Disclaimer: I own nothing of GS/GSD. R&R please.

Chapter 1

The night had been spent with a few glasses of champagne and a kiss or two; chaste ones, mind you, and always on the cheek. Unfortunately, those had been followed with a hurried brush of the hand against her, a resounding slap that she issued, and an even more hurried 'goodnight'.

They'd had skewered lamb for dinner, and she'd skewered another suitor.

And so it happened that on a warm but slightly windy morning, Cagalli counted the years and told herself sternly that she was twenty-five this year. At any rate, the number of years that she had lived made no difference when her reflection looked back at her imperceptibly with a slight defiance. In fact, the reflection's exhibit of self-sufficiency drew, ironically, a stunned tribute from Cagalli.

"Twenty-five." She said in surprise.

Her eyes reflected amber light and a sort of resigned acceptance of things that her subordinates did not like to admit was present. There would always be dialectic positions within her, and it seemed that her life was composed of a single task to juggle all these things. She was Cagalli Yula Atha, Orb's Princess to the people but a commander to the troops. She was a shrieking tempest and a whirlpool when she wanted things done, but she became a sort of rooted, wistful tree in private. Her mouth was capable of smiling and it was plump with the ripe fullness of youth, but her voice was husky and authoritative with a man's strength.

The men had often described her face as being sad and lovely with a sort of brightness in it. Some called her the golden Princess— they said there was a golden light her hair and eyes that nobody had gotten close enough to kiss. They called her a child-woman. She herself did not, she was too far too preoccupied maintaining the cool, disconnected smile the world saw and burying the insecurity inside.

"I've got to admit," She yawned to the pantry shelf and stooping down to it, "He was a Greek god. He belonged in the Louvre."

Her fingers felt for an egg and she grasped it, humming, "But he was better suited in the asylum."

There was something pathetic in her concentration as she searched for a pan. She did not realize it, but her focus in doing all these mundane little things was her overt complacency and trust in her own abilities; long practiced and perfected. It carried over even where suitors were concerned. She felt she had no need for anything or anybody—after all, it was that way with regards to her work, and her work was her life.

And it was precisely this competency that made Cagalli hate mornings like these; mornings when she would wake, feeling incredibly disconcerted. There was the heartache that had suddenly emerged new and fresh enough, as if a blade had re-plunged into an old wound.

And the newspaper! Now that was really goddamn depressing.

"Waffle, waffle, toast, or waffle. Toast."

Her fingers moved to a singular microwave-easy packet that she selected and left to thaw for a little. Frozen maple syrup with toast was like mixing metaphors, queer but effective nonetheless. While she waited for the signal from the microwave, her eyes strayed over her kitchen as she took stock of the order that she had established.

For the Representative of Orb, internationally known as the Supreme Commander of Orb, and more commonly as the Princess of Orb, normality was something to be craved after.

Unrest hadn't disappeared- it still existed. No matter what the state of politics or international relation, there was always tension. It was a sort of cancer, dormant but deadly in the bloodstream of the world. And that was why Cagalli was convinced by now that Dullindal had been correct all along. He had been a misinterpreted genius at best, a sad fool at worst, but this present that she lived in was the true proof of his assertion. The world thrived on ambitions, dreams, selfish desires and money. Money ran through a war; the money made from spilled blood.

And Cagalli had refused to believe Dullindal back then.

She flipped through the newspaper, still waiting for the syrup to thaw. She scanned through for the usual things- minor conflicts, a few casualties, but not so few that each life was worth nothing more than a handful of figures. Amidst these of course, were Lacus' new statement and Kira's recent development with the technology in the Zaft First-Order troops. The funny thing was that he probably hadn't even learnt how to use a gun properly.

And in the domestic news section, she spotted an article about her. She'd just celebrated her birthday not too long ago— of course, they were still caught up with that event. The usual questions were asked in the article, and she sighed, tired of those cropping up every year.

"Can she run a country by herself in the future?" She muttered. "Will she never start a family?"

She grinned to herself, starting on her breakfast. "Hell, yes."

"You'll forgive me for saying this," He had insisted as she glared at him, her hand and his cheek stinging from how she'd flung her palm across his face, "But you can't lead a country with only a woman holding the reins."

"You're wrong about two things." She said contemptuously. If she had appeared shy and insecure in her pale chiffon dress, she was now domineering with her temper and overwhelming distaste for him. He wasn't sure which he preferred; the quiet, slightly passive person that he'd taken out for dinner or the sharp-tongued person who'd just taken off the mask that she'd worn all evening.

He knew one thing though. The proverbial hand would not regret anything. His brushing against her had made her snap, but at least, he had confirmed that she was capable of snapping or feeling anything at all.

As it was, her eyes were flashing and there was a perceptible distaste in her face. Half of him shrank and the other half fought to control the insensibility of his desires.

"What am I wrong about?" He protested.

"I am still the Princess of Orb and you're a rank under me even if you're from the next oldest royal family. And the second thing you're wrong about is my ability to run things as perfectly as I've always done. I've been running Orb since the Second War and nobody's been complaining."

He backed away, wondering where he had gone wrong with her. If he had doubt about how suitable she would be even as he cast his eye far and wide, then now, he was sure how much he wanted her. But she was nobody's.

"Damn," Cagalli Yula Atha had said sulkily," How I hate blind dates."

