Quatre and Relena share a conversation somewhere between episodes 30 and 31.Written because I believed in the intelligence of Quatre and Relena, and wish to defend them. Relena POV
Fractured Fairy Tale of Sank
He was depressed, obviously. Seeing your father and sister die in front of you, or blasting hundreds of humans and an important friend into the black space void were not things one did on a regular basis. I found him alone in the campus music room again, playing the piano with closed eyes. He had not arrived at Sank for any more than twelve hours and I had already found him in that position thrice, and not once was he crying. The melody he improvised was melancholy, but never grievous.
Intrigued, perhaps by our similar scent, I asked him why he had not cried.
"Not sad enough to," he replied simply, ending his song with a chord and opening his eyes to look at me.
He shifted so he sat facing me, and continued to explain. "I felt a blinding rage when he died. They hurt me by betraying us, and I had a strong desire to hurt back. After the fury was spent, I am too hollow to feel sad."
I was caught off guard by his confession, for that was what I felt too after witnessing my father's assassination – the anger that drowned the sorrow. That was why I tried to shoot Lady Une.
I told him so, and then jokingly said in a mock serious tone, "I guess we both didn't love our fathers as much as we think we should."
"Probably not."
I laughed, and he his eyes bore through me with suppressed flames.
"He was never at home," I stifled my laughter. "but that was because he had something more important to do. An important man does important things - things that I, as a child, did not understand, for till his dying day I found his actions foolishly naïve."
"Wasting his life, wasting his time on things that nobody had cared about," he continued for me. "And ignoring those who cared. All my life I've tried to live up to his expectations, wishing that for once, he'll pay more attention to me than his work. But that's of no importance now, I guess."
He spoke for me, and at that I lost control. "He wasn't even my father!" I screamed, childishly thumping on the piano to emphasize my frustration.
"Neither was…" his voice went husky, "I am a test-tube baby."
Orphans.
Were we the Princess and the Prince who went forgotten by time? We were the royalties of a fractured fairy tale, in a make-believe kingdom called Sank. Once upon a time, there was this test-tube baby Prince, and this adopted Princess, and both were orphaned twice at the tender age of fifteen…go on grandma, go on…how unconventional and cute…
"It's nice, this Kingdom you built." His voice, recomposed, interrupted my sarcastic internal monologue.
"Yes."
"But it is just a fairy tale. It will not last."
"No. It will not. It is only a defiant act to annoy Romefeller."
"Total pacifism will not work too."
"I know, but someone has to try."
He sighed. "Once, during World War One, there was this British soldier who thought he could single-handedly protect the Arab Peninsula from the invasion of three countries. He, and the British Army, helped the Arabs fought off the Turkish Empire. Then he thought he could keep Britain and France from sharing the Peninsular between themselves. He failed, of course, and his intelligence had long told him there was no way he could win, but he stubbornly refused to believe in his own reason."
"That would be T.E. Lawrence," I said, "with his foolish idealism."
"Indeed. He treaded on the brink of insanity for the rest of his life, struggling with his internal conflict of reason and idealism. Years after he died people followed his folly, for the Arabs gained their independence, with thanks to his foolish idealism of course."
"If you are saying that every new page of history needs its fool to write it, Quatre, then I shall abandon my intelligence and be the Fool. That had been my plan all along."
"Then Miss Relena, I'll gladly be this Fool's zany."
"I was under the impression that you serve another clown." As soon as I said that cheeky line, I realized I had said the wrong thing.
He lowered his head.
"I'm sorry, I mean…" I tried to repair the damage done and fumbled with my words, but he stopped me by raising his hand in gesture.
"It's okay. I… How about you and Heero?" He cheekily threw the ball back at me. A child like him will never admit defeat in a verbal spar.
My cheeks flushed with embarrassment at his retort. Briefly debating over the issue in my head, I decided to tell him the truth. It was long since I've met a person who might understand me.
"Heero was my teenage hormones coupled with my childish illusion. Don't get me wrong, my heart still races at the sight of him. I…I like him. He is my symbol of strength, the thing I cling on to when I doubt myself. But I know, somehow I know that there's a difference between the Heero I see and the Heero in real life."
He opened his mouth briefly, but closed it again. Then deciding to speak after all, he frowned and said, "I heard that Miss Catalonia challenged Heero to a fencing duel."
I sighed. This boy was much more observant than I ever expected, and he irritatingly knew just what words to use. Everything he said was carefully thought out, so that he was tactful, but always to the point. I had heard about Dorothy's duel with Heero from one of the Student Union members already. I was not really surprised at the news, after all, Dorothy was a pretty possessive person, and especially so when things involved her 'Miss Relena'.
"I am not stupid," I almost snapped at Quatre. "I know what Dorothy is doing for me and how she feels regarding me. She reads me like an open book, and knew exactly how to push me on. She is acting the devil's advocate, personifying all my fears and doubts for me, so that I can face and fight tangible enemies. I know you would understand, Mr. Winner, that people like you and me have this pride that will never allow us to back down in a verbal spar. Dorothy forced me to argue with my own doubts on total-pacifism. It was her way to show that she cared, and it was the most effective support I've gotten in Sank."
His gaze on me mellowed somewhat. In his softened eyes I could see a tiredness which stemmed from experience and wisdom. There was also a spark of envy in his eyes that was not difficult to spot.
"I like Heero…I do. It's just that, you see, Dorothy is so much easier…but that's supposed to be…abnormal, wrong."
At that he suddenly stood up and pulled me gently to my feet. He led me into a graceful silent waltz, which was surreal in a sense, but comforting in its familiarity at that moment. One, two, three, one, two, three, natural turn, one, two, three, progressive chasses to right, one, two, three, hesitation turn, one, two, three…
How long did we danced? I lost track of time. In the end he elegantly coaxed the waltz to a halt, and to my surprise, placed a chaste kiss on my lips.
"Good luck, princess. Nothing is wrong in a fractured fairy tale," he breathed in my ear.
Then he left the room. I stood there stunned, gazing at his retreating form, with my fingers on my lips. When my mind finally registered what had just happened, my body all but crumpled on to the piano seat.
I knew that total pacifism would not work, and I knew the horror of its flaws. Take Sank for example, only the police force had weaponry to deploy, and I, as the respected royal ruler with the silver tongue, could easily manipulate the police force into serving my own purposes if I wanted. Putting two and two together, it meant that I could easily become the oppressive dictator of Sank if I were corrupted by power. That would bring us to square one, as unfair oppression was the cause of the wars in the first place. Dorothy knew that, and Quatre knew that too, yet both supported this naïve flawed idea of mine and encouraged me to go on.
I would go on, counting on Heero to kill me if I ever were to become the dictator, for I had to go on, by the name of Peacecraft. I didn't want any more fifteen year olds to witness their fathers' deaths. I didn't want to see any more fifteen year olds to choose the path of revenge. I didn't want any more fifteen year olds to willingly become the Fools of history, yet all the while feeling sorry for themselves.
I felt like crying, but found that I could not. Who had ever seen a crying Court Fool anyway? So I played the piano instead…
…and looked up to see Dorothy clapping her hands in appreciation, leaning at the door.
AN: This was supposed to be Quatre-centric, but Relena stole the spotlight. U