Disclaimer: Trinity Blood and its characters do not belong to me. This fanfic consists of monologues by the characters at their most alone. Not in chronological order. May contain spoilers for the anime. Rated for potential dark and mature themes.
In the anime, Virgil was the one the old Queen entrusted with the task of seeking the Star. How much did the late Queen know about Esther's parentage?
Virgil: One Last Waltz
Do you remember the first time we met?
Long, long ago, long, long ago?
We promised each other we will never forget,
Long, long ago, long, long ago…
The monitors flash and motors hum around me as I oversee the running of the Ghetto's newest computer chip line. Running like clockwork as usual. A time to be born, a time to live and a time to die… so my late father used to say. The incoming call button on my telephone blinks. I slowly pick up the receiver. "Captain Spencer is on the line, sir," my secretary's voice drifts over the slight static. "Again." This is the seventh time in an hour.
"Tell her I am busy…" That's right, Virgil, snivelling coward. Vanessa, my sister, is right about one thing. I am a coward. It is alright to speak of grand changes and dreams when you are young, of facing your fears but another thing when reality hits you over the head. I never can understand Vanessa. So why bother trying? We will only argue again…
"She demands to speak with you, sir. She says it is urgent," Agatha's voice reflects her distress. "It's about Her Majesty." Of course it is urgent. My heart has been dreading this call for the past few days. Reluctantly, I speak. "Transfer the call please." My voice sounds strange as I force the words out. Agatha must have heard me. A few seconds later, I hear the clipped voice of Mary Spencer on the line. "Sir Virgil. She orders you to go to her." Tense silence follows as she awaits my reply.
"I will, in two hours… I should have the line running by then." I need more time…
"Two hours?" The thin veneer of professionalism left in her voice cracks after hours of trying to get me to pick up her call. "She doesn't have two hours, you cold-blooded fool! Our Queen is dying, nincompoop! She's been holding on since morning. The priest has just finished giving her the Last Rites. She wants to see you…" I slump in my chair.
"But…" I try to protest. I can't face this…
"She wants to see her dearest and oldest friend!" Mary spits each word out slowly. She has always been envious of the special bond we shared. An iota of self-control seeps back into her voice. "If you take the elevator direct to the palace, you can make it in half an hour. We have the drapes drawn and corridors cleared … If you don't show in half an hour, I swear I will go down and drag you up, with silver bullets if necessary."
"I will be there in a quarter-hour." I have a feeling, a sinking feeling that she will die soon after she sees me. My Queen, my friend…
It seems like yesterday my father took me to see how the Ghetto's factories were run. I was young then. My father had unexpected visitors from Above, so I was left to my own devices. It was in the sprawling back corridors of the old factory that we met, two bored children unwittingly dragged along on their fathers' business. I took you to the Ghetto's forgotten sector where the adults hardly went. We almost got lost in the vents…
"Virgil, are you sure this is the way out?" You tugged on my ankle in the dark. "Trust me, Bridie," I tried to sound as confident as an eight-year-old boy could. In truth, I was scared we had made a wrong turn and were hopelessly lost.
"Virgil, I see light ahead on the right." I couldn't see any light in the pitch dark. How could you see it if you were behind me in the narrow vent? "Sure?"
"Trust me, as I trusted you." So I forged on ahead. You followed close behind. A few hundred yards down the vent, we found light, pouring through a grill that I kicked out. We emerged onto a landing, dusty, grimy and laughing.
After our scare, we talked, laughed and joked. I folded my hanky into a rose and gave it to you. You asked me if I would dance with you. I said yes. Then our fathers found us. We have been waltzing ever since, haven't we, Bridget? Dancing around each other in a long practiced waltz that has existed since the treaty between the Albionian Terrans and Methuselahs was reached by your far-sighted ancestor. I used to sneak up Above to visit you, just as you used to sneak down to play with me until your father ordered you to stop. The Ghetto could be, and still is, dangerous to those not familiar with its network of endless tunnels.
When you were ten, we went to the fairground behind your nannies' backs. We rode on the merry-go-round and shared an ice-cream sundae. We had so much fun that summer day. My father had me whipped when he found out. When I was eighteen, I turned and our daylight forays ceased.
I watched you grow from a seven-year-old with red pigtails to a gangly teenager and to beautiful young Queen. We were always there for each other. The same year I turned, my parents died in a Ghetto factory blast. My sister was a mere infant in arms then. She slept through the funeral service and bawled for milk when it ended.
"I am counting on you, Virgil. Please be strong, my guardian of the Ghetto. Albion cannot do without the Ghetto's knowledge."
"I can't…" What did I know then about managing the lives of all the Ghetto-dwellers and the politics with those Above?
