The Tragedy of Dearka and Miriallia

A Dearka-Miriallia Story

Chapter Five: The Plot Thickens

Miriallia was walking down a long, narrow corridor with high walls and frigid stone floors that made her toes ache with cold, even through the calf-skin shoes that she wore. The walls were covered in a never ending tapestry that was elegantly embroidered with grotesque scenes. Looking down, Miriallia saw that she was wearing an elaborate dress with a square neckline and a full skirt that looked like an oversized bell. She saw that a small, round mirror was attached to her girdle by a delicate gold chain. She picked up the small object and looked into the polished surface. Miriallia realized with a shock that it was not her own face peering out at her. The woman had a round face, almost a perfect circle, with full lips and green eyes. Escaping from a jeweled cap perched on her head were a few wisps of curly blonde hair.

Feeling rather faint, Miriallia continued down the passageway, knowing that something awaited her at the end. The walls seemed to stretch on forever covered in miles of tapestry depicting martyrs being killed, stags being chased and attacked by hunting dogs, and men, women, and children being executed. Miriallia's heart started to race. Fear welled up insider her, but fear of what?

Suddenly, Miriallia found herself before a door. The door. Her shaking petite hand reached out and grasped the cold metal knob, turning it with a creak. The door swung open on its hinges.

The room beyond was beautifully furnished with a huge four poster bed hand carved out of oak, an old fashioned writing desk, a small polished table with gleaming chairs around it, and a roaring fire in the hearth beneath an empty mantle.

A man with dark hair and eyes had been pacing the room, but stopped when Miriallia had opened the door. He was medium height with a stocky build and broad facial features. He wore a black doublet and a matching hat, as well as black pantaloons with large slashing, revealing violet silk beneath. A gold chain with some sort of talisman hung around his neck and a thin but deadly sharp sword was at his side. He smiled when he saw Miriallia.

There was something about his smile; perhaps the way the corners curled back, or maybe the way the creases around his mouth fell.

"Dearka?"

Miriallia's eyes snapped open when she heard the soft scrape of the door opening. Fllay quietly entered the room, a tray laden with breakfast in her hands. Miriallia sat up, making the white covers fall back. She yawned and stretched her arms.

"Good morning," Fllay greeted crisply in an alert voice. Miriallia grunted in response. "Your parents had to leave earlier on an emergency trip to one of the colonies," Fllay began to explain, unloading the food onto the small linen covered table in the corner of the room, "They will be gone for a few days, maybe a week, so we have the run of the house." Miriallia rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. "Your parents specifically requested that you spend as much time as possible with Mr. Koenig."

Miriallia let out a long suffering groan. "Why do they keep pushing him on me?" she asked in the typical teenager voice.

"Because," Fllay replied crisply, holding out Miriallia's white dressing robe, signaling it was time to get up, "It's a good match. I know you don't think so now, but that is because you are a slave to your hormones. Tolle is a very nice and caring man; you don't come across too many of those, you know. And he is rich and powerful as well; he is the Princess' cousin, you know."

"I know," Miriallia replied, struggling out of her bed and slipping into the robe. Miriallia plunked herself down in a chair and immediately began pushing her eggs around on her plate with her fork. She was exhausted. After she and Dearka had cleared everything up, they had stayed at the caves for almost three hours, talking almost the entire time.

"So," asked Fllay, sitting down across from Miriallia, her eyes gleaming, "How was last night?" Miriallia's eyes shot up at the nurse, shocked.

"Huh?" she asked stupidly.

"Last night," Fllay repeated, "When you went out."

"Oh, right," Miriallia answered. She remembered that she told Fllay she was going out with to meet some friends. "Good."

"So, who was it?" Fllay continued.

"Who was what?" Miriallia answered only half paying attention as memories flooded her mind.

"Where is your head at Miriallia Haww?" Fllay demanded.

Miriallia regarded her nurse for a moment. She was more like a mother than Murrue ever was. It wasn't that Miriallia's mother didn't love her, but a woman of her social standing had a great deal of business to attend, and children were often left to be raised by hired hands. Although Fllay was a gossip, she had never told one of their 'special' secrets.

"Fllay, you have to swear that you will never tell anyone…"

Dearka shot up in his bed. His hand immediately went up to his forehead and he began to knead it ferociously. He had had the strangest dream. It had something to do with a … blonde? And fire, so much fire. But the shards that remained in the boys head quickly drifted away like smoke on the wind, leaving him with only the memory that he had dreamed.

