Disclaimer: I own nothing of GS/GSD. R&R please.
Chapter 3
The room was bathed in golden light. The sounds of water running in a porcelain tub reverberated to where he sat, and he imagined her damp golden hair, its ends curling slightly, as she sat with her knees pressed to her in the warmth of the water.
He closed his eyes wearily. The sequence was in the order of the chaos planned.
This was exactly what they needed. He would recall the falcon to his shoulder as the falconer. She would fly into a rage, no doubt, in this tiny existence, the room ceiling her sky, the lush maroon carpet the tuft of grass, just as the world was blown into turmoil outside this place. She was already breaking from the stress of being alone in this place where she was given everything but nothing that she wanted.
Now she wanted information. And he knew he could not refuse her— or at least, she had made sure of that. He listened to the water running and wondered when it was that the sight of blood had started to sicken him.
Now, Athrun waited at the table that he had ordered to be brought in since a week ago, staring into space, and his were thoughts in turmoil and his mind in an engorged swell of memories. He had underestimated Cagalli, perhaps not for the first time. He had caged her while fully knowing that Cagalli would have gone mad when he did what he had to do.
It was understandable why she was behaving like this- like a caged animal. She was one.
In spite of all of this, Athrun had still gone ahead with it. There would have been no other way if he wanted the plans to be executed perfectly. Already, the first step had gone wrong— the skirmish on the royal yacht had led to her shooting herself, and that had not been what Athrun wanted.
"We must hurry." His friend said over the wind and the sea's roar.
The yacht was rocking and the blood was everywhere on his hands.
He looked up with wildness in his face. "Is everything ready?"
The other man nodded. "Yes. Will you leave her here?"
He took one look at Cagalli, unconscious and the wound gaping open. The bullet was impaled in the collarbone and the blue sapphire nothing but glass shards on a long silver chain now. "With the skirmish they created, nobody will think of searching for her on deck. Her bodyguards won't reach her in time."
"But you know as well as I do," His friend interrupted, "That if we take her like this without her consent, then your head will be one step nearer to the guillotine."
He made up his mind then. "No. She's coming back to the Isle with me."
He had no other choice if he wanted her alive. The cage was ready— but no cage would hold a dead bird's freedom when it already had none.
Flashes of her haunted face darted in his head, and the shadows under her eyes shot at him as he closed his eyes. The way she had been sprawled over the bed, without the will to move, had been disheartening, to say the least. Had his efforts at keeping her occupied gone to waste?
His instructions to the caregivers had been simple. They were to feed her, to ensure her needs were more than well met. He had asked them to ensure that she recuperated as well and as soon as possible, and to withhold information outside the confines of the room until he returned from business. They had failed in one respect, perhaps the most important one of all the above.
Athrun was an impatient man when it came to these things, although he chose to remain silent on most occasions. Now, he surveyed the bowed heads of Miles Summon, head doctor and one half of the caregivers he had asked to be assigned to Cagalli.
The room was filled with the sounds of water splashing and some protests of Cagalli as June forced her into a tub. The commotion could have been unapparent, as far as Athrun was concerned. Almost elegantly, save for the muted tension beneath his calm demeanor, he sat in a chair, one leg crossed over the other, an elbow resting lightly on the upturned knee so that his long fingers were folded, their joints bending, under his chin.
"An explanation, if you please," Athrun said to Miles. The sardonic language in his body was not overt, but the nuances were certainly there. And the man found his intestines twisting themselves together as he controlled the instinct to sweat full buckets in front of his master.
And Miles looked up very briefly, but it was enough for Athrun to see the bruise that he had refrained comment on when he had first rushed here. It was an ugly one, throbbing and purple, and inside, he pitied Miles. Cagalli was a mad tempest when provoked, and she had let herself go. Athrun sighed inwardly, imagining what must have transpired for her to have hit his subordinate.
But the man had ignored his instructions, and this was what he deserved.
