A Ballad of War: Interlude
Chapter Nine
The mist was thick over the hills this morning, cool, thick, gray as the flesh of a corpse pulled tautly over its bones. Two lights — a pair of tiny gems atop a bed of gray velvet — shone dimly through the haze in the valley below, the only signs of life visible at this early hour. It would rain later, he knew, and he silently mused to himself that when it did those two lights would shine still, as changeless as true innocence.
He folded the letter and laid it at his side upon the red cushioned seat. He had read over it twice since receiving it in the city, and he had a feeling he would read it yet a third time before the carriage reached the castle.
Treize closed his eyes and breathed in the cold German air, savoring its scent like he would the finest wine. He had missed his beloved Germany, even when surrounded by all the splendor of the palace in Greece, and seeing it again was almost enough to make him decide to return to it permanently.
He had been in Germany for two weeks now, since the eve of the incident. No one either in the city or in these countryside villages had yet recognized him, but he was fully aware that sooner or later someone would identify his face, and once having identified him, would connect him to the events in Austria.
Some, those who had known for months that he had survived the Eve Wars but were uninvolved in the organization, were already beginning to do that.
It was of little consequence to him now, though, if it had ever been more than that. The whole incident was of little consequence to him. There were reasons for this, yes, but other than to himself and God, they were unknown to any. Perhaps one day Zechs . . . no, it was best not to consider that possibility yet. Later, once the smoke from the incident in Austria had cleared, it would be time then, but not now.
It seemed Germany was the only place in the world that had not gone completely insane in light of what had happened in Austria. The cities were bustling with the news of it, of course, but nothing more than that, even given how close Austria was, but the country villages had hardly taken note of it.
This was all for the best, he supposed. Perhaps it would ensure that if the upcoming battle were to shift from Greece to Germany, these villages would be spared.
Would that be of consequence, if the battle were moved from the one country to his own? No, ultimately, for eventually the Sanq Kingdom would be seized, or, at least, that lay in the plans for the outcome of the war that would have to arise sooner now. The kingdom would be the great martyr of war for the final time, regardless of where that war was staged.
He had sometimes wondered in the past why Zechs had so silently agreed to stand by as his kingdom was overtaken. Once, weeks ago now in the palace at Thessaloníki, he had voiced this question to him, and as he often did, Zechs had held his tongue.
"Come now, Milliardo," Treize had continued. "Will you allow me to do it when the time comes? Will you allow me to simply step up to the throne that we both know should rightfully be yours? Or will you fight me then?"
Again, no answer.
"We both know I could rule it with more grace and power than she. She lacks something in her leadership, wouldn't you agree? Would you tell me what it is, Milliardo? You'll do her no great dishonor if you say it; rather, I think you may be the only one in the proper position to do so."
Zechs had crossed the room to the chair and fell wearily into it. "Are you saying that I should fight against you?"
"Perhaps you should. Why do you not, Milliardo? Knowing that your involvement only helps my cause."
Zechs had looked away from him then, and for a moment it had seemed he would not reply. "Because I can do nothing else," he answered finally, and this had been sufficient.
It was true that he held some power over Zechs and had since they were young children, but even he did not know the extent of that power. Even so, he knew that Zechs indeed could never betray him so fully.
Treize smiled at the very thought of it. "Milliardo," he whispered to the otherwise empty carriage, "my beautiful stoic."
It was true also that he loved Milliardo, true that they were incapable of feeling anything but love for each other. Even when they had fought against each other in the past, both playing the role of the antagonist, they had loved each other, even if Treize was the only one capable of putting it into those precise words.
He wondered if Zechs would deny it.
He remembered how one young man in Luxembourg had, during Treize's imprisonment there, made a tasteless insinuation that Treize and the infamous Lightning Count had once had some sort of physical relationship. And just as clearly as he remembered the insolent young man's degrading comment, he remembered holding a stolen gun to the boy's temple and watching his eyes widen the moment before he pulled the trigger. He was sure the world had suffered no great loss.
