Chapter 1: Blue Eyes
The fires raged through the corridors of the palace, turning everything to ash and smoke. The bottom edge of an ancient tapestry depicting a maiden slowly began to char, before the entire thing was quickly consumed. Glass shattered as the huge windows exploded outwards, sending shards flying, glittering in the flame light like stars. The black night closed in as a roof collapsed, sending up clouds of sparks.
The picture of the burning palace was reflected in duplicate in the light blue eyes of a small boy, hiding in the undergrowth of a copse of trees. The slope of the hill gave him the perfect view to watch his home go up in smoke. Unshed tears glinted in his eyes, as he watched his whole life burning.
Just two days ago it had been so different. Sun glinted off the blue tiles that roofed the white-walled palace. Milliardo stared at them as he walked out to the stables, the dew collecting on his black boots. His mother always said the roofs were the color of his eyes, and that was how she knew her son was meant to grow up to lead the Sanc Kingdom.
But today, he was just a normal boy, full of energy and life. He saddled his little gray pony, and trotted off into the wood, ready for a day of adventure. He walked his pony through the cedar forest behind the palace, wincing as a cold drop of water fell from above and hit him on his blond head.
Suddenly, the trees before him thinned, opening to a sunny, grassy meadow. A grin broke out on his face as he kicked his pony into a gallop, and he leaned low over his steed's neck as they flew, feet never seeming to touch the ground.
The meadow was broad, and both boy and pony were tired and gasping for breath by the time they reached the cedar trees on the other side. Milliardo dismounted and led his pony down the narrower path until they came to a small stream. The pony stuck his nose into the water immediately, drinking in deep, slurping gulps. The boy fell to his knees upstream, and, dipping his palms into the water, brought handfuls of cool clear water to his lips. When he finished, he brought his arm up and wiped his face with his sleeve, heedless of the soft spill of lace at his cuff.
They walked for a long time through the woods, exploring, and eventually found the edge of the stream again, and followed it, the boy leading his pony, sometimes using the beast for support on a slippery slope, both indulging in the solitude. They walked till the sun was high in the sky, and both were sweating, even though the forest was cool and green.
The sound of the stream was with them, burbling along happily by their feet. But eventually, the sound changed, echoing. Milliardo looked up, wondering at the difference. He saw that the stream disappeared into darkness, flowing from an opening in the steep bank that rose up before him.
After unsaddling his pony, the boy tied the reins to the low branch of a tree, where the beast started grazing at a small patch of grass that managed to grow in the sun that worked it's way through the trees. Milliardo stepped down into the shallow stream and peered into the dark opening, pushing aside the overhanging roots and ferns.
The dripping of water echoed from the hole, speaking of unseen size. Walking quickly back to where he had left the pony, Milliardo rifled through the saddle bags for the candles and matches he always packed there for emergencies. He grabbed one, and slipped another into his pocket. Back in front of what he was sure was a pirate's cave, he lit the candle in his hand. He put the candle through the opening first, as far as he could reach his arm in. He counted slowly to ten. When the candle didn't go out, he stooped through the opening, assured that the air was good.
The ceiling was low for the first ten feet or so, and Milliardo had to stoop, walking through the shallow water. But it quickly opened out, with soft dirt banks on either side. Milliardo stepped out of the stream, and stood, looking about him for the first time.
On his left, the wall was close, and reflected the light of his candle in shimmering wetness. But on the right, and in front of him, the darkness stretched out beyond the tiny light, and Milliardo strained his eyes to see in the darkness.
Milliardo was curious about how extensive the cave was. Digging his toe into the soft dirt, he made a long furrow in the ground, dark and easily seen, even in the candle light. Then he put the palm of his left hand on the damp wall, and began to walk, counting his paces.
When he had gone forty paces, the ceiling dipped down again, forming an alcove too small for him to walk into, where the stream disappeared. He stepped over the water, found the wall again and continued walking and counting. The bank on this side was wider, and sandy. After thirty more paces, he came again to the entrance. He jumped once more over the stream, and there was his mark, clear in the dirt.
So. The cave was about seventy paces around, say a hundred and eighty feet, and shaped approximately like a tear drop, with the alcove at the rounded end and the entrance at the point. The ceiling was, in most places, out of the reach of his hand when he felt above his head with his fingertips, and where he could touch it, it was stone. It was a small boy's dream.
