Hello, world. I swore to myself that this chapter would be out before the year ends, so finally, here it is. This is to thank everyone who still found this story despite my one-year absence, and to people who still bothered to check this story (meaning you) despite this author's many unannounced hiatuses. I won't make the wait any longer, so here goes.
Disclaimer: The author of this fic does not own gundam seed/destiny, or its characters, because if I claimed I did, would delete my story—wouldn't it?—and the copyright people will sue me. Any similarities from other fics are purely coincidental, and so are any allusions to real events, places and people.
ooooo
Chapter 27: The White City
Founded at the site of its current capital city, Aprilius, Zaft's history was an illustrious array of battle and conquest through which the Western superpower had gained its expansive territory, covering a fourth of the known world. It was believed that the dawn of man began in the East, where the first signs of human settlement resided, signs of evolution from the primordial to the modern man. Probably due to a then growing scarcity of wild foodstuffs, a big chunk of the human population migrated to other parts of the world, leaving a smaller percentage in the East that was to become the race that founded Orb. A millennium ago, the West was new land; it was virtually uninhabited, since few groups knew it existed, and even those who found out would not risk the perilous journey to the other side of the world.
Most of them, anyway. One race took the giant leap to the West, founding a small farming community in the opulent land. Naturally gifted with assiduousness and the coveted green thumb, these farmers were able to develop the wild, uncultivated patches of land they lived on, harnessing the bounty its soil was overflowing with. This was a time when the techniques of agriculture were yet to be polished, and most of the other nearby communities in the arid desert of the South suffered from starvation. These people knew not how to enrich the land, and wild berry picking—the traditional way of living—would not feed the communities that they have built. They did, however, have huge rock deposits fit for building houses. With these resources began the trading practices of the West and South, and this was how Aprilius slowly monopolized trading, acquiring enough material to build strong walls in the once meek farming community, that in time grew into a booming, rising city. By the time it was an established city-state, smaller communities started to settle on the unclaimed lands bounding Aprilius, building cities of their own. Still, the South patronized aprilius in trade, and even their neighboring competitors looked to them for some of their needs.
A few centuries later, gold began to replace bartered goods, and in less than a hundred years, Aprilius was able to acquire so much wealth, it didn't know what to do with it. They had provided themselves with everything they needed, and they did not want to trouble their lives with useless flamboyance and shiny, sparkly gemstones. Eventually, the elders of the community convened that the best way to spend what they had earned was to invest it in something so that they could earn more. The elders picked out the people's best fighters and let these men attack small neighboring communities. Seeing that the attack was successful, the elders picked out the best fighter in the troop, and this man they crowned as Zaft's first king. Since that year, Zaft had set out to conquer all nearby communities in the West, beginning its long, bloody history of acquisition across the Western landscape.
Becoming the sole sovereign of the West did not just take overnight. It took them centuries, dozens of kings and perhaps millions of men to gain the land they now occupy. Even more troublesome were the constant uprisings set by newly occupied provinces, all fighting to get back the right to rule themselves. Some were successful, but in the end, it seemed that Zaft would come again to reclaim their land, and triumphantly did so. For this reason and for a number of other adversaries who wanted to shave off a part of their territory, Zaft had grown into a powerful military nation, defended by an epic army and led by a line of great warriors they hailed as kings.
+o+
"When I grow up, I want to be just like that."
"Like what?"
"The kings. Patrick, don't you ever dream of it?"
Ten-year-old Patrick simply shrugged. His friend, five years his junior, shook his head in dismay.
"Here you are, the next king of Zaft. And here I am, more eager than you are to conquer the world. What is wrong with you?"
"If you are so eager, my friend, then," Patrick drew his newly-brandished sword, stark white in the night sky, "take that right from me."
Beaming, Patrick's friend drew out his own blade. Minutes of clashing steel later, they were both out of breath.
"I swear I won't let you beat me again."
"What are you saying?" Patrick grunted. "It was a draw."
His friend got up right before Patrick could offer his hand, backing away in jest. "No need to feel sorry for me... I'm not some helpless woma..."
