Dawn and Moon Wars
A/N: Wow... I can never apologize enough for how longit has taken for me to update this fic...Life, school, and a terrible case of writer's block forced this story to suffer for much too long and I am so sorry for thehorrible delay... I am incredibly amazed and gratefulfor all the emails I have received fromreaders--I can't believe people are still interested in this story despite myterrible lack of updates... I don't blame anyone for givingup on this fic (I know I wouldhave!) and can only say THANK YOU to those that continue to read Hopefully, new chapters will be posted more quickly, but I hate to promise anything considering my previous failure at doing so... I can only say that I willfinish this fic one day & am very grateful to anyone that bothers to take a moment and read it Thank you so much!
PS--I am having some problems editing---I'm using a new computer with completely different word software, so please excuse any editing mishaps... Eventually I'll get the hang of this...
Chapter Twenty-One
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing or any of its characters. I do, however, own the various original characters that keep popping up—really, I don't mean for them to! They have a life of their own
They allowed her an hour, an hour of dressing and continuously wringing her hair till it hung strangely dry and wet down her back. Rosaline had even left her a comb made out of white bone, plain and unornamented, that had pulled through her hair with painful little tugs. The smooth, wet strands rubbed against her face as she sat hunched over, her eyes locked on her crimson hands.
Her hands matched the skirt she'd borrowed, a crimson, bright red fabric that hung to her ankles. Multi-colored scarves sat beside her, the traditional style here was to use them as a belt, hanging down the skirt in a multitude of colors that would flash and swirl as one moved. Relena had decided to leave them, they seemed too much a symbol of these people and until their decision she felt wearing them would be a mockery. So they sat like a puddle of rainbows, untouched and unused.
A loose, white tunic, patched in various places, was tucked deep into the skirt. It was too big for her slender form and a part of her wished for her old clothes, an outfit perfectly tailored for her form. Her eyes drifted closed, her mind seeking memories of soft silk and extravagant gowns. It had sometimes taken hours for her to get dressed, an array of ladies had been needed to tie and button and pin and tug all the layers exactly in place. Her first moment of dressing by herself had been a moment of embarrassment, a moment that had ended in frustrated tears, and now brought a sad, amused smile to her features.
So many things had changed.
And they would never stop changing…
"What am I doing…" Her eyes opened, staring straight ahead, seeking an answer from the silent wagon. "What do you want from me?"
Silence…
"So much pain, so much hardship, and the worst is still to come… Battles and death and war and pain… All for what? For the gods, for a lost throne… The whimsy of the Mother, of the gods---I'm just the pawn being used to set what She should be setting right. Tear me apart, rip me to pieces, and it doesn't matter as long as Your will is done…" Something flashed across Relena's face, anger painting her cheeks red, her eyes wet with unshed tears, "I hate you!" Her yell filled the wagon, it seemed to echo within her ears, as she sat eerily still, her breathing erratic and heavy. "I hate you…" Her hands grasped her arms, trying to rub the sudden chill that surrounded her away. "I hate you… you…I…" The chill was replaced by heat, searing into her flesh till her hands jerked away, and she panted, nearly bent over in two. Heat and ice and heat and ice.
Relena moaned, "What have you done to me?"
"What had to be done."
And the heat and ice were gone, replaced with golden warmth that washed over her, reminding her so much of her mother and late night hugs and bedtime stories… A sob broke free from the Dawn, her body still bent forward, not wanting to look at the speaker, afraid of breaking the spell of warmth and comfort surrounding her. A soothing hand ran down her hair, the bed sinking slightly as the speaker joined her.
"My poor daughter, my poor child… I wish I could comfort you, I wish this was not the path you must tread, but I cannot lie to you, my precious daughter." A cool hand cupped Relena's chin, slowly forcing the girl to look up until the Dawn's eyes met the shining gaze of the Mother.
"Mama…" Relena reached one shaking hand toward the familiar face then suddenly she jerked it back, as if scorched. "You're not my mother…"
"I am your Mother. I am the only Mother. The Mother of all and nothing… My daughter. My one true daughter." Golden arms enveloped the Dawn, as She poured her love over Relena. The Dawn was tense within the embrace of familiar, yet deceitful arms. She turned her face away from the Goddess, her eyes open and narrowed even through the tears.
"You abandoned me. You used me. Why have you done this to me! I was loyal! I followed you blindly, happily through all the lies! You lied to me! To us!"
Immortal eyes narrowed dangerously, the warm hands suddenly strong and cold against the Dawn's flesh, as She pushed the Dawn away from her. The face of Relena's dead mother no longer looked out at her, it had been replaced by an immortal face, a face of carved marble and ice with fire raging within inhuman eyes. "How DARE you. You have no idea what We have suffered, what We fight to keep you and yours safe. We have given all for Our Children and you would dare to question the small burden placed upon yourself. You dare to cower from the path We have fought for so long. We have given all just so yours could have the choice of a path.
Who would you have to take your place, Dawnling? Who would you choose to bear your cross? Who would you allow to bear your suffering because of your own cowardice! What daughter have I created that you would so blatantly deny so many their lives after all We have done?"
She paused, watching as the girl cowered before her. Blood-red hands clutched at burning, bleeding ears—the power of the Mother too much for the mortal form, as the girl sobbed and trembled in fear and agony. The power of a Dawn was nothing when compared to the source of all Dawn power…
"I can't continue! I am so lost, I don't know what to do anymore!" The Dawn's voice was small and scared, as she yelled—tears streaming down her face as she met the Mother's gaze. "I don't know what you want from me!"
Something softened within the Goddess and She sighed. "Perhaps I chose wrong… Perhaps you are not the daughter I sought… Then who, Relena? Who shall be My Vessel, My Warrior? Who shall it be? If you want to be free of My Will then so be it, but you must choose."
"Choose what?"
"My Vessel, My Warrior, My True Daughter." A warm hand cupped the Dawn's face, "You must choose who shall replace you, who shall bear your cross. You must choose the one that will accept your burden, your pain."
Relena's eyes widened, her mouth opening in a horrified gasp. She jerked away from the Mother, clawing at the floor, as she scuttled backwards. "You… No… You can't be serious!"
"Why not? If you are so willing to give up your destiny, your true place in this world, then I will grant you your one wish. Choose your replacement, Relena, and I will grant them your life, the pain and suffering you would bear will be given to them. You shall be free. You merely have to choose."
Horrified, Relena shook her head back and forth, as if trying to shake away the words she'd heard. But no matter how hard she tried the Goddess remained and her promise lingered in the air, its scent burning Relena's mortal senses, as she struggled to find some sort of understanding. Her hair hung around her features, a thin shield to the immortal's all too knowing gaze.
"How… How could I knowingly inflict that on someone else…" Her eyes fell on her blood-red hands and she slowly raised her fingers closer. Not a touch of white… Not a touch of the color they'd once been… But if she merely pointed, it could all be gone… These hands would belong to someone else…
She'd be free.
Relena hugged her hands to her chest, her eyes squeezed painfully shut… Imagining a world…. A world where she could be just another woman, just another human… A normal life where her hands were white and not stained with blood…
"No."
A world that could never belong to her…
She blinked, tilting her head in a parody of human confusion. "No?"