"We tried to make her eat," Miles said in a very low voice, almost inaudible, "But she got so frustrated that she lost her will to cooperate. Forgive us. We should have used tranquilizers before she resorted to violence upon herself."
"I understand that much," Athrun said sedately, "Rather, I want you to explain the bruise you sport."
The man nervously fingered the swell, wincing lightly. If he had wanted sympathy, he got none.
Athrun stared at him without emotion, and Miles shivered inside. He had respect for Rune Estragon, without a doubt, and the man was a force unto himself on The Isle, but that did not make him any less a stranger to Miles Summon. And Cagalli Yula Atha- what had she done to deserve captivity like this? Who was she to Rune Estragon other than a card they needed to complete the game with the odds stacked in their favor?
"Sir," Miles said plaintively, like a spoilt child deprived of his candy "I don't mean to be rude, but what will we achieve of bringing an Orb Princess here? She will not understand what we have set our hearts to complete, and she will not aid us here on the Isle. And she is frustrated with the inability to return to the present on goings and naturally inflicts harm on herself due to her frustration. Why don't you let her go and-,"
"I asked for an explanation, Miles," Athrun cut in genially, a hint of warning in the winter of his tone, "Please."
The man bowed his head again, regretfully. "In my desperation to rectify the situation, I tried, physically, to lift her out of the bed because June could not do it. She resisted and when I persisted, she attacked."
Athrun's face registered nothing for a single second and then outrage contorted his features.
"I told you not to touch her!"
The savage extent of his voice spanned the length of the room. If Cagalli had not been treading in the depths of the deep bath at that point, she would have surely heard.
"Sir, please," the man quavered, "It was a slip of the mind, in all honesty. I did not mean to provoke her— believe me! I'm sorry!"
Athrun considered this, and sat back heavily, breathing hard. And then he shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, and then sighed. "I'm sorry too, Miles. It's been a difficult time for all of us, hasn't it? These three weeks have been nothing short of chaos."
The man was too frightened to reply, and Athrun sighed and waved him off. But he did not stay long as well, and in a few minutes he had slipped out, first collecting his gloves that he had only just removed for a little while, making sure that he had not touched anything but his knee as he had sat.
When he was certain of the precautions he had taken, he slipped the gloves and moved out as quietly as he had came in. He had not removed his coat, however, so he had nothing more to take.
But underneath the coat, his suit was stiff with dried blood. It was not his own, but another's.
By the time Cagalli was suitably dressed and freshened from her sustained spree of damage to herself, she looked none the worse for wear.
June had sent for two maids to outfit her, and they had picked a pale blue gown with a tapered train that revealed the front of her legs, with relatively comfortable shoes to match. A little make-up had been applied to mask the dark circles under her eyes, and some color had been regained in her cheeks and lips. The rest had come naturally as they forced her in front of the vanity and brushed her hair until their arms ached and her hair shone, the ends clearly at her shoulders now, and adorned her with a matching set of opals that swung from silver strands from her earlobes with a string of them on her wrist.
She declined the necklace.
A note awaited by the table, and she picked it up and noted the quality of its print and the sheen of its gold-embossed corners. And this was only a note. The possibility of him consciously flaunting his wealth and power here was slim— there was carelessness in his language and the slanted, elegant scribble, if such a thing were possible. So that left one other possibility- the Isle was certainly not a beggar's one. Or at least, not for Athrun.
"Meet me once they have prepared you sufficiently. They will lead you there."
She glanced at the maids, who were consulting a separate note Athrun had probably left for them. Two young girls, and their origins she could not place. This was not unlike June and Miles who were clearly of European descent but had too much mingling of other heritages to look entirely pure in that respect. These two had strangely pale hair that was not a washed-out blonde like Pietre's had been— but a strangely lavender and grey one. Were they Coordinators?