"Gilbert!" Patrick called out after him as he fell down a pit hidden beneath a pile of hay.
+o+
Eleven years later, Patrick, the king of Zaft and Commander of its armed strength, and Gilbert Dullindal, his second-in-command and closest friend, would come to the North to continue their country's great tradition of conquest. It was easy. The North was weak, a country ravaged by famine and disunity—the army was in a fool's hands. They could have conquered all of Logos, but harvest in Zaft was coming. Patrick thought Junius, the wheatbasket, was enough for now. Reluctantly, Gilbert agreed.
After controlling the villages between Junius and Zaft's northern frontier, everything was set for Junius' conquest. Only one person stood in the way—Lenore.
While he was riding on the outskirts of his conquered land, Patrick first met Lenore when he saved her from being mauled by a bear. He had been seeing her ever since, hoping the link between him and the governor's loveliest daughter would serve his army's purposes. She made little effort to charm Patrick, but it was part of her allure. Her quick wit was always entertaining, a muse of intelligence, beauty and all the gifts the gods could conceive. But that was not why Patrick fell in love with her.
"Lenore, there is something I must tell you."
The eve of the fall of Lenore's beloved city. Her heart skipped a beat.
"I am from Zaft."
Her back against him, Patrick could see her stiffen. Zaft's army had set up camp a few miles from the gates. It could only mean one thing.
"Zaft has come for Junius."
Lenore fell to her knees.
"I know how you feel..." Never had he been at such a loss for words. If her father did not submit, Patrick would have to kill her. He recalled Gilbert's words.
Patrick, there are a hundred women waiting for you at home. There are more to come. Don't lose your mind over one woman!
Suddenly, Lenore spoke.
"Have you ever been so torn in your life? Because I feel the same way."
She put the words in his mouth. But Patrick didn't get it. The choice should be clear for Lenore.
"Patrick, I should kill you."
To Patrick's surprise, she took out a dagger hidden in her sleeve, glinting slyly in the moonlight. "Now that I have the chance... now that I know that you do not have the heart to kill me."
Horse hooves boomed in the still air. Patrick's identity had been discovered.
In her unmoving state, Lenore whispered, "Go, there's a secret exit in the next room."
He could not believe what he was hearing. Sternly, bitterly, he hissed, "I am a man who is about to kill your father, your sisters, your people... should they refuse to bow down to me and my men. Yet you release me."
She faced him, tears flowing freely on her supple cheeks, each drop beating on Patrick's heart just as her words did.
"And yet you are the man that I love. Now go."
+o+
Over two decades later, the obelisk to commemorate the conquest of Junius still hovered over the land bounding the capital Aprilius, a spear piercing the sky. This and 41 other obelisks symbolized Zaft' provinces and how they were conquered—or, in historians' terms, "were brought to the light"--by Aprilius' forefathers.
Cagalli stood in awe at the foot of the Junian obelisk.
"Amazing, how did you put up these? I can't imagine the manpower..."
Nicol started to explain the history of the pulley while Athrun and the lieutenants oversaw the preparations for the army's entry to the city. Though a mile away, the city of Aprilius was still a commanding site. It encompassed half of the horizon, a white slab of stone radiating an iridescent glow in the noon heat, a light second only to the sun. The battle of white against the rest of the colors of the spectrum—white conquering the rest—was breathtaking.
"The city of light. Marvelous, isn't it."
"Aprilius," Cagalli sighed in amazement. Luna looked at the lady with approval.
"And by the time we're done with you, you wouldn't want to leave."
The battlehorn bellowed, the go signal for all of the army to ride full speed to the city gates. Cagalli could feel the joy overflowing in the men's hearts, the promise of home beyond the horizon finally fulfilled. It pushed her to move faster, the autumn wind filled with the rich scent of golden wheat and flowers in their last days of bloom.
+o+
When they reached the foot of the gates, Luna asked Cagalli to stay by her side.
"The king would love to meet you. You did, after all, save the Prince's life."
Cagalli felt her cheeks flush. Luna grinned at her teasingly, but before she could say anything, a great click resounded in the open field. A wave of cheers and applause crashed into her ears, the earth rumbling as the crowd grew louder and louder with every file of soldiers entering the city. The line grew shorter and shorter before her, until it was her time.