"I can't do that… I won't do that." Relena slowly opened her eyes, meeting the Mother's gaze. "No."
"But why? You could have everything, your freedom… So, why?"
Relena looked away, "I'm just a mortal… I'm just me, even though everyone else would have me think otherwise… A choice like that, a choice of destiny… It's not for me to decide such a thing. I could never force my suffering knowingly on some poor girl just because I envy her life…Such decisions should be left in the hands of the gods, of fate… Not my stained hands…" She raised her red hands toward the Goddess, "I did this. Not you or Him—not even the Moon, I did this. I killed a man… I deserve this life… I took the first steps down this path and someone else shouldn't be forced to find its end."
There was silence, as Relena lowered her hands, her eyes hooded and pained… But determined… And lost…
Sadness flicked across the immortal face, as She watched her daughter. "Relena… My Daughter, My Vessel…" Warm hands cupped Relena's face, lifting her gaze to the sky. "You are My Warrior and you will face much and suffer much, but I promise this—you will feel love and joy, as well. The greater the pain one must suffer, the greater the joy in the end. You are strong and great." One immortal hand lowered, gently stroking the gold metal that still surrounded the Dawn's throat. "A gift. A curse. I fear that will be the way of life you must live till the path has ended… But through it all, you must remember that I am here and that I love you."
Gentle lips caressed Relena's forehead and warmth coursed through the young Dawn, filling her until she felt she would overflow with the Goddess's love. All pain and doubt disappeared, leaving only peace…
Relena basked in the warmth, her eyes closed as her body seemed to float within the golden light… She did not see the flash of surprise within the Mother's eyes, as the Goddess's power touched something within the girl…. Something dark… Empty… Lost…
Something torn away.
The Goddess pulled away from the girl, her immortal eyes filled with emotion…
"My Daughter… My True Daughter…" And so filled with wonder, Relena did not hear the hesitance now placed upon the words…
The earth glimmered in the moonlight, snow shining innocently and pristine. No one would ever have guessed of the horrors this ground had seen only days ago, no one would guess that under all that snowy whiteness laid the ruins of a once prosper village. Only the strongest structures remained, a roof here a wall there just enough to scrounge up a barely standing shelter from the storm.
Trowa didn't mind the harsh surroundings; he had survived worse. Any ways, the misshapen shelter Catherine and he had managed to contrive blocked the wind and allowed for a small fire. They would survive the storm… Even now, the flakes were beginning to lessen, the wind a mere whisper instead of the harsh gale that had threatened them only days ago.
After their somewhat emotional arrival to the deserted village remains, Trowa had barely accepted the reality of what had happened to these people before winter had hit with astounding ferocity. Winter had been slow to approach this season, but had made up for it with a violence rarely seen in these parts. He knew there would be casualties of the storm, the Dawn Lands were used to temperate seasons… Perhaps even the weather raged against them now…
He sighed, his back turned toward the two women he had somehow gained responsibility of—to be honest, it was hard to imagine a life that didn't include them, so much had occurred only in a matter of weeks. Midii remained silent since her eerily prophetic words, her eyes once again turned inward toward a world only she could possibly understand. She barely regarded him, as he handed out rations or stoked the fire. Instead, she sat, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, eyes hooded with a pain and suffering that even he couldn't understand. He worried about her, but knew he wasn't qualified to help her… But someone would have to try and soon or else the former spy would be lost forever.
Catherine, his sister… Trowa shifted against the open wooden doorway, the wind blowing gently against his skin. It was hard to comprehend the fact that he had a sister. So many years of his life stolen away in seconds, replaced with false memories that were so much easier to understand than the love and joy he had once experienced in his mother's home. He could recall the face of a girl, young and vibrant and sweet, someone he would have done anything for and now… So many years had passed since those days, that face had changed in so many ways, and he hadn't been there for any of it. He didn't know this woman… He did not even understand the notion of a sister. All he knew was that a long time ago, a young girl had tended his wounds and treated him with kindness and love and that was enough for his protection and care.
But just like the spy, he did not know what to do for Catherine either. She had also withdrawn into herself, holding onto the sad, little doll she had found upon their arrival. Occasionally, she spoke of the weather or of some other miscellaneous topic, but other than that, she sat in silence. At times, the only thing she seemed aware of was the doll she held. He wondered about that, wondered what exactly she saw when she stared into the doll's frozen expression. It was obvious that something had happened, something mystical that he could not truly understand no matter her explanations. The visions Catherine suffered worried him. Would she be able to control the power forced upon her or would she meet the same end as their predecessor?
He didn't know. He just didn't know the answers to anything anymore… The life he'd lived before—half lies and half truths… What of Quatre? His brother, his friend… Did he live? Did Trowa even wish he lived when madness had lurked so close to the bard before his departure?
"Trowa… You'll catch a cold standing there." Catherine's voice was soft, some undecipherable emotion darkening her gaze as she watched her brother. He didn't turn toward her and her hand tightened around the doll. Did she mean anything to him? Didn't he understand how much she cared?
"You ought to be asleep, Catherine. We won't be able to stay here for much longer." His voice was quiet and gentle, but Trowa's emerald gaze focused on the forest outside. He didn't trust the area, the Moon's men had attacked here once and were bound to return if only to retrace their steps.
She stood, inching forward on bruised and tired feet. Finally, standing side by side the two stared out into the night. Slowly, Catherine turned to face him, her eyes taking in his profile. "You have mother's nose… and hair…" One delicate hand reached out and brushed aside a lock of brown hair. As suddenly as her hand rose, it fell to her side. "I wish… I wish she was here to see you."
Irrational anger began to seethe within him and he turned on her, "And what of my father? Do I have his chin? His eyes? What about you, Catherine? What parts of you are from a man you never knew?" He ignored the shock and pain glimmering with her gaze, he was so tired of being in control—so tired of always protecting someone, never worrying for himself. And he was tired of the way she looked at him, as if he'd betrayed something sacred. "Don't pity me, Catherine. I'm not who you want me to be. I'm just a man, Cathie. I'm not this figure you've built up in your head."
"I…I…" Tears were streaming down her face, a hand reaching out for him, "I didn't mean anything, Trowa! I just… You have to understand! You're all I have left! You're the only one that remembers what we once were!"
Trowa pulled away from her, jabbing a finger in the direction of Midii, "She remembers. She knows. And you know that. She's more alone than you'll ever be, Catherine!" His voice was beginning to rise and he struggled to control it. This was not the time for shouting…
Catherine, however, did not seem to agree with him because her voice continued to rise with every word. "Her? Her? She knows nothing about me, about us! How can you feel anything for her after everything she's done? She took you away! She's the reason you've suffered! Every punishment, every harsh word, every lash you ever suffered was because of her! She deserves to be alone! She deserves to be dead!"
"Stop it, Catherine!" He grabbed her shoulders, pulling her back before she could turn her on the silent spy. "Anything I suffered was brought about by the cruelty of others, not her. Why can't you see? She was protecting you! I would've done the same thing had I known!"
"You don't understand! I—oof!" Catherine's eyes widened, as Trowa pulled her forward, covering her mouth with a calloused hand. His eyes had narrowed, looking out toward the woods once again. She didn't struggle against him, but tried to catch his gaze. What was it? What had he seen?