It wasn't just the papers. The officials had been irritating her with a barrage of questions recently: How she would deal with the recent rebellion of the Denmark Nationalist faction when Scandinavia was Orb's ally to begin with? And worst still, there were other questions arising from the fact that she would be approaching her twenty-sixth birthday in the very near future.

"When will you tie the knot to someone of a respectable family?" They all knew that twenty-six was a magic number for the Orb Nobles in many respects.

Her face cold and mouth thinned, Cagalli had made headlines by declaring, "Never."

She had far too many things to care about; far too little time for herself.

Orb will not attack another country, be attacked by another country, and will, in other words, mind its own bloody business.

And business to mind she had.

"Conflict breaks out at the border of the Scandinavian Kingdom. Claims of terrorists." She read this aloud. But for all her efforts, her words and the bold black headline had their chilling effects marred by the chewing of her omelet. Would so little had come out of all the sacrifices the people had made in the Bloody Valentine wars?

She scanned the papers again. Lacus was declining comment as the Mediator of the Plants, and so would Cagalli. The Plants had been under attack for so long that the end of the Second War had merely been a cue to get on with life. Peace was at the top of the list of priorities, that was certain, but not for those in Denmark.

"Denmark's one screwed-up place now," Kisaka had remarked the other day while on a long-distance call to the House of Commons in Orb, "Full of terrorists, dissidents, and a good old corrupt government. The Scandinavian and Swedish Sovereign's helpless, but then he always was where Denmark was concerned. It's an oddball that doesn't believe in being part of Scandinavia or conforming with Sweden and Norway's policies. It sure doesn't help that Sweden's King's old and pretty much a goner where the politics are concerned- he's been out of the loop since the Second War, hasn't he?"

Cagalli could still remember that. In the Second War, Sweden had rallied the countries within Scandinavia and somehow called for a state of national emergency, channeling the attention of the troops to Orb's defense against the Destiny Manifesto. From there, Scandinavia, consisting of Sweden, Norway and Denmark, had become Orb's ally.

And perhaps, just perhaps, that had been the last useful thing the King of Sweden had managed, and perhaps, just perhaps, he knew it.

"The only member of the Royal Family who could have done anything's kicked the bucket before he could do anything. So that leaves the poor old High King to manage the mess. The poor princess. Now she's a widow and her husband's only something buried under a weight of soil."

Cagalli couldn't agree more. While Scandinavia clearly had some internal problems, Sweden was still denying the existence of any terrorists. Sweden represented Scandinavia, and the Scandinavian government's motto was not dissimilar to Orb's. Obviously, Orb didn't want to stick its fingers in the political hot soup that was Denmark. Earth territory or not, as long as Denmark and its purported terrorists kept their business out of the sensitive Coordinator-Natural peace that the Plants and the other countries had worked so hard to achieve, Cagalli would care less than how well her omelet was cooked.

She got up, stretching slightly and straightening her uniform. The weekly helper would come in soon, and a quick glimpse at the rooms that she left in the aftermath of a whirlwind assured Cagalli that she was not paying the woman for nothing.

But Cagalli would not see her or wait around to inform her of what had to be neatened. There was already a list of things pre-written that would be fulfilled, as was the system she'd established with all the helpers in her estate. They came quietly and left without ever being seen. For herself, there was work to be completed too, whether or not anyone would take notice of it or give attention to her efforts.

She stood up, ready to get out of her house and to drive to work.

When Cagalli marched into the office and arranged herself into the hard-backed chair, she noted with some morbid satisfaction that the work today was twice as high as the stack she had cleared yesterday.

"Morning, Aaron." Cagalli said absently-mindedly.

The first thing her permanent secretary of office and close confidant said was, "Shit, Atha, you've got to go to Scandinavia."

Cagalli didn't look up from the pile of documents that her eyes had been scrutinizing to spare the brown-haired, thirty-something bachelor even a single glance. "I'm laughing."

Aaron Biliensky looked miffed. "Number one, it's not April's Fool, because that was more than a week ago. Number two, I don't joke when it's office hours in the running. And number three, you really do have to go. The invitation you got means that the Prime Minister, Scandinavian Royal Cabinet and Imperial Family are ordering you to."

Cagalli stretched her arm out, still not looking at her friend. He automatically put the handle of the coffee cup into it, and she took a sip, absent-mindedly still reading the latest report on the birthrates in one region of Orb's territory.

"Shit, Cagalli, you really have to go!" His usual smooth baritone voice was bordering on a squeak now, like someone had hand-sheared the lawn that was his voice. She nearly giggled at the thought and looked up to see Aaron peering with a frown that didn't suit him very well.

"Why do I have to?" Cagalli asked teasingly. With his boyish good looks and carefully-maintained physique, along with a strange penchant for knowing exactly which fashion designers had talent and which deserved to be shot, Cagalli hadn't been surprised to find him pining over a photograph of another official in the Orb Office; someone decidedly good-looking and someone decidedly male.

He looked horrified at her response, or rather, the lack of any adequate response that matched the indignant nature of his. "Shit, Cagalli, the whole bunch of Scandinavian higher-ups are requesting you as a guest-of-honor at their gala! I mean, what gala could this be? Try au courant- they obviously want you to go there and threaten those little shits hiding in Denmark to stop going trigger-happy!"

"It's fine, I'll go." Cagalli said with a parody of sobriety, "I'll take it as an invitation for a night of hedonism, and then I'll pack my bags and get back here. Kisaka would approve."

