Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The Courage to Love ❯ Part 2 ( Chapter 2 )

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The Courage to Love

"Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength; loving someone deeply gives your courage"

-Lao Tzu-

Part 2

::: Five months later:::

The young man sighed and rubbed his eyes once he had added the last touches to his newest painting.
Finally it was finished! He would let it dry over night and sell it tomorrow morning. He needed the money desperately. He was behind in paying his rent and for the past few days he had been living on little more than bread and ale. He was lucky that his landlady was an understanding person.
Yes, he thought. All things considered I have been very lucky.

Two days after his confrontation with his father, the young prince had left Sank. Not as Milliardo Peacecraft of course. No, he had changed his name - he was going by Zechs Merquise now- and cut his hair short, before he booked passage on a small ship heading for the Southeast of England. During the voyage he had gotten into a conversation with one of the sailors aboard. Upon hearing that Zechs was planning on staying at the coast for a while, the man had given him the address of an elderly aunt, a widow who supplemented her income by renting out one of the rooms in her house to young, single gentlemen.

"She is very particular about who she rents to," the sailor had told him. " But you look like a nice enough person."
Apparently his aunt, Mrs. Crownwells, thought so too because she decided to rent the room to him. It was only a small chamber, sparely furnished, with a small fireplace and a view onto the docks, but Zechs was thrilled. He paid for the first two months beforehand and moved in what little belongings he had brought. He knew that he needed to find himself a job. Whatever money he had left wasn't going to last long. But that was easier said then done, especially for somebody who had had few to none of the qualifications needed in a small port town.

Luckily his talent to paint and draw came in handy. He found an art dealer who was willing to buy whatever he created. So Zechs had stocked up on brushes and other supplies and spent most of his days down by the pier painting.

By the time Zechs had washed his brushes and cleaned his palette the sun had set, draping the small room in dim light. The young man lit the candles in the table lamp, noticing that they had almost burned to the end. He rummaged through his dresser. Somehow he thought he still had a bag of candles somewhere, but perhaps he had used them already.
It is probably best to go to bed anyway, the young man thought with a sigh.
At least when he was sleeping he wasn't thinking; thinking about Sank, about his friends, about Treize.

Gods, how he missed his lover - how he longed to see him, to hold him, to be held in his arms. But he knew that was out of question. And so was asking his family for help or returning to Sank. No, he was going to give his father that kind of satisfaction, no matter how tough it was going to be. He hadn't been able to forgive his father yet for the things that he had said; wasn't sure if he ever could.

Stop whining, Milliardo! He told himself. You are living a normal life away from any royal duties and nobody is telling you want you can do and what you can't. Isn't it what you always wanted? Perhaps, this is what they mean when they say: "Be careful what you wish for, you might get it"?

A knock at the door ripped Zechs from his brooding thoughts.

"Mister Merquise, are you home?" the voice of his landlady asked from the hall.

Zechs closed his eyes for a moment and groaned inwardly.
Please don't let her be here to collect the rent. I can't pay her yet and I can't afford to lose this place.
He took a deep breath as he walked to the door to open it.

"Yes, I'm here Mrs. Crownwells." He managed to give her a charming smile.
"Oh, I'm so glad you are." The small, gray-haired lady smiled back at him. "I made some soup for dinner and it appears I cooked much more than I can possible eat. It would be such a pity to waste it. Please do me the favor and have some, Mister Merquise."
She extended the small tureen she was carrying and Zechs took it hesitantly.
Somehow it seemed to happen rather often that Mrs. Crownwells cooked more than she could eat. Zechs felt embarrassed. She was a widow living on her late husband's small pension. She shouldn't have to feed him.

"You are too kind, Mrs. Crownwells," he told her.

"Oh, don't mention it, young man." She made a dismissive gesture. "It's nothing fancy, just some vegetable soup."
"I'm sure it is delicious." Zechs answered. In fact the soup smelled wonderful.
"You better eat it while it is still warm. Just give me the bowl back tomorrow."

