Author's Note: Hi, Hi, everyone! This is my first story that I've ever
decided to put online! Eiiyah!!! (^_~). Okay, this is kind of, I'm not
really sure, I just started writing this just cuz, there's really no
special reason behind this! I sure hope y'all love this, cuz I love writing
it so far! If anyone has any suggestions, comments, or questions, feel free
to email me at: hex_demon666@hotmail.com, or just reviewing it, and I'll
answer from there. It may not be accurate, but I'm hoping it is! Bai, bai!
Oh, and also, I altered the heights of the Pilots, don't get mad, I just
can't...I have no idea; I just changed their heights. I hope you all don't
freak...
Disclaimer: Okay, I do not own Gundam Wing, or anybody else for that matter. This is kind of OOC, and maybe kind of not, I'm not sure. I've made special circumstances to fit this in to my plot. All of the characters unfamiliar with Gundam Wing most likely all belong to me and my pal, Nakia, who helps me sometimes, but not enough! Lol. Just kidding. I love you, Nakia! Please don't hurt me... The characters that are positively going to be in this, and are ours, is Kellyn, and um, that's all I can think of for now. He he. ^_^ Anyway! PLEASE ENJOY!!!!!!!!! And tell me what you think!!
* * * * * * * * * *
April 14, 1746
Inverness, Scotland
The sounds of gunfire, the shouts of tortured, agonized screams ripped through the air, echoing throughout the vast slopes of blood sod grass, layered with the bodies of fallen soldiers. Kilted men, men belonging to various clans of Scotland, lay limply on their stomachs, or backs, their glassy eyes gazing in to the inevitable passage of the after-life. Horses whinnied in pain and fear as bullets whizzed by their ears, and scorched their flesh. Hell had broken loose at the word of Bonnie Prince Charlie conspiring against the King of England, and loyal men to Charlie had followed his path, creating a sizable army for their good fight as well. That plan had been shot to Hell when Prince Charlie had fled at the first sign of bad news, leaving his men in a pit of slaughter.
Millions of clansmen died that fateful day of the Battle of Culloden; many left their wives, their kids, their own lives behind them, never to see them again. The day left many tears of blood to trek through Scotland, as the black crows cawed throughout the air, leading the dead men to a safe passage to the next world, a hopefully, a world with less bloodshed than they had seen before the world around them had become dark as the pain eased and webbed away to nothingness. The few men who had survived were caught by the English, and brought to another brutal hanging, leaving dead carcasses for the animals of the night to feed upon. Regardless of honor, the Scottish men died in a life of vain, and the unplanned decision of Prince Charlie.
Although the wives mourned, and many followed their husbands towards the long trek of the hereafter because of famine and disease, there was one clan that stood proud. The plaid waved cheerfully atop the castle of Clan Buchanan despite the depression of the long weeks following of mourning. Lady Teranika, now leader of the clan looked out over her vast lands, prospering nicely despite other clans' dilapidating domain.
Her black silk dress and veil fluttered gently in the cool breeze, and her large doe eyes surveyed what was in front of her blankly. The vicious battle had left her husbandless at the age of seventeen. Chocolate brown eyes welled with tears, remembering his tender words, as they made love before he left with his men. They had married out of love, not necessity as most women do, and was therefore harder to deal with the pain of losing her other half, as she now saw it.
Many neighboring clansmen drooled to grasp her lush lands, and her own body, fit to be the figure of a goddess. Her small petite frame of 5'2, sleek raven black hair brushing against the backs of her knees, and her small upturned breasts with soft curves had men of any age panting after her. Which was where her dilemma came in. The MacPherson clan saw fit that their near aging leader, Lord Riordan, age 54, was the perfect new husband for her.
She pursed her lips, gripping her skirt with her right hand, "Bastards," she whispered. "I would rather die than marry him," she said viciously, unlike her soft demeanor. Tilting her head up to the skies, she closed her eyes as she allowed the warmth of the sun bathe her face. "'Tis unfair. Why take him?" she murmured, referring to her dead husband. "What am I tae do now?" she demanded, breathing in deeply. "Am I tae marry Riordan, and live a life of unhappiness? Tae sacrifice myself so that we may be left in peace, God? Please, give me a sign and I will follow it."
As the clouds gently made their way across the startling blue skies, she sighed, and dropped her chin to her chest. "I ken what I must do wi'out ye telling me, Lord," she whispered.
Turning on the balls of her feet, she stepped over the incline of her window and in to her room. Standing before the mirror, she absentmindedly ran her fingers through silky black hair, staring expressionlessly in to her reflection. Sighing, she strolled over to the door, purposely ignoring the large, vast bed, the white sheets pointing accusing fingers, as if reading her mind.