But this small boy had to be back in time for dinner. Milliardo wondered with a start how long he had been standing there, head full of games and fun that could be had. He hurried out of the cave, to where his pony was dozing in the sunshine. By the shadows, Milliardo could see that it was about three o'clock. It had taken him hours to get here, but then, he had been exploring in the woods for a long time before he had found the cave. He thought he'd have plenty of time to get back and cleaned up before the bell rang for dinner at six. He re-saddled his pony, and began the trek back to the palace.
In less than an hour he came again to the grassy field. The light slanted through the trees that surrounded it, striping the air with beams of light and shadow. A few lazy bees droned from flower to flower, and everything was the picture of quiet peace.
Suddenly, a dull roaring behind him made Milliardo turn in the saddle, shocked out of his quiet reverie. He gasped in shock as four Leo mobile suits, flying in tight formation, cut a swath of black across the sky. They flew through the air, diagonal through the clear sky. Milliardo had never seen mobile suits this close before. His father had strictly forbidden them to fly in Sanc Kingdom airspace, thinking that they promoted nothing but the evil of war. Strange, then, that these should be seen so close to the palace. Milliardo watched where they flew, and for a moment thought they would head for the palace itself. But their course swung wide, soon leaving nothing but the faint smell of smoke in the air. Milliardo was both frightened and fascinated by the noisy machines, and wondered who would dare break his father's orders, and why. He put the questions out of his mind, but determined to speak of it with his father when he got home.
His arrival caused no stir, and he put his pony back in the stable, took off his tack and brushed him without being noticed by the grooms or stable men. He was even able to get up to his suite and take a bath and change from his muddy clothes to his dinner attire before the brass gong in the dining hall was rung. And when he rushed downstairs, he found he needn't have hurried at all. A thin, blonde woman sat near one end of the long dining table, alone. There was only one other place set. The woman looked up as Milliardo walked in.
"Hello, sweetheart. We'll be dining alone this evening. Do come and sit down."
Zechs always thought his mother looked so elegant at the table, with her long, white arms and hands. She handled the dishes deftly, careful not to make a single one clatter or rattle. In her blue silk dinner gown, her honey hair on top of her head, the Lady Peacecraft was every inch a Queen.
"Your father so busy, he's having his dinner brought to him in his study. He's been working so hard with the L4 negotiations, having so much trouble coming to any agreement about anything. You're sister's off with her nanny, they went to the zoological gardens today and they haven't come back yet…"
Milliardo listened with half an ear to his mother's talk while he ate his food. He was a young boy who had been out adventuring all day, and like any young boy in his position, he ate so fast it's questionable he even tasted his food. At least, he ate as fast as it is possible to while still adhering to formal dinner rules, with china plates and crystal goblets.
He was halfway done with his meal when a maid entered the dining hall. She bobbed a curtsey to Lady Peacecraft before she turned to Milliardo. "The Master wishes to see you in his study, sir."
Milliardo felt the small stirrings of foreboding in the pit of his stomach. Not because he had just been addressed as a superior by a woman at least twice his age. It had been so for as long as he could remember, he had long since gotten used to it. But it was rare that his father called him into his private study, and rarer still that it was for anything good. The younger and older Peacecraft males were far from close, and the elder took every opportunity to find fault in his offspring.
But Milliardo had no choice, so he went.
When he reached the huge oak doors that led to his father's study, he raised his hand and knocked. He winced; the knock seemed to him to sound small, weak, and afraid. The knock of an underling on his master's door, not the knock of a future monarch.
"Enter," came the deep reply.
So Milliardo stepped in, feet noiseless on the thick carpeting.
"Shut the door behind you."
When Milliardo had complied, he stood waiting. The man behind the desk didn't look up from his papers except to dip his quill into the inkwell.
Milliardo seethed with irritation. This was the typical beginning of any meeting with his father. The elder Peacecraft liked to be in total control of everybody, especially his son. And so he made Milliardo wait, fidgeting and scared, before he even spared him so much as a glance. Milliardo understood the reasoning behind this. Nothing his father could have said would possibly have made him as nervous as the scenarios running through his own mind. But because he understood his father's actions, he was able to outmaneuver them. He emptied his mind totally, completely. No awful situations entered, and he stood still, staring into the middle distance.