"I have faith in you. Trust me, Virgil."
You stood beside me. You gave me the strength I needed to step into my father's shoes. Because you believed.
When your father died, you cried on my shoulder. Some paparazzi hiding outside the window got a lucky shot that night. And the next morning, the tabloids were speculating on the new Queen's beau. Don't you just hate it when that happens? After that incident, I have seen you cry twice but you never asked for my shoulder, only a hanky. You are a strong woman, probably stronger than I am. When you got married, I sent you a musical jewellery box as a wedding gift. I programmed it to play your favourite melodies.
You are care for all your subjects, even those who are hidden from the world above. A few years after your husband died, you had the palace renovated. You replaced the windows in your palace and the parliamentary halls with UV filtered glass. You did not want to discuss the issues of the Ghetto over a phone line like our fathers did. You always preferred to discuss face-to-face. There are other issues as well, though not as scandalous as what some councillors whispered.
Our relationship is purely platonic, isn't it? I did have occasion to visit you privately, once when your husband died of illness and later when your Gilbert was killed. On both occasions, you used my handkerchief to dry your tears. They are with you still.
We were two children suddenly cast out into an unforgiving world before we were ready. Somehow, we survived, so far. Maybe that is the bond we share. We always drew strength from each other. Now I will be soon left alone. How can I continue? How can the Ghetto continue?
Who's the next monarch? Do you suppose it will be Duke Erin or Ludwig? Vanessa has pestered me recently. How long before our existence can be revealed to the world? Vanessa does not understand. Our invisibility is our protection.
The elevator ride seems to take an eternity. Finally, the doors slide open. I step out into the darkened corridor. Mary is waiting outside. "This way, Sir Virgil," she briskly ushers me into the royal apartments and down one of the corridors to Bridget's bed chamber. I know where it is, since I have visited her there before, but there is no way I am going to let that bit of knowledge to known to anyone else.
"She has not disclosed her heir yet." The captain frowns as she considers the prospect of the country falling into anarchy without a clear successor to the throne. I am terrified of that prospect as well. What will happen to my sister and the other Ghetto-dwellers who depend on the Albionians above for their survival? Where can we go?
Bridget's trusted maid, Janet, lets me in but motions to Mary to stay outside. The captain let out a slight sound of annoyance, but she stays outside in the corridor. Janet closes the door behind her as she steps out, leaving me alone with her. There is soft music playing. I recognize the tune. The Last Waltz. Soon the waltz between the Albionian royal house and the Ghetto will end. My mouth is dry. My heart is thumping.
"Virgil?" Her voice is a bare whisper as she waves me over weakly. I go over to her bedside and take her hand in mine.
"Your Majesty…" Will she disclose the name of her heir? Or does she intend to take that to her grave?
"Virgil, please… call me…Bridie…" her voice is weakening.
"Bridie," I clasp her hand in mine. I know she is dying, fading away too fast. The pigtailed girl, the teenaged princess, the Queen… Now she looks so frail, lying on the pillows with her pale skin and white hair.
"Virgil, the music… box…" She manages a ghost of a smile. I turn in the direction she indicates. On her bedside table sits the jewellery box I gave her so long ago. The music stops ominously.
"Guardian of the Ghetto… custodian to Albion's knowledge," she teases me like she used to when I just took on my father's mantle. She squeezes my hand. "Guardian to my secrets," she whispers.
"Trust me, as I trust you… seek the star…" I understand her. The identity of her heir lies in the box, but the time is not right yet. "My dearest Virgil… sorry… I must leave you…"
"Bridie," I choke. The tears came quietly to my eyes. "Trust me… Everything will… be alright…" I feel her cold fingers brush against my cheek, brushing away my tears.
With a final sigh, she smiles, her hand falls from my face. I catch her hand and hold it as it goes limp. Her eyes close for the last time. She looks so peaceful… I will carry out the last wishes of not my Queen, but my dearest friend. I open the jewellery box. It contained only a sealed envelope and a pair of roses folded from white silk handkerchiefs like the ones I always carry with me for her tears. A memento of our friendship.
I shout for Janet and Mary, but not before I slip the envelope into my coat pocket, along with the two silken roses. When the time is right, I will reveal the heir…
Trust me, as I will trust you.
Author's Notes:
Bridie is a common nickname for Bridget or Brigit.
In the anime, we see the Queen as an old woman. Virgil is portrayed as a very solemn man with the physical appearance of a man in his early to mid 20s. They were young and carefree once. I hope I managed to add a deep, platonic friendship aspect to the monarch-loyal courtier relationship between the old Queen and the Count of Manchester. Does anyone suspect young Virgil may unknowingly carry a flame for young Bridie? Please review.