"Shhh…" His breath rustled her hair, "Something's out there. Stay here." With that, he released her, taking a step toward the open doorway. He was out of hand's reach within seconds, leaving her open-mouthed and grasping empty air. Frightened, she gripped the doorway and watched as her brother edged soundlessly toward the woods.
"Oh, Trowa… Be careful…"
He knew the sound he'd heard was most likely a forest animal scrounging for food or warmth, but one could never be too careful when traveling through a war-torn country. Years of training allowed him to tread lightly upon the snow, entering the dark forest warily. He had no weapon, so his only hope was to sneak up on them---if anybody was out there…
Nearby something shuffled forward, landing hard against a tree, and he twisted around, watching as a pile of snow fell to the ground. He inched forward cautiously, then stiffened as a moan reached his ears. The snow shifted urgently and he stood still as a form crawled across the ground, reaching out toward a snow-covered lump. "No… Hey…" A hoarse whisper seemed to echo through the cold air, as the figure struggled to shake the lump. "Get up… Please…Help…" A harsh, wheezing cough shook the figure, sapping the little strength they seemed to hold, and Trowa watched as the figure collapsed. One arm wrapped around their stomach, the coughs increasing with every breath the person struggled to take in. "Someone… Please, help…"
The coughing finally stopped and he suspected the figure must have lost consciousness. He waited a few minutes then slowly stepped forward until he loomed over the fallen figures. At first, he only saw two figures---the coughing woman was sprawled against someone, but a few minutes of scouting revealed a third lying prone only a few feet away.
Trowa sighed, he knew the smart and safe solution would be to leave the three out here. They could be dangerous for all he knew and he could barely make out their facial features in the sparse light. But… He signed again then slowly crouched down, gently lifting the woman. One day, his conscience was going to get them all into trouble. He just prayed it wouldn't be today.
Treize Khushrenada had become Count at an extremely young age, nearly the same age as Duo was now. The Count's family was an old lineage with blood ties to nearly every aristocratic line in the court, including both Duo's and Dermail's. He was a distant cousin of Duo's, somehow related through an ancient marriage that Duo neither remembered nor cared about. In truth, family relations would not help Duo's case, as the Count was more closely related to Dermail. Treize's mother, long deceased, had been Dermail's second child from a third marriage.
Fortunately, Treize had never put much importance in family ties. Duo secretly wondered if it had anything to do with the Count's mother, who had relinquished all ties to her own family after her marriage to Treize's father. Whatever the reasons, Treize had managed to build his prestige through hard-work and his own intelligence. In many ways, he was more dangerous than the older nobles who followed the ancient traditions. Treize's young blood called for new traditions and new paths…
And he controlled the army…
While most young nobles were expected to train with the cavalry, few actually remained. The main army consisted of commoners, men and women whose sole livelihood lied with fighting. Occasionally, a noble would continue their training to attain a ranking of higher prestige, as Une and Solo had both decided upon. Treize had also seen the army as the true backbone of the Elysian Empire and had taken it upon himself to gain its respect and trust. By starting at the lowest of ranks, the Count had managed to work himself up to the highest.
Duo's mind supplied all the details as he calmly watched the Count enter the chamber. Dark blue velvet and gold roping adorned the man's clothing, his always-present cape flaring out behind him. His beloved rapier, Epyon, hung at his side, its hilt of midnight black onyx seeming to absorb the light. His tall black boots clicked against the marble floor, as he faced Duo.
For a second, there was a pause as the two men stared at each other, violet meeting blue…
"Your Highness." Treize inclined his head just slightly, his eyes never leaving Duo's.
"Count Khushrenada… Sit, please."
"I'd rather stand, if it pleases, your highness." Treize smiled slightly, his stance cool and confidant.
Duo resisted the urge to glare at the older man, "It's your legs." The braided Elysian leaned against the table, growing more and more agitated with every passing second. He knew what was expected of him, the twisting of words and meanings---hinting at what he wanted, dancing around the true agenda, but suddenly he was tired of it all. "You wanted to see me?"
"Have you visited your father's tomb?"
Out of all the things Duo had expected the Count to bring up his father's death had not even been on the list. He could feel his body tense and he knew the color was bleeding out of his eyes, the shine of silver growing with every passing second. "My father's tomb… No, I haven't had the chance to see him, yet. After the preparations, I was planning to visit with him." Grief, regret, despair---it loomed too close to the surface, yet Duo refused to release the emotions. There would be time for proper mourning after his coronation, after the Dawn war, after…after… Always after…
"Were you wishing to attend the mourning with me, Count? You were close to my father." Duo's voice remained calm and even, no matter how his eyes may betray him, he would not allow his voice and stance to do the same.
Treize was silent, instead watching the soon-to-be King closely. Finally, he nodded once. "Your father was a great man. He understood what was needed from him to be a great King." Those elegant lips quirked upward, "If his son holds even an ounce of his greatness, then our country is very fortunate."
Duo hid his surprise at the man's words, instead nodding slightly. "I can only hope the gods have seen fit to grant me such wealth of self."
"Yes… The gods…" Treize placed a hand on his hilt, "I'm afraid you'll have to forgive me, your highness, but I wanted to speak to you about an issue of importance. It seems the gods have placed a great responsibility on you, perhaps even greater than the kingship."
Duo pushed away from the table, slowly walking around its length. His eyes traced faint lines embedded within the table's surface, "You've spoken with Une." It wasn't a question and Treize didn't answer. Something sparked within the elysian's gaze and Duo looked up, meeting the Count's gaze with a fierceness rarely seen. "The gods' influence on the world has been growing over the centuries and now plans they set into motion are falling into place. We all knew this day would come, the heavens could not remain split. I don't know why I was chosen, but I do know that not even Elysians have the right to question the will of the gods."
"The will of the gods…" A smirk danced around the Count's lips, "You have sworn your people to a human cause, no god forced you. Whose will was that, but your own?"
"In times like these, can we truly say we control our own will? Aren't we all merely pawns of the gods?" The last was more of a whisper to himself, an intense look of concentration composing the Elysian Prince's features. "I know my will, my wants… I do not want a war, I do not want death or pain or loneliness. I do not want my people to hate me or to suffer because of me. Yet…" One gloved hand gripped the back of a chair, "But I know… I know there is no other path. We can refuse to help the Dawn, we can refuse to help place our Father back to his rightful place. The gods' themselves gifted us with the ability to decide, but in the end… Should we go against the gods, we will suffer the consequences…"
Treize looked away, his eyes seeking some distant, unknown sight, "It is easy to blame our decisions on the gods, but harder to accept the consequences of those decisions. You can give them all the words you want of gods, but in the end it will be your face they put to their actions, your will."
Pain and anger flashed across Duo's face and his grip tightened, "Do you think I do not realize that? My throne is in danger and, yet, I must convince these people to fight for a cause they will not see as their own! I know this is the right decision, I know there is more to the humans' war than meets the eye! I know this is the gods' will!" He barely registered the sound of his fist coming down upon the table, his eyes blazing as he met the Count's gaze.
"Well, then…" Treize smiled, his face pleasant and revealing nothing to the prince. "I'm afraid it is time for the council to meet, I can hear Dermail's voice even from here." At this, Duo blinked and realized he could also hear the distinct bellowing of the Lord coming down the hall, closer with every step.
