Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The Celtic Series ❯ Az Gwir a eveb d'ar Bed: Ankou ( Chapter 4 )

The Celtic Series II: Az Gwir a eveb d'ar Bed

Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing or any of its characters. I'm writing this for fun, I'm not making any money for it. However, the original characters are mine YAY! Tethra rulezzz!

Pairings: 121, 3xR (will be explained.................. eventually! .:laughs maniacally:.), 343

Warnings/classifications: AU, lime, OC's, shonen-ai

Author's notes: I'm on 6/7th of my exams, so......... I thought I'd celebrate it by writing a new part of Celtic! YAY! Chapter title Ankou will be explained at the bottom of the page. Az Gwir a eveb d'ar Bed means 'The Truth with regard to the World' or something like that (.:sighs:. It's a translation of a translation of a translation of a translation… you get the point .:insert smilie here:.) Nothing more to say, I think... Nope...

'blah' thinking
"blah" speaking

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Ankou

"Master Trowa!" the page entered the room, bowing hastily.

His head with the gravity-defying bang snapped up at the sound. "What is it, Quatre?" he asked curtly.

"My prince, it's your father... he's..." The blond-haired boy couldn't even finish his sentence, for prince Trowa had already sped out of the room. The boy quickly followed his master, not wanting to get reprimanded for his slowness. When they reached the room of the king, he waited at the door, knowing that entering wouldn't be appreciated. The people in the room wanted to say goodbye to their king without any outsiders present.

The king had been ill for quite a while now, so his death wouldn't be unexpected. But still, the death of a high-placed person always brought commotion: the question who would succeed him, and, more important, the question if his successor would be a good king. Quatre had no doubt that prince Trowa would make a great king; the prince already had proved to be a decent judge and had great fighting skills. As a king he wouldn't really need those skills, but they had earned him the respect and loyalty of his troops. And that he would need, for an army that betrayed its king was extremely dangerous.

He thought back of how he first had arrived at the castle. Quatre himself was the youngest son of a tyern, a nobleman. He had been sent to the king to serve as his page so he could learn about how it was to be a noble and to learn humility. Besides, as the youngest son, his chances of becoming the next tyern were really small, not to say minuscule.

At age 7 he had arrived here, now he was almost 14 years old, almost at the age that he could go back to his own clan. Not that he didn't like it here or that he didn't appreciate the honour it was to be allowed to serve the king and his relatives, but he would be glad when he could go home. It was a long time that he'd last seen his parents, he almost couldn't remember what they looked like. He also wondered how his brothers and sisters would be doing…

He was roughly shaken out of his contemplation by a cry from behind the door. "No! Father!"

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"No! Father!" Trowa knelt at the left side of his fathers bed.

"My son..." the king mumbled softly, not able to speak any louder. "I'm dying..."

The other people in the room - Trowa, his sister Catherine, their mother, and a druid - all held their breath at this statement, and for a moment, the only sound that was to be heard was the rattling breathing of the king. Then they all breathed out and the tension ebbed away a little. It was not like they didn't know he was dying, but hearing him say that himself was somehow different.

"Promise me..." The king's breath came now very irregularly.

The prince leaned a bit towards the king, desperate to catch his father's last words. "Yes, father?"

"Promise me... that you'll marry..." The king paused again, and it didn't look like he was going to say more.

Trowa was slightly confused. Was that all? Of course he'd marry, everyone did, and especially an heir to the throne as himself had to, to secure the succession to the throne. But then his father continued.

"Marry... princess Relena... of Connacht..."

A look of utter surprise showed on his face. Relena? Why her? He had only met her once, maybe twice, and there sure were better candidates. She would absolutely not have been his choice for marriage... But denying a dying man, his father, his last wish; that was hard. So he did the only thing he could and said: "If that is what you wish, father, then I'll marry Relena of Connacht."

A small smile formed at the face of the king. "Thank you..." he whispered. And after one last gasp, he breathed his last. The king had died.

"Father..."