But Cagalli was too distracted to ask them. And she doubted that they would have answered her. In fact, they did their tasks as quietly as mice and led her to the door she had been fantasizing about tearing open with her hands for the past few weeks. Her heart was thumping its erratic pattern again, and her palms were sweaty.
Then one stepped to her, holding out a black horizon of cloth.
"If your Excellence pleases."
"A shawl?" Cagalli said nervously, putting her hands self-consciously to her throat. She wondered if she had made a mistake by declining the necklace. It would have concealed the plunge of the neckline, even though the consolation was that the sleeves were long and furled open at her elbows, even though the material was mostly sheer.
The one who she took to be the elder, since they were clearly twins, shook her head. And in one quick instant, they had curtsied, almost as if asking for forgiveness, and held it out, still not saying anything. And she understood.
Shrugging, she took it, and tied it around her head so it formed a blindfold.
Small, pertly-shaped fingers were adjusting it, tightening it, and she sighed internally, cursing Athrun for having as careful attendants as he was himself. The secrecy of everything was nagging at her, pulling her thoughts here and there, but she steadied herself and felt two pairs of hands take hold of each of hers, leading her forward gently.
The door was unlocked, and she stepped through, a sense of fear sweeping into her, but a strange kind of joy as well. It wasn't freedom, that much she understood, but still, she would not begrudge this. If he had his reasons, she would hear them during the meal. And her heart soared- perhaps this was just a dream, perhaps she would wake to find herself back in Orb with normalcy on the list of priorities.
She did not hear any sounds while they moved slowly because of her handicap, but her footsteps, unsure and slightly stilted were comforting at least, on the rich carpets of the hospital grounds. Because she was going somewhere- she was moving forward, and she would understand at least.
Then she felt the small fingers untying the knot at the back of her head, and she clenched her fists, trying to contain her excitement, and then the cloth slipped off, and suddenly, the renewed aspect of her perception slipped into place, and she was hearing the cool evening breeze singing her ears as a balcony she faced extended into a violet and dusk horizon, the birds soaring far in the distance where the sea was. There was, however, no coast in sight.
A silent cry grasped its way out of her as the impact of its beauty rushed everywhere into her vision, and her hands were upon the cold balcony bars in a single instant as she reveled in something she hadn't realized she had missed seeing for so long.
But the moment was interrupted by a slight sound, and she turned around to see Athrun standing elegantly by a table, one hand on a chair he was waiting to usher her into. Candles were upright in brassy, elaborate designs of stands, whereby projected four-point stars of light hung slightly at the apex of each flame, sheltered by the wind in the glass orbs. Startled, she stared at him, losing her ability of speech.
"Dinner awaits," Athrun said briefly, holding out the chair for her.
The two girls, one holding the black scarf, bowed in perfect unison, and turned a corner or two behind a maze of hedges. Had she come from there? She could not tell. They had not spoken, and no rustling of leaves had been heard at all. But still, logic told her that there would be another entrance- perhaps there was another she had gone through.
What had he not wanted to show when she had came here?
And why was there so much being shrouded by mystery, on top of all that he had not revealed to her when she had met him again after eight years?
For that matter, why had he secretly instructed the two maids to face her by the evening view when they had slipped off the blind, when he had clearly been there when she had arrived and had been waiting for her?
Hesitantly, she stepped towards Athrun Zala. When he had left, eight years ago, she had realized how little she really understood of him. Now, it seemed that an entire ocean was in between them.
His eyes were kind and his smile gentler than she could have recalled after the Second War, and awkwardly, she let him guide her to her seat while he assumed his.
An attendant served them the appetizer, and suddenly ravenous, Cagalli ate whole-heartedly, while he merely sipped from his glass with the interest of a collector viewing a rare item. It was clear that he was looking solely at her, although the expression on his face didn't reveal much.
She ignored him, however, and continued, until the first pangs of a returned starvation had been extinguished. Embarrassedly, she glanced at him, but he only smiled encouragingly and drank a little more.