In the hall, she was instantly swept in to the midst of complete chaos and confusion, and dodging servants bustling about with their morning chores, she drifted down the stairs, her fingers barely brushing against the ornate oak banister. Spotting her magister in the center of the disorder, looking lost as he futilely tried to raise his voice above the roar of other voices, she smiled gently, shaking her head as she walked over to him.
Despite her small posterior, the servants parted like the sea with Moses, and she was instantly at her mentor's side. "Lawrence," she acknowledged him, dropping in to a brief curtsy. "I pray that ye have had a pleasant night's sleep," she murmured the proper greeting before plunging in to her topic before even giving him a chance to answer. "I have decided upon the decision of Riordan, Lawrence," she said.
"What?" he asked, thrilled, assuming a different answer than what she was thinking herself. Stroking his plush white beard, he said, "You are planning a revolt of some kind, milady?"
Teranika shook her head, "Nay, Lawrence, there has been tae much bloodshed fer it tae happen again sae soon. I do no think there are verra many people willing tae risk more of their men dead. I have decided upon the marriage of Riordan, and ye can no try to convince me out of it," she said, raising her hand as Lawrence began to speak, a horrified expression on his face. "It is the only way. Prepare for it, Lawrence," she said, and promptly disappeared, leaving her tutor speechless, and his mind reeling with the horrid possibilities of this union.
* * * * * * * * * *
Teranika stood by the open window, the soft breeze stirring the folds of her blue silk hood as it hung down her back. She stood very still and straight, her dark gown shadowy against the dense velvet of the opened window curtains.
She heard him in the corridor outside, his heavy lumbering step. She could picture his large frame lurching from side to side as he approached. Now he was outside the great oak door. She could hear his labored breathing. She could picture his bloodshot eyes, his reddened countenance, his lips slack with exertion. The door burst open. Her husband filled the doorway, his richly jeweled gown swirling about him.
"By God, madam! Ye would dare tae speak tae me in such wise at my own table! In the hearing of our guests, of the household, scullions even!" A shower of spittle accompanied the slurred words as he advanced into the chamber, kicking the door shut behind him. It shivered on its hinges.
Teranika stood her ground beside the window, her hands clasped quietly against her skirts. "And I say tae ye, husband, that if ye ever say such vulgar words of bedding me in front of those men again, ye will rue the day." Her voice was barely above a whisper but the words came at him with the power of thunder.
For a second he seemed to hesitate, and then he lunged for her with clenched fists upraised. Still she stood her ground, a slight derisive smile on her lips, her eyes, brown as Godiva, fixed upon his face with such contempt he bellowed in drunken rage. As he reached her-one fist aimed at her pale face beneath its jeweled headdress, his only thought to smash the smile from her lips, to close the hateful contempt in her eyes-she stepped aside. Her foot caught his ankle and the speed and the weight of his charge carried him forward.
For a second he seemed to hover at the very brink of the dark space beyond the low-silled window, then he twisted and fell. A shriek of astounded terror accompanied his plunge to the flagstones below.
Teranika twitched aside the curtain so that she could look down without being seen. At first in the dark depth below the window she could make out nothing, then came the sound of raised voices, the tread of many feet; light flickered as torch men came running from the four corners of the courtyard. And now, in the light, she could see the dark crumpled shape of her husband.
How small he looked, she thought, clasping her elbows across her breast with a little tremor. So much malevolence, so much violence, reduced, deflated, to that inert heap. And then she seemed to come to life. She moved back swiftly to the far side of the chamber where a small door gave onto the garderobe. She slipped into the small privy and stood for a second, listening. There was a loud knocking, then she heard the latch lift. As the door flung wide she stepped out of the garderobe, hastily smoothing down her skirts.
An elderly woman stood in the doorway, her hair tucked beneath a white linen coif. "Ay! Ay! Ay!" she exclaimed, wringing her hands. "What is it, my chuck? What has happened here?" Behind her, curious faces pressed her shoulder.
Teranika spoke to those faces, her voices measure, calming. "I don't know, Katelyn. Lord Riordan came in while I was in the garderobe. He called to me. I was occupied...I couldn't come to him immediately. He grew impatient...but..." She gave a little helpless shrug. "In his agitation, he must have lost his balance...fallen from the window. I didn't see what happened."
"Ay," the other woman repeated, almost to herself. "And only four days married! Lord-a-mercy." She crossed herself, shaking her head.
"Lord Riordan was drunk," the younger woman said evenly. "Everyone knew it...in the hall, at the table. He could barely see straight. I must go down." She hurried past the woman, past the crowd of gaping servants, gathering her skirts to facilitate her step.