"Yes… I suppose it is time…"
There was a pause, as the two stared at each other… Neither moved, not even when Berin entered the room, looking quite uneasily at the two nobles. "The Council members are here, your majesty."
"Send them in, Berin."
Berin nodded and with a bow quickly exited the room, leaving them alone once more. Outside they could hear the other members talking, the door inching open once again to let them in…
"Time to face the hyenas," Treize moved around till he stood behind his assigned seat, "my liege."
Duo's eyes widened, but the door opened before he could say a word.
The meeting had truly begun.
Alone. Alone in the darkness with only the rats and shadows to keep her company. Sylvia wasn't sure if their presence was worse or better than the dead web-seer's. Perhaps, it was equal… She sighed, curled up on her side, as she watched the tiny rodents gnaw on moldy bread—her rations for the day. One hand reached out weakly, inches from the creatures, but it eventually fell to the floor. She was so tired… And her body felt numb and heavy, she knew she was bleeding but the effort to care was beyond her by this point.
He knew… He knew who she was… It was only a matter of time before he informed the Moon and then…
She would die. The Moon would realize his mistake and he would execute her, right after sending out his men to find Pluto and the Cup. He would find her and the Cup and then all would be lost… The kingdom would fall, the Dawn would die, and her sacrifice would mean nothing.
She was going to die… It wasn't as if she hadn't realized that probability already. After all, it had only been a matter of time before the Moon tired of her and decided to kill her… Truly, death was not the problem… It was the utter hopelessness of her situation, the uselessness of all her lies and masquerading that bothered her…
That and the fact she was seeing spots…
Sylvia bit back a moan, blinking rapidly as she tried to clear her vision. If this continued, she would be dead before that man revealed her secret. Ever since the Moon had managed to rip her magick from her and the other Galaxy members, she'd felt sick and weak… Empty in a way she'd never felt in her entire life… Dimly, she realized she was lucky he hadn't killed her and the others during the spell, the man had to have a great deal of restraint and power. However, those thoughts hid behind a haze. She was tired. She was lost…
"Oh, mistress…"
Sylvia moaned, as water spilled across her chapped lips, dribbling down her chin. She tried to open her eyes, but her lids felt heavy, glued shut by grit and tears. She vaguely felt something wet and soft run across her temple, then against her face. Someone gently began to clean off the months of dirt and sweat, till very slowly Sylvia was able to blink open her eyes. The air seemed cloudy and she had to squint to make out the vague form of a person hovering over her.
"What…?"
"Shhh… Don't speak. Here." Once again cold water spilled into Sylvia's dry mouth, a hand holding her head up as she swallowed the precious fluid.
"We must hurry." A second voice, stronger than the soft whisperer that helped her drink, spoke from the shadows. Someone moved at her left and Sylvia could make out a tall figure standing beside her, a sword dulled by the stain of blood in his or her hands.
"She's weak… I do not think she can stand." A warm hand smoothed away dirty, greasy locks of hair, and Sylvia strained to see who her strange rescuers were.
The blood stained sword disappeared into its sheath with a quiet whish, then suddenly the tall stranger kneeled, strong hands sliding underneath Sylvia's weak body. "She won't need to stand, then. Come, we have to hurry. Someone will notice the guards soon." Sylvia let out a quiet gasp, as her body lifted from the cold floor.
"Yes… This way, this way…" The whisperer stood, hunching in upon itself, as she led them out of the cell.
"Who… Who?" Her voice was a hoarse whisper, as she made out a black hood hiding all, but a single lock of dark hair.
"Silence, dear representative… You have done your duty, now let me do mine…" As they ducked and weaved down dank tunnels, Sylvia finally relinquished her hold on consciousness… She would get her answers eventually, for now she would rest… As her eyes drifted close, her rescuer looked down once more upon her---lines of pain and suffering etched along her eyes and mouth, lines unsuited for such a young woman…
"Oh, Zechs… What have you done?"
Rosaline found her sitting quietly on the bed, staring at her hands. Relena had looked up at her entrance and for a second the chaos witch felt frozen by the girl's stare. Those cerulean blue eyes were too old, too wise for such a young girl—they glittered with a power unlike any the witch had ever seen, an ancient power that flickered like blue flames within her gaze. Then the girl stood, breaking the spell and Rosaline shook her head, trying to clear away the strange daze that'd taken over her.
"I suppose I should get this over with." Relena ran a red hand down her skirt, smoothing out invisible wrinkles, before meeting Rosaline's eyes once more. The power still resided within those brilliant orbs, but it seemed to lay behind a veil now—seen, but not truly felt. "I'm ready."
The chaos witch nodded once before turning away, holding the door open for the Dawn, "Follow me, they're waiting for us."
At the door's edge, Relena hesitated, feeling the warmth of the sun against her flesh and the chill of the wind after so many days isolated away, left her feeling vulnerable. She didn't remember the trees being so bare or the wind so cold, above her the clouds seemed more gray than white. She knew they were deep in the woods, months away from the Dawn Lands where it would be wet with mud and snow. Here, she didn't know what the weather would hold in store—from the looks of the slowly melting snow only inches away she suspected the worse may have already hit.
With a sign, she gently stepped down, her feet touching the ground for the first time in days. Ahead of her, Rosaline waited patiently, while merely feet away Relena could see that a large crowd had gathered. Many of the freemen had turned, watching her as she stepped closer and closer to them. Once she reached the outer edge, they began to move aside, allowing her to reach the center of the mass. The eyes watching her were unfamiliar—some cold and distrustful, others merely curious… But none of them mattered nearly as much as the row of men and women sitting before her.
There were eight of them sitting upon carved wooden chairs, and it took her a second to realize the chairs were actually tree stumps firmly lodged in the earth. She was beginning to think she had managed to find the freemen's main encampment. Her mother had always been searching for it, the place where they disappeared during the winter months—their more permanent home… Months ago she would have taken this information and ran to her mother with it, thinking nothing of its destruction… Months ago…
But that had all changed; she had changed… Now, she would have to convince these strangers of that fact.
They were arranged in a semi-circle, four women and four men, all at least over forty. One of the women smiled at her, a warm motherly smile that emanated from a plump, pleasant face. Relena tried to smile back, but a tinge of fear was beginning to work its way up her spine. The bard's collar still enwrapped her throat, if worse came to worse she would not be able to use her powers. As she continued down the line she felt the fear begin to grow more and more, there were no more smiles to be found on these other faces'.
"State your name and business before the Assembly." The speaker was a man, he sat near the middle and appeared to be the oldest male within the Assembly. His eyes were dark and unreadable, his face lined with age—briefly she wondered if the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth were from smiling… She hoped so.
"My name is Relena Peacecraft and I approach you in hopes of acceptance…" Relena paused, "Please, I thank you for all you have done for me, but my people need me." She took a step forward, motioning with her hands, "The lands--." Relena gasped, as a blade suddenly swung down toward her, a guard she hadn't noticed earlier inches away. The blade stood only a hair's breadth from her, held back by a simple short sword.