"Hesitant now? Why?"
The roar of the crowd, the rain of roses from the terraces of homes and from atop the city gates, children squeezing through every gap in the line of guards barricading the crowd—she had never seen anything like it.
Orb never gave me a hero's welcome like this, Cagalli thought.
"Well dive in!" Luna gave her a playful shove. "The crowd's waiting."
With that first step, the world she had known only in books and paintings had become a reality. Lining the adobe-plated earth they marched on were buildings all at least three floors high, green earth sprawled before each one, willows and oaks swaying like the hands of children waving at friends who have come home from the war. Their leaves were still a lush green, donning the city with a cool contrast to the white walls and the red paths.
Gabled roofs topped many homes, mimicking the tympanum of government buildings and towers scattered across the city. The homes were simple, perhaps as austere as their owners, but the sheer brightness of their white walls captivated her more than the shiny gem houses in Heliopolis.
They reached an arched tunnel. Luna said it led to the royal palace. For a while, Cagalli was thankful to be relieved of the bright light.
"Here we are," Luna nudged Cagalli, who was getting exhausted. "The government complex."
Many offices were found elsewhere in the city, but the government complex housed the most important ones—the ministry of defense, the museum of the country's most valuable riches, and the military school. It was like venturing into another world altogether. Cagalli found herself in a great plaza coated in white stone, surrounded by mammoth structures standing on columns each at least five feet wide. The columns towered over most houses surrounding the area, marble citadels kissing the sun. Carved on the tympanums of the government buildings were periods in Zaft's history, the marble reliefs perfectly smooth.
Across the plaza was another tunnel. Strangely, it was a simple tunnel—no carvings of great conquests, no busts to honor kings and princes, only stone browned and weathered by time. The inside was no different.
"Strange. How out of place in such a grand part of the city," Cagalli mumbled.
" This is what we call 'the way of the kings'," Luna said.
"This?"
"You'll soon find out."
Beyond the tunnel, thunderous rounds of applause awaited them. Towering over all the guests was a giant oak tree, the shadows of its leaves rustling over the path on which it stood. Behind it stood a long flight of marble stairs that led to the gates of the royal palace.
No doubt, the palace was the most awe-inspiring structure in the city. Fourteen towers circled its vestibule domed by a smooth layer of marble, the towers topped by cone-shaped roofs of the same material. Every inch of the palace was smoothed like glass—it reflected the grandiose assembly before it like a giant white mirror. The grass around it seemed moist, the blades of grass glistening under the sun. The wind blew softly, rose petals falling with golden oak leaves.
All around her, the brightness of the walls ruled—over the green grass, the red and yellow of falling wilted leaves, the rugged barks of trees, the faces of the people gleaming with pride. Everything seemed so much brighter in the white city.
Slowly, Cagalli heard the great oak door creak open. It made her wonder how many men were needed to open it. She peeked through the flanks of soldiers, only to find out all it needed was one. The man's hair was gray with age, but Cagalli was too far away to see his face.
Behind her, Meyrin asked, "Why doesn't the king just ask his guards to open the doors for him?"
"To live up to his reputation, of course," Luna answered, slightly annoyed.
Truly it was the king, his crown perfectly propped on his head, his scepter in his right hand and his other hand freely resting on the arm of a chair one of his servants got for him. That man must be my father's age, Cagalli thought. How can he possibly open those doors?
Suddenly, the white walls shook with the crowd's excitement. Zaft's battlehorn echoed from a distance, signaling the entry of its prince.
As the nobles began to line up along the red carpet to the palace, a patch of pink hair caught Cagalli's attention. Never, never, in Cagalli's wildest dreams did she think she would find her here. Without thinking, Cagalli sprung to a dash.
+o+
"Lacus, Lacus!" Cagalli called out. She finally stopped, realizing she had lost Lacus.
What could she possibly be doing here? Cagalli asked herself, pacing across the white city. If Lacus was here, did that mean Kira was here, too? Was Kira really that worried about her? But why bring Lacus along?
