Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The Ice Prince ❯ The Ice Prince: Chapter IV ( Chapter 4 )

[ P - Pre-Teen ]

Title: The Ice Prince or Such a Marvelous Rose
Author: Meiran Chang ( bonking_bishies @ swirve.com )
Rating: PG-13
Pairings: DorlianXSylvia, 1+R, 6+2, 3+4, 5+Dorothy, 6x9, 2xH
Warnings: shonen ai, AU, fairy tale, angst, verrrrrrry mild self-insertion in, like, the last sentence. I made Dorlian a total OOC wuss >_<. Also, I've played fast and loose with family relationships and situations.
Comments: Ohhhhh pretty please? --> bonking_bishies @ swirve.com
Archive: 6X2ML Archive can have it. (that's at http://6x2ml.topcities.com) Otherwise, please email me, I don't bite.
Disclaimers: I do not own Gundam Wing or any of its characters, they belong to Bandai and Sunrise and the American rights are owned by Cartoon Network. Please don't sue me, I'll just cry a lot. Also, the original story of "Beauty and the Beast" is by Mme Leprince de Beaumont and not mine either. I don't own anything except… the original portions of this piece of fiction…whatever they are.
Dedication: To the 6X2ML, because they're darlings all and the inspiration for this fic.

The two-week journey to White Fang over sometimes inhospitable terrain passed quickly, Dorlian's breathless hopes sustaining him. He passed through the marvel of a Capital in a hurry until the smell of seawater and the no-nonsense shouts of sailors told him he had arrived at Libra Port. Near bursting with anticipation, he checked in with the Shipmaster, but discovered that the ship he had so eagerly awaited carried a cargo worthless to him. He'd dealt mostly in foreign jewels and luxury cloths; spices were not in his venue.

Greatly saddened and not a little angry, Dorlian returned to the central city stables to fetch Wing, looking wistfully at all the shops and stalls he passed, wishing terribly that he had been able to buy his children at least one gift. He would be forced to return home as poor as the moment he left, and the thought did not sit well in his stomach. Not only had Dorlian truly desired to become as wealthy as he had once been, he felt that his children were not getting half the education they deserved, and he felt guilty about what he was sure was a disappointment to them. He grieved for their futures.

Trusting the letter had been a mistake. He reflected on this as he sold the odd little trinkets Quatre had packed for him and bought provisions for the trip home. What had he been thinking, galloping off because of an anonymous letter? His children had known better. Yet somehow, Dorlian didn't think they'd be very angry with him. Oh, they'd have their round of 'I told you so's', but they would understand why he had done it, why he'd had to.

As Wing trotted quietly back through the countryside, Dorlian reflected on his children, and his estimation of them climbed ever higher. Their loyalty and wisdom was a blessing. Take, for example, the way they had adapted so uncomplainingly to the farm. Why, they even seemed to like it. Duo, Dorlian knew, much preferred the farm to the city -- the young man made no secret of how relieved he was now that the girls let him be. Quatre enjoyed being able to work his physical muscles as well as those of his mind, reckoning that the experiences of the farm would round him out until he was in no danger of becoming one of White Fang's obese scholars. Relena took everything in stride as she had always done. Dorlian's children would be the support of his old age, and even if he wouldn't die in luxury, he would die with them. Wasn't that what was really important, anyway?

As the journey drew to an end, Dorlian entered a large pine forest. He felt a little ashamed at the grief which had come over him in the city and looked forward to returning to his cottage. His thoughts became filled with resignation and a quiet contentment, but distracted as he was, he missed an important turn. He became disoriented, then lost, forcing Wing through unfamiliar ground in an attempt to regain his bearings. But he had never seen this part of the forest. Come to think of it, he had never seen this forest, period….

Snow began drifting down, slowly at first, coating the moss underfoot and the pine branches with a delicate fringe of white. Soon, though, the snow began coming down in earnest, wind whipping it into Dorlian's face. Wing's footing became unsteady, and the wind grew so strong and violent that twice he had to grip her mane or risk being flung right off his seat. Darkness drew over the forest until he could scarcely see a few feet in front of him, and Dorlian grew fearful for his life. He tried to squint through the whirling snow to see whether there was any possible shelter, and at least three times he was certain he heard wolves howling. I'll die of cold or the wolves will get me, he thought.

Finally, through the storm and the tall trees he could see a light. It glowed in fierce defiance of the terrible storm, and Dorlian dismounted, knowing he would have to walk in order to keep warm. He freed Wing from the restraints of the cart, since the cart had nothing much in it anyway, and led Wing through the knee-deep drifts, each step making his muscles burn. He knew that he had to reach that warm light or die.

Soon he drew close enough to see that the light came from an expansive manor. Dorlian was too exhausted to gasp out his astonishment, and the urgent cold prickling through his clothing told him that he had better check and see if the house's master would give him shelter. Swallowing bravely, he gathered his courage, made certain that Wing was with him, and stumbled with her through the gateway and into the empty courtyard. Once inside, Wing slowed down and could not be persuaded to move faster than a slow, heavy walk. A glance to his right showed Dorlian where he could put his horse for the night, and he led the exhausted mare to a large stable. Pleased, he untacked Wing and made certain of her comfort before leaving and cutting quickly across the courtyard, entering the house.

There was no one inside, which he thought decidedly odd. The stone manor was furbished as beautifully as his old mansion in White Fang had been, with rich wall hangings and plush, ankle-deep carpeting. Most important was its gorgeous warmth. As Dorlian wandered through the manor, calling out occasionally for the house's master, he thawed, dripping water everywhere.

No one answered his calls, and at last, Dorlian reached a large room decorated in muted blues and grays. It was beautiful in its simplicity, and the merchant gazed at it appreciatively before his nose alerted him to the presence of something else in the room: a table full of food and set for one person, right before him. His mouth watered and his head felt light as the tantalizing smell of hot food wafted to him.

I can't possibly eat this. The master of this house must be expecting someone. Still, Dorlian's stomach growled without respect for proper etiquette. Rather than eat, he decided to sit in front of the fire and finish warming up. Certainly whoever this mansion belongs to won't mind terribly if I stay here tonight, he thought. He'll probably arrive soon and then I can explain myself and ask for his hospitality.

He was warm and comfortable soon enough and cast about a dozen longing looks towards the table in the space of a minute, his stomach rumbling more and more insistently. Still he put up a virtuous resistance until a clock somewhere in the house struck twelve. Deciding that if the master of the house hadn't wanted him here, steps would have been taken to remove him, Dorlian gave in and helped himself to the food on the table. When his hunger was appeased, he drank a small glass or two of wine, which made him quite drowsy.

Though sleepy, Dorlian remembered his manners and did his best to return the room to the state it had been in before he entered. He stepped back and regarded his work before deciding it was the best he could do, then began wandering through the house again, hoping to find a place to sleep.

Every corridor he passed through held furnishings worthy of royalty, making Dorlian wonder just who it was who dwelt here. There were no portraits on the walls, which was rather strange; he'd never been in a mansion where the owner did not have his illustrious ancestors prominently displayed. There weren't even any mirrors.

At the end of one massive hallway, he found a large bedroom with a huge sapphire canopy bed, on top of which were piled large, inviting down quilts. The sight of it was too much for the exhausted man, who stripped and flung himself into the bed, squirreling beneath the soft quilts and between the cool satin sheets, his eyes closing almost at once.

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