Cagalli grinned and considered the tanned, elderly but very fit man for a second. He had retired only last year, with her blessing and a pact that she would always look after him, never mind that he insisted that he was the care-giver and she the care-receiver.

Ledonir Kisaka was living abroad now, traveling the world, and she missed him so much. He had left with tears in his eyes, and she had laughed and insisted that for all his scars, he was a teddy-bear with more muscles than a normal person would ever have. He had smacked her on the head for that, and if he hadn't been the head of security, the security guards would have detained him.

Aaron clucked his tongue in a manner that reminded her of Mana. "Au contraire, my poor child. I think you're being naïve here."

She instantly imagined someone else with the words he had only just , she shook her head and cursed inwardly at her lack of focus for that day. She would do well to leave reminiscence and recollections out from this.

"I'm not," Cagalli insisted stubbornly, "Ignorance is bliss. I'm not about to look into that region's problems when I'm still having more than eight hours of work a day. I'll go there and pretend not to know what they are hinting about if they ask for Orb's help in dealing with any terrorists."

Mollified, Aaron put down the schedule he had been brandishing rather violently for a whole two minutes. He sat down in the chair opposite her side of the work table, and sipped his Earl Grey, like a storm that had exhausted itself. She watched him wistfully, and then sighed once.

Cagalli looked at her watch, her thoughts scattered, and the headlines played in her head-headlines of the terrorists shooting down innocent children in schools. And the black-ink on the grey paper of the headlines was like poison in her mind, whispering of a conflict that was minor but not so minor either. If Scandinavia lost control over Denmark, there would be new questions arising- but the terrorists, who were they and what did they want in the first place?

In return, she asked gently. "Do you love me?"

He looked astonished. "I thought we all know I don't love women. But yes, I do love you anyway. Why do you ask?"

"Because, Aaron," She said wistfully, "If you love me, you'll believe in me. It's a minor conflict. Scandinavia can plead with me to go, and for now, I'll delay it. But as leader of the country that leads the other neutral nations, I'll have to show my face. And if you believe in me, you'll know that I'll probably end up repeating myself all over again while I'm over there."

"Orb will not attack another country, will not be attacked by another country, and will, in other words, mind its own bloody business."

They said this in perfect unison, Aaron in a morbidly panicked manner, and Cagalli in a charmingly monotonous one. They had perfected it by now.

He looked at her with an expression that gasped, "Sacrilege!"

And she promptly burst out laughing. A few seconds later, he joined in, but it was not long before soberness entered their minds and the laughing ceased. She ran a hand through her hair.

"Oh Aaron," She said wearily, "This is unnecessary worrying on your part. It's up to them to solve their own colony's problems and make the best out of it! If they're fighting about Coordinators and Naturals flying at each other's throats, I'd be already stepping in. But this is ridiculous! All that's there is a petty, internal conflict of sorts! It's just some minor conflict that nobody's going to care about when all we know about it is that it's a struggle for political power!"

"Yeah," He scoffed, adjusting the leather watch she had given him for his birthday last year, "And that's what the newspaper is saying. Do you actually believe Sweden's telling the truth? Or do you really believe that your invitation is just a frivolous little thing with chiffon and tuxedos? Try mayhem and screwed-up terrorists instead!"

She laughed, in spite of herself. Aaron was a good person to have around- intelligent, charismatic, handsome, dedicated, faithful, and the best gay-bitching friend she would ever have the fortune to meet in her lifetime. His face was contorted with irritation now as he snarled, "Shit, Cagalli, don't take it lightly! I'll arrange for double the number of bodyguards while you're walking into the lair of the Scandinavian terrorist shites!"

Tears poured down her face and she clutched her cup helplessly. He was making this a habit, she realized. Every time he said her name, profanity rooted with concern, would accompany it. She would have to talk to him about it one day.

Eventually, she choked, "Thank you, Aaron, "and burst into a fresh wave of chortles.

He looked mortified. "You're welcome. I'd pound them into two if they tried to touch you. I'm sure Athrun Zala would have insisted on the same."

That cut her laughter into two, almost as if a sword had whipped through it, and she straightened up, her face a cold mask, her fingers tight around the mug's handle. "He wouldn't have. But let's not discuss someone who isn't around here anymore."

Her fingers tapped the edge of her desk nervously, as if to make up for the silence that had enveloped the room.

"Athrun Zala isn't dead, that's for one," Aaron mused, not quite seeing how pained his superior was, and how white her knuckles were turning, "I mean, he did come back for a stint as a, what was it? Oh yes, Admiral. But you refused to meet him, didn't you? I mean, the actual reasons are as good as anybody's guess, but it was as obvious as the day that you didn't want him around. All the stuff you did to get him out of Orb- let's see, trying to cancel his rights to immigrate, that stint where you threatened to leave Orb if he came back until Kisaka told you were stuck here, what else? Oh that time when you-,"

She remained mute, although her face was deathly white.

"I mean, you have to give that man his due credit, but I think he would have put his foot down where this was concerned. And where is he now? He just suddenly gave up and disappeared with a resignation nobody had really approved of, didn't he? I mean, we all know he isn't lying six feet under the ground, because nobody has confirmed it, and he was pretty loaded to begin with so he could probably afford to slack off in some other country or go back to the Plants. Of course, Mediator Clyne's already with your brother so he doesn't have anyone else to get hitched to, but there are a dozen other females, heck, males too, who would love a piece of -,"

"Aaron," Cagalli interrupted firmly, partially because her head was throbbing and mostly because she did not want to hear anything that would scar her completely, "Athrun Zala may well be somewhere out there. I don't know and I don't care to know. And yes, he is loaded as you say; he can probably collapse a few major banks with the financial power he inherited from the Zala House. To satisfy that love of conspiracies I know you have, I confirm that yes, it is enough to buy a new identity with the right surgery and that sort of thing."