Her steward came running across the great hall as she came down the stairs. "My lady...my lady...such a terrible thing."
"What happened, Otis? Does anyone know?"
The black-clad steward shook his head and the loosened lappets of his bonnet flapped at his ears like crows' ears. "Did you not see it, my lady? We thought you must have known what happened. 'Twas from your chamber window that he fell."
"I was in the garderobe," she said shortly. "Lord Riordan was drunk, Otis. He must have lost his footing...his balance. It was ever thus."
"Aye, 'tis true enough, madam. 'Twas ever thus with his lordship." The steward followed her out into the courtyard where a crowd stood around the fallen man. They gave way before the lady of the clan of MacPherson and Buchanan who knelt on the cobbles beside her husband. His neck was at an odd angle and blood pooled beneath his head. She placed a finger for form's sake against the pulse in his neck. Then with a sigh sat back on her heels, the dark folds of her gown spreading around her.
"Where is Grice?"
"Here, milady." The priest came running from his little lodging behind the chapel, adjusting his gown as he came. 'I heard the commotion, but I..." He stopped as he reached the body. His rosary beads clicked between his fingers as he gazed down and said with a heavy sigh, "May the Lord have mercy on his soul."
"Yes, indeed," agreed Lord Riordan's wife. She rose to her feet in a graceful movement. "Take my lord's body to the chapel to be washed and prepared. We will light the candles at dawn. He will lie in state for the respects of the household and the tenants before his burial tomorrow evening."
She turned and made her way back through the crowd, back into the house, ducking her head as she stepped through the small door that was set into the larger one to the keep the cold and draughts from invading the hall.
Lady Teranika was a widow once more.
* * * * * * * * * *
As the night drifted in, four stealthy men crept in to their lady's chamber. Approaching her bed, she tossed, and opened her eyes, and found the four men standing afore her, knowing what they intended.
"Ye will sorely regret this," she said coldly.
"Then, we shall regret it," one of them muttered as he lifted his jeweled sgian dhu high above his head, plunging it into her right shoulder as she dodged slightly. "Conniving whore!" he spat out, furious.
"I curse this land, I curse the people of MacPherson, and may ye all die a bloody deaths for generations!" she screamed just as two of them held each of her arms, the third holding her legs, and the fourth slit her throat from ear to ear.
* * * * * * * * *
AN: So?! SSSSSOOOOOOOOO??!?!?!??!! What did everybody think? I know it doesn't have the GW characters in, yet. Next chapter, I swear...is this motivation to go on? Maybe...what is the curse? How bad is it? Find out...
Disclaimer: Okay, I do not own Gundam Wing, or anybody else for that matter. This is kind of OOC, and maybe kind of not, I'm not sure. I've made special circumstances to fit this in to my plot. All of the characters unfamiliar with Gundam Wing most likely all belong to me and my pal, Nakia, who helps me sometimes, but not enough! Lol. Just kidding. I love you, Nakia! Please don't hurt me... The characters that are positively going to be in this, and are ours, is Kellyn, and um, that's all I can think of for now. He he. ^_^ Anyway! PLEASE ENJOY!!!!!!!!! And tell me what you think!!
* * * * * * * * * *
April 14, 1746
Inverness, Scotland
The sounds of gunfire, the shouts of tortured, agonized screams ripped through the air, echoing throughout the vast slopes of blood sod grass, layered with the bodies of fallen soldiers. Kilted men, men belonging to various clans of Scotland, lay limply on their stomachs, or backs, their glassy eyes gazing in to the inevitable passage of the after-life. Horses whinnied in pain and fear as bullets whizzed by their ears, and scorched their flesh. Hell had broken loose at the word of Bonnie Prince Charlie conspiring against the King of England, and loyal men to Charlie had followed his path, creating a sizable army for their good fight as well. That plan had been shot to Hell when Prince Charlie had fled at the first sign of bad news, leaving his men in a pit of slaughter.
Millions of clansmen died that fateful day of the Battle of Culloden; many left their wives, their kids, their own lives behind them, never to see them again. The day left many tears of blood to trek through Scotland, as the black crows cawed throughout the air, leading the dead men to a safe passage to the next world, a hopefully, a world with less bloodshed than they had seen before the world around them had become dark as the pain eased and webbed away to nothingness. The few men who had survived were caught by the English, and brought to another brutal hanging, leaving dead carcasses for the animals of the night to feed upon. Regardless of honor, the Scottish men died in a life of vain, and the unplanned decision of Prince Charlie.
