This story is the sequel to Heart of the Sword. It is highly recommended that Heart of the Sword be read before Temper the Soul, but I can't enforce it, now can I? I'd appreciate the reviews for both fics if readers are so inclined! ^_^ I've revised chapter one a few times. I find first chapters are always a little weird, both in writing and in reading. It's difficult knowing how to start a sequel and get into the intimacy of a story.

Temper the Soul

by zapenstap


Two years after the end of the Taravren Rebellion

A soft breeze rustled the curtains, spreading the fragrance of roses from a vase on the vanity throughout the room. Relena stirred sleepily and opened her eyes, sighing contentedly. Turning her head, she rolled under the covers and laid her cheek on her arm, watching Heero sleep. He looked so calm with his eyes closed, lying on his back with one hand flung over his chest.

Even as she watched him his eyes fluttered open. They always did. He always seemed to sense when she was awake and looking at him. Turning his head, he regarded her with those beautiful angular blue eyes of his, such a deep blue as to sometimes be mistaken for brown or even black. He didn't smile at her. He rarely did, especially in the morning, but there was something in his eyes, something deep and dark and profoundly focused to her.

That look in his eye caused her to break her reserved expression and smile at him, that inviting and encouraging smile people sometimes took as mere nicety, but that she always meant it with all the passion of her heart. Responding, Heero shifted, half sitting up to lean over her, caressing her bare shoulder. She closed her eyes and enjoyed his nearness, hovering as he was only half-clothed by the sheet that covered both their bodies. Pushing loose strands of hair out of her face, reached for him, slinking her arms up over his shoulders and around his neck, pressing her upper body close to his and burying her face comfortably in his shoulder.

He said nothing, as was his habit, but she felt his hands caress her back and she squeezed him tighter. "Good morning," she whispered, kissing his neck, and added regretfully, "I have to get up."

He released her and she swung both feet off the bed, standing gracefully. Even as she padded softly to the shower and thought about her work and all the things she had to do today, her thoughts were laced with Heero. For the two years they had been together, every caress, every sound, every breath shared was a wonder to her. Their communication was still mostly on her side; at least where it concerned the two of them personally, but their understanding for each other had never been so deep or so lovely.

She pulled her hair up on top of her head and turned on the water in the shower, testing its heat before stepping in, letting the water pour over her head and down her body. Pouring liquid soap onto a sponge, she began to lather her arms.

Strangely, Milliardo seemed disapproving lately and that put more of a tension of their interaction in public, but Relena couldn't figure why he was bothered. He had not been upset when she told him they were together, not even when he learned they slept together, but as time drew on, he grew cold and distant. Maybe it was because Heero rarely showed her any affection in public or spoke about their relationship, even in the confidence of close friends and family. Maybe her brother thought Heero was using her, but if so she didn't know how to explain to him the truth so that he would believe it. Heero still didn't like discussing their relationship or discussing himself, but she was patient with him. It was strange enough for him to simply be with her. It didn't matter. Heero loved her with a passion that was sometimes frightening. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in his touch. Just thinking of him made her shiver.

She was only mildly surprised when Heero appeared outside the glass door of the shower, probably getting something from the cabinet. Yet he stopped and she could feel his eyes trying to outline her through the glass. Abruptly, he slid back the glass door of the shower and stepped in under the water, seizing her about the waist.

"Heero?" she gasped, but he quieted her with a soft, love-laden look. He pressed her back against the slick tiled wall with rough hands and fiercer kisses, his hands slipping down her arms because of the soap. All extraneous thoughts flew right out of her head and she smiled, pulling him close to her.

*****

Damion didn't remember what he had been dreaming, but it caused him to wake with some confusion.

"Prince Regent?"

Damion Ravineere opened his eyes slowly, groggily. It was the middle of the night. "What?" he said in a voice thick with sleep, rising up on his elbows. What could they possibly want with him at this hour? As he roused himself, he caught the look in the eyes of the servant who had awoken him and sat bolt right up in alarm. "What has happened?" he demanded. Behind the man by his bed he saw his personal servant Manny, standing in the doorway with a lit candle in his hand and such a strange and sympathetic expression on his face that Damion swallowed. Manny might be sympathetic sometimes, but not this obviously.

"Prince Regent," Manny said in a thick, slow and formal voice. "The Queen, your mother, requests your presence."

Damion paled as the meaning in that title of address suddenly clicked in his head.

*****

The sound of the sea was like music, the crashing of the waves harmonizing with the cries of the seagulls as they called to one another in the sky, their voices drifting far across the beaches and the hills beyond. It was only in places of such serenity that Audrey Veron found comfort of late, where the waves lapped against the sand and retreated again, in and out all day and all night in steady rhythm without rest, forever and ever. There was no hurry, no fuss, no demands, and no understanding of the downspiral rush of time.