"Then it's true!" Aaron chirped excitedly, "He's alive!"

"Look," Cagalli interposed firmly, "Believing that Athrun Zala is alive and flourishing in some other place is as good as believing that the Loch Ness monster's alive and swimming. Nobody can prove so and nobody can disprove so. End of discussion."

He looked indignant. "But I can bet you that that man is alive!"

"A bet you'd lose."

"Yeah, why?" Aaron said unbendingly.

"He's stayed out of the newspapers for nearly seven years. That's a miracle especially if you're a war hero and you're someone who travels in the highest circles of Plant. For certain, he is not confirmed to be dead, but that doesn't mean he isn't. At least in the Orb records, he is as deep under the current records as his body is in the ground.""

"Orb records?" Aaron cut in thoughtfully, "Dead only in the Orb records? I expected something more significant than fuddy-duddy archives."

"I don't know what you are talking about,' she returned coldly. "And I was glad when he left after half a year."

"But you must have expected some contact of some sort, at the very least," Aaron pressed, "I mean, to leave and vanish without a trace? Mad!"

"He managed to," Cagalli retorted, remarkably bad-tempered now, "And if you want someone to confirm your theories with you, I suppose you've come to the wrong person. I do agree that it's unlikely for him to return to Plant where they'd pester him to rejoin Zaft, or run for Chairman. Plant is a place where the rich families would probably grovel at his feet for him to marry their daughters, but frankly, Aaron, I care very little."

Aaron raised a perfectly-thin, manicured and plucked eyebrow, "Yeah? You're not far off from the age where the condition in the eighth section of the forty-sixth clause of the requirements of all royal families in Orb applies directly to your highness."

"I'll worry about it when it comes," She said stubbornly, and refused to say any more on the issue. Thoughts of it however, still plagued her, as did the fact that she had looked into the mirror that very morning and known that she was twenty-five. Aaron proved as good as his word, he continued harping on the issue, until she threatened him with cold-blooded murder, and that was his cue to shut up completely.

"And for your information," Cagalli muttered as an afterthought, "They proved why the Loch Ness monster couldn't exist."

Aaron did not accompany her to Sweden, where the heads of the Kingdom of Scandinavia resided and had set up their headquarters for decades before the First Bloody Valentine War.

"Shit, Cagalli, I'm supposed to be covering you, so how would I be expected to go along? Excuse me, I'm here to cover your arse, not help you blow that allowance of yours! And by the way, get me some of those Swedish chocolates, my niece loves them."

"You have a niece?"

"Yeah, okay, I love those chocolates but I'm actually on a diet."

Oh, Aaron. How much she adored him. He had become the permanent secretary only two years ago and had a stunning record and an equally brilliant political career ahead of him. And yet he was plagued by unrequited love and a struggling insecurity deep within the confident exterior he showed as a poster to the world. But he had never once doubted her abilities or questioned her authority- on the blue days, he would hug her and let go quickly, embarrassedly shaking his head, while spewing curses about her woes that made her laugh until she forgot those and concentrated on the present.

Cagalli found herself wondering how much he would have enjoyed being here, in spite of his suspicions on the motives they had for inviting her over. Granted, there was a hushed blanket of silence over the political tension, but everything else was in order. The shops were brightly decked in their spring colors, and the wind was slight but lovely.

A glance outside revealed gaudy red flowers smiling from fields in spring's cloak of green, and the procession of security cars behind hers trailed like a black snake, past the roads where crowds gathered to welcome her. She waved a little at first, and then took to smiling when her hands felt tired. Then her smile too, became tiring to sustain, and she was glad that she had reached the docks.

She stepped out and followed the attendant as quickly as her feet, tiny and squashed into small, dainty slippers, would allow her to. Her hair had been freshly brushed with a minor treatment of curls to provide movement although the volume was already natural. The docks were already red-carpeted, never mind that she would be there for less than five minutes, and the walkways, bobbing slightly because of the waves, were absolute bowers of flowers.

For a second, she wondered if she belonged in this pop-out book that she had been placed into. But then her public persona clicked and she smiled for posterity's sake.

The navy officer saluted her, and she directed her already-fixed smile at him. Almost secretively, his eyes crept from the empty space he had focused them on to her face, and immediately, his mouth slackened, the eyes became misty, and he smiled bashfully, reddened and embarrassed.

Not seeing his reaction, she pattered after him, trying to walk gracefully while she got used to the rhythm of the yacht on the sea. It wasn't difficult- the yacht was the size of several large ships by itself and bore little impact from the waves. The SS Rafael was the Swedish Royal family's personal yacht, but 'yacht' was a terrible understatement.

She considered saying hello to some naval officers who were saluting at her, but decided that it would be too colloquial if it was released from her lips. Thus, she clammed them tightly with a smile that was a little too bright. As she walked through a corridor, escorted by a naval officer, she paused to look at the decorations. There were plenty of ornate things around, and she felt slightly curious as to why every royal needed to have all these things on some random yacht when her own home seemed so devoid of these artifacts.

"My greetings to the Princess."