At last, Lord Peacecraft looked up from his papers. He carefully replaced his pen in the inkwell, and rose to stand beside his desk. And so it begins, Milliardo thought.
"The maids tell me the clothing you wore this morning returned muddy," Lord Peacecraft said. "And the grooms say that you spent half an hour brushing your pony when you returned home. You were out traipsing through the woods again."
Milliardo said nothing.
"Weren't you?"
"Yes, father."
"You are still incapable of taking care of your clothing, and yet you are going to take over the kingdom?"
Somehow, it always came to this. The ruler expected perfection in his son. When he didn't get it, it always came down to Milliardo's supposed stupidity and incompetence. Milliardo could feel his face becoming red, and a scowl settling onto his features.
"Don't you look at me that way, stupid boy. If you can't even act like a young lord now, how do you expect to be able to rule?"
"Father, I…"
"Don't interrupt me, boy! You go off in the mornings, stay away till late afternoon, and come back with your clothes ruined, your pony muddy, when you should be staying here and learning how to run a kingdom."
Milliardo felt tears pooling in his eyes. "Professor says I'm doing very well at my lessons…"
"And look at you now, crying like a little baby. Such a weak brat. Disgusting."
Always before, Milliardo would have taken the abuse, then left to cry on his own. But today was different. Today, he couldn't take any more.
"I am NOT WEAK!" he screamed at his father. "You don't know anything about me! All you care about is your stupid kingdom!"
Lord Peacecraft was turning red in the face. "You hold your tongue, you little fag, or I'll…"
"Or you'll what? What will you do, father? You're the weak one, you…"
Neither of them heard the door opening behind them. Lord Peacecraft advanced on his son, pulling back one powerful fist as he did so. Then he brought his arm down, crashing into the boy in front of him. Milliardo had no chance to duck, or block. The blow hit him full force across the face, and he fell hard to the carpet, dazed.
He felt somebody tugging at him, pulling, and he stumbled to his feet. Before he knew it, he was out the door, being led down the hall, half dragged, half carried. He was almost outside by the time he wondered to look at his would-be savior.
"Treize…"
"Shh, don't talk."
Trieze, two years older at thirteen and several inches taller than Milliardo, bore the smaller boy's weight with little difficulty. Milliardo consented to being led, but his head was fuzzy and his knees were weak. He stumbled suddenly, and fell to the wooden floor.
When he looked up, it was to see his father. The breath caught in his throat, but his father didn't move. He shook his head and his vision cleared, and he saw he was staring at a portrait, not the man.
The artist had chosen to portray the King in a pose that reminded one of ancient religious icons. With his long hair and upturned eyes, Lord Peacecraft looked like a blond haired vision of Christ.
"He never looks like that when I'm around." The tears formed again in his eyes.
Milliardo felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Treize standing over him.
"Come on, let's go outside. We can walk in the gardens, the fresh air will do you good. You can tell me all about it."
They passed no one else in the halls, which was a relief. Milliardo didn't want any of the servants to see him crying.
And he was crying. He tried to hold the tears back as best he could until they were alone, but still a few renegade drops traced down his cheeks. When they were outside, Treize led him to a remote fountain, enclosed on all sides by a high rose hedge. Milliardo practically collapsed onto the side of the fountain. He buried his face in his hands and began to cry in earnest, hot, bitter tears falling freely from his eyes. Treize sat beside him and stroked his hair, silent yet comforting. When Milliardo had cried himself dry, he curled up, leaning against his friend, unable to support himself any more.
"Are you ready to tell me what this was all about?" Treize whispered.
Milliardo sniffed and tried to wipe at his face with his hands. Instead of wiping off the tears, he only managed to smear them across his cheeks. Treize smiled at him ruefully and reached out for Milliardo's wrist. Firmly, he set Milliardo's hands back into his lap, before reaching into the water behind him with cupped hands.
"Put your head down over the water."
Milliardo complied, and Treize scooped water up in his hands and sprinkled it gently over his face, and the bruise already darkening his cheek. The water cooled Milliardo's flushed face, and he sighed in contentment.
Treize helped him sit back up, and tenderly smoothed the wet tendrils of hair back from his face. Milliardo peered up at him through his lashes, a smile beginning to play at his lips. But suddenly, his face darkened. The worry and pain came back to his eyes, and he ducked his head, pulling away from Treize.