Besides, he didn't sound so worried in the letter, Cagalli assured herself. But still, why do I feel so...
With that, she heard the spark of a lamp post coming to life. The sun had already set and night was setting in fast. She had wandered into one of those less frequented parts of the city in her search for her songstress friend, and now she had no idea how to find her way back.
Maybe there's a sign pointing the way to the main gate, at least, Cagalli thought. There were none.
After an hour of being lost, she gave up, sinking to a bench. "Of all the things this city would not have..."
"There are things this city does not have? I am quite surprised."
Cagalli looked up to find a man, probably in his late forties, dressed in a plain white shirt, brown trousers and black shoes. A noble? No, all of the nobles were dolled up today. Probably someone who works in one of the offices. Or a businessman? An artist? A teacher?
"I assume you are trying to guess my trade," the man mused.
"I know," Cagalli bolted up, putting her hand on her hips as she stood. "A soldier."
"My, such keenness," the man exclaimed. "How did you know?"
"Soldiers have a certain snap when they walk. I've been with them long enough to recognize that."
The man suddenly laughed.
"I see Lady Cagalli is as smart as she is lovely."
"You know me?" Cagalli asked, surprised.
"Know you? Everyone knows you! You're famous!"
+o+
Rose petals were strewn in every nook and cranny of the adobe paths.
"So many..." Cagalli wondered.
"Yes, all summer they had been saving up for the prince's return."
Cagalli smiled. The stories were true. Athrun was a prince loved by the people.
The man had led Cagalli to a gathering of the Aprilians in the city's common plaza, an expanse of adobe stone where most announcements to the people were made. That night, the people were witnessing a play. The man told Cagalli the play was about the events of the Crusade. Two seats were vacant up front.
"Aren't these reserved?" Cagalli asked."The view is good, fitting a high-paying noble."
"These shows are for free, my Lady," the man said, leading Cagalli through the crowd in the dimly lit square. The man's eyesight is amazing for his age, she thought.
The red armor and the hill fortress—it was certainly the battle of Lunius.
Definitely in Lunius, Cagalli thought. The actor, wearing a mask resembling Athrun's helmet, fell with an arrow stuck to his chest. The crowd boomed with shrieks and howls. A jester, the play's narrator, entered the scene.
Yes it is true, he almost died
but never fear, for by his side
was the lady to save the day
so that our prince could come home safe.
From the far end of the plaza was the sound of rolling trolley wheels driven by an actor acting out the part of a Zaft soldier. Another actress came rushing to the stage, carrying a syringe.
Kneeing beside the actor playing the Commander, the actress held up the syringe, saying, "If I fail, you can have me beheaded!"
Cagalli heard the whole crowd gasp. People murmured left and right.
"Is that true? Did she really say that?"
"The jester said the whole account was true."
"An exaggeration? Please, she's only a doctor, and a foreign one at that!"
"Heliopolis is part of Zaft now. She's no longer foreign."
"Some say she isn't even from Heliopolis."
"Then from where?"
At the end of the play, the man spoke, "Lady Cagalli, it seems that last line upstaged everything else, did it not?"
Though Cagalli was not sure if anyone paid attention to the end of the play, the crowd rewarded the actors with much applause. The thespians bowed and removed their masks.
The actress was the same woman she saw earlier.
"Lacus?" she whispered, dumbfound.
Waving flying kisses at the crowd, the actress said, "Ladies and Gents, I thank you for the applause. But such honor is not for me when the true star of the story is here tonight!"
The crowd roared with applause again. Her movements light, she approached Cagalli and graciously, like a true noblewoman, offered her hand.
"Would you grace us with a few words, my Lady?" the actress chirped. Cagalli looked helplessly to where the man was seated, only to find the seat empty.
Alright, Cagalli, you have done speeches many times in Orb. This is no different, she thought, walking slowly on the aisle. Hundreds of nameless eyes bore on her back, watching every time her body twitched.
Breathe in, breathe out.
All she had to do was remember what her brother taught her. Then she was ready.
"All I really have to say is," she started, her voice clear and strong, "thank you."