When the main course was served, the pink flesh of salmon with a creamy sauce and red cabbage, Cagalli ignored it and glared at Athrun. He studied her superciliously now, as if mocking her.
She bit her lip, feeling less than placid now. He however, looked as if he was comfortable enough to lie down and take a nap in full view of the setting sun. He was well-dressed, in a simple dark suit with a maroon shirt, although he had not bothered with a tie and had left the first few buttons undone for better appreciation of the spring evenings. She noticed a slight but clearly-defined mark there on his white skin, and knew enough to suspect.
It was not quite dark yet, due to the daylight saving hours, and all the better, Cagalli thought furiously, for me to see his expression when I tell him how I'd like to kill him.
The place was large enough for ten other tables to fit comfortably into the parameters, but a row of hedges blocked one end, and the sky framing her end. It was clear by now, that the balcony was a rooftop ballroom- but the other half lay behind the decision of hedges. It was impossible to see any clear distinguishing landmarks with only the sea behind her. If she wanted to check, she would have to pass Athrun to move over the hedges.
He looked at her with a soft smile on his face, and she was disconcerted to realize that he could probably guess her thoughts. She had been staring at the space behind him.
"I want to start with the most apparent questions first," Cagalli said sharply. He cut a thin piece of his meal and tasted it, nodding slightly as if the expertise of the meal's maker had more significance than her questions, but she held her ire and waited.
Finally, he looked at her. "Ask away. But I will withhold the questions that I can't answer without lying."
Her eyes widened with dismay. "But Athrun! You promised!"
"I promised you information," Athrun said simply, picking up his glass by the long, graceful stem with his equally slender fingers, "Not the answers to every single question that you'll instinctively ask."
Cagalli noted that the fork was very near her. She could use it and lean over quietly, and then when he wasn't looking, she'd stab him in the eye and threaten him unless he gave in and told her exactly what was going on. Oh, the temptation was so great and-
"Well?" He prompted. "You're already fulfilling your part of the deal, so do you want to allow me to back out on mine?"
She bit back a retort and said instead, in the most controlled tones that she could probably have mustered, "No. I'll make do with the information I obtain."
He nodded, pleased, and she took a deep breath and plunged in. The food lay forgotten in front of her, but he continued as per normal.
"First," Cagalli said breathlessly, "Where is this place?"
He considered her question, chewed a little, swallowed methodically, and looked at her, his eyes sharp even though he appeared relaxed. "The Isle's location is a complete secret even the inhabitants will keep to themselves. But I can tell you that we are amongst the most remote corners of the Danish Archipelago where the North Atlantic Ocean and the Norwegian Sea conjoin as a border. You are well-versed in the history and geography of the region, are you not? The war wrecked most of the region. Simply put, this place has been untouched and forgotten since the first signs of conflict in war."
The silence was deafening.
"What?" Cagalli cried, "You mean this is an isolated place and nobody can get here?"
"Nobody but the people who are already here."
The ambiguous nature of his answer stirred irritation in her and she glared at him, but he shook his head enigmatically.
"I will not reveal anymore. You can choose to press a futile source or move on."
She took an angry swig of her white wine to calm her frayed nerves.
'This is ridiculous,' she argued inside, 'He's taken me to the place where the terrorists are rumored to be targeting, and there are hundreds of islands on the archipelago itself! Even if I figure out the location of this place, I can't give its name to anyone I might contact, and the worst thing is that this place is probably a secret location to start with the most dire of things!'
"No, we'll go on." Cagalli said morosely. "Now, tell me why you changed your name and cultured a new, well, I assume new, identity."
He smiled dryly, signifying with his eyes that she should continue to eat anyway, but Cagalli found that she had lost all appetite in her frenzy to find out what was going on. She had deprived of information for so long that nothing else mattered, and it might not have affected her as much if she had not confirmed for herself that Athrun was alive and obviously well. The treatment in the hospital room had been first-class admittedly, and the food here was exquisite. If he had brought her gowns like these and trinkets to amuse herself with, trinkets that cost fortunes, then clearly, Rune Estragon was no simple, slightly above-average run-of-the-mill man.
