A Ballad of War: Toccata and Fugue, Part II

Chapter Twenty

I

In spite of all that had transpired within the two years that Treize Kushrenada had been presumed dead and Odin Lowe had resurfaced, the world would not believe that war had been declared upon the Earth until the attack on the Supreme Earthsphere Council. The attack led to an unvoiced acceptance of failure within the Prevention Organization and many of its members, despite their former convictions, returned, as had their President a month before, to the base on the Mars colony. President Une had, for the first time since her disappearance, issued a brief statement to the press, but in light of the events on Earth, nothing was made of it.

The casualties of the attack on the conferences in Luxembourg were being calculated even before the smoke cleared over the rubble, and the day following the attack, the press released the first estimated numbers to the people of Earth and the colonies. Of the twenty highest members of the Council, fourteen were believed to be dead, the other six critically injured. It would be confirmed later, by a member of the counteroffensive begun by Odin Lowe at the beginning of the year AC 196, that in the course of this attack, Treize had managed to inadvertently kill the man who had served for that same amount of time as his benefactor.

Also at the time of this confirmation, it was learned that the benefactor had been the formerly pacifistic Alsirae Trecais III, who had, in the final year of the OZ organization, renounced his position and earned the title of General under Treize's leadership.

Of the twenty secondary members of the Council, nine were confirmed dead, ten seriously injured, and one, miraculously, not hurt at all. Of the lesser governmental leaders who had attended the conference that day, thirty-six had been killed during the attack, and several others had died during transportation to a medical facility. Twenty-seven spectators had also died.

These were, however, only estimates released the day following the assault, while the world still looked on in utter horror. The numbers would be higher the following week, after the debris had been thoroughly searched and a few more of the injured had died in their respective hospitals.

Among the names of those who believed to be dead but whose deaths could not be confirmed was that of Prince Milliardo Peacecraft of the Sanq Kingdom.

The Imperial Palace of the kingdom was searched by both a governmental agency employed by what had formerly been the Supreme Earthsphere Council, and, though this would never be confirmed, a unit of officers serving under Treize Kushrenada's clandestine organization. The Prince was indeed missing, as even an interrogation of his emotionally weakened sister yielded no evidence of his whereabouts other than that he had been in Luxembourg during the attack. Gone, too, was Lucrezia Noin, whose name had been added to the list of possible casualties. The only thing found amiss in the palace was the inexplicable presence of Dorothy Catalonia. It was confirmed that she had been in Luxembourg as well, escorted there by the Prince himself and the pregnant Miss Noin, but the method of her return to Newport was less plausible; it was claimed that a private plane, one of the Queen's own, had been sent for her immediately following news of the attack, though no officials at any port in Luxembourg had record of this happening. The only result yielded by the search of the palace and the interrogation of its distraught Queen had come not from the inquisition performed by the governmental agency but rather that performed by Treize's own soldiers. The question was raised of whether or not the Queen, or to her knowledge her brother, had had any contact within the past month with one Rhyn Tolkien, formerly of the United Kingdom. The Queen had at first been startled by the mention of his name but had claimed no knowledge of him. Her initial reaction, however, had answered their question sufficiently.

The final question asked of her by the officers unaffiliated with the organization had been whether or not the Queen had had any prior knowledge of those responsible for what had happened in Luxembourg. Her response was an adamant negative.

After the assault on Luxembourg, the two organizations wasted no time in at last bringing into being the true war that had been in the making since the last great one.

Two days after the assault came the entrance of mobile suits into the grand scheme. A battalion of suits of a new model, the same one that had been discovered in Austria, a seeming year ago, entered the great city of Istanbul at dawn, and by the time the day yielded to evening, the city had fallen.

The identity of this organization's leader was at last revealed when, as the announcement of the seizure of Istanbul was broadcast across the civilized world, Treize Kushrenada emerged in the city to lay claim to it.

The smile that illuminated his face as he delivered his grand speech was one that not even those subordinates closest to him could comprehend.

"And so again falls Constantinople," Odin Lowe remarked as the others in the room watched the events in perfect horror, as though he were untouched by what was happening.

The counteroffensive, which had begun to come into the public eye after Luxembourg, made its own move in the week after the seizure of Istanbul. Two large units of Sagittarius suits — some of which the infamous Rhyn Tolkien had kissed farewell before allowing their designated pilots to enter them — were dispatched from Vólos, within the same day, one sent to Istanbul and the other northward by air to Germany.