But as much as he loved Milliardo, he was not afraid of using him. On the contrary, Milliardo was suiting his purposes well at the moment, so well that he had sometimes doubted Milliardo's complete unawareness of what he was doing, of why he would see this war come into being. But Milliardo didn't know, not really, for if he did, he would have tried to stop him by now.
Treize sighed half-wearily. He had been hoping to receive a message from the others in Thessaloníki by now but there had yet been none. They could not contact him directly, of course, for fear that his location would be revealed to the enemy. The bombing in Austria had put the entire base on edge, and newer, almost ridiculous, precautions were being taken because of it.
It was this new sense of suspicion at the base that had caused him to retreat temporarily to his home in Germany, not, as he had said, concern for his own safety. The soldiers stationed in Germany knew of the bombing, of course, as did the rest of the world and space, but they were still relatively untouched by it. Their actions were still fluid and well-thought and their speech was still eloquent and proper, unhurried by the war that would now begin, and, after all, he was still more of an aesthete than a general. The aftermath of a war was rarely ever suitable to his palate.
Only he knew the real cause of the bombing and that it wasn't, as was believed, because of a breach in security. The enemy had never infiltrated their computers, nor had the location of where the newest completed battalion of Gemini suits were being sent been learned through the interception of one of their messages. Odin Lowe and his network of beautifully loyal subordinates had had nothing to do with the incident, and Treize could only imagine the reaction that had swept through the counteroffensive when they had learned of what had happened.
The first attack, the first assault on world peace since the Mariemaia incident of 196, was to have taken place five miles north of the borders of the Sanq Kingdom. The needed mobile suits, only a battalion or two, were to be shipped to a private location outside of Thessaloníki three weeks prior to the attack, with their pilots following after them a week later. The train carrying the suits was to make a two-night stop in Austria, and it was at this point in the suits' transportation that the operation would be most vulnerable.
Someone else had realized this too, it seemed, for only half an hour after arriving at the designated location in Austria, the train had come under attack, obliterated from the inside by a set of explosives that had been strategically rigged all throughout its compartments. Fifteen crewmen were killed immediately, and seventeen more died while waiting for medical aid. Another eleven died the following day in the local hospital of injuries sustained in the explosion. It would have been a beautiful plan, really, the assault on the carrier, the perfect way to thwart the plans of the organization without drawing attention to both it and the counteroffensive, beautiful had it caused the complete destruction of the carrier, leaving no trace of the cargo. However, rather than complete destruction, due to improper placing of the explosives, only the first three compartments had suffered a total loss, leaving those that contained the suits. The provincial Austrian government had learned of the explosion before the organization and therefore were the first ones on the scene, arriving just after the smoke had cleared enough to allow them to see the plainly exposed suits, lying like fallen titans on the smoldering battlefield.
The discovery was released globally to the public the following day, and, Treize knew, the desired effect had been achieved. It seemed the entire world — with the exception of his beloved Germany — was held firmly in the grip of the cold, bloodstained hand of true panic, all of them waiting for something else to happen, lying awake in bed each night for fear that they would never see the morning if they slept. The Prevention Organization, he had heard, head sent many of its members, newly returned from the international Council sessions, to the Earth to investigate the matter.
He wondered if Une had come with them. He had not spoken to her since before his alleged death, nor had he ever given her any sign that he had lived through that battle. Even now, it was not necessary for her to learn of his existence. Perhaps it was best that she did not. It would change neither of their positions if they were to meet again — he would continue in the path necessary for him to take and she would have to continue as the head of an organization that would work to stop him. And he did not wish her to be disgraced by taking the side of the instigator of the next great war, even if the instigator had once been her lover.
If she were to discover his survival, however, he thought she would understand.
And someday, so would Milliardo. Perhaps he would understand to an extent that even Une could not.
He wished he could have seen Milliardo's reaction when the news of the incident in Austria had reached Sanq. Had the beautiful stoic even blinked when he had heard what had happened, or had he somewhere suspected that it would all along? Had he even yet told Miss Noin of what was happening all around the kingdom and his own involvement with those forces? And if so, had he told her everything, just as he had not told everything to Treize?