He shrugged with the focus of a butterfly darting from blossom to blossom. "I got sick of the old one."
"Athrun!" Cagalli exclaimed impassionedly, her eyes darkened and her mouth wrenched, "Stop being cryptic!"
In response, he smiled. "If you must know,-"
"I must," She said tersely.
"If you must know then." Athrun said leisurely, "I wanted a new lease of life in a different place. As you can well imagine, if I returned to Plant, I would have been embroiled in the same place and a different but essentially identical set of politics. Lacus is one good example of one who has been shaped by the war and will therefore have to bear the Clyne name on her shoulders by simply returning to Plant. She has done so and is bearing the consequences now. Kira is expecting his first child, is he not? I expect the child will have much to live up to, the way Lacus must live up to her father's achievements, or more accurately, surpass him in what he could not achieve before his premature death. I, on the other hand, do not want ideals to live up to."
So he had been following the news outside The Isle, if he knew all that had transpired. How much more was he aware of?
Cagalli shook her head. "But you took your inheritance here to the Isle, didn't you?"
He raised an amused eyebrow. "Funny how you should mention it. That vase you smashed in one of your less dignified moments will cost a pretty penny. And yes, I took my inheritance with me. I have every right to, would you not agree?"
She scowled. "And it's been sustaining your lifestyle?"
His expression turned slightly wintry. "Contrary to your beliefs, the inheritance, with my advisors' calculations that are estimated at the worst possible scenario and the most extravagant of lifestyles, will last me only to about two hundred and seventeen years from this one onwards."
Cagalli harrumphed. "Which is eternity. I thought so."
"But," Athrun said flippantly, as if he had not heard the sarcasm in her voice, "Some people believe in making their money work for them. I think it's fair to insinuate here that I am one of them. And on a side note, I don't intend to live to the ripe old age of two-hundred and forty-five, I'm afraid. The businesses I inherited were valued at twenty-nine hundred billion when I was officially recognized as the exclusive shareholder. Since then, they've come a long way. Of course, I had help."
He sipped his wine patiently, ignoring the way that she choked. That bastard!
"You never told me this!" Cagalli spluttered, "I mean, I suspected you were up to your eyebrows in money, but this is ridiculous! Since when has your family been the offspring of emperors and all the richest asset-holders in the history of the Cosmic Era and before?"
He looked bemused now. "The Zala House isn't the richest one in Plant. The Amalfis were originally tied with the Joules about fifty years ago, although the Joules are now in the lead, since they were direct descendents from Italy's royal bloodline and the English Royals respectively. Of course, the Joule House was a distant bloodline to the direct Jacobean one. Have you never suspected why Nicole and Yzak never quite saw eye to eye?"
"I don't understand something here," Cagalli muttered.
He laughed. "The Amalfis were a very powerful, or at least, the most powerful house in Italy. The Duchess of Amalfi, apparently, had too much air element, she was said to have possessed. Nicol, I think, was only one of the long line of those who inherited that personality trait."
Cagalli was silent. She had seen a picture of the fifteen-year old, bright and splendid with youth, grinning and waving at the camera with a puppy's playfulness but an overwhelmingly prominent intelligence in his eyes. And her brother had killed him.
"The Joules, on the other hand, took on fire, the choleric element, pronounced mostly in their ascent to power. And over the centuries, they seemed to have transferred this in their descendants' personalities. The turn of their social hierarchy came with the shift and dependence to Science, I supposed, and since then, they've been embroiled in a large part of economy and the military. Ezalia Joule, I think, was the only female who bothered with politics."
"No wonder then," she said with some awe, interposing him, "That the Joules are a strange lot. I never knew how deep the history of these families ran. And yours? "
His expression turned slightly wry.
