Remnants: 2

Some notes: "Malespina's bride" and the first sentence from John Davidson's "A Ballad of Hell," but since if anyone actually reads this they are familiar with "A Ballad of War" and are probably sick to death of me using the poem so much that they recognized that.

Malespina's Bride

She waited, shuddering, in her room. They said the boy had been dead for several days, that already his flesh had begun its ruination from the exposure to the corrosive salt of the ocean and a few of the tinier creatures that lived therein. He had probably washed up on shore early that morning, aided to his rest by the first rays of dawn. God only knew exactly how long he had been floating before the tide had guided him there.

The body had yet to be identified. Two officials from the palace, aware of what this could mean to her, were waiting for her now to come pronounce whether or not it was who, already suspecting it in the darker recesses of her mind, she feared it would be.

It would be by the sea where he had found his death that she would identify him. She had instructed that his body not be moved.

The clock ticked quietly against the wall beside her; it was the only thing that broke the horrid silence. It had been almost an hour since they had told her that a young male, obviously of strong Asian descent, had been found dead on the shore of the capital, less than a mile from the palace. She should have gone already, should have already looked upon the lifeless face and beheld his pitiful countenance, that face that she had once so loved to study, Heero's strange blue eyesY She should already have gone to perform this dreaded task, but she could not. She could not bring herself to rise from the bed. The only thing she could do, as the clock seemed to pronounce the nearing end of her life, was lie there as a crumpled doll and see his face, hear the eerie monotone of his voice. She could still taste his lips, still feel them pressed against her own. Heero. You would do this, wouldnt you? You would do this hopeless thing.

She could almost hear his voice now answering: "yes."

A knock came one the door, slowly and almost pensively, as though the one who had come to summon her did not want to. She flinched and tried to ignore it.

"Miss Relena?" Pagan's gentle voice, the words touched by just the slightest polite smile. Perhaps he had already seen the body and identified it, in his own mind, as Heero's.

She looked up at the door, swallowed the knot that had risen in her throat. "Yes, Pagan?"

"Forgive me, Miss Relena, but they wish you to come down to the shore now. They cannot wait there with the body much longer."

AOf course, Pagan.

I cannot do this, please, I cannot do this, I will notC

She gathered the billowing skirt of the white dress around her, stood up from the bed. "You would not have done this for me, would you, Heero?"

The ticking of the clock and Pagans silent patience were the only responses.

She walked slowly toward the door, sighed heavily. The weight of her breath physically overwhelmed her, and she felt as though she would soon need stop lest her heart give out from the pressure.

Her hands trembled furiously at her sides and she clasped them behind her to stop them. She could not seem so nervous. She would do this with dignity; he would have wanted that of her.

She did not think as she left the sanctuary of her chambers. She did not think as Pagan, holding her arm to guide her, escorted her throughout the wide corridors of the palace. She did not think as she stepped into the sun outside, as they crossed the grounds to the shore. She could not think. Not without seeing his face again, without accepting the horrible knowledge that he had at long last done this to himself.

She would never be able to see him again after this. How foolish of her to have thought that she would.

The sea ahead was calm and still, just as it had been for the past few days. She wondered if it had been so calm when he had gone into it, if it had accepted him so lovingly. She hoped that it had.

She saw them long before she reached them, the two men in the regal uniform of the advisors to the Sanq Kingdom, and at their feet the limp body, too far away still for her to see its face. He seemed, from this distance, as an offering to the two statues of men, a shell sacrificed to a purpose beyond understanding.

Wasn't that what Heero was, after all? Someone who had, long before she had even known him, given up his soul to something only he understood?

Pagans gloved hand tightened on the back of her arm as they reached the shore, steadying her and simultaneously offering her an inadequate comfort. She was silently grateful for this.

"We are sorry for having to ask this of you, Your Highness," one of the advisors said. He met her eyes sadly, imparting the grim epiphany that she no longer needed. "But we thought it might be best if you—"

"Thank you," she muttered quietly. She stepped away from Pagan, wordlessly went to the drenched corpse. The two advisors stepped back, not wanting to intrude upon her grief.

She knelt at his side, lowered her eyes so that she could not see him. HeeroY

"Your Highness, please, we need—"

She held up her hand, silenced him before he could finish. The boy's face could scarce be seen for his damp, matted hair; she brushed this aside slowly, looking away still.

I cannot do this.

With another sigh she turned her eyes to him, clutching the lock of hair tightly as though her grip on it was the only thing preventing her from rising to her feet and running in her cowardice. Her heart throbbed between her ears, filling her mind even as his terrible visage filled her eyes.

I cannot, this is not true, I will notC

AMy God, she breathed, closing her eyes against the sight of his ruined face. Her hand fell weakly away from him; the knot that had formed in her throat sank to her chest. For a brief moment she thought she would faint.

His skin was utterly white know, cold with a chill that no amount of time in the sun could warm. His lips were parted in an expression of peaceful surrender, as though in his last moments he had forgotten his life completely. One of his eyes was missing; the other was half-lidded and shadowed, the light of his vitality having been extinguished.

The eye was dark, almost black now. Heeros eyes had been blue, the unmistakable color of the ocean after a storm.

"It's not him," she said, repressing the smile of relief that threatened to cross her face. "It's not Heero."

The sun beat down upon them all, the living and the nameless dead, as finally the Queen began to weep.

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