Although the wives mourned, and many followed their husbands towards the long trek of the hereafter because of famine and disease, there was one clan that stood proud. The plaid waved cheerfully atop the castle of Clan Buchanan despite the depression of the long weeks following of mourning. Lady Teranika, now leader of the clan looked out over her vast lands, prospering nicely despite other clans' dilapidating domain.
Her black silk dress and veil fluttered gently in the cool breeze, and her large doe eyes surveyed what was in front of her blankly. The vicious battle had left her husbandless at the age of seventeen. Chocolate brown eyes welled with tears, remembering his tender words, as they made love before he left with his men. They had married out of love, not necessity as most women do, and was therefore harder to deal with the pain of losing her other half, as she now saw it.
Many neighboring clansmen drooled to grasp her lush lands, and her own body, fit to be the figure of a goddess. Her small petite frame of 5'2, sleek raven black hair brushing against the backs of her knees, and her small upturned breasts with soft curves had men of any age panting after her. Which was where her dilemma came in. The MacPherson clan saw fit that their near aging leader, Lord Riordan, age 54, was the perfect new husband for her.
She pursed her lips, gripping her skirt with her right hand, "Bastards," she whispered. "I would rather die than marry him," she said viciously, unlike her soft demeanor. Tilting her head up to the skies, she closed her eyes as she allowed the warmth of the sun bathe her face. "'Tis unfair. Why take him?" she murmured, referring to her dead husband. "What am I tae do now?" she demanded, breathing in deeply. "Am I tae marry Riordan, and live a life of unhappiness? Tae sacrifice myself so that we may be left in peace, God? Please, give me a sign and I will follow it."
As the clouds gently made their way across the startling blue skies, she sighed, and dropped her chin to her chest. "I ken what I must do wi'out ye telling me, Lord," she whispered.
Turning on the balls of her feet, she stepped over the incline of her window and in to her room. Standing before the mirror, she absentmindedly ran her fingers through silky black hair, staring expressionlessly in to her reflection. Sighing, she strolled over to the door, purposely ignoring the large, vast bed, the white sheets pointing accusing fingers, as if reading her mind.
In the hall, she was instantly swept in to the midst of complete chaos and confusion, and dodging servants bustling about with their morning chores, she drifted down the stairs, her fingers barely brushing against the ornate oak banister. Spotting her magister in the center of the disorder, looking lost as he futilely tried to raise his voice above the roar of other voices, she smiled gently, shaking her head as she walked over to him.
Despite her small posterior, the servants parted like the sea with Moses, and she was instantly at her mentor's side. "Lawrence," she acknowledged him, dropping in to a brief curtsy. "I pray that ye have had a pleasant night's sleep," she murmured the proper greeting before plunging in to her topic before even giving him a chance to answer. "I have decided upon the decision of Riordan, Lawrence," she said.
"What?" he asked, thrilled, assuming a different answer than what she was thinking herself. Stroking his plush white beard, he said, "You are planning a revolt of some kind, milady?"
Teranika shook her head, "Nay, Lawrence, there has been tae much bloodshed fer it tae happen again sae soon. I do no think there are verra many people willing tae risk more of their men dead. I have decided upon the marriage of Riordan, and ye can no try to convince me out of it," she said, raising her hand as Lawrence began to speak, a horrified expression on his face. "It is the only way. Prepare for it, Lawrence," she said, and promptly disappeared, leaving her tutor speechless, and his mind reeling with the horrid possibilities of this union.
* * * * * * * * * *
Teranika stood by the open window, the soft breeze stirring the folds of her blue silk hood as it hung down her back. She stood very still and straight, her dark gown shadowy against the dense velvet of the opened window curtains.
She heard him in the corridor outside, his heavy lumbering step. She could picture his large frame lurching from side to side as he approached. Now he was outside the great oak door. She could hear his labored breathing. She could picture his bloodshot eyes, his reddened countenance, his lips slack with exertion. The door burst open. Her husband filled the doorway, his richly jeweled gown swirling about him.
"By God, madam! Ye would dare tae speak tae me in such wise at my own table! In the hearing of our guests, of the household, scullions even!" A shower of spittle accompanied the slurred words as he advanced into the chamber, kicking the door shut behind him. It shivered on its hinges.
Teranika stood her ground beside the window, her hands clasped quietly against her skirts. "And I say tae ye, husband, that if ye ever say such vulgar words of bedding me in front of those men again, ye will rue the day." Her voice was barely above a whisper but the words came at him with the power of thunder.