"The Zala line, I'm afraid, has its roots in European merchant Houses that dragged their way up into royal lineage. One of the daughters was quite beautiful, I read somewhere. The Lord Chancellor of Bohemia took quite a liking to her, and when he died, she moved on to the Prince's steward, and then the Prince himself. So the Zalas were quite the scum of the earth at that time, I presume."
She was fascinated, not so much by what he had told her, but by how little he seemed to be affected by the weight of the history. The Elsmans, she realised, must have had similar backgrounds. Their sons had been volunteered to the war, and with it, the possibility of the history being brought back to dust from the dust it had been borne from.
"Have you wondered why so many in the Plants, or at least, the highest in social standing, have ties to the most powerful families in the world?"
She had. It did not seem probable that the most powerful families and those with the longest history of wealth and access to might were congregating in space colonies by mere coincidence.
"It seems fair," Athrun said simply, "That we can assume everyone believes in progress, regardless of the paradigm shifts of religion and science. Of course, we must ignore the bloody Valentine for now- those gave rise to radicals and madmen. My father was one of them. And if all people belief in progress, it seems likely that the most powerful families across continents and seas would have devoted themselves to making it."
Her eyes were widening, and suddenly, everything was coming in snippets of flashbacks.
"Assume now," Athrun continued, "That progress in the Cosmic Era, came in the form of a development of Science that extended to even what completed and composed the human body."
"The technology that altered genes," She said in disbelief.
He looked at her with some satisfaction. "Correct. And if that was a development that would change so many things, priority was given to those who could afford it. That, you realize now, was the starting point of the Plants being a society of only the aristocrats, literati, some bourgeoisie and wealthy merchants. Most of these already had ties to the oldest and most powerful families in the world. Of course, those did not matter once the rest who were not Coordinators condemned them and the distinct shift of society became a dichotomy of those who had meddled with their genes, and those who had not."
"But," Cagalli said disbelievingly, "The fact that the Coordinators had been some of the most powerful people on the old Earth was never forgotten, was it?"
He shook his head. "Or forgiven either. It made it even more justified for the Naturals, or those who believed in the Blue Cosmos anyway, to cleanse the world of the filth that were aristocrats and the like who had even defied Nature now."
She shook her head disbelievingly. "And you're going to live your life out like this? In the lap of luxury, without a single goal to achieve, without any motivation to get out from wherever this place is located in the sea?"
Athrun looked as composed as ever, but she had the impression that he was fighting to not roll his eyes. But he dashed her silent, raging hopes that he would deny this with his next uttered words.
"Actually," Athrun said calmly, "Yes, that's correct."
"You good-for-nothing," Cagalli snapped, "You're a war hero, aren't you? But here you are, living like a stupid fool of a pighead, damned man that-,"
He sat, impeccable and unaffected, watching her call him all the names in the book she could summon there and then. And when she had finished, or rather, exhausted all the possible names to call him, her face flushed and her body panting with her, he bent forward, delicately refilled her glass, and placed it in front of her.
"Finished, are we?" He said mockingly. "Then that will be it, and we can switch to another topic. Tell me how you have been enjoying yourself."
His calm face and his precise, steady mannerism tore the last of her tolerance from her soul. She stood up, her face dark and her eyes individual orbs of fiery amber, and spat, "I'm going back!"
He looked at her, a surprisingly gentle smile on his face. "Still as feisty as always."
"No," Cagalli said angrily and not untruthfully, "But you bring out the worst in me."
Athrun looked surprised for a minute, and then he smiled, relaxing visibly. Then he stood as well, admiring her as she framed the direction of the wind, her dress blowing and her hair whipping around her face as she seemed to posses the tempest of the unknown worlds then. And he pulled a little bell from the table, and rang.
Cagalli stood up, pushing her chair back with an indignant squeak. She was beginning to regret her rash decision.
