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Gundam Wing is property of Sotsu Agency, Bandai Studios, and TV Asahi. Sainan no Kekka and all original characters and plot copyright 2000 by Quicksilver and Gerald Tarrant. Please ask permission before reposting.
SAINAN NO KEKKA
IV. CANTIQUE DE NOEL
Dear, when thou has finished thy task // Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme A rap on her door and she put down the book she had been reading. Had been attempting to read for about two hours now, with an interruption every five minutes from a servant about her preparations for the ball or her grandfather's updated instructions on what information to watch and listen for, or her cat, which was currently amusing itself by nibbling on the corner of the table. "Stop that!" She reached out for the animal, banging her elbow on the table leg in the process. "Ow!" The cat swiped at her arm, raking it with a claw. "Damn you!" The knock sounded again. "Coming!" she shouted in frustration, depositing the cat into a corner, where it yowled forlornly at her as she ran to the door and opened it. It was a servant with her dress, as she had thought. "Thank you," she muttered, taking the gown and slamming the door in the man's face. Placing it on the bed, she picked up the cat again, marching to the bathroom and throwing it inside, shutting the door. It meowed pitifully. "I have no sympathy for you," Dorothy said, moving back to the bed to examine the dress. It was made of black satin, backless, with silver embroidered designs on the bosom and the wide flared skirt. She sighed. She'd have to wear a corset with this…she hated corsets. The scratch on her arm was beginning to sting and she began to head towards the bathroom - then remembered that the cat was in there. Sighing, she resorted to rubbing it with her thumb, hoping the redness and the swelling would go away before it was time for her to go down and meet guests. The screen beeped just as she was taking off her shirt, and she hit voice only. "Grandfather?" "Dorothy, I have confirmed the guest list. It's in the study, if you want to see it. Remember to-" "-talk to General Noventa," she said. "Yes, Grandfather, I know. I'll be down in fifteen minutes." He cut the connection without a further word and she finished taking off her slacks, pulling on a pair of pantyhose and sliding the dress over her head. Her mother would have a fit that she was dressing herself without maids, but Dorothy really didn't care what her mother thought, and she really didn't relish the idea of other women standing looking at her nude body. Her mother had some strange ideas. She'd asked her grandfather if Emily was attending the party, but he had said no, that she was off in Italy and couldn't make it in time. She'd been both disappointed and relieved. Disappointed because she hadn't seen her mother in person in half a year, and relieved at the same time because she really didn't like her mother. Touching a hint of lip gloss to her lips, Dorothy opened the door, ignoring the sounds of the cat from inside the bathroom. It sounded as though the animal was now trying to throw itself against the door. Smiling slightly, she left her bedroom door ajar as she left the room, just in case it managed to get out and needed food. The guest list was in the study, as promised, and she ran through the long line of names, noting the ones she was familiar with and burning into memory the names of those with a small check by them, the ones who were important tonight. Treize Khushrenada. That was interesting. Mayer Khushrenada? "I see you found it," the voice of her grandfather said from behind her. "Grandfather, who's Mayer Khushrenada?" He crossed to her side and took the list. "He's your uncle. Your mother's sister. Be polite to him, won't you? He really has nothing to tell you, but he is family." "Of course," she said absently. The band was tuning outside in the ballroom and she was hungry. "May I go eat something?" "In a minute," Dermail said. "I have something for you." That was a new one. She watched in interest as he crossed the study to take down a wrapped box from the bookshelf and handed it to her. She took it, hearing the wrapping paper crinkle under the fingers. The box felt light and she shook it experimentally, but it made no sound. "What is it?" "If I told you," her grandfather said chidingly, "it wouldn't be a Christmas present, would it?" "Can I open it?" "Suit yourself," he said, watching as she carefully slit the wrapping where it was taped at the sides, undid the silk ribbon. The box inside was plain and unadorned, and she cracked it open, drawing out the scarf that lay inside. It was as little worn and faded, but the elegance of the silk was still there. The patterns danced before her eyes, and she looked up at her grandfather. "What's this?" "It was your father's," he said. "Your mother left it with you when you were given to my care, and I thought it wise to keep it somewhere safe until you could take it back." "It's very old," she whispered, running her hand across the fine fabric, "isn't it?" "I suppose it is. Your mother never mentioned anything about this, only that she found it among your father's belongings after he died. I suppose she thought it was rather gaudy for her collection." "I like it," Dorothy said defensively, raising the scarf out of the box and draping over her shoulders, the colorful patterns seeming to dance as the scarf rippled. "It matches my dress." "I wouldn't know about that," Dermail said, coming over to her and taking the wrapping and the box, carefully folding them up and placing them in the trash can. "Women's fashions have always been a mystery to me. Though I claim to understand them, for the sake of women such as you." "Grandfather!" she said, but she smiled and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you." "You're