"I'm worried about you, Cagalli," Athrun said, the emotion clearly showing through his voice. The two were in Cagalli's spacious office, which was decorated with Victorian furniture and a few oil paintings of princes who had once ruled Venanatia.

Cagalli sat behind her oak desk, immersed in paperwork. "You have nothing to worry about," she said offhandedly to her companion, "I can assure you that I am very well protected."

"Cagalli," Athrun continued urgently, leaning forward "You aren't listening to me. The citizens want the Coordinators out. They are starting to get restless and fed up. Something is going to happen. We have to act, soon."

Cagalli looked up from her paperwork. "I know what is going on in my own city, Athrun," she replied more coldly than she intended, "I know that the citizens want the Coordinators out, and I know that the Coordinators are sick of the Naturals, and I know that I am being held accountable by all parties involved. What would you have me do, Athrun? Banish your people? And if I did, where could they go? No other region will allow them in."

"You know I wouldn't suggest anything of the sort," Athrun retorted. They were both starting the get fed up with each other, something that rarely happened in their long relationship. Athrun ran his hand through his hair impatiently. He strode around Cagalli's desk and stood before the large window. The blonde's amber eyes followed him closely. Athrun stood before the panes of glass with his hands behind his back. He silently regarded the streets below. "I've heard things, whispered rumours. Rebels are gathering. I daresay we can easily imagine their intentions."

Cagalli stood up from her chair and went to stand beside Athrun. "There is very little that we can do at this time."

"Actually," Athrun said slowly, "There might, and I stress might, be a way to subdue the hostilities, perhaps even stop them entirely."

Cagalli looked at him suspiciously. "What are you talking about?"

"There is a boy I know…"

Dearka sat on a park bench, his legs stretched out before him. He silently watched what few people had ventured out of the safety of their homes. He was in the old west-end of town, the Naturals' side. The park was smaller, but older than the Coordinators'; it had only been built a few years before. The Coordinators liked to build their world from scratch, and they had obliged themselves when they had been forced back to Earth. But Dearka found something alluring about the Natural way; they way they let things flow and grow freely. And not just their parks, but their people as well. There were hardly any arranged marriages with Naturals, as opposed to their genetically engineered counterparts, who were practically all with the partner their parents had chosen.

Dearka closed his eyes and leaned his head back, letting the sun warm his face. It was a sensation that he had never experienced on PLANT; the sun never came the same way.

The corners of Dearka's lips were tugged down. He had tried to keep his mind occupied since the moment he awoke, thinking of anything at all, but now his mind wandered back to his dream. It was so…life like. The feel, the sound, the smell, the pain…But he was just being stupid. That had to be it. It was only a dream after all…

Dearka's eyes opened at the sound of a girl clearing her throat. Standing before him, with a blue scarf tied around her waist, was Miriallia, smiling faintly.

"Hello," she said softly. It was all Dearka could do to restrain himself from kissing her right there on the spot, in front of the other park-goers and all. Miriallia continued, saying: "This is my nurse, Fllay." She gestured behind her to a middle aged woman with red hair. She didn't look at all pleasant; her brows were low and glowering and her mouth had a sour twist to it. Dearka gave her a nod of acknowledgement. "After about twenty paces, follow us," Miriallia instructed and began walking further down the path. Dearka did not watch them go. He and Miriallia had planned the meeting; he was to wait in the park until she could get away from the house. She would say a quick hello, it would look like a quick introduction to any on lookers, and then he would follow Miriallia into a secluded place that she knew.

Dearka counted in his mind the twenty steps, and then stood up. He stretched out his muscles quickly and strolled along the path. He could see the figures of the two women ahead of him, and followed them blindly into the trees. There was a thin, worn footpath weaving through the woods. At length, the three came out into a small clearing with an old swing set in the middle. Miriallia was seated on an old rubber seat, her hands lightly clutching the reddish coloured chains. At Dearka's arrival, the nurse Fllay left the area to give the two some privacy, as well as to stand guard.

Once the nurse was out of the way, Miriallia flung herself into Dearka's arms.

The sun was getting low in the sky, staining the clouds orange. Dearka sat on a swing with Miriallia on his lap, her head leaning against his chest.

"I had a dream last night," Miriallia said suddenly, "It was about us, it was us, but it…wasn't. Does that make sense?"

Dearka felt a sinking sensation in his chest. "Really? Me too. What happened in yours?"

"Nothing, really. I was just walking around and stuff and you were in a room. That's so cool, though, that we had the same dream. It's like we are on the same wave link or something." Miriallia continued to chatter on about fate and such, but Dearka wasn't listening. He and Miriallia hadn't had the same dream at all. In Dearka's, they both died.