"Milliardo?"
"Treize…. I… Something my father said, back there. Something he called me…"
"What? What is it?"
"He… He called me… 'Fag'. You know, that word, it means…" the tears were coming again, but he choked them back fiercely. A scared shaking started in his hands. "I think he knows. He must know. Why else would he…"
"Ssh. Don't be silly. He can't know. If he knew, do you really think he'd let me take you away, would even let me be alone with you?" when the trembling in Milliardo's hands did not subside, he sighed and tried again. "Mill, people like your father never really suspect things like that. They joke about it, laugh about it, try to make you feel bad about it, but they never actually think that there are people like that. People that are… homosexual…" he cleared his throat.
Milliardo glanced up. "You really think so?"
Treize smiled, relieved. "Of course." He stood up and held out a hand to Milliardo, who accepted it. Treize pulled him into a quick embrace, but it was brief, and afterwards they both searched over their shoulders, suddenly frightened of prying eyes and ears. Treize sighed. "We've really got to find a place of our own."
Milliardo's eyes suddenly lit up with repressed excitement. "Treize… I've got something to tell you… I found something today, while I was out riding. You know that stream that runs about a mile and a half through the east woods?" Treize nodded. "Well, I found where it comes from. It's a cave, small, hidden. It's perfect. We could go there, and no one could ever find us…" his voice died out and he blushed suddenly.
Treize raised an elegant eyebrow as he considered. "Sounds… good…"
"Come on, I'll show you…"
Treize laughed. "Wait, Mill, it's seven o'clock. It'll be dark soon. Wait until tomorrow. I'll come by early, we can have the whole day to ourselves… Maybe after we've tried it out, we could bring Lu there, too."
"It's big enough," Milliardo nodded. He plunked himself back onto the stone fountain. "What'd you want to do till then?"
"Well, I came to see if you'd do some fencing practice with me…"
Milliardo's eyes lit up. "Yeah! I bet Pagan's still in the training room, he'd let us, I'm sure!"
"Well, come on, then, slowpoke!" and so saying, Treize took off through the gardens.
The fires raged through the corridors of the palace, turning everything to ash and smoke. The bottom edge of an ancient tapestry depicting a maiden slowly began to char, before the entire thing was quickly consumed. Glass shattered as the huge windows exploded outwards, sending shards flying, glittering in the flame light like stars. The black night closed in as a roof collapsed, sending up clouds of sparks.
The picture of the burning palace was reflected in duplicate in the light blue eyes of a small boy, hiding in the undergrowth of a copse of trees. The slope of the hill gave him the perfect view to watch his home go up in smoke. Unshed tears glinted in his eyes, as he watched his whole life burning.
Just two days ago it had been so different. Sun glinted off the blue tiles that roofed the white-walled palace. Milliardo stared at them as he walked out to the stables, the dew collecting on his black boots. His mother always said the roofs were the color of his eyes, and that was how she knew her son was meant to grow up to lead the Sanc Kingdom.
But today, he was just a normal boy, full of energy and life. He saddled his little gray pony, and trotted off into the wood, ready for a day of adventure. He walked his pony through the cedar forest behind the palace, wincing as a cold drop of water fell from above and hit him on his blond head.
Suddenly, the trees before him thinned, opening to a sunny, grassy meadow. A grin broke out on his face as he kicked his pony into a gallop, and he leaned low over his steed's neck as they flew, feet never seeming to touch the ground.
The meadow was broad, and both boy and pony were tired and gasping for breath by the time they reached the cedar trees on the other side. Milliardo dismounted and led his pony down the narrower path until they came to a small stream. The pony stuck his nose into the water immediately, drinking in deep, slurping gulps. The boy fell to his knees upstream, and, dipping his palms into the water, brought handfuls of cool clear water to his lips. When he finished, he brought his arm up and wiped his face with his sleeve, heedless of the soft spill of lace at his cuff.
They walked for a long time through the woods, exploring, and eventually found the edge of the stream again, and followed it, the boy leading his pony, sometimes using the beast for support on a slippery slope, both indulging in the solitude. They walked till the sun was high in the sky, and both were sweating, even though the forest was cool and green.