Thus the true war began; or, rather, what was labeled a true war by the those whose stood outside the lines of fire, those who could only fear and observe but not act, those who formed their conceptions of this war on the number of casualties and the carnage left in the wake of each battle. This theory, while well-founded for men who could not truly touch anything in such a conflict, was rarely true. In the words of the instigator of this great battle, everything was a war. Perhaps this had never been as fully known as it was to the soldiers who would survive this conflict. The real war was not consistent of battles and weapons, of sieges and assaults and the estimated casualties that were released to the public; the real war was everything behind those things. It was a soldier called to fight once more while resisting his soul's desire to turn away. It was a young man lured in by idealism, a young man who would die in that idealism never really knowing truthfully what it was they were asked to fight for. It was a girl who had quite literally lost her mind long ago who acted as an operative for any army; it was the soldier, one of her own comrades, who learned of her insanity only in the moments before she killed him. It was a pacifist Prince wanting to die for his desire to fight; it was a Queen driven to her wits' end by powers she could not touch. It was a boy with no memories and yet at the same time too many; it was an assassin nearing the time he would become obsolete. It was a military leader preparing for his own death. It was an ancient dead peace and an unvoiced conflict within the souls of all those who would have a hand in orchestrating these events.

This was the true war, as no news cast or history book or petty speech would ever proclaim it. This — everything — was a war, masked underneath the formalities of faceless irrelevant murders and the trite destruction.

Indeed, everything.

As a desperate step in averting the major war that Treize intended to launch upon the world, following the siege of Istanbul the counteroffensive launched an assault on the base in Thessaloníki. The manpower of the counteroffensive was considerably less than that of Treize's army, but with the temporary stationing of many of the Gemini suits in Istanbul, the assault on the base was successful. The base was almost completely destroyed and an evacuation order was issued by Treize, who without explanation left Istanbul immediately after giving the order for an unknown destination. In his absence, new commanders were established to guide his armies, and his soldiers under such guidance entered a skirmish with those of the counteroffensive on the borders of the city.

In response, the following evening the Sanq Kingdom was invaded.

And shortly after this, almost as quickly s this war had begun, it was ended.

II

(The Lost Soldier, Returning To A War)

He held her now as she slept placidly against him, her head resting over his abdomen, her slender body draped over his legs like a blanket. Her red hair veiled his arms as they rested over her back, his fingers absently stroking the curve of her spine, and every so often he leaned forward, carefully as not to wake her, and laid his own head in the smooth crimson mass of it, where he could feel the warmth of her breath against the side of his face, could see her unmoving lips parted in sleep and fight the urge to kiss her.

She stirred briefly. He did not know how long she had been asleep, nor had he an estimate of when she might awaken. He hoped she wouldn't for a while, though. It would be so much easier to leave her if she were asleep.

He bent down, kissed the arch of her high cheekbones, the lobe of her ear.

"I've missed you, Marguerite," he whispered, as though she could hear him through whatever dreams kept her from having to witness his departure, and then as though she had denied this he continued. "No, really I have. I never stopped thinking about you. I even asked Odin to have me transferred back to Spain, but he said he'd be sending you here soon enough."

If indeed she could hear him, she gave no sign of it.

He kissed her again and leaned back against the sofa. Marquise had passed by this room earlier and had stopped momentarily in the doorway, studying him and the woman who lay gracefully over him. After a moment he smiled, nodded, and left.

He thought Marquise was at last beginning to understand him.

A glimmer of silver caught his eye and he repressed a scowl as he looked at the two bracelets lying beside him. God, but he hated them.

Marguerite was well aware of this, and because of it she always removed them when he was with her.

Odin appeared in the doorway, silently gestured to Rhyn that it was time for his departure. He nodded and mouthed and that he would be there in a minute.

Odin stepped inside the room. "I'm not sending you to Thessaloníki," he said quietly.

Rhyn raised an eyebrow.

"You're going to the Sanq Kingdom. The situation there has worsened."

He glanced down at Marguerite, smoothed her hair away from her face. "What are our casualties?"

"Nineteen have been lost in the Sanq Kingdom. More were lost in Istanbul."

"Not that bad, really. Of course I suppose I'll be a bigger target, seeing that the fearless Kushrenada has already ordered my death twice or once or perhaps thrice in the past."

Odin nodded. "That's a given, yes."

He, considering this, kissed her once more and gently eased her off of him and onto the sofa. "I've got to go now," he whispered to her. "Ta-ra, lovely."

He rose and left, escorted by Odin to what could possibly (and probably would) be his death.

He did not see, as he turned to leave, the single tear rolling down her face.

III

(The Prince, waiting upon the Baroness and in Observation of a Nearing Death)

"What is he doing?" Zechs asked, calmly, quietly, making a slight gesture at the screaming boy as he again kicked at the machine.

Odin spared him a glance. "He's attacking his mobile suit."

As if to confirm this, Rhyn launched himself at the titanium foot of the suit again.

Zechs looked away from the spectacle. "He's leaving today, then."

Odin nodded. "I have no choice but to send him. Our losses are becoming greater than expected."

"Will the Epyon truly be needed?"

