Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The Elements ❯ Chapter 25 ( Chapter 25 )

Disclaimer: Neither Gundam Wing nor its characters are mine. They are the property of their respective owners. Rhys (when he shows up) is not mine. He is the property of Laurel K. Hamilton. The Sidhe, the way I use them, are Laurel K. Hamilton's interpretation of the faeries from mythology. If I use Hands of Power, which I might, they are the creation of Laurel K. Hamilton, too.

Pairings: 2x1 (eventually), 6+1, 5+1, implied 3+4, R+H, H+9+H, others to be named Rating: NC-17, probably Warnings: AU, OOC, probably lemon, semi Duo- bastardization (don't worry, he gets over it), I should probably add angst, NICE RELENA Chapter 18, 3x1 lemon, but don't worry, it's just sex.

//blah// denotes thought

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R version archived at: fanfiction.net

The Elements

Chapter 25

Oberon followed Carl, ignoring the catcalls directed at him, then the shameless groveling as the catcallers realized just who he was. He was brought to a room in the back of the club-it was so far way from the dance floor that Oberon could barely hear the music. The atmosphere, warm and earthy in the customer-allowed portion, faded into that of wanton lust as he came closer to the owners' quarters. Carl stopped and motioned for Oberon to go on without him-the Leanan Sidhe was waiting for him at the end of the hall, last door on the right.

Oberon knew, through his host's past experiences, that a lesser fey than he would go mad with desire were he to venture further into the heart of the vampire faery's chambers. He also knew that, at night, the Leanan Sidhe would go out hunting for humans to suck dry. She would inspire them in their art, in exchange for their life's essence. She usually burned them out quickly-too much so to get more than one piece of art out of them.

In contrast, her sister, the Lliannan-She, was much more subtle and innocent in her endeavors. She would wander the forests during the day, waiting for someone-anyone-to speak to her. She would then leech onto her unsuspecting victim, fueling his creativity, driving him to create more masterpieces, bigger and more beautiful than any before. She would follow him always, alternately sucking him dry of his essence (made sweeter and more powerful by his creations) and letting him recuperate until such time when he could no longer pick up a pen, or a brush, or a microphone, at which time she left him to die, mourning the loss of his constant companion.

It was blasphemy against everything faerykind held dear, to kill such bringers of beauty and art (even if they brought it at the cost of innocent lives), and that was exactly why Oberon had come to the club that afternoon. He had finally reached the Leanan Sidhe's quarters, and he fought off the almost-insatiable urge to sing.

Oberon opened the door the find a young woman of ethereal beauty staring back at him. Her hair was the color of deepest ruby, flowing (wavy) down her back. It was loose and reached almost to her knees. Her eyes were living emeralds, with just a hint of gold speckled throughout. Her skin was peaches and cream perfect, not a freckle or scar in sight. Oberon knew that if he touched it, it would be as soft as a newborn baby's. She was wild and unattainable and angelic and staring right at him. Her eyes bored into him, trying to decide if he was friend or foe, ally or enemy, predator or prey.

She must have found what she was searching for because she bowed to Oberon-her knees on the floor, her back arched so her hands could lay in front of her, her head down, eyes on the floor. She did not speak a word. She did not chatter to him about how privileged she was to be visited by royalty. She did not beg his forgiveness for her earlier scrutiny. She did not do *anything*, merely stayed as she was and waited for Oberon to acknowledge her.

//Finally, someone who knows the rules of how to properly receive a prince,// Oberon thought, wryly. He smirked down at her, thinking how fitting it was that one of her kind was to be his first kill this time around. Well, not his *first* kill, but the human hardly mattered. Humans were little more than vermin anyway-little rats with which to play while he waited for the big fish to fry. Oberon smiled down at Heero's loyal subject-a smile that would bring terror into the hearts of any that knew it, had they been alive to see it.

"Look at me, Ariana," he said. His smile widened as she raised her head to look at him; her eyes showed not blind devotion, not unparalleled love, but reluctant resignation of her forced servitude to him as Prince of All Sidhe, Leanan or otherwise.