Trowa closed his father's eyes and whispered a short prayer to the gods. Then he turned to his mother and sister. They were both sad, but both wore an equal expression of surprise on their faces. It seemed like no one had expected this last wish of the king. A flash of movement in the right corner of the room caught his eye. When he looked, he saw the white-clad druid walking to the king's bed, a thoughtful expression on his face.

As the druid became aware of eyes on him, he looked up, straight into Trowa's one visible eye. The prince held his breath. He'd never really given the druid a second glance, but now he took a better look at him, he noticed that the guy was actually about his age. He had thought that this new druid would be another middle-aged, almost ancient-looking person, like all druids he knew, and with the cloak hiding his face, finding out what the druid underneath it looked like was quite hard, an effort that Trowa normally wouldn't have made.

The moment passed and the druid didn't cast down his eyes. No one ever, except for his mother and sister maybe, looked him in the eyes! Or eye in his case. The knowing look in those blue eyes made the prince nervous, it was like the druid had know all along that this had been coming. And maybe he had...

Trowa had learned a lot during his education as king-to-be, but he'd never been particularly interested in druids and their abilities. Now he wished he had been... This druid - what was his name again? - fascinated him.

"Heero, my name is Heero," the druid said to Trowa's utter surprise.

This Heero-person could read his mind??? He was shocked, but intrigued at the same time. But just when he was about to say something, the druid broke eye contact and left the room, mumbling a hasty apology.

What was that about? Now he was even more curious. Too bad he couldn't just follow the druid; for the moment his place was here, with his mother and sister, and his dead father...

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'Heero.'

He quickly broke eye contact with the prince, and after a hasty "Excuse me, I'll be right back" he left the room and hurried to his own quarters. In the quiet of his own room, he sat down, before speaking in thought with the person who had called him.

'Sorry, I had to get to a quiet place first.'

'Never mind. So, how's everything going?' the familiar voice of his soul-mate sounded in his head.

'Everything's going as it should be. The king has just died and has made prince Trowa promise to marry princess Relena of Connacht.' Heero reported calmly, without showing emotion.

'Good!' Then the other chuckled, a little embarrassed at his joyful exclamation after such news. 'I mean, it sure is sad that the king has died, but... ah well, you know what I mean.'

Heero smiled slightly.

'So... when are you able to come to the Under-world again?' Then the voice turned more serious: 'I miss you, you know...'

He felt a lump in his throat. He missed his braid soul mate too. Heero would never have thought that he'd ever be able to feel things like this, but after his first meeting with Duo on the open spot in the woods, and even stronger after the ritual that made them become soul mates, he had felt a connection with the half-Fomoiri, felt incomplete without him being somewhere near. And it was almost impossible to be further away from him than he was now... Duo in the Under-world, he in the Upper-world...

'I... I don't know. With the king's death so recently, I can't just leave like that...'

The disappointment he felt both from himself as through his connection with Duo, made him continue: 'But maybe I can leave sometime during the night? I don't think they'll need me at that time.'

'Great! How about one o'clock, at the open spot near Nuadu's?'

'Okay.' It was quiet for a moment, then he continued, so softly that it was hardly audible: 'I missed you too.'

It was hard for him to let his emotions show, let alone tell people what he felt, but the reward for these words was so that he made a mental note to do so more often. He felt Duo's smile through their connection, and although he couldn't see him, he knew exactly how Duo would look right now.

He sighed. 'I'll have to go now, they'll be wondering what keeps me this long.'

'And, what'll you say if they ask you about it?' the mischievous question came.

He laughed quietly, also something he didn't do often before his meeting with the braided half-Fomoiri. 'Hey, I'm a druid, I don't have to justify my actions.'

The last thing he heard before the connection was cut, was Duo's laugh.

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[1]

These festivals were killing him! He really didn't feel like celebrating his father's transition to the other world. But everything had to go according to the rules, and the festivals made the royal family more popular among the inhabitants of Kildare.

