quiet!” Landros snapped. Quatre's eyes went wider. He had never seen the master like this - never. What had Lian meant, his heritage?

 

Lian's sneer grew. I know you now. Look at how shocked your `apprentice' is. You have never lowered the façade of being a gentle old man before in front of him, have you, Landros Blackstone?

 

If it was possible, the old man's rage increased even more. “I cast aside that name upon coming here,” he snarled.

 

And a good thing, too. I respect the elders of the Blackstone family. You shame their name. You have him under a blinding spell, don't you?

 

Blinding spell? All of a sudden, as those words echoed in Quatre's head, a pain shot through his temples unlike anything he had ever experienced, and he cried out in agony. The pain was so exquisite he couldn't think.

 

Ah, I see I was right. The savagery in Lian's tone increased. I came here seeking help with a magically-induced wound, and what do I find? An heir to the Winner legacy, blinded to his own potential, a slave to the wishes of a greedy, power-draining -

 

“Lian!” Quatre protested, his head still screaming with pain. “Master Landros has never taken anything from me. He has tried to teach me -“

 

He kept you within the cold halls below ground here, did he not?

 

“I -“ Quatre couldn't focus. There was something important about that question, but what - “Yes, I spend much of my time inside studying, but -“

 

You are a Winner. Your power originates from the sun and light. You weaken as you spend less and less time within the light. Your Master Landros knows this well!

 

Quatre's eyes went wide with shock and disbelief. “Wh-what? No, master Landros would not have -“

 

Even now he blinds you to your true thoughts with a deeply ingrained spell. Wake up, Quatre Raberba Winner! Wake up and remember who you are!