Long Lost
NOTE: When Relena tried to get into the ball where she shot at Lady Une, one of the guests thought at first that she was her mother, and called in surprise, "Katrina?" This popped into my head, along with a lot of other pieces that seemed to form a whole puzzle. Thus, this "What If" story. It's a little weird, but I hope you enjoy it. It's a Quatre and Relena story, mostly--note, NOT a 4xR--they're not together, that would be gross. They're just the main characters.
Ashura
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Long Lost
Disclaimer: I still don't own GW or any of its characters. I tried, but Evilnmalice outbid me. (Fortunately it didn't pay up, so it doesn't own them either.)
Warnings: None
Pairings: so far, only 3x4, we'll see how things develop
Archive: Desolation Angels: http://www.dreamwater.net/ashura
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Prologue: Dust and Shadows
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A.C. 197
Dust, as unbroken as new snow, coated the halls and rooms and everything in them. Cobwebs clung to the corners of smoke-stained ceilings, long since abandoned by whatever wove them--the once-great house was now as desolate and empty as a tomb.
In a way, a tomb it was--a grave for the childish hopes and memories of the only two of its children to survive its fall. They woke it now, disturbed its silent slumber with the soft tread of their footfalls and the creak of aged doors.
"So that was my father." Relena stared up at the portrait, its colour dulled from fire and fading, her arms crossed over her chest. "What was he like?"
"A good man," Zechs answered honestly. He did no more than glance at the tired, kind-eyed face staring down at them from the wall; he had made his peace, or failed to, long ago. "Idealistic, but you already know that. Warm, sometimes playful. He loved us. You, me, our mother."
"Our mother," Relena sighed. Another face she had never seen--not even flashes, or glimpses of long-dead memory appearing in her sleep. She thought there should have been /something/. "Is there a picture of her?"
"It burned," Zechs answered flatly. "Most of them did." The only portraits even recognisable were of his father and himself, but at the disappointment in her eyes, he sighed. "I know where a picture might be. Come, I'll show you."
He led her through the quiet hallways, where the walls themselves seemed to be watching the intruders in their midst, into a small office that while less damaged by the fire than the rest, made up for it with extra inches of dust. It was small, had probably once been cozy, with a small fireplace and antique desk. He brushed the dust from the desk with a gloved hand, tugging lightly at a drawer in its side.
It was locked, but the mechanism was so old and dry that it cracked at even the light pressure, and he slid it open. A small stack of papers was folded inside, and he lifted them out gently, lying them atop the desk where he and Relena could see them.
She unfolded them gingerly, their browned creases protesting the touch, til she uncovered what she sought--Zechs heard her gasp, holding the picture at eye-level in stunned disbelief.
"Zechs," she asked calmly, only the slightest tremble in her voice, "is this our mother?"
A glance at the photo confirmed it, and he nodded. "Yes."
"I don't remember her," Relena continued, her voice subdued.
Zechs rested a hand gently on her shoulder. "You wouldn't," he explained softly. "She died when you were less than a year old. If you don't remember the Darliens adopting you, you wouldn't remember Mother."
A flash of something, he wasn't certain what, across Relena's face. "How did she die?"
He frowned. "I don't remember. That is, I don't think Father ever told me, except that she was sick....Relena, are you all right?"
She nodded, more instinct than honesty. "Of course. I just wonder--is it all right if I take this with me?"
Zechs shrugged, nodded. "Of course, Lena, if it's important to you." He paused, shifting uncomfortably, and finished, "If you're done...we should go. We've been here too long." //And the memories are too much for me, little sister, I cannot stay.//
She slipped the photo into her pocket with a nod, and followed him outside. She could see the need to leave in his eyes before he mentioned it, had noticed the way the old house overwhelmed him from his posture the moment they stepped inside. So she waited until they were on their way home, and he was engaged in conversation with Lucrezia Noin, before she slid the picture out to look at again.
//I'm surprised you didn't notice, Zechs,// she thought, then corrected her own mental evaluation. //No, I suppose I don't, really. You never really looked at them, the way I did. But how could I not see? And now that I know it...what do I do?"
A pair of pale blue eyes, the soft clear aqua of the shallowest parts of the sea, stared back at her unanswering from the wrinkled photograph, framed by a halo of wispy golden hair.