The sound of the stream was with them, burbling along happily by their feet. But eventually, the sound changed, echoing. Milliardo looked up, wondering at the difference. He saw that the stream disappeared into darkness, flowing from an opening in the steep bank that rose up before him.
After unsaddling his pony, the boy tied the reins to the low branch of a tree, where the beast started grazing at a small patch of grass that managed to grow in the sun that worked it's way through the trees. Milliardo stepped down into the shallow stream and peered into the dark opening, pushing aside the overhanging roots and ferns.
The dripping of water echoed from the hole, speaking of unseen size. Walking quickly back to where he had left the pony, Milliardo rifled through the saddle bags for the candles and matches he always packed there for emergencies. He grabbed one, and slipped another into his pocket. Back in front of what he was sure was a pirate's cave, he lit the candle in his hand. He put the candle through the opening first, as far as he could reach his arm in. He counted slowly to ten. When the candle didn't go out, he stooped through the opening, assured that the air was good.
The ceiling was low for the first ten feet or so, and Milliardo had to stoop, walking through the shallow water. But it quickly opened out, with soft dirt banks on either side. Milliardo stepped out of the stream, and stood, looking about him for the first time.
On his left, the wall was close, and reflected the light of his candle in shimmering wetness. But on the right, and in front of him, the darkness stretched out beyond the tiny light, and Milliardo strained his eyes to see in the darkness.
Milliardo was curious about how extensive the cave was. Digging his toe into the soft dirt, he made a long furrow in the ground, dark and easily seen, even in the candle light. Then he put the palm of his left hand on the damp wall, and began to walk, counting his paces.
When he had gone forty paces, the ceiling dipped down again, forming an alcove too small for him to walk into, where the stream disappeared. He stepped over the water, found the wall again and continued walking and counting. The bank on this side was wider, and sandy. After thirty more paces, he came again to the entrance. He jumped once more over the stream, and there was his mark, clear in the dirt.
So. The cave was about seventy paces around, say a hundred and eighty feet, and shaped approximately like a tear drop, with the alcove at the rounded end and the entrance at the point. The ceiling was, in most places, out of the reach of his hand when he felt above his head with his fingertips, and where he could touch it, it was stone. It was a small boy's dream.
But this small boy had to be back in time for dinner. Milliardo wondered with a start how long he had been standing there, head full of games and fun that could be had. He hurried out of the cave, to where his pony was dozing in the sunshine. By the shadows, Milliardo could see that it was about three o'clock. It had taken him hours to get here, but then, he had been exploring in the woods for a long time before he had found the cave. He thought he'd have plenty of time to get back and cleaned up before the bell rang for dinner at six. He re-saddled his pony, and began the trek back to the palace.
In less than an hour he came again to the grassy field. The light slanted through the trees that surrounded it, striping the air with beams of light and shadow. A few lazy bees droned from flower to flower, and everything was the picture of quiet peace.
Suddenly, a dull roaring behind him made Milliardo turn in the saddle, shocked out of his quiet reverie. He gasped in shock as four Leo mobile suits, flying in tight formation, cut a swath of black across the sky. They flew through the air, diagonal through the clear sky. Milliardo had never seen mobile suits this close before. His father had strictly forbidden them to fly in Sanc Kingdom airspace, thinking that they promoted nothing but the evil of war. Strange, then, that these should be seen so close to the palace. Milliardo watched where they flew, and for a moment thought they would head for the palace itself. But their course swung wide, soon leaving nothing but the faint smell of smoke in the air. Milliardo was both frightened and fascinated by the noisy machines, and wondered who would dare break his father's orders, and why. He put the questions out of his mind, but determined to speak of it with his father when he got home.
His arrival caused no stir, and he put his pony back in the stable, took off his tack and brushed him without being noticed by the grooms or stable men. He was even able to get up to his suite and take a bath and change from his muddy clothes to his dinner attire before the brass gong in the dining hall was rung. And when he rushed downstairs, he found he needn't have hurried at all. A thin, blonde woman sat near one end of the long dining table, alone. There was only one other place set. The woman looked up as Milliardo walked in.
"Hello, sweetheart. We'll be dining alone this evening. Do come and sit down."
Zechs always thought his mother looked so elegant at the table, with her long, white arms and hands. She handled the dishes deftly, careful not to make a single one clatter or rattle. In her blue silk dinner gown, her honey hair on top of her head, the Lady Peacecraft was every inch a Queen.