The two girls appeared the black scarf still in their hands. Without further ado, they stepped behind her and began tying it. Still stung by her encounter with him, she refused to look at the diminishing of her vision as he stood in front of her, until she knew looking would not change the fact that she could not see his face.
The hands were guiding her again, but just as she moved off, she heard him say, his measured tones sonorous over the evening, "A pity. You took most of your dinner and yet you only obtained so little of information. Hardly an equal exchange, I think." He smiled mildly.
And it was then that Cagalli realized that she had truly suffered a hard bargain. She whipped around in the direction she had been standing in previously, regardless of the fact that it made no difference to her sight. "You tricked me!
"Hardly." He smiled thinly. "You didn't bother pushing the bargain. Patience, Cagalli, is a virtue. You must learn to bide your time."
"I have no reason to take your advice," She hissed in her darkness, "Not for the biding of time anyway."
"I bid mine,' He said calmly."Now, when you want, you can call for me. Don't ever resort to self-inflicted harm. I won't tolerate your actions or offer any information if you attempt your little stunts again. In fact, measures to ensure you do not danger yourself in a new parameter of self-inflicted harm will be put into place." He looked directly at her. "Surveillance sounds suitable even if I personally don't approve of invaded privacy. If need be, steel cuffs are available."
She halted.
"I hate you!" She cried violently, not caring that she was twenty-five and the Supreme Commander of Orb, and that she sounded nothing but childish and spiteful.
He laughed, clearly mocking her. "I'm not sure I can say the same, unfortunately."
She was led away.
This time, she counted the number of steps for each turn. Eight forward, five to the right, then six to the right again, then two to the left and twelve forward, followed by twelve to the left, and then one turn right, and then the door lock was being sounded, the series of complicated whirrs and clicks declaring her admission.
Her blindfold was taken off, and she stood, glowering at the two girls. They quickly dipped their curtseys, and then ran, shutting the door very securely behind them, so that Cagalli was a prisoner again.
She stood, motionless, and then she suddenly screamed and kicked the bed post, spewing all the insults that she could invent with a remarkably and critically form of creative cursing.
When she got tired of it, she pulled off the bracelet, yanked off the earrings, and threw them at the vanity, where they hit the polished wood with a thud. Her reflection increased her frustration, and in a frenzy, she stormed to it. She began pulling off the gown and kicking the folds off until she was dressed in nothing but the muslin chemise. Angrily, she stalked to the intricately-carved armoire, pulled a nightgown out, and dressed herself with a desperation that swallowed the insides of her stomach.
Time was running out. And she had wasted a day.
But what was she really trying to do? She covered her face with her hands, thinking bitter thoughts. If only she had stayed away from the Scandinavian Kingdom. But how was she supposed to know that Athrun Zala, of all bloody people, would have been here? And how was she supposed to deduce, through clairvoyant means, that she would end up as nothing but a prisoner in a room like this one, for Athrun, or Rune Estragon to control where she went and what she knew?
And yet, there was no other choice but to look at the situation squarely in the face. She was a prisoner here, a well-fed, cared-for prisoner, but a prisoner nonetheless, and Cagalli was not aware of what was happening in the month that she had been missing from Orb.
It did not take a rocket-scientist, however, to guess the turmoil that lay beyond the Isle.
If the last member of the Orb royals had gone to Scandinavia, then world attention would have been on that region. And if that member had been asked there, possibly, to aid Sweden in driving out the Denmark terrorists with Orb's military might, then all the more, the attention would have been given. The fact that terrorists were still running free did not help. But if that member had disappeared from the Royal host's yacht one night, whether or not it was proven that terrorists had taken her, then the world's attention would surely zoom in even closer onto Scandinavia. They were ultimately responsible for her if she was in their region. Orb needed her- and she was missing.
Surely, the accusations would be rife. She had to escape from here and return to Orb to clarify and soothe the tension over.