Now Cagalli turned, distracted from the large but frankly, disturbing painting of a unicorn being butchered; silver mingled with crimson and sepia here and there, the same painting that sat in a single domino amongst a chain of others, framed by cold suits of armor in the gargantuan hallways of the Royal Yacht.

A youth was bowing to her, one arm dipped forward gallantly. A ruby glittered near his throat and flashed like newly-spilt blood near the white of the material covering his throat.

"Er- hello," Cagalli said cautiously.

She quickly proffered a hand, trying to cover up for her lack of familiarity with the Swedish customs and the general place here. The eldest imperial son took it regally and lifted it to his lips, although she had been expecting a handshake instead. Startled, she squirmed a little and then blushed more because her squirming would have reflected badly on her. Was she to look a fool already?

But the youth did not seem to mind. How old was he, really? This person was a fourteen year old with the air and elegance of a man who had lived for countless of days and had the wisdom of the world poured into his entrails. It was more than simply disconcerting. She thought of what she had been like as a fourteen year old and decided that she was nothing like this person.

"I am delighted to meet Your Highness," Cagalli said stiffly, not being ignoring the fact that he had not let go of her hand yet, "I hope our acquaintance will be a memorable one."

He grinned, looking surprisingly more human than cherubic, because smiling thinned his already thin lips. If he had had a beautiful face before closer inspection, the exceptionally thin lips made him look slightly reptilian, although the entire effect was quite impressive.

"I expect it will be." He said in a delicate, yet jocund manner. "And don't call me Your Highness, it suits me as much as these medals do."

Her attention was drawn to his shoulder and chest where a number of metal pieces gleamed ostentatiously. His gloved hand was pointing to the medals, and it seemed to be quite cheeky with his pixie-like smile. Contrary to what he had declared however, they suited him in a fine manner, despite his apparent youth, for his posture was impeccable and his bearing was very royal.

And slowly, she grinned too. She would like Prince Pietre Harraldsson of Sweden, without a doubt. His blonde hair was very fair, almost white in fact, like platinum with sprinklings of gold, and his eyes, what strange, beautiful ochre shades they were.

"I offer my condolences, tonight," She said as normally as she could, "Your brother-in-law was a fine man."

He looked somber for a minute. "Erik Strumsson was. His body has yet to be returned by those who killed him and ruined my sister, so all we have now is a mashed hand they sent as proof of his demise. Freja Magdalena is still in mourning, and will not join us for the ball. But Father understands. In fact, he will join us for brief a time before he retires to his chambers- after all, he is in poor health from knowing that his son-in-law and confidante was struck dead a less than a month ago. And yet," He looked pensive, "We can do little but to hold our heads high."

She tried to ignore the glimmer of hope she saw in the boy's eyes. She would not do anything for them even if they begged Orb to help Scandinavia with its internal conflicts. Cagalli was very aware of what she could and could not do.

"Do you want to know why he died?" Pietre said leisurely, almost as if death was merely nothing but sleeping for a long time and awakening once more, "Do you?"

Cagalli tried to concentrate on walking through the entwining hallways that would lead to the dining room. Already, the strains of an orchestra and murmurs of conversations ten times louder than they were from here were teasing her ears. Her midnight colored gown rustled amorously against the carpet her feet trod on, and she wondered if she could reply that she didn't want to know for fear of getting too deeply involved.

"If it does not pain you." She replied eventually. She would have to remember not to bite her lips too much. It had been a habit of hers since a long time ago, whenever she did not know what to say or was thinking deeply. Already, the rich berry her lips were stained were a little less red than before.

He shook his head. "It's been years now. It's time we moved on. My royal brother-in-law died only because he offended the fiends in Denmark with his capabilities to eradicate fear and doubt in the minds of our people here in Sweden. And that is what the terrorists do not want."

"So there are terrorists." She murmured.

"Yes." Pietre Harraldsson said calmly. "I should not be saying this, because my father wants to keep this quiet. As the High King of Scandinavia and sovereign of Sweden, he does not want the world to scrutinise Scandinavia more than it already has. My father was devastated over his son-in-law's death. Erik was being groomed to be the next King, you know. But that made him a target for the Danish Nationalist Faction."

"King?" Cagalli said, astonished, "Wasn't this about your colony, Denmark, wanting a larger say in the political system? Surely your royal sister's husband would not matter that much? Why did they target him?"

"Because he was trying to unite Denmark with Scandinavia once and for all," Pietre said solemnly, folding his white-gloved hands like a pair of slender doves behind his back, walking at the pace Cagalli unknowingly followed. The hilt of his sword gleamed silver in the candlelight of the hallway, and the chandeliers reflected thousands of inverted faces, one belonging to him, and one belonging to her.

"Denmark is not a component of Scandinavia's in the way that Sweden and the other countries are," The youth said, his eyes large and limpid, his voice calm and strangely peaceful.

"Historically, they have been a stranded pearl from the necklace for centuries. And yet, Sweden bring them under our control and have them follow our rule."

"But that was necessary in the First and Second War, wasn't it?"

"But now that the war is over, the second one come and gone as well, Denmark insists that we declare them entirely independent. Of course, this is what the terrorists want. The civilians have not spoken up yet. Of course-," He smiled wryly. "They wouldn't if they would face the same fate some of their children faced."