"Your father so busy, he's having his dinner brought to him in his study. He's been working so hard with the L4 negotiations, having so much trouble coming to any agreement about anything. You're sister's off with her nanny, they went to the zoological gardens today and they haven't come back yet…"
Milliardo listened with half an ear to his mother's talk while he ate his food. He was a young boy who had been out adventuring all day, and like any young boy in his position, he ate so fast it's questionable he even tasted his food. At least, he ate as fast as it is possible to while still adhering to formal dinner rules, with china plates and crystal goblets.
He was halfway done with his meal when a maid entered the dining hall. She bobbed a curtsey to Lady Peacecraft before she turned to Milliardo. "The Master wishes to see you in his study, sir."
Milliardo felt the small stirrings of foreboding in the pit of his stomach. Not because he had just been addressed as a superior by a woman at least twice his age. It had been so for as long as he could remember, he had long since gotten used to it. But it was rare that his father called him into his private study, and rarer still that it was for anything good. The younger and older Peacecraft males were far from close, and the elder took every opportunity to find fault in his offspring.
But Milliardo had no choice, so he went.
When he reached the huge oak doors that led to his father's study, he raised his hand and knocked. He winced; the knock seemed to him to sound small, weak, and afraid. The knock of an underling on his master's door, not the knock of a future monarch.
"Enter," came the deep reply.
So Milliardo stepped in, feet noiseless on the thick carpeting.
"Shut the door behind you."
When Milliardo had complied, he stood waiting. The man behind the desk didn't look up from his papers except to dip his quill into the inkwell.
Milliardo seethed with irritation. This was the typical beginning of any meeting with his father. The elder Peacecraft liked to be in total control of everybody, especially his son. And so he made Milliardo wait, fidgeting and scared, before he even spared him so much as a glance. Milliardo understood the reasoning behind this. Nothing his father could have said would possibly have made him as nervous as the scenarios running through his own mind. But because he understood his father's actions, he was able to outmaneuver them. He emptied his mind totally, completely. No awful situations entered, and he stood still, staring into the middle distance.
At last, Lord Peacecraft looked up from his papers. He carefully replaced his pen in the inkwell, and rose to stand beside his desk. And so it begins, Milliardo thought.
"The maids tell me the clothing you wore this morning returned muddy," Lord Peacecraft said. "And the grooms say that you spent half an hour brushing your pony when you returned home. You were out traipsing through the woods again."
Milliardo said nothing.
"Weren't you?"
"Yes, father."
"You are still incapable of taking care of your clothing, and yet you are going to take over the kingdom?"
Somehow, it always came to this. The ruler expected perfection in his son. When he didn't get it, it always came down to Milliardo's supposed stupidity and incompetence. Milliardo could feel his face becoming red, and a scowl settling onto his features.
"Don't you look at me that way, stupid boy. If you can't even act like a young lord now, how do you expect to be able to rule?"
"Father, I…"
"Don't interrupt me, boy! You go off in the mornings, stay away till late afternoon, and come back with your clothes ruined, your pony muddy, when you should be staying here and learning how to run a kingdom."
Milliardo felt tears pooling in his eyes. "Professor says I'm doing very well at my lessons…"
"And look at you now, crying like a little baby. Such a weak brat. Disgusting."
Always before, Milliardo would have taken the abuse, then left to cry on his own. But today was different. Today, he couldn't take any more.
"I am NOT WEAK!" he screamed at his father. "You don't know anything about me! All you care about is your stupid kingdom!"
Lord Peacecraft was turning red in the face. "You hold your tongue, you little fag, or I'll…"
"Or you'll what? What will you do, father? You're the weak one, you…"
Neither of them heard the door opening behind them. Lord Peacecraft advanced on his son, pulling back one powerful fist as he did so. Then he brought his arm down, crashing into the boy in front of him. Milliardo had no chance to duck, or block. The blow hit him full force across the face, and he fell hard to the carpet, dazed.
He felt somebody tugging at him, pulling, and he stumbled to his feet. Before he knew it, he was out the door, being led down the hall, half dragged, half carried. He was almost outside by the time he wondered to look at his would-be savior.
"Treize…"
"Shh, don't talk."