Perched as she was upon one of a line of large jagged stones, like the humps of some sea serpent's back out of the water, Audrey Veron felt just short of airborne, almost floating in the ocean itself. Waves broke occasionally fierce against her rocky pedestal, sending salty spray up into her pale face, wetting dark brown hair or splashing the breezy white material of her dress, its hem covering her feet just to the toes. In happier days she would have smiled, but her bitterness was dark and heavy, and all things grew dim and shadowed in her sight.

"My lady Audrey, your father requests your presence."

Audrey turned her head to see one of the maids from her father's estates standing in a gray dress and cloak a dozen feet away, her thin and bony face harboring a mouth set in a disapproving line. Well, she had expected it.

"Very well," she said smoothly with all the countenance duty demanded.

Nodding, she swung her legs around until she could put her feet under her. She stood with the support of one hand, shifting her weight as the sea wind blew her white dress tight around her legs, damp and clingy in patches. Stepping carefully down until her feet touched the grass, she stood alone at the base of the rocks, the bare skin of her arms covered in goose bumps from the sudden cold the breeze brought. The old woman smiled as she approached, wrapped a white shawl about Audrey's shoulders and gently pushed long, dark brown hair from the pale creamy skin of Audrey's face, tucking it behind her ears. Audrey managed a small smile.

"You're a pretty girl, dear," the old woman said with a slight accent and a tart tone. "But too sad. Your mother's death affects you still, doesn't it?" Audrey did not reply. The woman's eyes softened. "Your father loves you," she said, as if trying to convince her, but sighed after a moment when Audrey did not respond. "You shouldn't be so stubborn," she said in mounting irritation. "You know you are bound to your father's house unless you marry."

Which she may soon if the rumors were true and she could not prevent it. "I wouldn't marry if it were up to me alone," Audrey said half in defiance and half with a true sense of loathing in her breast. "I would remain here until my father's death and run my own affairs." But there wasn't enough to support her indefinitely. She knew there wasn't.

"That's a wicked thing to say," the maid mumbled gruffly, but there was no harshness in her voice. It was not the first time Audrey had declared such a desire, and few any longer took much notice of it. "You will change your mind I think. It's what's best for you, for everyone."

Audrey said nothing in return, allowing herself to be led home in silence. She knew no man greater than her father, and him she had grown to hate as much as love for his neglect, as her mother had before her, and nothing in her experience had convinced her that there was anything more to be offered by way of romance. Indeed, her experiences had destroyed any hope of such expectation. She believed in neither love nor marriage. That she would have to accept the latter without the former was no trouble, but she wished she could dispense with both.

She knew why her father wanted to see her. She had heard the news.

*****

Heero rubbed his neck, blinked his eyes tiredly and returned his attention to the clipboard perched on his knees. With meticulous skill, he thumbed through the pages, skimming the words and circling or underlining clauses or paragraphs that needed to be revised.

He sat in a wooden chair by the wall of one of Relena's offices, tilting back the entire chair into the wall so he wouldn't have to hunch over and develop a pain in his back. He smiled when he came to the last page of the shipping contract and deposited the entire clipboard on the desk with three other legal documents before reaching for another, thinking how pleased she would be to find so much work already done. She trusted him with this sort of thing, and it pleased him to please her.

There came a knock on the wall (the door being open), and Heero turned to see Zechs step into the office and give him a look that took him in from the tips of his boots to the top of his head in one glance. Heero did not change his expression as Zechs stared at him for another few long seconds and then looked once about the empty room. His brow creased in frustration.

"Where is she?" Zechs asked at last.

Heero shook his head and went back to studying the report before him. "I don't know," he said. "Her meeting got out a half hour ago. Maybe she went to get her mail."

Zechs snorted and turned to leave. "If you see my wife or my sister, tell them I am going to Preventor Headquarters."

Heero nodded. "Anything I should know about?" Probably something to do with the anti-government campaigning in the West.

"I don't know," Zechs said curtly. "Lady Une just called me in."

Heero nodded again and went back to studying his document. He felt Zechs staring at him for another few moments, but when he looked up, the man was gone. Heero let out a tired breath and forcibly relaxed. Zechs was not intimidating as an opponent or a comrade, but for some reason, as Relena's close relation, he made Heero highly uncomfortable. It wasn't that Zechs disapproved of Heero. On the contrary, he had mentioned before that if he were to entrust Relena to anybody, it would be him, but something was still strange. It was rather new, and one of the puzzling things that had been bothering Heero lately.