Cagalli did not know what to say to this chilling understanding that she had only just gained. She thought about the rumoured massacres in the schoolhouses, and felt guilt tear at her. But she would not agree to let Orb join in this internal conflict. It was her mistake for allowing herself to understand this much. But still, she tried to argue, it had been Pietre who'd offered so much information first.

As they walked towards the main hall, she thought about what he had told her.

Pietre Harraldsson's brother in law had married the eldest child of the Royal Family and would have been King. While the Royal Family did not wield as much political power as the Cabinet in Sweden, they had influence and the people loved them dearly.

That, in itself, was more potent than the official political power. Cagalli was more aware of this than anybody else- had she not attained that before Yuna's reign of misdirection and chaos, she would have never seized the rightful power she deserted in Orb again.

With Pietre's brother in law, it was the same. He wasn't widely-seen nor was his face splashed everywhere, but he had an undeniable power with the people. So when he had calmed the people down and made certain promises that calmed them, they had followed Sweden's lead. And with the various components of the Scandinavian Kingdom uniting closer than ever, Denmark, or at least the terrorists, was furious.

For Denmark, a tighter kingdom would mean breaking away was even more difficult.

And that stumbling block would be the most influential member of the Scandinavia Heads. As the next king of the Swedish Royal Family and the inaugural head of the Kingdom, Erik, that is, Pietre's brother-in-law, was very powerful.

The king was old and weak, logically; he would die soon enough by the natural causes of inescapable fate and diminishing health.

The youngest child was an adopted princess, a distant cousin the old king had taken in when her parents had died in accidents, merely a harmless toddler. The eldest son was little more than a youth, and the eldest was a reputedly lovely but sheltered Princess who fortunately, had married a charismatic, influential and shrewd man who helmed the royal circles and the people. But obviously, he hadn't been shrewd enough.

It was simple to sketch out now. Cagalli understood everything, almost as if she had ran the assassination by herself. How much did the rest of the world not know? And how much was not in the newspapers?

"Pieter," She said softly, "You must be careful. I think they might target anyone who is left in this family."

He smiled gently, and she suddenly realized he was still holding her hand. The rather dim lighting of the hallways were fading now, and the noise was louder than ever, glasses clinking and laughter of the spoken jokes raising into the air from the entrance they were nearing.

Pietre looked at her, his eyes intelligent and grave. "Thank you, Your Highness. But I will have them target me- I intend to be the kind of man my brother-in-law was."

She did not know how to respond. He was so young, so idealistic, and so honorable. He reminded her so much of someone that she had to look away for a minute, and it was enough for her to be whisked into a room where the chandelier was merely an extension of the glittering strings the women wore around their necks.

And Cagalli was offered a drink which she willingly took for courage, and she made small talk and greeted the King with as much pleasant cheer as she could muster. His smile was bright, but his eyes solemn, very much like his only son's, and her heart ached for him. All the same, she politely shifted conversation away from the recent developments in the Scandinavian Kingdom, and much to her relief, he did not make any attempt to coerce her into lending Orb's power to stamp out the terrorists.

After all, Sweden was the head of the Scandinavian Kingdom, and the Scandinavian Kingdom was a neutral one.

She wandered around, still trying to find a pocket of air to breathe in with the crushing crowds, and the orchestra stuck up a beat. A few men asked her to dance, and out of formalities' sake, she did so, unwillingly and rather woodenly. She did not care for this. One, apparently Pietre's head consort, asked her if she would stay for another day so he could show her around. She smiled politely and shook her head.

When the year of reckoning came, Cagalli decided, she would worry about things like these. The man proceeded to introduce her to the other important consorts of the Royal Family, and their voices, it seemed to Cagalli, grew increasingly strained with their boasts and their insufferable and agitated egos.

"Cherchez la femme," Aaron would have sniffed, had he been there.

Then when she got thoroughly tired of it all, she excused herself and stole off, making sure nobody followed. And Cagalli took a quick glance to make sure nobody had followed her. Instantaneously, her dainty slippers were pulled off, held carelessly in one hand, and she was padding, barefooted, up deserted steps and various turnings, only to find herself at the deck. Had something more than her feet led her here?

The salty sea-spray was refreshing, and she freed her hair from the jeweled grips so that they flowed naturally, still soft and slightly wavy, just for the tips to reach her shoulders. Without the least hint of self-consciousness because nobody was around, she stretched her hands forward, taking them off the steel of the ship deck, so they would extend towards the blue of the ocean they were traveling on now. And she smiled unconsciously, in spite of the rather strange situation she was now in.

"See, Aaron?" She mumbled. "I knew they wouldn't want more than my presence here in Sweden."

Then it hit her and she began to chuckle. She had been on tenterhooks for this whole day, wondering how she could politely refuse to lend Orb's aid if they asked for it. And really, all she had been doing was thinking about Aaron's words, never mind that he was a classic mother-hen and prize worry-wart.

A sound behind her caught her attention, and she whipped around instinctively. But Cagalli was met with nothing but the entrance she had come from to be on the deck. Now, the tunnel was a black stretch she was suddenly afraid to move down into.

"Is anyone, um- there?" Cagalli called, trying not to feel stupid.

Silence.

"Joy," She muttered aloud, "I'm being a paranoid creep like Aaron."

Listlessly, and suddenly losing all her ease, she turned back to face the stream of bubbles and foam that the yacht created as it sped along. She closed her eyes, feeling more than a little jittery and ill at ease. But she told herself firmly, that she was just tired.