welcome. I expect a good report from you tonight, Dorothy." The warm mood of the room broke at those words, and she nodded slowly. "Yes, Grandfather." Exiting the study, she leaned against the wall of the ballroom for a while watching the preparations and hearing the first guests arrive through the front doors, hearing her grandfather's voice as he greeted them. The large Christmas tree in the center of the ballroom had been meticulously decorated with all kinds of glittering tinsel and she hardly spared it a glance. Too overdone, in her opinion. A delicious aroma of baked bread drifted towards her nose, and Dorothy remembered that she was hungry. The main meal was yet to come, but a few appetizers couldn't hurt. The sandwich fixings were already laid out on the table, and the servants who were setting up the punch on the other table paid her no heed as she grabbed a plate and proceeded to throw almost all the ingredients of the table onto it between two slices of bread. Finishing with a slice of cheese at the side, she took a napkin and turned around- -to bump into something. Blinking, she realized with some discomfort that it was the chest of a well-dressed man, who immediately backed up. "I'm dreadfully sorry," the man said, and then paused. "Ah…Miss Dorothy Catalonia." She'd only met him once before, last year, but she'd recognize that voice anywhere. "Hello, Treize," she said, curtseying and balancing the sandwich plate in one hand. "Did you just arrive?" "Your chauffeur is parking our car as we speak," Treize said. He looked the same as he had last year, tall, commanding, calm and controlled and handsome - except that his uniform was a little different. More elaborate, perhaps? Duke Dermail had told her that Treize had taken command of OZ in early March of this year. Great things will happen, Dorothy, her grandfather had said. Great things. We are moving forward now. She hadn't been interested enough to ask what great things, but if Treize was behind them, they would be great things indeed. "There is someone that I was hoping you could meet, actually," Treize said, breaking into her thoughts, and she turned her attention back to him. He gestured over his shoulder, where another man was approaching. He looked very much like Treize, except with blond hair, a little older, perhaps, with gray eyes and a genuine smile. "How do you do?" he murmured, taking her hand as Treize stepped aside. "It's good to meet my niece at last." She curtseyed again as he kissed her hand, feeling a strange detachment to the handsome stranger who was looking at her as if she was his daughter. I don't know you, she wanted to say. I don't even know my mother. But she didn't say anything, simply smiled politely and waited for them to go away so she could eat her sandwich in peace. Instead, Mayer turned to Treize. "She certainly has grown since I saw her last. Could barely walk, the little one!" Dorothy frowned. "We've met?" Mayer chuckled. "I could hardly call it 'met'…you were about three years old at the time and I had some business in the area so I stopped by to visit your grandfather, and he and I visited you in your nursery. Your hair was the same color then, though you had a lot less of it." Laughing quietly at his own joke. Dorothy looked uncertainly at him, wondering if this man was all right in the head, then shrugged and bit into her sandwich. It wobbled a bit as she put it back down on the plate, but appeared to hold. "I'm sure it was a nice visit, but I don't remember." "I don't expect you to," Mayer said, then paused. "That scarf…I've seen it before." Treize raised one elegant eyebrow. "Have you now? Where'd you get that, Dorothy?" "My grandfather gave it to me just now," she returned, irritable that they wouldn't just go away and let her eat. "It was a Christmas present." "It was your aunt's," Mayer said softly. "I saw her wear it only once…at a Christmas party two years before her death." Despite herself, Dorothy was interested. "Really?" Mayer nodded, his eyes thoughtful. "Your Aunt Alicia…she was a rebellious one. Went and joined the Academy at thirteen, against your grandfather's wishes. Didn't come back until twelve years later, and then went away again. That was the only time I saw her before she died." "Oh," Dorothy said. "How did she die?" The older man shook his head. "I have no idea. I hadn't been in contact with your family at the time, and I only heard of it through other sources. Though your mother did say that your father was absolutely devastated by her death." "And the scarf…it was hers?" "She wore it that one night at the party. That's how I figure…it's a unique piece of work." "Oh," she said again. "I see." "Your Aunt Alicia…" Mayer shook his head. "She was a strange one. No one ever really knew her, not even her own brother, I don't believe. But she was very beautiful, I'll give you that. Such a pity." Treize tapped Mayer gently. "I believe the young lady wants to finish her sandwich…why don't we step away for a minute?" "Nice to meet you, Dorothy," Mayer said, smiling. "We'll probably be back sometime later on." She nodded to both of them, taking a large bite of her remaining sandwich and gulping the rest down, chewing quickly and dashing away to the study. As she expected, the door was locked, but she placed her hand to the fingerprint ID panel and it clicked open for her. Her grandfather was no longer there, and she went over to the bookcase, scanning the titles of books, not sure what she was looking for. Duke Dermail had moved to this house in France from his previous residence in Spain about ten years ago. She'd only been a child then, so she didn't remember much, and he had never explained to her why he had decided to leave the old Catalonia family home for this newly built one. She supposed he had his reasons - he always did - but the move might mean that many of her