Abruptly, the phone on Relena's desk rang. Heero stared at it for a moment, wondering if he should answer it or not. Might as well. Shifting his weight forward pushed the chair back to the ground with a light thump and Heero stood and crossed the short space to the desk in one fluid motion. Leaning over, he reached for the phone.

"Relena's office," he said in a monotone.

"Heero, it is Relena. If you're going to answer my phone, could you do it without sounding so morbid? I thought I'd called a funeral house." Her speech was so clear, so articulate, so emotionally controlled, he knew she'd just been public speaking.

He smiled. "Maybe I just won't answer your phone. Why are you calling here? Is something wrong?"

"I tried to reach your cell, but you didn't answer."

"I left it at your house."

He could sense her blushing in fond remembrance through the wires and smiled again. He'd made them both late this morning and they had both left in a little bit of a rush.

"Heero," she began again, clearing her throat, and he caught the change, the note of solemnity in her tone. He cleared his head of other thoughts and tensed up, wondering what was wrong. "Damion's on the other line. He called during my meeting."

"What's happened?" Heero asked. He had not spoken to Damion in nearly two months.

"His father died."

"When?" Heero exclaimed in some shock. Jacob Ravineere, King of Taravren, dead? He tried to remember if he had heard rumors about his health prior to this. He thought he had, but he had not paid much attention.

"Last night, a heart attack. It'll probably be in the afternoon paper. Damion wants the both of us to come down for awhile. He sounds rather stressed out." She sounded really upset too.

"Is he still on the line? Can you put him through?"

"I can put us on three-way calling," Relena said. A moment later, there was a slight change in the sound coming through the phone as a third line was added.

"Damion?" Heero questioned.

"Hey, Heero." Damion's voice was even, but it had a touch of forced control to it, a sort of strained tension. That was probably to be expected.

"I'm sorry about you father," Heero said automatically. He could feel Relena there too, quiet, but present. "Is there anything we can do?"

"Plan an extended visit if you can," Damion said. "I need people I can depend on here. The next couple of days are going to be really hard on me. You know I wouldn't say so if I didn't consider you friends."

He meant more than dealing with his father's death. Damion was emotional, but not easily unstrung, and had in the past few years developed amazing surety and solid confidence despite his sensitivity. He had undergone a prince's training all his life, or so Heero understood it, but was usually not something he exercised to the extreme. He was probably taught to bear a steady countenance in a crisis, especially since the stability of a nation's leader was indicative of the stability of the government itself. To hear him shaken meant he was being open with them, but it was a little unnerving. He sounded both rushed and tired, exhausted and anxious.

"How much time do you have?" Relena asked quietly. .

Damion took a deep breath. "Six months, maybe a year before my... presidential inauguration."

"Coronation," Heero translated for his own benefit. Damion would be a King before the year was up.

"I became Prince Regent the moment I was awoken late last night," Damion responded with more control than was reasonable. He was trying too hard, and Heero caught the strain in his voice. "That's how they told me my father was dead."

"Oh my God," Relena exclaimed. "Are you okay?"

"I've been grieving, but I've also been kept busy. My relationship with my father has always been a little professional, you know, especially in the last ten years or so. He was a reserved man and somewhat distant, but I loved him and I was not ready for him to..."

"No, of course not," Relena said. "He's your father. Oh, Damion, I am so sorry. I don't know what to say."

"Thank you. It wasn't entirely unexpected. He's been sick since Christmas, but we all thought... I don't know. I would just like to have more friends around. There is a lot going on. I have to take care of my mother; she's not doing well, and I'm Prince Regent, so I have to do everything that that entails. I'm trained for it, but it's a lot to think about, and it's making my father's death too real too soon."

"I understand and we're coming," Relena said immediately. "Today if possible, tomorrow at latest. What do you need us to do?"

"Just be here," he said. "I have plenty of staff to delegate the responsibility of running Taravren. That's not the problem."

"What's the problem?" Heero asked. Damion already had a lot on his plate, more than most people could handle alone, but there was something else he hadn't yet said. Damion was young, but he had grown up with this. What else was expected of him so suddenly that he was not saying?

"God, this is going to sound crazy," Damion muttered and Heero got the sense he had been babbling before to fill space trying to build up to this. Heero waited. "This hasn't happened in a long time, a king dying so young I mean," Damion began. "Normally, the heir is already self-sufficient, with personal estates and a family and a dependable staff. My father was thirty-five when he became King. Things being as they are in the world, that familiarity can not change. There's been too much change and chaos already. The Lords are calling for stability and assurance that the succession is secure."

"Damion, what are saying?" Relena pressed.

"Before my... coronation as Heero put it, I should be married."

"I'm sorry?" Relena said blankly.