"All of my life, the people around me defined who I was. A father revered by all, a brother who broke boundaries in everything he did... all I was back home was my father's daughter and my brother's sister."
Orb's women were allowed to participate in public affairs, and there had been quite a few great women in its history. But Kira and King Uzumi did not want Cagalli involved in the troubles of politics and, heaven forbid, the spoils of war. She was much too precious to them. This she understood, but sometimes...
"That fulfillment of truly being able to make a difference has always eluded me. I always felt all my actions were tokenistic, piecemeal solutions—a little girl's efforts to make her life meaningful."
That was all she was in Orb, a little girl. A palace wallflower, a pretty face whose only true duty is to marry for the sake of peace. A little girl who couldn't decide—no, who wasn't allowed to decide—for herself.
But that wasn't true. She was able to serve Orb as its spy to a then enemy country. She was able to save hundreds of dying soldiers. She was able to correct one man's misguided sense of right and wrong—something that might save thousands of lives in the long run.
In Zaft.
"Yes, in Zaft, I have actually found a place where my actions actually matter."
She paused, her mind reeling back to her homeland. Orb, with its green fields and cottages, the homes built of cedar wood and the smell of spring. Her father and brother, her people...
"I love home. And that shall always be my home. But I feel there is something here in Zaft that I am meant to do, something very important. And until that task is done, I shall stay."
The crowd had fallen silent. Cagalli had no idea what they made out of it.
"Well everyone, I've said all I had to say. Thank you and enjoy the rest of the night."
As Cagalli slipped out of the stage, she heard the crowd's rumbling applause again. People were cheering for more, children calling out her name.
The man who had led her to the play came up from behind. "I did not know Lady Cagalli was such an eloquent speaker."
"I had to come up with that in less than a minute," Cagalli said with relief.
"A good speech nonetheless. So, my Lady, would you care to take a walk with me?"
He was amiable, easy to talk to. His smile was barely an arch in his face, a stern air always about him, but it was the kind that summoned respect, not fear. His movements were controlled and precise, steps fluid as they landed on the grainy paths.
They ended up talking about many things: the city, places Cagalli might want to see, people she might want to meet. Cagalli was surprised at how adept the man was with everything about Zaft—he even knew the latest fashion trends.
"You might think Aprilians do not give a damn about fashion, but the women here go crazy when a new clothing line comes up. Especially the nobles."
"Why?"
"No one wants to be outdone by anyone in front of the prince."
Cagalli huffed. This was not surprising.
"Speaking of which," the man started to say, his forehead crinkled, "How does he fare?"
Her mind having flown off elsewhere, the question pulled her back. "Against?"
"The rest of your suitors."
Cagalli felt her jaw drop. "Buuut... ah, he's not even one of them!"
The man frowned in jest.
"Well, they say he took no interest in women," Cagalli said defensively.
"Well, all right." For the first time, the man had a big grin on his face.
Cagalli snarled, "How annoying."
"How about we put it this way? In the very remote chance that he does plan to court you, how will he fare among the rest?"
Leaning on a nearby lamp post, she mused, "Well, he's a good man."
"Good?"
Fine, you wish a comparison, Cagalli thought. "He's better than most suitors I've had."
"Better... than most?"
"Argh, what do you want me to say?"
"The prince is a very competitive man. That won't suffice."
"Fine. He's the best man I've ever met. Happy?"
Cagalli stomped off, thinking the lopsided grin meant the man was satisfied.
"Does that make him one of your options?"
"I already told you there is nothing between us!"
"Ah, but you are an option for him."
Ludicrous, Cagalli thought. "Athrun and I are just friends."
"The very fact that you are friends means something," the man continued. "No woman, except for his mother, has ever stepped into his inner circle."
"Just because I'm his first girl friend doesn't mean I'll become his wife!"
The man shook his head. "Ah, you do not know how the prince thinks."
"And you do?"
"Of course. I've known him all his life."
Everything was still. The moon had risen over the city, shedding bluish silver light on its white walls. High over the homes, the monuments and the palace, the walls let off a mild, unearthly glow, shrouding all of the city, dancing with the golden glow of the lamp posts—two gentle lights conquering the black night.