"I will, Mrs. Crownwells. Thank you and have a pleasant evening."

*****

The man in the art store looked his painting over from all sides.

"I suppose I should be able to sell it," he said with a shrug before he took a few coins from his cash register, handing them to Zechs.
Although he knew that the painting was worth a lot more and that the art dealer was probably going to sell it for three or four times the amount he was paying him, Zechs didn't complain or even try to bargain. He needed the money. It wasn't as much as he had expected but it had to do. Hopefully Mrs. Crownwells was going to let him pay half of the rent today and the rest later.
The blond left the store, pulling his cloak tight around his shoulders. It was a chilly day; autumn was making his present known. Soon he was going to need a winter coat and probably other warm clothes as well.

For a moment he considered taking a carriage home, but then he decided that he could as well go on foot. A little more than an hour later he walked through the front door of the little two-story house he and his landlady were living in.
"Mrs. Crownwells?"
"In here, Mister Merquise," the lady's voice came from the parlor.
"I'm coming about the rent, Mrs. Crownwells," he explained as he pulled his purse (1) out. "I only have half of the money I owe you right now. I was hoping that I could pay you the rest of it next week."

"That will be just fine, Mister Merquise," she said as he handed her the coins. "Now, let me tell you, I wouldn't do this for just anybody. But you are such a nice young man and such a pleasant tenant."

"Thank you, Mrs. Crownwells. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it. I promise I'll get the rest of the rent as soon as possible," he assured her. "And thank you again for the soup last night. It was absolutely delicious."

"Oh, I'm glad you enjoyed it. Oh my, I almost forgot. A gentleman came by earlier this morning. He was looking for somebody by the name of Milliard or Milliardo Peacecraft."

Zechs, who had already turned to leave, spun around a frown on his face. His first thought was that his father had sent somebody to find him.
"I tried to tell him that I did not know anybody by that name," Mrs. Crownwells continued. "But he was as persistent as he was handsome. I finally told him to go down to the pier and look for you, perhaps you would be able to help him."

"Did he give his name?" the young man asked.

"Oh I'm sure he did, I just can't remember. Forgive an old woman. My mind is not as sharp as it used to be. But…" he walked over to a small table in the hall to pick up a small white card and handed it to Zechs. "He did leave his calling card."
"How long ago was he here?" the young man asked, a slight tremor in his voice, after a quick look at the fine gold printing.
"About an hour ago I would say. Perhaps a little longer."
"Thank you, Mrs. Crownwells." Zechs turned and hurried out of the house, leaving behind a slightly surprised old lady.

The young man had to force himself not to run. From where he lived it was probably less than a mile to the pier, but it seemed like the longest mile Zechs had walked in his life.

One hour, he thought. One hour is a long time. What if he already left? Of all the times, why did he have to come the one day I didn't go to the pier?

The pier was nearly empty, aside from a few fishermen and a couple of sailors.
Too late! Zechs' shoulders slumped in disappointment. But as he turned to head back home he saw him, just as the man was about to climb into a waiting carriage.

"Treize," he called out.

The ginger-blond man turned and for a while just looked at each other. For a moment Zechs thought the duke wasn't even recognizing him. His hair, although he was letting it grow again, reached only to his shoulders. He had lost weight, and his clothes clearly didn't look like they had once been tailored for him.
"Treize," he repeated quietly, voice barely above a whisper.
"Milliardo?!"

Zechs almost couldn't believe it. It was really him. It was Treize. His heart was pounding so hard that he thought he would be breaking through his chest any moment now. His head was spinning, and he had to reach for a street sign for support. Suddenly the duke was beside him, steadying him.
"Milliardo," Treize asked, concern in his voice. "When was the last time you ate something?"
"I'm fine," he answered evasively. "Just a little overwhelmed. I didn't expect..."
"Milliardo, answer my question. When?" the ginger-blond man demanded sternly.
"Yesterday," he admitted quietly, somewhat embarrassed.