"You…"
Heero didn't respond, instead continuing to push aside the guard's weapon, his eyes harsh and cold. Relena had noted his absence and had thought he still too angry with her to come… But she should've known he was in the shadows, watching for any sign of danger toward his precious cure… Whatever the reason, she was suddenly very glad to see the black-clad man standing before her, still so eager to protect her even when he was so sorely outnumbered.
And like that, the fear within her faded.
"Stop this nonsense!"
The voice was sharp and commanding, issued forth from the most ancient looking Assembly member. White hair cascaded down a plainly cloaked form, her face stern and serious, her eyes flashing with anger. Instantly the guard lowered his sword, looking sheepishly at the ground. "She was coming closer with those hands… I thought she was casting a spell…"
"Idiot. If you cannot even decipher when a person is merely speaking and when they are casting then perhaps you are not suited for this line of work, Tomas." Like a whip, each word seemed to crack through the air, making the man wince every time a syllable punctured the silence.
"Truly, I cannot blame him." Relena gently placed a hand on Heero's arm, pushing his unsheathed sword down. "With hands like these…" A gentle, self-deprecating smile dawned across her features, as she raised one red palm to the Assembly. "I know people fear this, after all we all know what it means… I have never dared to deem myself perfect… I have lived a life dictated by teachings I never bothered to question…"
She looked up, meeting their eyes one by one, "I am guilty of ignorance. That is my crime and it has affected so many people. I cannot say how sorry I am for never having questioned those ideals, for believing in false morals."
There was a pause, her next words would not be accepted well… But it had to be said… For her people and her lands.
"But you will not judge me." An outraged gasp went up through the crowd, angry voices whispering as her words seemed to echo through the clearing. "I know you have all suffered because of the Dawn, but I am not that Dawn. My rule should not be held accountable for previous rulers' actions. I understand the wrongs we have committed upon you and men. I understand we have lost sight of the Father and owe Him penance for all our wrongs…
But I am the Dawn and I will not bow or beg before any Assembly. Especially one that does not give me the proper addressing I deserve. You have my respect as a foreign government, but I am afraid you have no right to judge me. You have thrown aside your ties to the Dawn Lands and only my people have the right to judge my actions."
Around her the voices began to grow, accusations and angry words thrown into the air as her words reached their ears. Beside her Heero tensed, his sword held steadily in his hand, as he watched the crowd with suspicious eyes. Relena did not move nor did she glance toward the crowd, instead her eyes remained locked on the Assembly, meeting their gazes evenly. Her eyes held no disrespect, but there was a strength there… One that spoke of power that should be acknowledged.
"Silence!" One of the members pounded a heavy cane against the side of his chair, slowly gaining the attention of the freemen. Only the sound of breathing could be heard, as Relena awaited their answer. Instead, the eight stood, turning away from her and the others… Quiet whispers and gestures were all she could make out, as the eight gathered---speaking in low tones that the crowd strained to hear.
It took only minutes for them to turn, aligning themselves before her once again. The eldest woman slowly walked forward, her steps strong and sure despite her age. She didn't stop till she stood before Relena, her cold, blue eyes burning into the Dawn's. "Well, girl… You are either very brave or very stupid."
Relena could not help quite stiffening at the remark and the woman smirked. "Gods willing it be the former or else the Dawn Lands are truly damned."
With that she turned her hard gaze on the crowd, "By Order of the Assembly of Freemen, we decree this woman be accepted within our fold. She is to be acknowledged as the true ruler of the Dawn Lands and is under the protection of the Assembly." At this, her eyes narrowed, "Should anyone disagree, our judgment shall be swift…"
Relena could hear her heart beating within her chest, loud and desperate. No matter what the Assembly might order, her and Heero's fate lied more in the crowd around them… Crowds could quickly turn into dangerous mobs.
There was a pause after the announcement and Relena fought the urge to squeeze her eyes shut…
"HUZZAH!"
Relena's eyes widened, as the crowd suddenly swarmed forward with a great cry. She barely had a change to blink before she found herself surrounded by people. Girls around her age grabbed her arms, giggling and introducing themselves with rapid speed. Somewhere loud, jubilant music began to fill the air—it was like a festival had suddenly sprung from the earth. People smiled and clapped her on the back, names were shouted along with congratulations, and through it all Relena watched, wide-eyed and confused.
"I… I don't understand… What…"
"You're one of ours now, girl. A daughter of sun and moon, a follower of freedom." The old woman shoved one of the girls away, glaring at the affronted teenager. "No respect for decorum… Any excuse for a celebration… Foolish brats." She smiled slightly, batting another girl away from the stunned Dawn. "I don't think your companion appreciates their efforts to welcome you." Her gray head motioned toward where Heero stood, several young children surrounding him. A small boy was tugging on the Panther's sheath, earning him a growl and slap on the hand.
"Kitty!" A young girl had wrapped her arms around his left leg, refusing to let go even as he tried to shake the offending body off.
"Oh, my…" A giggle escaped from Relena's lips and she raised a hand to block more laughter. A feeling began to swell with her chest, warm and hazy—happiness… It had been so long since she'd felt such an overwhelming joy—no guilt, no regret, no despair, just pure happiness. These people accepted her, they wanted her… She was safe and understood…
"Oh, Mother… Thank you, thank you!" With a sob, Relena threw her arms around the old woman, sobbing into her shoulder. "Thank you so much!"
Crystalline eyes softened, as ancient hands rubbed soothing circles on the girl's back. "Hush, girl…" She gently pushed Relena away, holding her by the shoulders. "You have been through much, this is obvious… And soon you must tell us of the Court and Moon… But, for now, enjoy these moments and know that despite our differences with the former Dawns, we have always been Dawn citizens in our hearts… You are the Queen we have prayed for all our lives, it is we that should thank you."
Then she released Relena, pushing her toward the clamoring teenagers awaiting the Dawn's attention, "But tonight, be merely a young woman and enjoy this respite that you have well earned."
"But, wait! Your name, at least!"
A wizened smile crossed the woman's lips, "They call me Agatha, though I was once know by another name." She smirked, "Perhaps I will tell you some other time. Now, go, girl!" And she was gone, disappearing within the celebrating crowd, leaving a confused Relena behind.
"Are you really the Dawn?" The voice snapped her out of her confusion and Relena turned, facing three women who watched her with open curiosity. The shortest girl blushed, as the other two began reprimanding her for the question. Their voices echoing each other with, "Of course, she is!" and "You don't ask questions like that!"
A sweet smile stretched across Relena's lips, "Oh, I don't mind… And yes, I suppose I am the Dawn… A Dawn without a country, at the moment." Despite the smile on her face, the three girls flinched slightly at her words as if hearing the underlying pain behind them. "But, please, call me Relena."
"Miss Relena!" The three chorused and a slight twitch formed above Relena's left brow, then one of the girls—a tall brunette with green eyes—grabbed her arm, pulling her closer. "My name's Rachel, I can introduce you to everyone!"
"Oh, well…Uh…" Relena gasped, as her other arm was stolen by another one of the girl's… Just what exactly had she gotten herself into?
"What you're proposing is ludicrous!" Dermail slammed his hands against the table, standing as he quivered with rage. "But what else should I expect from such common blood?"
"I do hope you are not referring to my mother, Duke Dermail." Duo remained seated, his violet eyes flashing dangerously as he watched the Duke. "Otherwise, such words could call for a duel and I know we both wouldn't want that."