At the moment the knights of the kings personal guard were showing their skills with their swords. Had he not been so tired, he certainly would have liked the show, their fighting skills and manoeuvring ability were amazing.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his arm. Without even looking he knew it had to be his sister, Catherine. She was the only one who would do something like that; most people respected - or feared - him too much to touch him, especially without first announcing their presence.

"Tro, everything alright?" his sister asked sympathetically.

He nodded. "Yeah, just tired."

And who wouldn't be tired, after two nights of waking by his father's dead body? He couldn't imagine how he'd feel after another two nights. Fortunately, he had been able to catch some sleep between the different games, but never more than one hour a time. He sure hoped the next few days would be less hectic and leave him more time to rest.

"Maybe you should eat or drink something that will give you some new energy," Catherine suggested helpfully. "Shall I order Quatre to get you something?"

But Trowa shook his head. "No. I'll have to do this on my own. What kind of king would I be if I can't even handle four nights of no sleep?"

Catherine had to agree to this, its logic was irrefutable.

"Good luck, dear brother. I'll go check on little Conn, I'll be back in an hour or so."

Trowa nodded, his green eyes dull as they looked at the scene in front of him. Now his soldiers and some men from the village were horseracing.

He looked at the sun, trying to estimate the time. He guessed that in about two hours, the higher-placed guests would go to the castle and have dinner, and he, Trowa, then would have to make a speech.

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Two hours of trying not to fall asleep later, Trowa cleared his throat, asking attention from those present. Then he began his speech.

"Honourable guests, I think I can speak for both me and my father, if I say that we're honoured that you cared enough to join us here. You all know the reason for this gathering, and although my father's passing is a severe loss to this community, we shouldn't be sad, for he now has been reborn in the Other World. We should be happy for him."

Trowa looked around the hall; sometimes nodding politely as he made eye contact with acquaintances.

Subsequently, he spoke of his father's life, his achievements, and that he had been such a great king, much greater than Trowa himself could ever hope to become. And, when the formalities were finished, he finally sat down, thus letting dinner commence.

His mother was sitting on his left side, and next to her were Trowa's sister Catherine and her husband Ciarán. The druid Heero was on his right-hand side. In the fuss after his father's death, he hadn't been able to ask the druid the questions that were on his mind, and now, when he was sitting next to the guy, he couldn't even speak with him because of his duties as a prince… Life was so unfair sometimes.

"M-master Trowa?"

That page again. Just when he had thought things couldn't get any worse, that blondie showed up again. He frowned, where had that come from? Now that he thought of it, he couldn't really explain his dislike of the young boy; after all, he had been a page too, although for a short time.

"What is it?" He asked irritably, but repeated the question in a softer voice, when he saw the expression on the boy's face: "What is it that you came to tell me, Quatre?"

The boy swallowed, then said in a shaky voice. "There are some people waiting for you, master."

Trowa almost got angry with the boy for not telling who the guests were in the first place, but he managed to control himself. He shouldn't let his sleep-shortage affect the page.

"Did they tell you who they are?"

Quatre looked at the ground. "King Milliardo of Connacht and his sister, master."

End of part one
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I really didn't feel like writing more to this right now, and I thought this was a nice point to quit… Well, not really but… Laziness!

Ankou is Celtic for 'death' or 'decease'.

Thanks to Zmajgoddes, CuriousDreamWeaver and cryearthstearsfalltou for reviewing TnnO: Spered! I really appreciate it!

And uhm… Trowa wasn't really supposed to be like this, but well… .:points accusingly at muse:. "Your fault!" and Quat's kinda different too, but everything will fall in place in future chappies.

[1] .:slaps herself:. I had such a great list of funeral rituals, but... I CAN'T READ MY OWN HANDWRITING ANYMORE! o.O I'm hopeless... Maybe I really should switch to writing with my left hand... it's a lot more readable... though it writes a bit slower... Ah well, I'll quit my nonsense rambling, excusez-moi .:insert smiley here:. Any mistakes regarding the funeral rituals are because of my sucky handwriting… .:points accusingly at her right hand:. "Your fault!"