"Do you know why I'm here?" he asked her. Recognizing that it was not a rhetorical question, she shook her head "no." Another correct procedure: do not deign to know the motivations of your betters.

Oberon smiled again, but a wistful smile this time. The girl's actions made him remember a better time, a simpler time. A time when humans were treated like they deserved to be treated-as less than a bug underneath one's shoe-and the fey roamed the world as they pleased. A time when the Riders were more than disembodied spirits, forced to parasite themselves on powerful, corporeal beings, forced to spend their lives in a hell dimension crawling with life forms even lower than humans. It was a time when Those-Who-Would-Become-Riders ruled with impunity, a time before *Her*. This girl looked much like Her but was, of course, much prettier.

"Of course you don't know," Oberon said. "I haven't told you yet." He lifter her head and put his mouth against her ear-his lips were close enough to brush against it as he talked, and she shivered at the contact. "I've come to have your customers dance for me."

He stepped away from her and watched her squirm, her eyes silently begging to fulfill her curiosity. "Ask your question," he said, and she almost sighed with relief.

"What will you have them dance, My Prince?" Ariana asked.

"Why, they shall dance the Dance of Death!" Oberon exclaimed, loving the look of astonishment in her eyes at his words. The Dance of Death was used only at funerals. It was danced only at the death ceremonies of very important faeries or at mass funerals after a great tragedy. It was not danced often, as most fey lived long lives and rarely warred enough to have a body count high enough to warrant such a Dance. However, every faery knew of it and could dance it if need be, for one could never determine when one might need to.

"Who shall the Dance be for?" Ariana asked, not waiting for permission to speak or using any of the prince's appropriate titles.

"Why, you, of course," Oberon answered. "All of you."

Oberon smirked as her eyes widened. Her mouth formed an "O," and she scrambled to her feet. She tried to run, but there was nowhere to go, as Oberon was standing in the doorway. He laughed inside as she perfected her deer-in-headlights look, before growing bored with her. He flicked his wrist in her general direction, thought of death, and she collapsed. No longer did she have to worry about princely protocol. No longer did she have to feed ideas to unsuspecting artists as she fed off their life force. No longer did she have to do anything. Ariana's dead eyes stared after Oberon as he left, attesting to the fact that their owner no longer had any obligations.

Oberon laughed as he headed back to the main room of the club. He always *had* liked one-on-one deaths the best!

***

Heero awoke to darkness-a black so deep as to be impenetrable.

//Where am I?// he thought, holding his hand to his head. //What happened?//

He scrambled to his feet, then wished he hadn't as his head split in two.

//Ow,// he thought, falling back down. When he landed, it was like a button was pushed in hi, and he remembered everything that had happened over the last few days. Duo. Wufei. Trowa.

Was Trowa okay? Heero hoped he was. It was all his fault if he wasn't. But Heero *had* tried to help. He'd pushed all of the power he could command into his friend when the Rider-whichever one had entered him-had killed Trowa's tree. Hopefully, along with Trowa's unique physiology, he had lived, with no permanent damage. What he'd done for Trowa must've been the cause for his blackout, though, because he'd been instantly aware of where he was the other three times a Rider had overtaken his body.

Oh, yes, of course. *That's* where he was. Heero was in what he and his siblings had so aptly dubbed "The Black Room." It was exactly the same as, yet completely different from, "The White Room" in almost every respect. He was trapped in his own brain, in the portion that even the most powerful corporeal being didn't use. He felt around the "room" for the device that would allow him to see-but, for some reason, not hear-the world as the Rider saw it.

He finally stumbled across some type of chair. He sat in it to find that it was slightly Virtual Reality-like. Heero reached up behind the chair to find a half-helmet thing. It was like a motorcycle helmet with the bottom half cut off. He put it on and settled back to watch. That was really all he *could* do, until the opportunity arose to take back control of his body.

The Rider was in a club somewhere. He was walking away from the corpse of a red-haired lady...

Selune