Without another word Treize ushered him into the carriage, telling the driver to take them to an inn; a good one.
Sitting across from each other the two men stared at one another silently for a moment, then Treize reached out to brush away a few stray hairs from Zechs' face.
"What happened?" he asked. "What happened to your hair?"
Zechs shrugged. "I cut it. I would never been able to leave Sank unnoticed with that telltale mane of mine. You hate it, don't you?"

"It will take some getting used to," Treize admitted. "But it is just hair. It will grow back. More importantly I have found you. And now that I did, I will be taking you home with me."
"No," Zechs exclaimed. "I can't go with you."

The ginger-blond man frowned. "I'm not leaving here without you, Milliardo." His voice left no doubt that he was serious.
"You don't understand, Treize. My father…he threatened to make your affair with me public if we were ever to see each other again."

"Is that why you never even tried to contact me?" Treize wanted to know; his frown turning into a scowl.

"Not only am I the prince of Sank, I'm still underage, while you are an adult in the eye of the law. You and I know that we did nothing wrong; that you have been an true gentleman all this time, still it would be a scandal that would end your career and perhaps also ruin you socially and politically. I couldn't take that risk."

The blond averted his eyes, staring at his hands in his lap.

"Milliardo, look at me," the duke demanded gently. "Perhaps you haven't noticed yet, but I'm not wearing a uniform anymore. I retired from the Royal Navy almost three months ago."

Zechs' head jerked up. "Please tell me you didn't do it for my sake."

Treize shook his head. "No, I did not. I did it for both of us. I couldn't stand being apart from you most of the time, seeing you only once every few months was more than I could bare. I could tell from your letters that you were missing me too, so I thought to hell with the military. It was supposed a surprise. Remember when I wrote in one of my letters that there was something I had to tell you? But when I came to see you in Greece you were gone, without leaving as much as a note where I could find you." The ginger-blond man sighed. "Do you have any idea how worried I was?"

"I'm sorry." Zechs replied meekly. "But how did you manage to find me?"

"Let's say it wasn't easy. And your family wasn't much of help either. I was sure they knew where you were, so I requested an audience with your father."

The blond's eyes went wide. "You traveled to Sank?"
Treize chuckled. "You better believe it. Your father refused to see me. I was ready to break down the palace gates if I had to, but before it got that far a letter was delivered at the inn I was staying at. It had no name, seal or signature on it, just a short note telling me that you had left Sank aboard a ship called the Albatross heading for England, on the 17th of August. I was able to track the Albatross down and talk to the crew. Luckily some of the sailors remembered a young gentleman who occupied himself with drawing during the journey. Although I didn't recognize the name of that young man, once they showed me one of the pictures I did recognize your style. One of the sailors told me he had given you an address here in Fairsford. I admit it was a long shot, but worth checking out anyway. And that's how I got here." The duke ended his account just as the carriage pulled up in front of a large inn. Treize told the driver to feed and water the horses and get himself something to eat, they were probably going to stay for a while.
The inn was almost empty at this time of the day and he selected a table in the far back of the room where they had a certain amount of privacy. Without bothering to look at the paper with the inn's offerings Treize summoned the owner. "Bring us two pieces of roast, the best cut that you have, and a good bottle of wine," he requested. The big-bellied man nodded and disappeared to return a few moments later with their order.
Zechs' stomach was churning and his head was still spinning from the excitement. He suddenly didn't feel hungry at all. But since he didn't want to offend his lover, he started to eat anyway. Treize watched the young man work on the large piece of meat, barely touching his own meal.

"When we are done here I'm going to take you home. We will be leaving as soon as you have packed your things." The ginger-blond man decided. "This place is utterly depressing. How in the world can anybody live here."