He would have to ask him these things in the future. Perhaps it would help him in the decision he had been faced with making when, almost two years ago, Milliardo had come to him, stumbling and barely even aware of his own surroundings and he had offered him a role in the organization.
He would wonder about Queen Relena's reaction, but the letter at his side had answered that question for him. He did wonder how long it would be until Milliardo learned of this development, however.
The carriage came to a gradual stop at the entrance to the private grounds. A single officer, heavily but not visibly armed, leaned in the open window to confirm his identity.
"Good morning, Herr Kushrenada," he said, once having identified him.
"Yes, isn't it a pleasant morning?"
The officer nodded an agreement. "I've been asked to give you a message from Department AE-2011."
AE-2011. The base's equivalent of a military prison. "Yes?"
"They said that the difficult one, the British one, talked last night."
"Tolkien, you mean."
"I suppose."
Treize waved it off. "He's lying, whatever he said."
"They say he gave a name."
"It's false. He wouldn't betray the one he's working for."
The officer thought for a moment, perhaps never having been contradicted before in his life. "I'll relay that message to the department," he said finally, and waved the driver though the gates.
Treize failed to see why the heads of the department had taken the trouble to contact him to tell him that Tolkien had given another name last night. Since his arrest three weeks ago, he had averaged supplying a new name every four days, and each of them had proven false. It wouldn't be much longer before this one did as well.
Treize had, before returning briefly to the palace at Thessaloníki, remained on the base long enough to witness Tolkien's first interrogation, which, thanks to the ill-placed blow to the back of his head, had not occurred until the night following his apprehension. He had ordered the officers in charge of the arrest to merely disable the boy, not put him within inches of death.
He had already been beaten again by the time he had been brought in for questioning, more extensively this time, yet upon his swollen, cut, bruised face had been that same wondering, almost naïve smile for which he had been known within the organization.
He had seemed oblivious to Treize as he was herded into the room but had greeted all the others warmly, as though he were sitting down at a dinner party rather than an inquisition.
"Would you state your name for the record?" the chief interrogator – von Buren, his name was — had begun, in near-flawless English.
The prisoner's eyes (or, at least, the one eye that had not been swollen shut) had lit up and his jaw dropped open in mock amazement. "Would I?" he had all but exclaimed, in an effeminate voice that had almost gotten a smile from one of the other officers in the room. "Of course, I would, especially if it's for you." He had stretched his cuffed hands under the table, trying to touch von Buren's leg. Von Buren kicked away from him and his chair toppled over backward, and this did get a laugh from the others.
Von Buren leapt to his feet and cursed the boy in German. The boy merely smiled.
"State your name," Von Buren repeated finally, and Treize had been glad he had not allowed him to carry a gun.
The humor appeared to leave the boy's face, and his expression became almost as somber as his eyes were when they had been fully visible. "Rhyn Tolkien."
"Is that your real name?"
"Of course not."
"What is your real name?"
"Midii Une," he had responded seriously, then looked up at Treize and batted his eye. "And my, aren't you a handsome devil?"
His own name was the only information they had gotten out of him that evening, which had concluded when Rhyn, moving carefully but quickly because of the shackles around his ankles, had climbed up onto the table and began to deliver, in a clear, rich, and undeniably beautiful voice an aria from an opera with which Treize was quite familiar. He had always known, since Rhyn's start in his organization, that the young Brit had once been a skilled opera singer.
Perhaps nothing more would be learned from him at all. Treize found himself hoping that the boy remained true to his convictions and leaked none of the sought information.
However, he had heard that recently the boy had, because of his sense of humor, become a favorite punching bag among the guards of the department.
The time of his deliverance was close at hand.
The carriage, as he had earlier asked the driver, stopped not at the castle but rather proceeded on to the chapel that lay half-concealed in the surrounding forest. It had once been magnificent, the spiritual center of both these hills and the valley. Now it stood alone, deserted, dejected, silent as it had been ever since the day of the massacre, the day his parents had been murdered within its walls.
Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrows. Perpetual sorrows, indeed.
He picked up the letter and stepped out of the carriage. He nodded his thanks to the driver and walked up to the chapel's great arched doorway.
It was going according to plan now. The traitors had been taken into custody, the organization was about to be discovered, and he held within his hand a pleading letter from the virginal Queen of Sanq herself. Now the next move depended on what Odin did, and Treize knew he could trust him to fulfill his role.
He entered the chapel. All of the relics and paintings had long been removed but the lamps and the crystal chandelier that hung in the great hall had not, and from the main chapel a dull light flooded out into the corridor.
Treize smiled. He had had a feeling she would be there.
Quietly, he went to the half-empty room from which the light came. The pews had been removed as well, as had the tabernacle and the statues that had once framed the altar. The altar itself remained, however, and it was before it that he saw her. She lay on the polished wooden floor, her eyes closed and her hands clasped over her abdomen like a body awaiting cremation, or, perhaps, a temple virgin awaiting sacrifice. She wore a long white dress with one of those plunging necklines she so liked, and her hair spread out around her like an auburn corona. Where the dress drew tight over her slender legs, he could barely make out the outline of the bandages that enclosed her leg from knee to ankle.
"You're never going to find anything here," he said finally.
She did not seem startled at all by his voice. "You're wrong, sir. I already have."
He smiled and went toward her. She had been transferred here after her encounter with Heero Yuy, and had spent much of her time in the chapel, lying silently on the floor as she had been doing when he found her. She had always seemed to enjoy places of death.
He waited.
"If you listen closely enough," she said, "you can still hear them screaming, pleading. Some of them are crying." She sat up and looked at him. "They're still here, all of them. Part of the soul always remains where the body died."
"Is that so, Aphrodite?"
She smiled. "Yes."
When he said nothing else, she resumed her position on the floor. He watched her, never speaking, and wondered if indeed she heard those screams that echoed on after the corpses had been carried away.
He supposed it didn't really matter.
He took out the letter, read it again. So desperate, it was. The Queen would get her answer soon.
Yes, it could truly begin now. All the pieces were in place and all the pawns had been moved out of the way, each thinking they knew what was happening, what they were a part of. The board was, at the moment, Odin's, but somehow he thought it would be Milliardo who put the next play into action. Milliardo, the ever-beautiful, ever-loyal prince. He only hoped that the next play didn't result in the prince's death. That was simply a casualty he could not afford yet.
He sighed and went back to the decision he still had to make.
My dear prince, I do hope you understand.
He thought that, in the end, the prince would.
Author's Notes: Finally, something from Treize's point of view. I've always wanted to play with his character, and although I don't know if I'll ever write a story featuring him as a main character, I certainly did enjoy writing this short little chapter to bridge the prelude and the next series of chapters, in which the action really picks up.
Despite that this fic boasts an uncharacteristic (on my part) lack of 'alternative relationships,' I couldn't resist the little hints that Treize once felt something for Zechs, and was perhaps somewhat requited. The two of them as a couple have such a beautiful appeal to me. Of course, I do think that by the Gundam Wing series, Treize is actually quite taken with Lady Une, but I also think there is still a slight infatuation with Zechs present.
Rhyn being a former opera singer was simply for my amusement. Rock music remains divine to me, but the opera has always held a very special place in my heart, and so I thought it would be rather interesting for this eccentric and slightly perverse young man to be gifted in such a difficult art.
And finally, the last truly important aspect of Aphrodite's character is revealed in this chapter. Yes, she's crazy. Well, I probably shouldn't say crazy, as that is such a broad description. Suffice it to say that, although she is quite intelligent, she is also quite mentally ill. She's really quite the tragic figure, I think, but then again, she is my favorite of my original characters, so I am a bit biased.
As for the letter from Relena, I'll leave that up to your imaginations for now.