Trieze, two years older at thirteen and several inches taller than Milliardo, bore the smaller boy's weight with little difficulty. Milliardo consented to being led, but his head was fuzzy and his knees were weak. He stumbled suddenly, and fell to the wooden floor.
When he looked up, it was to see his father. The breath caught in his throat, but his father didn't move. He shook his head and his vision cleared, and he saw he was staring at a portrait, not the man.
The artist had chosen to portray the King in a pose that reminded one of ancient religious icons. With his long hair and upturned eyes, Lord Peacecraft looked like a blond haired vision of Christ.
"He never looks like that when I'm around." The tears formed again in his eyes.
Milliardo felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Treize standing over him.
"Come on, let's go outside. We can walk in the gardens, the fresh air will do you good. You can tell me all about it."
They passed no one else in the halls, which was a relief. Milliardo didn't want any of the servants to see him crying.
And he was crying. He tried to hold the tears back as best he could until they were alone, but still a few renegade drops traced down his cheeks. When they were outside, Treize led him to a remote fountain, enclosed on all sides by a high rose hedge. Milliardo practically collapsed onto the side of the fountain. He buried his face in his hands and began to cry in earnest, hot, bitter tears falling freely from his eyes. Treize sat beside him and stroked his hair, silent yet comforting. When Milliardo had cried himself dry, he curled up, leaning against his friend, unable to support himself any more.
"Are you ready to tell me what this was all about?" Treize whispered.
Milliardo sniffed and tried to wipe at his face with his hands. Instead of wiping off the tears, he only managed to smear them across his cheeks. Treize smiled at him ruefully and reached out for Milliardo's wrist. Firmly, he set Milliardo's hands back into his lap, before reaching into the water behind him with cupped hands.
"Put your head down over the water."
Milliardo complied, and Treize scooped water up in his hands and sprinkled it gently over his face, and the bruise already darkening his cheek. The water cooled Milliardo's flushed face, and he sighed in contentment.
Treize helped him sit back up, and tenderly smoothed the wet tendrils of hair back from his face. Milliardo peered up at him through his lashes, a smile beginning to play at his lips. But suddenly, his face darkened. The worry and pain came back to his eyes, and he ducked his head, pulling away from Treize.
"Milliardo?"
"Treize…. I… Something my father said, back there. Something he called me…"
"What? What is it?"
"He… He called me… 'Fag'. You know, that word, it means…" the tears were coming again, but he choked them back fiercely. A scared shaking started in his hands. "I think he knows. He must know. Why else would he…"
"Ssh. Don't be silly. He can't know. If he knew, do you really think he'd let me take you away, would even let me be alone with you?" when the trembling in Milliardo's hands did not subside, he sighed and tried again. "Mill, people like your father never really suspect things like that. They joke about it, laugh about it, try to make you feel bad about it, but they never actually think that there are people like that. People that are… homosexual…" he cleared his throat.
Milliardo glanced up. "You really think so?"
Treize smiled, relieved. "Of course." He stood up and held out a hand to Milliardo, who accepted it. Treize pulled him into a quick embrace, but it was brief, and afterwards they both searched over their shoulders, suddenly frightened of prying eyes and ears. Treize sighed. "We've really got to find a place of our own."
Milliardo's eyes suddenly lit up with repressed excitement. "Treize… I've got something to tell you… I found something today, while I was out riding. You know that stream that runs about a mile and a half through the east woods?" Treize nodded. "Well, I found where it comes from. It's a cave, small, hidden. It's perfect. We could go there, and no one could ever find us…" his voice died out and he blushed suddenly.
Treize raised an elegant eyebrow as he considered. "Sounds… good…"
"Come on, I'll show you…"
Treize laughed. "Wait, Mill, it's seven o'clock. It'll be dark soon. Wait until tomorrow. I'll come by early, we can have the whole day to ourselves… Maybe after we've tried it out, we could bring Lu there, too."
"It's big enough," Milliardo nodded. He plunked himself back onto the stone fountain. "What'd you want to do till then?"
"Well, I came to see if you'd do some fencing practice with me…"
Milliardo's eyes lit up. "Yeah! I bet Pagan's still in the training room, he'd let us, I'm sure!"
"Well, come on, then, slowpoke!" and so saying, Treize took off through the gardens.