For a second he seemed to hesitate, and then he lunged for her with clenched fists upraised. Still she stood her ground, a slight derisive smile on her lips, her eyes, brown as Godiva, fixed upon his face with such contempt he bellowed in drunken rage. As he reached her-one fist aimed at her pale face beneath its jeweled headdress, his only thought to smash the smile from her lips, to close the hateful contempt in her eyes-she stepped aside. Her foot caught his ankle and the speed and the weight of his charge carried him forward.
For a second he seemed to hover at the very brink of the dark space beyond the low-silled window, then he twisted and fell. A shriek of astounded terror accompanied his plunge to the flagstones below.
Teranika twitched aside the curtain so that she could look down without being seen. At first in the dark depth below the window she could make out nothing, then came the sound of raised voices, the tread of many feet; light flickered as torch men came running from the four corners of the courtyard. And now, in the light, she could see the dark crumpled shape of her husband.
How small he looked, she thought, clasping her elbows across her breast with a little tremor. So much malevolence, so much violence, reduced, deflated, to that inert heap. And then she seemed to come to life. She moved back swiftly to the far side of the chamber where a small door gave onto the garderobe. She slipped into the small privy and stood for a second, listening. There was a loud knocking, then she heard the latch lift. As the door flung wide she stepped out of the garderobe, hastily smoothing down her skirts.
An elderly woman stood in the doorway, her hair tucked beneath a white linen coif. "Ay! Ay! Ay!" she exclaimed, wringing her hands. "What is it, my chuck? What has happened here?" Behind her, curious faces pressed her shoulder.
Teranika spoke to those faces, her voices measure, calming. "I don't know, Katelyn. Lord Riordan came in while I was in the garderobe. He called to me. I was occupied...I couldn't come to him immediately. He grew impatient...but..." She gave a little helpless shrug. "In his agitation, he must have lost his balance...fallen from the window. I didn't see what happened."
"Ay," the other woman repeated, almost to herself. "And only four days married! Lord-a-mercy." She crossed herself, shaking her head.
"Lord Riordan was drunk," the younger woman said evenly. "Everyone knew it...in the hall, at the table. He could barely see straight. I must go down." She hurried past the woman, past the crowd of gaping servants, gathering her skirts to facilitate her step.
Her steward came running across the great hall as she came down the stairs. "My lady...my lady...such a terrible thing."
"What happened, Otis? Does anyone know?"
The black-clad steward shook his head and the loosened lappets of his bonnet flapped at his ears like crows' ears. "Did you not see it, my lady? We thought you must have known what happened. 'Twas from your chamber window that he fell."
"I was in the garderobe," she said shortly. "Lord Riordan was drunk, Otis. He must have lost his footing...his balance. It was ever thus."
"Aye, 'tis true enough, madam. 'Twas ever thus with his lordship." The steward followed her out into the courtyard where a crowd stood around the fallen man. They gave way before the lady of the clan of MacPherson and Buchanan who knelt on the cobbles beside her husband. His neck was at an odd angle and blood pooled beneath his head. She placed a finger for form's sake against the pulse in his neck. Then with a sigh sat back on her heels, the dark folds of her gown spreading around her.
"Where is Grice?"
"Here, milady." The priest came running from his little lodging behind the chapel, adjusting his gown as he came. 'I heard the commotion, but I..." He stopped as he reached the body. His rosary beads clicked between his fingers as he gazed down and said with a heavy sigh, "May the Lord have mercy on his soul."
"Yes, indeed," agreed Lord Riordan's wife. She rose to her feet in a graceful movement. "Take my lord's body to the chapel to be washed and prepared. We will light the candles at dawn. He will lie in state for the respects of the household and the tenants before his burial tomorrow evening."
She turned and made her way back through the crowd, back into the house, ducking her head as she stepped through the small door that was set into the larger one to the keep the cold and draughts from invading the hall.
Lady Teranika was a widow once more.
* * * * * * * * * *
As the night drifted in, four stealthy men crept in to their lady's chamber. Approaching her bed, she tossed, and opened her eyes, and found the four men standing afore her, knowing what they intended.
"Ye will sorely regret this," she said coldly.
"Then, we shall regret it," one of them muttered as he lifted his jeweled sgian dhu high above his head, plunging it into her right shoulder as she dodged slightly. "Conniving whore!" he spat out, furious.
"I curse this land, I curse the people of MacPherson, and may ye all die a bloody deaths for generations!" she screamed just as two of them held each of her arms, the third holding her legs, and the fourth slit her throat from ear to ear.
* * * * * * * * *
AN: So?! SSSSSOOOOOOOOO??!?!?!??!! What did everybody think? I know it doesn't have the GW characters in, yet. Next chapter, I swear...is this motivation to go on? Maybe...what is the curse? How bad is it? Find out...