family's older belongings had been lost. Mayer had said that Alicia had been rebellious. Would her grandfather have kept anything of hers at all? She was looking in the wrong place, she decided, and went out through the back door of the study, up the back staircase, to the second floor. The hall was dark and she switched on the light, counting doors until she came to the one she wanted. It was not locked, and as she passed through, the automatic light snapped on. The room was full of boxes. Boxes from the move, which the servants had not gotten around to sorting, and probably never would, considering that it had already been ten years. The boxes were labeled, which was a good thing, Dorothy decided as she waded in, turning over box after box, looking. Some of the boxes were heavy and she soon found herself coated in a light sheen of sweat. The dress was heavy and not made for moving boxes, but she pressed on. She was actually pretty sure that she had seen this box before, when she used to play up here as a child. The servants would scold her and warn her never to come in here, as she might "break something," but there was little chance of that, since most of the things in the boxes were packed carefully, and even if she did break something, there was slim chance of anyone finding out. There it was. It was a box labeled "Miscellaneous," but she knew that it held some old pairs of boys' socks (her father's?) a few misplaced and broken gadgets (screwdrivers, can openers), and some books. She hadn't known whose the books were, though she'd had a suspicion, as the handwriting in them where the notes were in the margins was definitely female. Opening the box, she rummaged through and pulled out the first book. Songs of Innocence and Experience, the title read, by William Blake. She had read the poems before, but opened the book and flipped through it. There were notes in the margins, some of them quite long. Alicia Catalonia had loved poetry, apparently, because there were more of William Blake's books inside the box, as well as a compilation of poetry by Héctor Rosales and several other volumes by Federico García Lorca. John Milton's Paradise Lost was the last book of the bunch, and she set them down on the floor beside her, wondering what had possessed her to go to all that trouble to gather a few of her aunts' old books. She opened the first volume again, turned randomly to the middle of the section and noticed a passage highlighted in at least three different colors.
Love seeketh not Itself to please, Alicia had gone to the trouble of underlining it as well, and Dorothy traced over it with her fingers, wondering what was so important about this passage of poetry that would warrant her aunt's attention. The scarf around her shoulders suddenly felt cold and she wondered if Alicia would mind, her niece taking the scarf that had been hers without asking. "Aunt?" Dorothy said hesitantly to the empty room. "You don't mind, do you? That I'm wearing this? It was my father's…I don't know how you felt about him, but I never knew him. So I'd appreciate it if you would let me keep it for a little while." There was no answer, obviously, but she suddenly realized that she had been partly expecting one, and she let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding in, picking up the books and slipping out of the room. The light turned off and she closed the door, making her way up to her room on the third floor, where she dumped the books on the bed. The bathroom door was ajar. The cat had gotten out after all, gone probably in search of supper, and she smoothed the bedspread under her fingers. The curtains on her window were drawn back, and outside, it was snowing. Mayer's face came into her mind, his voice saying, She was a strange one. No one ever really knew her, not even her own brother, I don't believe. Dorothy wondered what her father would have to say about her aunt, if he had still been alive. She'd never know now, but after all, some things were better left unknown. But she was very beautiful, I'll give you that. Smoothing the scarf again, she got up, unwrapping it from her shoulders and folding it loosely into a square, tucking it into one of her drawers. On second thought, she took it back out, laid it flat on the bed and bundled the books up in it, placing it back into the drawer. "There you go, Aunt," she said, closing the drawer. "It's yours again." "Lady Dorothy?" She jumped, then realized it was a voice down the hallway. Feeling slightly foolish that whoever it was had caught her talking to thin air, she whirled around, but it was only a servant who had just arrived at the door. "Your grandfather is looking for you." "I'll be there," she said, pretending to adjust her hair in the mirror until she heard his footsteps fade down the hall. The drawer tempted her, but she glared at it and went to the door, looking back and flipping off the light. But she was very beautiful. She closed the door behind her. Notes: - The Catalonia family is Spanish, while the Khushrenadas are of French/German descent. All of them are (of course) members of upper society. This whole story takes place over a time span of 18 years. - I have the Catalonia family estate located in the region of Galicia in northern Spain, close to the Galician capital, Santiago de Compestela (a famous religious site for Catholic pilgrims). For more information on Galicia, go to http://www.red2000.com/spain/region/r-galic.html - Navidad means "Christmas" in Spanish - Etille is fluent in Mandarin, being an OZ Intelligence officer stationed in Beijing, so he is speaking to the pig seller and the little boy in Mandarin. - Adiós, mi señora bella…adiós, fantasma mia.: Spanish, "Goodbye, my beautiful lady, goodbye, ghost of mine."
- English titles for the songs used in Parts 1 through 4
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