Zechs put his silverware down and looked straight at the duke. "Aren't you afraid of what people might be saying when you move a young man into your house?"
Treize shook his head. "Most people I socialize with are aware of my…um…preferences and frankly I do not care what the rest of the world, including your father, thinks. Besides, we will not be living together. You will have your own mansion, your own servants and your own life. I think it will be best if we can see each other whenever we want but also have the choice to retreat into our own four walls if we need some time apart, wouldn't you agree."

"I suppose you are right. You usually are."

The duke smiled. "Are you finished? Let's leave then, shall we?"

Zechs nodded. He was as eager to get away from this place as Treize was. The older man paid and a few minutes later they climbed together into the duke's carriage.

The blond prince was staring out of the window, lost on thought, for a long moment before he turned his head.
"Treize!"

"Yes?" The ginger-blond man looked up.
"This is real, isn't it? I'm not just dreaming?"

"Yes, Milliardo. This is real; as real as it gets." Treize embraced his young lover tenderly. "I'm here and I'll never leave you again."

*****

Three days later the two men arrived at the duke's estate.
"Welcome to Rosehill Manor." Treize held open the door as Zechs exited the carriage. He told the servants to carry the luggage inside and prepare a room for his guest.

The young man let his gaze wander.

"What a beautiful place," he remarked. "How long have you been living here?"
"Actually I grew up here. This used to be my parent's estate."

Zechs smirked.
"What is so funny, if I may ask?"

"I'm trying to picture you as a child. I imagine you were the perfect gentleman even then; every parent's dream."
Treize chuckled. "I suppose my parents and the servants might disagree with you. I hate to admit it, but I was quite a handful as a child. My mother adored me and I took full advantage of that fact. My father on the other hand was a little harder to manipulate and far less forgiving. But all on all, as their only child I was spoiled by both of them."
Zechs gave a soft laugh, but suddenly he became serious as he turned toward the duke.

"Treize, I'd rather not want people to know my real name. I don't want my father to find me. He still could force me to go back to Sank."

The ginger-blond man nodded. "I understand, Dear. But you have nothing to worry. He will not find you. And even if he did, anybody who tries to take you anywhere against your will would have to go through me first."

"My knight in shining armor." The blond smirked.

"Shouldn't every prince and princess have one?" Treize replied playfully. "Shall we go inside?"

Zechs nodded, following the older man up the wide stairway.

"Blue Lake Manor is just across the woods," the duke pointed out. "We can have a look at it tomorrow. Nobody has lived there for ages. It will take some time to get everything repaired and cleaned up, so for now you will stay here as my guest."

*****

Zechs was sitting on his bed, considering if he should get ready for the night when a knock on the door drew his attention. The young man got up and opened it, revealing his ginger-blond host.
"I just came by to bid you good night." Treize stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. "Do you have everything you need?"

"Now I do," the blond prince replied with a mischievous smirk, as the duke embraced him. The two men shared a deep and passionate kiss.
"Will you stay with me tonight?" Zechs asked. "I have missed you so much Treize. I want to be yours. I want you to make me yours."
Treize sighed. "No, we can't; not yet anyway. And it is not that I wouldn't love to. I have been dreaming about it as much as you have, my dear Prince. But you said it yourself a few days ago - I'm an adult and you have yet to come of age. Only a few more months, Milliardo, and you will be eighteen. We need to be patient for just a little longer."

It all made sense. As much as Zechs hated to say it, it made perfect sense.

"You are right," he admitted. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry about." Treize cupped the young man's face, capturing his mouth in a burning kiss. He slipped his tongue between willingly parting lips. Zechs moaned softly. That sweet sound and the eagerness with which his young lover responded to his kiss sent a rush of blood straight to Treize's groin. His breeches suddenly felt uncomfortably tight, and it took all the strength he could master to not lose his self-control and take the blond prince right then and there.

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T.B.C.

Author's Note:

(1) - Not a women's purse, okay. It's a kind of wallet that they used during that time, more suited for coins than paper money, since most people never even used paper.

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