"The city of light," Cagalli recalled. "The city where the light never leaves."
She found herself in the plain brown tunnel, the one called the "way of the kings." Not made of the glowing stone the rest of the city was, it remained dull while everything around it glowed.
The man explained, "The way of the kings has stood here since the first plow struck this land. The days of our forefathers. A millennium after, it still stands. Do you know what it symbolizes, Cagalli?"
Compared to the light surrounding it, the "way of the kings" was a stark black.
"The dark tunnel leading to the great light," Cagalli whispered.
"The dark tunnel through which all Zaft kings must pass. A time of confusion and hopelessness in the midst of this violent, murderous world. A time when he might find himself... lost."
Beyond the tunnel was the soft light of the city—the palace, the seat of power, the symbol of Zaft's history, its conquests, the kings' proud lineage.
"But no matter how dark that path is, the king will find the light, the same way all those before him did."
The same way, Cagalli thought.
"This tunnel only has one path. In the same way, there is only one path for the king."
His shoes clicked against the aged stone of the tunnel as he made his way to the royal palace.
"And what exactly is that path?"
The man stopped a few steps into the tunnel. He remembered having a similar conversation over twenty years ago.
"Why do you conquer? Zaft already has so much, so much it might not be able to handle it anymore."
"Cagalli, when you have the world at your feet, what do you do with it?"
The girl's eyes narrowed.
"What would you do with an army of epic proportions and a treasury bursting with gold? What do you do with power to rival the gods'?"
Her heart suddenly felt like fire. This was the same kind of thinking that brought suffering to so many people—the same one that made Athrun's life a living hell.
"What do you do with a man who can crush an entire army with one swipe of his sword? You invest on them, of course."
"Invest?" Cagalli said bitterly.
"Yes. You train them, hone their natural talents and make sure they get enough practice so they do not lose those gifts."
"So that's all these wars have been from the beginning? All those men died because you wanted your soldiers to practice?"
"Yes. Practice is very important."
"Bastard!"
The man just smiled a light, easy smile. Cagalli thought it was an insult to every man who died in the South—no, everyone who died in all the wars Zaft fought since the dawn of its history.
"You call me a bastard but my people call me a hero. Who should I listen to?"
"They call you a hero because they don't know the truth."
"They call me a hero because they benefit from the wars. How do you think these walls were built? Our city the wealthiest of all? It is all because of many conquests."
"At the cost of thousands of other cities."
"Which benefited in return. Look at all our provinces. Isn't it by our leadership that they became prosperous? Those cities were pigsties when we saw them. Look at them now."
"But still," she said, feeling defeated, "your way is not the only way."
"But it is the best way. Why not have the best man in the world rule over all of it? Doesn't that make everyone equal? No one has to suffer a fool's reign while the others rejoice in the kingship of a good man."
He used every promising idea—justice, equality and stewardship. Everything that promised a good future.
"That's what we tell all rebels. The only reason we had not addressed their needs is because we don't know them! If they tell us, they would not have to look to those murderous traitors for a future. When they realize we can provide for them, they stop. Half of the rebellions in Zaft end in amiable reconciliation. The leaders are executed, of course."
"And the other half?"
"Are fools. Fools made to believe in things like the pride of their ancestry or the value of self-rule. In the end, they can't even get up to build a decent fortress by themselves."
The man approached her, offering his hand. A gesture of chivalry, Cagalli thought. She shuddered, stepping back.
A soft chuckle from his lips, the man continued, "I knew a woman just like you. The daughter of a city's leader we killed in one of our conquests. She was afraid, shivering, like you are now."
She had just noticed her palms were sweaty. Nonetheless, the man took her hand and held it gently. His stern facade did not fade, but he held her hand like a delicate piece of porcelain.
"But I asked her to give me and my people a chance, and we will prove that we are as great as we claim to be. I promised her that her city is in good hands."
His hands, though rough and hardened by the sword's grip, were warm, like a bonfire in a winter's night. It was a familiar warmth—a flame that did not burn, a shelter to protect her from all enemies.