Odin continued to watch the outraged boy. "Yes. You and Heero and your gundams will be needed in the final battle."

Zechs nodded, and as he considered this reply he was moved to say something, something he would not, for several days yet, understand himself.

The final battle, already planned out.

"You know more about what Treize is doing than you allow them all to believe, don't you?"

Odin did not even flinch. "I believe you can decide that for yourself, Prince."

Rhyn let out a great incoherent yell and ran at the suit and when the impact of it caused him to fall back onto the pavement, he raised a hand with an extended middle finger and shouted, "Same to you, you bleeding bitch!"

"He'll need to leave soon," Odin said. "He wanted to be in the air by the time Marguerite wakes."

"Where are you sending him?"

"To your kingdom, Prince. He's most needed there."

"He's only a computer analyst."

"And an accomplished soldier."

An officer appeared on the platform, another. One took hold of the British boy while the other climbed into the suit to load it into the carrier.

"You're a damned piece of shite, you are!" he yelled as he was dragged toward the plane.

"What are the chances he'll make it out of this battle?" Zechs asked, fearing he already knew the answer.

"Quite slim." His answer was too grave, too solemn. Zechs realized that Odin truly did not believe the Brit was going to return from the kingdom, not alive, at least.

He watched the boy's struggle a moment longer, then turned and left the platform.

IV

(The Fallen Queen and the Mistress of Virtue)

She was interrupted in the fervent writing of another letter pleading him to cease what he was doing, another letter that would go unheeded, by a knocking on the door of her study. For reasons she herself was not fully aware of, she tried to ignore it, and for a few minutes was successful. The knocking became louder and, after finally hearing the person on the other side cease their knocking and deliver a hard slap to the door, she put the letter aside and allowed them to enter.

Dorothy bowed and offered a cursory smile. "Good afternoon, Miss Relena. Am I disturbing you?"

Relena glanced toward the letter, assuring herself that it was not obvious under the lamplight. "No, Dorothy."

Dorothy nodded. "I won't keep you long, Miss Relena. I've only come to thank you for allowing me to stay here."

"Are you leaving, Dorothy?"

"Yes, Miss Relena."

"But where are you going?"

Dorothy maintained her calm composure. "I'm returning to Morocco. I'm no longer of use here."

"But–"

"I am well aware of the decree against air travel, Miss Relena, but I'm sure you are well that there are a few who have no intentions of following it. I have already made the arrangement."

"But if something should happen–"

Dorothy silenced her with a wave of her hand. "Then I will not be your responsibility, Miss Relena."

Without hesitation for a response, she turned and left, bowing again outside the doorway.

Relena stared after her a moment longer, then, as though this mattered not at all to her, she returned to her desk, to her damnable letter, her own condemnation.

V

(The Lost Girl, no longer in Possession of her Mind, upon having made a Certain Discovery)

She laughed softly to herself and shut down the computer. With the monitor dead and black the surrounding darkness enveloped her, yet she sat there silently for a moment, licking her full lips and in contemplation pursing them.

"Well, Mr. Yuy," she whispered, unaware that her voice was like that of a hissing serpent, of a deceitful temptress. She smiled and again punctuated this with a laugh. "I see you've decided to join us."

One of the others who had been assigned to watch designated harbors between Spain and Thessaloníki and who, likewise, was aware of her own assignment in regard to the boy had reported directly to her that the one masquerading under the name Heero Yuy had been spotted while temporarily docking a boat (albeit a stolen vessel) in an Italian port. Though travel by air had been restricted, had he been going directly to Odin Lowe and his counteroffensive he would not have taken such an anonymous method of travel, nor would he have allowed himself to be seen in a locale that should have been known to him as monitored by the organization. He had meant for one of them to see him.

He would be coming to Thessaloníki within the next few days, and there was only port she believed he would use. He would be looking for her there. Perhaps he had decided he did indeed desire another encounter with her after what had happened to him in Spain.

Aphrodite rose from the chair, left the room wearing the long, extravagant black silken robe, and ascended to the third floor, where her own private rooms were located. She went to her vast wardrobe and selected from it, after several minutes of meticulous scrutiny, the perfect outfit to meet him in.

"I do hope you like this one, Mr. Yuy," she whispered. "I do hope you like me in it. It's going to be my funeral dress, you know."

She smiled again as, to her own ears, she heard him give a response.

VI

(The Assassin, departed from the Blossom)

He left Marquise and the Baroness, left the remaining soldiers who waited to be sent to the front lines, left even Yuan-Chen for several hours that afternoon, and none of those who saw him leave would ever know of his destination, but neither did they question it. He assumed they all knew better than to do something so futile.

No pictures of the woman accompanied him on his brief sabbatical, but nonetheless his solitary thoughts remained on her. Always, always on her. He wondered if, in the events of the final stage of this war, he would at last be joining her.