Above, the moon glinted murderously, and the various pathways around the enormous deck were illuminated in silver highlights. Cagalli would have been camouflaged by the shade of her gown, only that her hair was gleaming under the moon, and her bared neck, the top of her shoulders and her ungloved arms was milk under the light.

To an observer, it would have been a struggle to not catch her in one's arms and sink the teeth into the soft flesh to hear her ragged and tiny cries.

She counted to ten, internally, to calm herself down. She was aware that beads of sweat were trickling down now.

And then she whipped out a gun from under her gown and pointed it in the direction she had sworn to have heard a noise.

"I don't care who you are," Cagalli said, more firmly than she thought she was capable of doing, especially since her shoulders where trembling, "Just come out and drop whatever weapon you've got on you. Now. Don't force me to shoot."

The moon shone on her and the spot she was pointing at. There were a couple of crates behind the wooden bench the people on the yacht would sit upon to gaze at the sea in the day, but other than that, it was only a merging of shadows. Was there something human amongst the inanimate?

She stood, still poised, barefooted, her slippers already on the floor since she had dropped them in the swift instant when she pulled out her gun.

Nothing.

The life-float resembled a giant donut with vanilla icing and strawberry jam on alternate strips of red and white. There was nothing there.

Doubt flooded her mind. She trusted her instincts- but this was entirely wrong. Something was wrong here.

"I'm going to shoot," Cagalli said fiercely, and this time, her voice actually shook. "I'll shoot if you don't come out after ten."

The moon was out and reflecting on the sea. The waves were lapping lazily, and the dimness was cozy, save for the fact that she was in a stance to fire. Her hair was whipping around her impassionate, frightened face, and the silver crust of her necklace framed her collarbones with a sapphire as large as a pigeon egg on her chest. It glittered secretively on the white of her collarbone and the swell of her breasts, mimicking her eyes in the dark.

"One, two, three," She said softly, "Four, five, six, seven, eight-,"

Her momentum was slowing down, and she felt herself faltering. Was she really insane?

"Nine, ten."

She closed her eyes tersely, flinching almost as if she was the one to be shot, and then slowly, she peeked out from her lashes, refocusing on the spot she was pointing her gun at. And then she began to laugh, a relieved and a foolish one, and then she sighed and lowered her weapon.

If she told Aaron, he would insist on a shrink. Perhaps she would take his advice when she got back to Orb.

Still, she did not turn back to the ocean view that she had been enjoying only a while ago. There was a discomforting sense of ambiguity in the night, and a sense of incongruity plagued her mind. Already, she was not at ease.

Then a scream that wasn't entirely human ripped the air and maddened shrieks danced as blocks of sound from the space beneath the wood her feet trod on. Below the decks, something was happening.

The sound of rapid gunfire was everywhere and a multiple round of shots being fired from below in the ship reverberated towards the sea, so piercing that even the gushing of the engine did not block it off entirely. And her eyes widened. There had been something wrong.

She stooped, picking up the slippers she knew Aaron would kill her for losing, and not thinking clearly, hurried towards the entrance of the deck, the same place that would lead her back to the ballroom where something was happening. The bodyguards would be waiting for her, unless something had happened to them and-

Her heart was racing.

"I wouldn't, if I were you."

She whipped back, panicking. And yet, there was an odd triumph that blossomed within her slippers clattered to the floor.

Her thoughts were scattered and distant. Vaguely, she wondered if it would be damaged, for its rhinestones were rather delicate. Would Aaron scream at her for ruining it?

She could imagine what he'd shriek, "It's a special edition La Merle you horrible little, you, you,"-

Would Kira have ran to embrace this man, and Lacus too?

She held her gun again, but even more unsteadily this time.

It was too dark here, and it was certain that the shadows masked the man. But his voice was unmistakable, especially since it had plagued her dreams more than she would have realized or like to have admitted.

"I knew there was somebody here!" Cagalli breathed. Her eyes were staring at him, petrified. He was a ghost of a figure; not quite opaque, but the moonlight seemed to be an agent of lunacy in her in the first place. She wasn't quite sure if she would wake at any point now.

He sighed. She thought that it might have been the waves crashing on the sides of the yacht, but he had sighed.

"I didn't expect you to be here on the deck," He said politely, "And I didn't expect your security to be so lax either. You ought to replace them."

"I told them not to bother with me." Cagalli retorted. Her hands were still fitted on the gun, and her eyes were already watering from straining not to blink. If she did, if she did, her mind raced to shout at her, he would disappear again.

He laughed, a cynical laugh that was familiar and yet discomforting. "And they collect their paychecks without doing their job. This is a cue for replacement, if you ask me."

"Shut up!"

Her voice was a whip in the air even as hints of screams and hollering floated to the deck from where she had left them. "You know something, don't you?"

"And what if I do?"

They stood, she ready to shoot, and he somehow relaxed in the stillness of the dark from his corner. Her eyes were flashing and her arms tensed in a defensive measure.

"Put your gun down," He said persuasively, "I might tell you."

Something in his face did not reassure her, even if his words sounded fair enough. What was it? Cunning? She had seen it in his face before and even found it incongruent with his ways and his noble bearing. But this was different. She could not trust him.

"I could just shoot you now," She said furiously. She was the one who ought to be in control. "I'll claim it was self-defense and find out for myself. Do you know what is happening below?"

He smiled his mouth fine and beautiful even if half his face was still in the shadows. "Let's be a little more rational. I'll explain more if you follow me. And you won't shoot me."