Gently, the man kissed the lady's hand, just as softly as he held it.
"Wouldn't it be nice if someone like Prince Athrun ruled over all the world? He would make a good king, would he not?"
As if hypnotized by the man's eyes, Cagalli said, "Of course he would."
"Then, why not give him a chance? Why not give Zaft a chance?"
With that, he disappeared into the darkness.
+o+
Up in the palace's highest tower, Athrun was in deep thought in his father's study.
If I don't tell him now, there won't be any turning back, he thought, rubbing his chin. He did not promise Cagalli there would be no war, but for her sake, he had to stop what would a massacre of her people.
Father isn't going to like what I'm about to tell him.
From a distance, he saw a brown speck grow gradually until a figure of an eagle perched at the window. It was a messenger bird.
Tori? So Lt. Waltfield sends the intelligence reports here first before he sends them to me. I see my father does not trust even his son.
He wondered if he should open the message right then or if he should wait for the king. He took a seat on the sofa, fingering the message.
"Shall I... or shall I respect my father's privacy?"
Shrugging his shoulders, he unfolded the letter.
+o+
The man Cagalli spoke to was making his way back to the palace when he heard the cry of an eagle. "Tori's back. What news of Orb could Andrew have for me?"
Making a mental note to remind Lt. Waltfield to send all messages to him before sending them to the prince, the man started on the long flight of stairs to his study.
What could Athrun possibly want to talk about so urgently, the man asked himself. Had that girl convinced him already to spare Orb?
His study was already unlocked. Athrun's here, he thought.
Athrun was facing the window, back in his usual silk shirt and black pants instead of his wartime cheesecloth clothes.
"My king, we set out for Orb tomorrow."
This was something the king was not expecting to hear from his son. "What?"
"You heard me. We attack now."
Never has Athrun named a date for an attack and never has he been so eager to start a war. This did not make sense.
"What brought this on?" asked the king.
Athrun handed him a letter, obviously almost ripped by a very angry reader. He knew Athrun tried very hard to keep an expressionless facade, but the king knew he was ready, yearning to kill.
Nothing unusual, Patrick thought as he read. There may have been parts he would not have told the prince, but nothing would make him this angry. That is, until he got to the last part. It was obviously written much later than the rest, something very urgent.
Tori was already on his way, but I had to reel him back in, you have to know this immediately. Gilbert Dullindal is here and alive in Orb.
So he survived, the king thought. The news shocked the king, but he managed to put on a straight face.
"That man should be dead. Is that why you're so angry?"
"Read the rest of the letter."
The king went on. When he finished, he threw the letter to the bonfire.
"You are to speak of this to no one. You're dismissed."
"What about the attack? Are we not to plan it?"
"There will be no attack. Not yet."
"Not yet?" Athrun said in anger and disbelief. "While we sleep, he plots! We let him live long enough to do that?"
"To barge in without a plan is stupid. To go against Dullindal without knowing his motives will be suicide for all your men."
Athrun fell silent.
"We shall wait for Lt. Waltfield and his next message. I don't need to tell him to find out why Dullindal is doing this. As for you..."
He faced the prince, who was rabid with anger. Give this man a sword now and he will butcher everyone in sight, the king thought. This is why I must make him calm down first.
"You shall wait until I tell you to move. A rushed response is exactly what Dullindal wants."
As soon as Athrun left, the king sunk to his chair.
Gilbert, my worst foe, is alive.
He was a man the king condemned to death five years ago for the death of the queen. Are you here for your revenge, Gilbert?
When they were children, they were best friends. As they got older, they grew to have differences, but for the good of their country they became the most feared allies in war.
Lenore's death changed all that, Patrick thought, his fist clenched. By some cruel twist of fate, he lost his wife and his best friend. Now that friend has come back to haunt him.
The spy's message tormented him more.
He is now Duke Fortune of Logos, the man who has cost us so many men in the hills of the North. Today, he allied himself with Orb. I don't know when, but all of the North's forces will join the East and wage war against Zaft. The man is ambitious, Patrick.
They will come for the capital.
ooooo
Thanks for reading! Happy new year to all :)