VII

(The General, a living Corpse of unwritten Epitaphs)

Amongst the ruins of the base he sat, calm and solitary, imagining the former grandeur of the place. He felt strangely saddened by the knowledge that he would never see it returned to that glory.

None of his army knew where he was, or where to reach him. This was just as he had intended. No more decisions regarding these trivial battles would be made on his part.

Treize ran his fingertips over the marble floor, scarring the coat of ashes and dusted plaster that had covered the remains during the attack. Under the fine gray powder, his fingers appeared as those of a corpse.

He hoped those left in command of his army would indeed make the proper decisions as the battle progressed. He had recently at long last made the one that had so weighed upon his mind, and the relief he felt at knowing this was something of a blessing, despite what it would now entail.

Farther down the hall, traveling merely on echoes, came the high, shrill sound of a laugh devoid of reason, devoid even of sanity. The sound, though unexpected, did not startle him. He recognized it immediately as that of Aphrodite, and although he had ordered all those stationed in Thessaloníki to evacuate this base, he had known since his own return there that she had ignored this decree.

He was not afraid of her presence there. She was truly, by definition of the word, insane, and he had always known this, even before she had begun to display evidence of it before him, and just as well he knew what she was capable of doing. He knew of her delusions, of her violence; he knew of those poor, ignorant soldiers whom she had, believing her acts to be in total secrecy, killed. He at the same time also knew that she would not attempt similar on him, were their paths to cross in what remained of the grand base. Her violent intentions did not and never had included him. Perhaps this was because he sheltered her; perhaps it was simply because, even as far gone as she now was, she still experienced those rare moments in which she realized what she had become and was aware that he knew as well. Whatever the reason, though, she would not harm him.

Her sweet death, he suspected, was as near as his own. He had a feeling that she, too, was well aware of this. Perhaps this accounted for how much lighter of mood she had been since her return. If this were the case, then by all means, let it begin.

He was quickly tiring of all these mundane war games.

Please, God, let it begin.

VIII

(Of Deaths and Goddesses)

The following evening was perhaps the worst the counteroffensive would see. The battle on the borders of the Sanq Kingdom continued to rage on in the north and the number of casualties was quickly mounting, and in the evening following Rhyn's departure for the battle, the first bodies were sent to Vólos.

Among their last numbers was the body of Rhyn Tolkien, sent so late because it had taken a group of his comrades over an hour to recover his body from the wreckage of his mobile suit's cockpit.

Upon hearing the boy's name among the list of casualties, without waiting to hear it confirmed by either Odin Lowe or Xing Yuan-Chen, Marguerite St. Domingue retreated at a panicked run to the room they had so briefly shared. The tears, so futile, so damnably useless now, flowed freely as she rummaged furiously through all that she had brought from Spain with her until she found a simple folded letter, and clutching this, unfolding it and reading the four words over and over, she unconsciously found herself wishing she had died two years ago, that she had made the cuts down her wrists just a few moments sooner so that by the time he had found her it would have been too late.

You are my goddess.

These were the first words that had ever transpired between them, more than three years ago now, before they had been called into this conflict, when she had still been singing in a Paris theatre and he a rather well-known tenor and actor among the important circles in England. The current cast of a certain theatre in London had been sent to observe the theatre of France, and despite how nervous she had been that first night Marguerite had given one of the best performances she would ever give, and after the curtain had fallen, while removing her makeup backstage, she was given a letter from an usher, who said one of the London players had instructed him to give it to her. She had opened it to find only these four words elegantly written there, with not even a signature or initials at the bottom. The identity of the sender had not remained a mystery for long, however, as only a few minutes later Rhyn had appeared outside her dressing room door.

He had remained in Paris after the rest of his fellow English actors returned to London, and thus had begun his career there, and thus had begun their friendship, which had only been something more than that since shortly after her damnably failed attempt to end her life. And what good were these memories to her now?

Perhaps Mademoiselle Magdalena Marguerite Gabrielle d'Anton de St. Domingue suffered the most of all those who had remained in Vólos that night; perhaps she did not. None of the tears shed in those hours were powerful enough to halt the world in its revolution, and yet futile as they each might have been, it was in those hours that Hell's jubilant-hissing cheer rang loudest.

Author's Notes: Yes, this is a rather short chapter, but I've always been a little fond of it, despite how poorly written it is. The short little pieces with each character were a nice change from the thirty-page character studies. Treize's infamous benefactor is gotten rid of so quickly simply because I needed him only for a short time, and after the previous chapter, he serves no use. I'm sure most people realized that the reference to a girl killing someone is an allusion to Aphrodite.

I've been rather surprised at some of the responses to Rhyn attacking his mobile suit. People seem to like that scene for whatever reason. There's a huge hint as to what happens in the next chapters concerning Marguerite in this scene.