Dermail smirked, "Of course, I would never insult our late beloved Queen." Slowly he sat down, his eyes suspicious and angry, "I do question the loyalty of the crown, though. The King is a protector of the Elysian race, first and foremost. Human affairs should be left to the humans."
A mumble of agreement could be heard around the table and Duo frowned, "Of course, the duty of a king is to protect his people and that is exactly what I am proposing. The humans cannot be left alone in this situation—if the Moon is not stopped and the rightful ruler put back in power, then the Dawn Lands will crumble." Silver flared within his gaze, as Dermail scoffed, interrupting him with a spiteful glare.
"The Dawn Lands, phft… Human lands, human rulers. Human nations have fallen before and, yet, our race has remained. Our success does not lie in the wealth of human hands! Our history is full of records of the humans and their petty wars and we have remained neutral through them all! Why should we interfere now?"
"Neutral?" Duo raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. "Well, now… Neutral… I'm afraid our dear Duke has forgotten the great history of the Elysian Race. We once fought alongside the humans, once both races followed the orders of the Immortals, and you dare to ignore that history… Our race exists for the pleasure of the Gods, in that respect we are no different from the humans. This war is a call to ancient times, to past traditions!"
Duo stood, his hands flat against the table's surface as he met their gazes. "Have we forgotten what we once were? We are warriors! We were created for the sole purpose of war, the Gods decreed it so, and yet now when their will so clear calls for us to pick up shield and sword instead we sit here, bickering among ourselves! What has become of the great Elysian Race that once conquered land, sea, and air! We have grown lazy and ignorant, just like our human brethren… Do you honestly believe that the Gods will forgive us for ignoring the plight of the humans? Do you think the Father will look the other way when we refuse to help bring him to power once again? Do you think the Mother will praise us when we do not help her Daughter? We will be cursed if we do not help the Dawn!"
"Peace, your highness…" Treize's smooth baritone broke the silence that had begun to surround the assembly, their eyes riveted to the figure still standing so regally before them. "Your words hold truth within them, but we need proof. Our men will not fight for a battle they cannot believe in—they will need more than elegant words."
Duo slowly sat back down, leaning into his chair, as he absorbed the Count's words.
"Deciphering the Immortals' wills rarely allows for a clear cut right or wrong. I have told you of the Moon's plans, his growing insanity, of the Reborn Dawn's desire to bring back the Father's rule---things that I believed to be proof enough of the growing danger to our own way of life. If that is not enough then I can only ask you to look toward your own sense of faith."
"All you have given us is tales of the human's suffering! Nothing that affects us, nothing to support the deaths and suffering of our own race! You have deserted your own people for these inferior beings!" Tsubarov, Dermail's faithful henchman, screeching voice crackled through the air---causing Duo to stiffen, hand tightening in search of his scythe, not finding its comforting weight his fingers closed in—nails sinking into his flesh.
"I have never forgotten my people, my home." His words came out in a deadly calm voice, seeming to coat the air in a suffocating presence of restrained power—the room seemed to pulse, flashes of red staining his vision. The soul of the room wasn't reacting well to the anger surrounding the Council.
Dermail smiled, his face twisting into something sickly and cunning, "I'm sure your father would agree, of course. After all, you were such an attendant son."
Other members were speaking now, shaking their heads at the Duke as his cruel barb echoed around the room. Uneasy glances were traded back and forth, as they watched their young ruler---watching as amethyst orbs were flooding in silver. The promise of blood lingering in the air, as Dermail's face grew splotchy with color—the repercussions for his words seeming to finally penetrate his hate-fogged mind. Only Treize seemed unaffected by the growing tension, watching them all with a calm, unconcerned air…
Slowly, Duo leaned forward, those inhuman eyes freezing the Duke in place. His voice was like ice, cool and frigid as he placed one hand gently against the table. "I'm sure my father would agree, Dermail." The distinct lack of title seemed to resonate, as he continued to speak. "However, if you question my loyalty toward the nation then perhaps this council would like to hear your reasoning…" He arched an eyebrow, "Well?"
His calm demeanor seemed to put the Duke at unease, but the man's overwhelming arrogance allowed him to stand. Purposefully, he sought out the gazes of his fellow councilmen, seeking their alliance… One by one, they dropped their gazes---unable to meet his own, unable to share the fate he was carving out for himself. Only three gazes would meet his—Tsubarov's shaky, cowardly locking with his—the other man knew no other way of life, but to follow the Duke… Then there was Duo's own silvery stare, something dangerous and feral lurking with the prince—something that called for the Duke's blood… And next... His only real hope in this situation, Treize---that steady and unreadable presence, that watched them all with a noble air.
"We're waiting, Dermail…"
Dermail ignored the underlying command and instead faced Treize, "Count Treize, you and I both know that the protection of our race is the most important duty of any leader. I only ask for the safety of the men and women we protect, that is all I ask of any ruler."
Treize smiled, all smooth elegance, "Of course, a ruler's main duty on this earth is for the overall well-being of his country." A crooked grin began to grown across Dermail's face, as he noticed the admiration flickering across the other members' faces. Seeming not to notice, the Count continued, "A ruler's concern is for the prolonged survival of his or her nation, even when his own subjects cannot understand his actions."
Duo's lips twitched, as he watched the color slowly drain from the Duke's face.
"It is a ruler's duty to see the future for his nation, to understand that the path of survival is laden with difficulties and trials for both himself and his subjects. That is a ruler's duty." The smile on Treize's face disappeared, as he leaned forward, eyes suddenly distant, "However, I believe the definition of a subject's duty to his king is what you should be investigating, Duke Dermail."
Betrayal and horror battled across Dermail's face, as he took a step back—then anger quickly masked everything, as he turned to Duo. One quivering finger stabbed in the still seated prince's direction, "You! YOU! You have poisoned this Council just like your conniving witch of a mother!"
There was a brilliant flash of light, blinding the Council, as the very room seemed to scream around them. Dermail blinked unsteadily, as slowly his vision returned---only to find himself at the wrong end of Duo's scythe. No one dared move, as power crackled around the young ruler like bolts of lightning---his face was pulled back in a snarl, the pupils of his eyes hidden beneath layers of silver till he looked alien and unearthly. Those deadly venomous nails dripped poison onto the floor, each drop emitting angry hisses. Duo's grip on his strange weapon was sure and steady, the blade pressed firmly against the Duke's throat.
"What do you think you're doing?" Tsubarov made as if to intervene, only to find his way blocked by Treize's immovable form. "T-t-treize!"
"I would advise you to remain where you are. I believe our liege has some business to take care of with the Duke." At the other man's stuttering, Treize calmly placed a hand on the hilt of his rapier causing Tsubarov to let out a strangled whine before falling limply into his chair.
Duo ignored the commotion, instead focusing his attention on the way Dermail's throat convulsed beneath his blade. "You know the rules of all Elysians, Dermail. I have every right to take your life and not one soul would stand against me. You have insulted my blood, my clan, and only a blood debt could suffice such an act."
No one dared to breathe as the scene unfolded before their eyes---a sort of predatory look lurked within the other council members' gazes. Despite outward appearances, the Elysians were by nature a blood-thirsty race… And as Duo's grip tightened, the jewel within its blade shining brighter with his intensity, anticipation seemed to fill the air.
