Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The Elements ❯ Chapter 32 ( Chapter 32 )

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, Warnings: AU, OOC, probably lemon, semi Duo- bastardization (don't worry, he gets over it), angst, NICE RELENA Chapter 18, 3x1 lemon, but don't worry, it's just sex. Lots of death, too, so maybe I should put DEATH FIC. Sorry I didn't put it sooner, but I just kind of got away with me.

//blah// denotes thought

<<blah>> denotes flashback or Memory

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R version archived at: fanfiction.net

The Elements

Chapter 32

Trowa stepped out of the shower, humming. He was in a rare good mood-he was clean and he was about to tell Quatre how much he loved him. After all, who knew what tomorrow would bring, if they'd even make it there alive? Besides Quatre needed to know he was loved, what with his mother's and sisters' deaths, and his father's sickness-not to mention Rhys' in-depth details on what happened last time the Riders came to town; really, nobody needed to know that they enslaved the "winners" of the wars they caused. Everybody in their little sanctuary could use a little lovin' now.

Some of the guys-they were all guys, all of the girls in the vicinity having fallen to the Fertility Plague-were desperately in need of love. Many of their families were dead or dying or gone or fighting or doing *something* that prevented them from being here with them.

Trowa's own family was just outside these walls, but the couldn't go to them. They couldn't risk unbarring the doors for anything less than life or death. But even if he could, he honestly couldn't say if he would. Trowa wasn't a nymph anymore; he wasn't even a human. He was half of a-a *being* propelled on by some magic he had no control over. By some magic that faded as time passed, making him weak, making him die. That was why he had to tell Quatre how he felt as soon as possible. He couldn't die without letting Quatre know how important he was.

So, Trowa was happy. He was dying; he knew it. He had lost his tree; he felt its absence with every beat of his slowing heart. He was also in love; he'd seen the looks Quatre used to throw his way and knew that he loved Trowa, too.

Trowa finished drying off and dressed. Trowa had a ritual before he did anything big-like telling someone he loved him-he would always take a shower beforehand-to start anew-and then he'd pray to his tree. Of course, this time, he couldn't pray to his tree, so he'd pray to Mother Earth instead. Trowa sunk to his knees, hair dripping wet in his eyes, and made the sign of the Earth in front of himself.

"Oh, Mother of Earth," Trowa said, "bless me in my venture. Bless my love and let it be returned upon me three-fold. Let em love my love as he deserves, and let him love me as he so needs to love someone. Let my love comfort him, even if you do not see fit to have him return that love. In your name, I pray. So mote it be."

Trowa made the sign of the Earth again and rose. With a determined grin on his face, he set off for his dorm room.

***

Mother-or rather, Father-Earth, of course, did not hear Trowa's pleas. Even if he had, there was not much Heero could have done. Heero was thousands of miles from Trowa, locked in a chair in his own head, watching Death-Oberon, isn't it ironic?-berate one of his slaves.

The Elf cowered below Oberon's gaze, and he saw the way he begged for his life. Not for the first time, Heero was glad that he couldn't hear what was said outside of the Black Room.

Heero forced himself to watch as Oberon had the boy beaten-after al, it was *his* fault the unnamed Elf was a slave in the first place-not noticing that he hummed a special song to comfort himself.

***

Oberon was royally pissed. The Elf that Dylan had brought him looked nothing like Her. Nothing! He didn't dance like Her, didn't move like Her, didn't touch like Her. He was nothing like Her!

"Do you not like my present, Obie?" Dylan-oh, so mighty Famine-asked. He was hunkering down on the floor while Oberon was standing on the dais in the throne room, so he had to tilt his head up to look Death in the eyes.

"Do I not like him? Do I not like him?" Oberon mocked scornfully. "No! I do not *like* my *present*! He is not anything like what I wanted! He is supposed to have long, flowing red hair. He is supposed to have emerald green eyes that change color with his mood. He is supposed to be as graceful as a cat and as sensual as a mermaid. He is supposed to be a *she*. Now, go, brother, and bring me back someone suitable. Oh, and don't call me Obie."

"Yes, Oberon," Dylan said, nodding. He stood to leave, presumably to go out among the remaining Elves to find one fitting his brother's description. It was really too bad that the Sidhe had been annihilated in the Sidhe-Elf War; it would have been much easier to find someone of that nature in their ranks. As it was, Dylan would have his work cut out for him this week.

Oberon didn't care what his brother had to do, though, so long as he got what he wanted. And what he wanted, needed, *craved* was the girl who'd gotten them into this mess in the first place, the girl who'd started it all. And if he couldn't have Her, he'd have someone just like her.

Of course, he still had needs until then. Oberon motioned for the Elf boy cowering on the floor. "Come here, child. Death wants to play with you."

***

Trowa stood in front of his door and tried to smooth down his hair. It didn't work much, although it did more than it would've if his hair had been dry. He put a smile on his face and opened the door.

Then he screamed.

***

Duo and Rhys heard Trowa's scream at the same time and ran toward his room. Others were already there by the time they reached the door, and Duo asked one of them-Lattie, his name was; he'd been a freshman when school was in session-what was going on.

"I don't know," Lattie said, "but Milliardo and Wufei both rushed in, and only Wufei came out. He was headed down that way, to the adults' rooms."

After hearing that, Duo pushed his way to the front of the crowd, not caring if Rhys followed him or if he hurt anyone. Duo pushed the door open and gasped at what he saw. Trowa was holding Quatre in his arms; his arms were around Quatre's chest, just under the armpits. They were on the floor, right beside an overturned chair. There was a cut rope hanging from the ceiling, and what looked like the rest of it was tossed near the chair. Quatre's eyes were glazed and unfocused. As far as Duo could tell, he wasting breathing. Milliardo was sitting near them, wringing his hands in his shirt. He was crying.

The last time Duo saw Milliardo cry was when his mother died.

Duo switched his gaze from Milliardo to Trowa. "Is he...?" Duo managed to say, before he choked on a sob.

"Dead?" Trowa said. "Yeah, he's dead." Trowa squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before opening them again. He kissed his fingers and put them on Quatre's lips-still warm, by the look. He leaned down to whisper something to Quatre that Duo barely heard. "I love you," he said. "I was coming to tell you that." Then, he gently closed Quatre's eyes.

With that, Duo knew it only a matter of time before they lost Trowa, too. And then everything went black.

Selune