"I need to have a wife, or at least someone who looks like she's going to be my wife really soon."

"Whatever for?" Relena exclaimed in amazement. "You can't tell me there's never been an unmarried king. I thought you decided to believe in love?"

"I do, but you don't understand. Whether I marry now or after the ceremony, I still must marry to have children, and I must marry someone rather particular. Single men who were crowned in the past marry love. They married rank and connections. That's technically how I should behave too, to always put what's best for Taravren first."

"You're right. I don't understand," Relena mumbled. "Why did you date me?"

"I made an immature decision. I thought love and ladyship should be the only requirements, but I was wrong. I told you my parents disapproved, not because of who you are, but because of what I am. Things in Taravren right now need to be as traditional as they possibly can be. The Council Lords have drawn up a list. With the way things are now, there's about a handful of girls I can choose from for a wife and they're all coming this weekend to meet me."

Shocked silence.

"You haven't met these girls?" Heero ventured, highly bewildered. "And you have to marry one in as soon as six months?"

"Yes," Damion replied with forced, grim conviction. "Some I know pretty well, some I've only seen at formal functions or heard about. I don't really like the ones I know, not enough to be happy marrying any of them anyway. Of course, that won't really matter in the end, but..." he trailed off.

"I get it," Heero said.

"Damion," Relena said quietly, sadly. "What about love?"

"I believe it's still possible, but that doesn't change the fact that I still have to get married in under a year. I just hope God's looking out for me. Ideally, I would love a girl before I married her, but that's not how it worked out with my parents."

"This is crazy," Relena protested. "Why did you invite these girls this weekend? You can't handle all of this. Your father just died."

"I know," Damion said sadly. "But that's part of the reason I did it, and it was my mother's idea. The nation needs to know I'm looking and people will be in the city for the funeral. I don't think this is going to be easy for anybody, and I know that with all this pressure I'm going to get very confused. That's why I need you here."

"Is there a preference among any of the girls that are coming?" Relena asked. "Or is just any one you like best?"

"There's rank involvement and a hierarchy of the eligible girls. Some offer more in way of stability for the nation, girls of rank or family the other Lords would prefer in such a position as my wife, and I must give them more consideration and attention. In the end, I may not have much of a choice."

Heero frowned. Damion was hedging again. For some reason, Heero felt that Damion had a pretty good idea who was most likely to be his wife. It would be his business to know after all. "So if you had to marry someone tomorrow," Heero asked frankly, "having never met anybody, who would it be?"

"You mean who the Lords would choose?" Damion said. He paused. "Audrey Veron is first choice."

"Veron?" Relena gasped. "Is that... Clara's sister?"

"First cousin," Damion said. "It would have been Clara, as you know, but..." There was a moment of silence.

"You're right," Heero said at long last. "You do have a problem. We'll be in Taravren tonight."

*****

Audrey stood before her father in silence, alone, straight-backed, her eyes steady and her expression blank. It was impossible not to feel the rift between them, the coldness that had only grown deeper since his return. She was aware that it pained him, her coldness, the cool aloof way in which she paid her dues as his daughter, but it was one of those unfortunate puzzles with no answer; she could not find true forgiveness in her heart for him, and would not fake it.

"This is important," her father said with such a sudden forcefulness that Audrey swallowed and braced herself. "You are first choice, and the traditions are well observed, but you must want it, convince him that he wants it. Such disguised blessings must be grasped; they do not just happen. Don't you realize how lucky you are?" The eyes of her father were a clear, piercing blue, his countenance kingly, controlling, determined. It had become so recently, in the two years since his return, for in her childhood she remembered him joyful, wild and full of energy, so much so that he could or would not stay with the family he professed to love. His concern for her now was evident, but she found herself rebelling by habit, unhappy in his presence, knowing she must please him because he was her father and deserved her love and obedience, things which once she had given freely.

Lucky, he said. Was her mother lucky? "I know," she said, and didn't know whether to be tart or meek in this matter. She kept her hands clasped behind her back, twisting the amethyst ring on her finger. "I will marry him if I must, if that is my duty, but I will do nothing to contrive such an affair by guile."

"You are as stubborn as your mother," her father muttered half to himself, but Audrey heard and held back the sudden sting of tears and a sharp retort. "Please be at your best," he pleaded soothingly, and it was painful to hear him plead on her behalf. "You may need this more than you know. Your safety and stability is important to me. I will not be around forever, nor is there enough wealth left in these after-war times to sustain you when I am gone, not unmarried. You could be very happy."

She was silent, feeling the unfairness of it all, but there was no way to escape, not unless the prince refused her.

"Your things are packed?" her father asked quietly.

She nodded.

"Good. You depart for the city in the morning."

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