Cagalli did not favor the confidence in his body. She had admired it before, the bright, untainted confidence and trust in himself and the world. Now, it was a lazy confidence, something that implied that she would be a simple obstacle that could be cleared with no more than a single leap.

Pride was bitter in her mouth. She could not help the recollection of that one day. She had been too proud then, and she did not want to lose her pride now even.

"What's your decision?" He prompted her, folding his arms elegantly and surveying her with something like serenity in his face, except that his eyes were snake's eyes. Those sent an unbidden thrill in her.

She glared at him. "What makes you so sure of anything? That I won't shoot you? That I will follow you? And where do you want me to go?"

"Patience, Cagalli," His voice was soft and somehow gentler than what seemed normal in the situation. Below, there were still sounds of gunshots and screams and broken glass, things being shattered and cries for help. "Put that gun down. It's loaded wrongly anyway. You wouldn't want to do what you use that gun at all."

She did not examine it even. It was a trick, she was sure of it. But since when had he resorted to mind games? Wasn't it out of his nature to do that?

No, she told herself stubbornly. I can't trust him.

"I won't listen to you. You're playing mind-games with me again. You always liked to."

He shrugged. "You liked those."

"I don't! I never have! When you left I-"

Or the years would have been spent in vain. Forgetting was not simple, but he was defying all suggestions of his death by reappearing in front of her. She would never forgive him for that.

"I'm going to go down," Cagalli burst in suddenly, her eyes no longer on him but at the entrance, her heart beating a tattoo against her throat, "I'm going back to see what's happening. You can't stop me."

She was distracted and her thoughts were racing everywhere. Why had he appeared?

"Put it down." He said authoritatively and suddenly with a hint of impatience in his voice, "There's a lot of catching up to be done, and you're not going anywhere below the deck. "

"I just did!" She said, impassionedly, her hand still focused on his chest, where she knew his heart was, and she rashly took a step down from the entrance, "Don't come!"

He paused, looking at her.

"Don't come, I said," Cagalli hissed, "I don't want to shoot you."

"You won't." He said softly and somehow so lovingly that she was hypnotized and almost dropped the weapon, and she only stiffened when he took a step towards her. He suddenly extended his hand towards her, and her heart dropped to her stomach's pit.

"Come with me, Cagalli."

Instinctively, she flinched, but pulled herself up on deck again, coming closer so the gun was nearer to its target. "Don't come near me."

The yacht was still speeding, leaving the trail of foam on the mirrored surface, although the waves were choppy now. There was a storm brewing somewhere, and the skies would flash with violet and gold in the lightning. A trickle of rainwater whispered here and there, and she shook with outrage and fear.

He shook his head. "How many times do you want me to tell you this? You can't go down there."

"But they are in danger!" Cagalli cried her eyes were suddenly full of angry tears, "I only just met Pietre today! I can't stand here and allow them to be shot, can I? They must have infiltrated without anyone knowing, those terrorists-"

"They aren't terrorists," He cut in smoothly, "Not terrorists, per say. I'll explain it to you if you follow me. Don't you want the information?"

"Orb's got nothing to do with Scandinavia or the Denmark's incident! Information will do me no good at this point," Cagalli hissed, "Don't think I'll be fooled!"

"Nothing to do with it?" He raised his eyebrows, "Let's not be naïve here, Cagalli."

She did not quite understand or know what to suspect. And it maddened her because he had information he was withholding as a ransom. How she despised him.

"Don't call me by my name," She spat, still not lowering her gun, "And I never wanted to see you again, do you hear? I won't shoot you that much you know now, but I'm going below deck this very instant!"

Quite forgetting her vulnerability, she turned, exposing her back, and rushed towards the tunnel. But he took one step forward, caught her by her elbow and pulled her to him, enveloping her entirely. The flood of memories pummeled into the single entity that was their intertwined forms, and she screamed in her fury and fear and squeezed the trigger.

And so a shot rang out, clear and sharp, in the night air. The explosion of gunfire was quick and sharp in its scent, and the subsequent one soon robbed the gunpowder of its distinctive smoky perfume with the rusty edges of fresh liquid ruby being spilt on the floor.

Her vision was blurred with tears and something else, and her hands were red with blood, dripping and spreading everywhere on the deck.

She tried to laugh but coughed badly, and his voice was soft and distant as he stooped over her, a blurred image as her eyes fought to keep open in her shock. His own gun was out- he always carried one on him no matter what, that much she remembered. And the blood was rust in the salt of the air, and it was sickly sweet and crimson in a pool. The pain was blinding.

The rain pattered a little more as she heard moans of pain. And then it started pouring, and her thoughts were vague and blurred. Distinctively, she thought to herself that he hadn't changed very much these years, now that she could see him clearly. She coughed once, in a daze. Aaron would be terrified at the state of her ruined dress.

"Oh, Cagalli," She heard him whisper brokenly. His arms were strong and beautifully warm, but those were of little comfort as he cradled her, "You goddamn fool."

And then it clicked. The moans of pains were becoming faint and she realized, with a pang, that they had been hers. But of course it was becoming faint- she was too weak to cry in pain. Now, the world was fading too fast for her to cling on to.

She smiled weakly, remembering that someone had told her about irony being fate's lover. Without knowing anything anymore, she fell back, her eyes not caring to see beyond the black sea. And yet, the ghosts of the past that she had wanted to leave behind so badly began to cry out in the rain's roar.