Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing. Crapola. Boo-hoo.
Author's Note: This fic was inspired by the song Ilah (Silent War) by Blindspott. This takes place when Relena is crowned Queen of the World Nation and portrays some of Heero's thoughts. I've been seeking to understand Relena further, as I do not feel, after much consideration, that she has been treated fairly by all of us fiction writers. She must have had some serious potential if she was chosen to be such an influential leader, and Heero must have liked her to some extent, although perhaps not romantically. These are a couple of the thoughts that may have been going through Heero's mind at this point in the storyline. Reviews would be much appreciated.
Dressed to Kill
There was a shimmer.
Silk curtains were swaying.
A form stood on a stage, very far away, changing its very nervous stance into one of power and boldness as it became aware of its large audience.
He was watching her from a distance.
This was extremely important. He could not divert his eyes away from her.
She was...different. He'd noticed. She looked the part; she looked like a queen. Her dress fell magnificently, outlining her form better than any garment he had seen her in. Lifting at the breast, narrowing at the waist, expanding at the hips and falling gently at the feet. He hair was swept back and elegantly styled, not overdone, yet flattering her facial structure. She looked perfect. Balanced. Older. Even royal.
She truly was royal.
The screen was full of crackles and fuzz – reception wasn't the best inside of a Gundam – but he watched intently, nonetheless.
She stared directly into the screen, her chill eyes masking all thoughts going on behind them. There were many decisions that he did not understand at this moment, and many of the answers he was pursuing were ensnared in the mind of the young woman on the screen in front of him, fading in and out.
She was a strong individual, he knew that. She'd shown it from the moment he'd met her.
Many saw her as foolish, but these many did not understand her.
She was not a woman who was easily understood. She lived by her emotions, and sometimes they controlled her. He knew that she would learn not to let them in time, and he sighed at the thought.
What a shame it is that she must hide her true feelings, he thought. Who would have the right to put a damper on her spirit?
He was not in love with her. He did not have to convince himself of that fact. He did, however, hold a high level of respect for her. He did care for her a great deal. He loved her without being in love with her, though he would never admit it to himself, and it was a profound love, free of sex and lust and desire. It was pure.
She was...breathtaking.
He could not keep his attention away from her.
She spoke softly and surely. She had something that he did not, and perhaps, on some level, he envied her.
He knew that deep down inside she was scared for herself and her people and the world and the colonies...for everyone.
He remembered the few conversations he'd had with her. She had never declared her love for him openly, and even so, he knew that she loved him. But it was not the love that many people expected her to have for him, and this, too, he knew. The love she had for him was the same as his love for her – it was untainted.
What a pity that so many people failed to understand this.
He thought back to all the times that he had threatened to kill her, and all of the times that he had not succeeded. He was glad of this.
There she was, on his screen, and every other screen in the universe, sitting on her throne. A figurehead. Her head was facing forward, her eyes staring confidently at nothing.
Her shoulders were set firm, yet weighed down with some unseen burden.
He knew what it was.
Elegant hands were folded in her lap, occasionally moving to smooth over her dress. They were not nervous or fidgety movements; they were calculated. Appearances must be kept up.
In her eyes, for a fleeting second, he saw the same person he saw when he looked in the mirror, but the moment passed quickly, and the lost girl was buried once more under the facade of a strong woman.
My, but she had grown.
Her ice blue eyes flitted dangerously across the screen and captivated his dark prussian orbs for a fleeting moment.
What a pity.
He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, as if trying to preserve her in his memory as such, so he would never forget her in all her glory at this moment.
His eyes then snapped open, and he knew what he had to do.
He uttered one word aloud; the rest resounded in his head. They were too harsh to speak, and he feared that if he did, they, as if made of tin, would cut his tongue.
"Relena..."
I will kill you...