"YOUR MAJESTY!" The doors flung open with a terrible sound, as Beryl burst into the room—blood dripping down a shallow cut across the man's forehead. However, the man faltered as he took in the situation, a look of unease flickering across his features as he took an unconscious step back—as if contemplating whether the danger behind him was safer after all…
With decided effort, Duo lowered the scythe, sending the Duke a dark look promising retribution in the future before turning his attention toward the servant. "What is going on?"
As if to answer him, a loud feminine scream—primal and enraged---suddenly pierced the air behind Beryl. Duo stumbled forward as the very room shook around them, powerful earth magick suddenly in effect nearby. Once the tremor subsided, Beryl released his hold on the door, "You should see for yourself, your majesty…"
With long, steady strides Duo led the way outside of the room, following closely behind the man-servant only to come to a stunned pause. The once elegant hall had been torn apart, the walls littered with spreading web-like cracks, where once precious wall-hangings hung there remained only burnt fabric. Even the floor lay shattered and broken, as if some giant hammer had come crashing down upon it. Beryl wasn't the only one harmed by the sudden disaster to befall the hallway—a few others seemed to be picking themselves up, nursing cuts and bruises. Fortunately, no one seemed in need of any real medical attention, allowing him to turn his focus further down the hall and on the cause of all the chaos.
Magick permeated the air, the stench of power nearly suffocating, as he moved closer to the blinding light emitting at the end of the hallway. It was a cyclone of magicks, twisting and clashing in the air with enough force to shake the floor beneath his feet. Like an orb of pure light it enclosed its users, allowing only flashes of color to be seen as magick clashed against magick---flashes of steely blue cut across his vision only to meet against waves of flaxen sorcery. Suddenly, the aura of magicks exploded outward---throwing debris across the small space, tearing into the floor like sand. The force would have knocked the ruler down had his scythe not materialized to slice through the onslaught. As it was, the sudden expel of power cleared the air, revealing two bleeding figures standing within the gale.
Long, blonde hair twisted in a man-made breeze, like angry snakes around an enraged, pale face. Blood flowed from a cut across one pale cheek, dripping onto the remnants of what had once been a royal garment—now tatters around her form. Eyes so familiar to him were like molten steel—flaring with unnatural power, the blue fading into steely gray. In her right hand, that cursed dagger gleamed with a darkish aura, its blade filled to the hilt with dark, red blood.
He didn't recognize the figure standing across from the sorceress, but from her clothes he guessed she was a courtier. The female Elysian seemed worse off than the sorceress---an ugly gash tore across her left arm from shoulder to elbow, while her other hand clutched at her side—more precious blood seeping between her fingertips. Despite the injuries, her powers remained strong, flowing around her with the intensity of life-long prejudices.
"Dorothy… DOROTHY!" Duo's voice tore through the wave of magicks and Dorothy jerked, her eyes darting toward him—he couldn't read the emotions flickering across her face, but they didn't bode well… The strange noble saw the opening and with a snap of her wrist, tendrils of that odd flaxen magick snapped toward the sorceress. Ropes of magick clutched at Dorothy, wrapping around her form, enclosing her arms tight against her sides.
Dorothy's eyes seemed to flare metallic, an aura of power pulsing around her—all angry swirls of blue and gray. Duo watched horrified, as the yellow bonds began to smolder, smoke wafting through the air. Sparks of blue fire danced around the bonds, burning through the magical ropes, showering the floor in piles of ash. The sorceress smirked, her left hand casually brushing away flecks of ash from her clothing. "Did you honestly believe that would work? When will you accept the fact that you're out of your league, Avila?"
That unnatural beauty all Elysians possessed twisted into something hateful and disturbing, as Avila hissed---her fangs bared in a motion of loathing. "You are nothing compared to me! NOTHING!" The very air seemed to tremble at the sudden energy emitted from the enraged elf, her eyes like burnt gold as she flung herself forward. Elysian magicks strained against a shield of elemental, as Dorothy threw her hands up—her face only inches from Avila's. Angrily Avila pressed harder against the shield, the elf's flaxen colored magicks burning brighter, silver curls dancing around her features like silver flames.
"STOP THIS!" Duo's shouts were lost in the whirlwind of magicks, even if they had heard he knew it would have changed nothing. He didn't know how Dorothy had managed to get herself in this situation, but he knew the only way out was for a winner to be decided… Somehow, the sorceress had induced a Scin'tywer, a Blood Duel, with the other Elysian… He had been a participant in many such duels during his younger years, but he had never witnessed one of such raw power. Despite the ferocious behavior lurking within every Elysian, there were still rules and laws dictating the methods in which a duel was conducted. It wasn't the first time such rules had been broken, but it was the first time he had ever seen a half-breed actually hold their own against a pure-blood Elysian… He imagined his own shock was probably mirrored on every face present.
Sweat beaded Dorothy's temple, her shield beginning to falter under the pure onslaught of Elysian power. Avila's maniacally grinning face leaned closer to her own, as tiny fissures began to travel across her shield. Dorothy gritted her teeth, her tight grip on the dagger painful to her cramping hand. She struggled to call fully on her elemental magicks, air coursing into her hands only to be batted away by Avila.
Something guttural and alien erupted from the courtier's throat, a strange war-cry in a language that spoke to Dorothy's soul. Avila pressed forward, deadly fingernails clawing at the shield, till it suddenly shattered---elemental magick rushing in all directions, the walls trembling with the intensity of so much Air unrestrained. The impact of its sudden eruption threw Dorothy backwards, her body slamming against the wall with a sickening thud.
Blood stained the wall where she hit, leaving a ghastly trail of red as she slid to the floor. Eyes, usually so focused and determined, now blinked dazedly around her---trying to make out Avila's stalking form through the pounding in her head. Vaguely, she thought she heard someone screaming her name and she closed her eyes, imagining the color of violet… And a braid of chestnut brown… She had liked his hair… She should've told him…
"You should never have come here, human." Avila's once sweet voice now grated against her ears, forcing her eyes open as tiny, impossibly strong hands enclosed around her throat. Dorothy narrowed her eyes at the inhuman face looming so close to her own, tiny dots dancing across her vision---her throat convulsing underneath the Elysian's hands. "Your kind doesn't belong here." Now, the words were angry hisses---those gleaming fangs catching Dorothy's fading attention…
Her body burned for air, but she had already suffered through so much pain…
"DOROTHY! STOP THIS! DOROTHY!"
Her name… The color of violet…
"Not even the King can save you now."
Daughter of Air…
She couldn't see Avila's sneering face any longer, those dancing black dots had overtaken her vision…
Daughter of Song …
Numb fingers opened listlessly, the blood dagger clattering against the floor.
Why do you falter? Why do you not listen to your blood?
She couldn't even feel Avila's hands against her flesh anymore…
Why do you not accept the magick within your soul?
She couldn't fight…
Scyth'llial, omnia farewnst aabrat!
Heat unfolded within the sorceress, slowly spreading through her veins like liquid lava. Smooth and gentle, it glided against her very being like satin till her skin burned with the intensity. Bolts of electricity sparked across her eyelids, the taste of honey coated her tongue, filling her mouth with the suffocating sweetness. It poured down her throat—heated honey filling her soul until she felt heavy and content. The scent of cinnamon wafted through the air, as her hands clenched and unclenched under the pressure exploding within her chest.
Something inside of her pulsed—power twining around the layers of warmth. The core of her being sang with every warm lap of honey that grazed against her magicks. Within her there had always lied a core—a pulsing glow of magicks that hid within her soul, that essence of being she called upon when her elements were required. Yet, now that core pulsed, surrounded in warmth and fire, the scent of cinnamon overpowering her senses as her head rolled back---the pressure of Avila's fingers a distant memory under this sudden onslaught of sensations.
It crackled along her soul, calling upon something she had never felt in her entire life. Then suddenly, something within her shattered---magicks spilling outward into that strange fire, releasing something ancient and powerful. Honey spilling outward till it filled her fingers and toes, magick pouring into every crevasse of her soul.
Her blood sang.
Unaware of the conflict within the sorceress, Avila continued to press against her throat. Her eyes wild with glee, as she felt the sorceress's life ebb away beneath her fingers—death looming across the girl's pale features, her body nearly limp in the Elysian's grasp. In seconds, the girl would be dead and Avila's honor restored… In mere seconds…
Avila gasped, as suddenly Dorothy's eyes snapped open. Blue-gray eyes, once so human, now shone silver—so bright and clear they mirrored the Elysian before her. Ethereal features settled into a fierce determination, an almost serene fury reverberating through the woman, as one delicate hand raised. Her fingers ran lightly across Avila's own, sparks of blue fire darting across the Elysian's flesh, running up her arm. Avila let out a painful cry, releasing the sorceress, as she held her burning arm to her chest. The acrid smell of burning flesh filled the air, as blue flames leapt from Avila's arm to rest within Dorothy's left hand.
"What are you doing?" Avila's eyes widened, horror replacing her anger, "Elysian magicks! How?"
Dorothy brought her hands together, those blue flames twisting and turning between her palms. The air around her crackled with energy, pulling at the crowd's hair and clothing yet Dorothy remained motionless—her hair hanging down her back, not a strand blowing out of place even as the air around her grew in intensity. "Scyth'llial…" The quiet whisper echoed around the room, seeming to build with every second that passed till Duo's ears ached with the sound.
"What is that human doing!" Dermail's voice, angry and horrified, sounded somewhere near the young prince and Duo turned, his eyes seeking out the Duke's form. The older man's face was red, a vein throbbing near his left eyebrow. "Someone stop her!"
Despite the Duke's frantic orders, no one moved—instead riveted by the sight of those strange blue flames lengthening outward within Dorothy's hands. At the sound of her voice, the flames brightened, almost appearing white before their eyes. A sound like thunder shook the hall, light pouring from the sorceress's hands. The feeling of gathering magick stormed their senses, then suddenly it stopped… The light fading, the blue flames dying before their eyes, as the sorceress's magicks suddenly calmed.
Dorothy remained standing, her eyes locked on Avila's form. The Elysian courtier's mouth opened and closed, her wide golden eyes never moving from the object Dorothy now held within her grasp. It seemed simple enough—a rapier of thin, silver metal, not unlike the swords Une and Solo had carried. Its only distinctive difference lied in the blue stone nestled in its hilt, a glittering jewel with an unearthly fire trapped within its surface.
"That's—how! Thief!" Avila's lips pulled back in an ugly snarl, "Y'rkwen asditryln!" Despite the foreign words, the meaning resonated clearly within the sorceress's ears—anger sparking in her gaze, as the Elysian continued to spout curses in her direction. Magick was gathering in Avila's hands, lashing out toward the blonde sorceress again.
Dorothy's eyes narrowed, then she moved—feet carrying her across the floor with an unnatural grace, twisting to the side as flaxen whips slashed through the air. The strange rapier tore through the air with a sound like plucked harp strings, splitting the Elysian's magick into useless sparks. With every slash of Dorothy's weapon, music reverberated through the hall—shaking the very foundation of the castle, as she seemed to dance across the cracked marble flooring. Closer and closer to Avila—determination and an almost sadistic humor painted across her features, as she watched the Elysian's panicky movements.
"NO!" Avila screamed, her back pressed against the wall, as the last of her shields disappeared under the rapier's onslaught. Metal pressed against the Elysian's white throat, Dorothy allowing a casual smirk to twitch at her lips. Something cold and cruel and amused lurked within the sorceress's gaze and the blade continued to sing its haunting tune… It sang of death and blood, of pain and torture.
A tremble stole through Avila, her eyes wide and hunted as she stared at the blade. "Scyth'llial… Mercy!"
The louder the blade sang, the more panicked the courtier became—it was a song of death, an Elysian song of punishment. It tore through the mind and clawed at the soul—burrowing deeper and deeper within until there was only hollowness. It would steal Avila's very sanity… Elysian magicks… Elysian power… The ability to see and touch the essence of every living creature—this is what Song had been created for and Elysians had turned it into a weapon centuries ago…
A terrible weapon…
Now, Dorothy held that weapon at Avila's throat, a strange type of madness flickering within the sorceress. "Mercy…" Dorothy arched an eyebrow, "Death is mercy, is it not?"
Avila's eyes widened, a bead of blood staining the tip of Dorothy's rapier…
"Only the gods can deliver mercy, Dorothy…"
Seemingly simple words, yet they wrapped around her soul—twining around her more powerfully than any spell. Dorothy turned her head slightly and fell—drowning in pools of violet… Somewhere within her chest, her heart began to beat again. Reality once again set in and the almost euphoric magicks of Song and Elysian Grace receded. The blade in her hands shimmered once then faded into nothing—leaving her hands warm and empty. Her body trembled before Duo's gaze, then suddenly she fell—ignoring the openly weeping Avila, as she kneeled. Her hair fell across her features, her eyes reverting back to a simple blue-gray—yet within her soul, she knew something irreversible had just occurred… Even now the strange magicks twisted within her, so close to the surface it would only take the barest of summons…
"Dorothy…" Hands reached for her, concerned filled eyes watching her every movement… And anger flared within the sorceress.
"Don't touch me!" She slapped Duo's hands away, glaring up at his stunned form. "Don't ever touch me." Dorothy stood, refusing to lean against the wall so temptingly close. Her right hand twitched and the blood dagger leapt from the floor, her fingers folding around its oddly comforting hilt. She turned from the prince, looking down on Avila once again. "If you ever attack me again, I will kill you." Avila offered no response, still shaking from her close encounter with death. The sorceress offered one last, condescending gaze across the hall—meeting the crowd's gaze openly and arrogantly. "So, this is the power of Elysians." She smirked, then she was gone—storming down the broken hall, as regally as any queen… Their shocked gazes watching her disappearing form…
"She summoned the Scyth'llial…" A murmur ran over the crowd, quickly silenced though as Dermail released an angry bellow—shoving servants and nobles alike out of his way.
"A human cannot summon Scyth'llial!" With another enraged yell, Dermail pushed his way through the crowd—heading in the opposite direction of Dorothy.
Treize watched him with cool amusement, "It would seem that General Aaron had quite the closet of skeletons. Wouldn't you say, your highness?"
Duo's eyes narrowed, "It would seem so…"