If she did not find out what was ongoing at the very least, other than planning an escape, there was bound to be even greater trouble. But first, in order to learn of the outside world, she first had to understand the one she was trapped in at this point.
Athrun had offered her something to that nature, and she had basically made a terrible mess of the opportunity.
She cursed, rubbing her face in her hands.
But something still bothered her. Had Cagalli been sure that he would have made the bargain? No. She had only dared hoped that he would arrive so she could ask him for the information that she wanted urgently. Athrun, however, had been willing to give more than what she had been planning to wager for, taking nothing but the promise that she would lift herself from the depth she had sank to. Why?
She suddenly thought about the frustration welling in his face as he flipped her on her back and surveyed what she had caused to herself. Perhaps he cared more than she would have liked to admit.
"No," Cagalli said abruptly, "He just doesn't want more trouble on his hands. If I die here, they will kill him for it."
All the same,-
A blush began to scatter on her cheeks. But she left the train of thoughts and stared determinedly at the notepads she had brought from the tableside. The first thing she had written down, was the series of steps from the dining balcony that no one but them had used, apparently, all the way to this room. When she had finished, she slipped it in a peach-colored gown in the wardrobe, near the fold of the bust.
And Cagalli sat, for a long time, thinking hard and thinking very deeply. Then she picked up the bone-china fountain pen and began to write. There were priorities that needed to be arranged in due order.
The first was to understand the basics about the place. There was nothing like knowing the enemy's stronghold inside out to escape.
The second was to find out the on-goings of Orb, Sweden, and Plant, now that it was certain that she was missing or in which case possible, had been kidnapped.
The third was to return to Orb in the quickest time possible.
The first would be difficult, but relatively simple compared to the others. She chewed her lip, considering the most effective ways to wheedle information from those she would come into contact with. For now, Cagalli would attempt to get closer to Miles, June, and the two maids, assuming that she ever saw them again.
They would accept her apology for being so irrational and eventually, eventually, she prayed, they would grow comfortable enough for her to take information from them on the sly and without their conscious realization. But something tugged at her mind- they were too careful. Clearly, they had been warned by Athrun, and they were too wary of her to respond to her questions in the way she wanted and needed them to.
Besides, growing close to them would take a considerable amount of effort, she thought ruefully, considering the bruise she had left as a souvenir for Miles.
On the other hand, she could go straight to the gift horse's mouth.
Therein lay several obstacles. She could not threaten Athrun with power, not when she was in his stronghold. But even if he had changed in a distinctively sinister way, Cagalli had nerves of steel and sheer determination to counter his advantage over her. And if he could show concern or at least, a manifested form of concern in case she killed herself while she was still the Princess of Orb in the hands of her captors, then she had a key she could use.
But the thought of stooping as low as to threaten to kill herself made her squirm.
'I've been trying to forget him,' Cagalli argued angrily in her mind, 'And now this. What about the eight years of trying?'
But she made her decision in the end. Or rather, she chose the only possible route.
The second goal was immensely difficult by itself. How could she worm out information about what was happening beyond The Isle?
"Hopefully," Cagalli prayed, "He needs me alive and intact."
It did not occur to her to strike another bargain many captives often made with their captors. On the condition that they were set free, the captives would bring back the ransom money and swear to never divulge in the identity of their captors. There were two problems in this scenario- Cagalli instinctively trusted Athrun Zala to an extent she was not ready to admit or even conscious of recognizing, and the other problem, was that he had not quite asked for anything equivalent or close to a ransom.
For that matter, what did Athrun Zala really want of her?
She tried to puzzle it out, but ended up bothered and irritable. To distract herself, she pulled the nightgown off her head because it was beginning to border on a sweltering temperature in the room, and curled up near the cool iron-wrought bars of her bed.
And unknowingly, she began to fantasize about someone leaving the door unlocked so she could sneak out and find a way to escape. She wouldn't have minded swimming as long as she could get away. Or perhaps Athrun would invite her to dinner again, and she would miraculously find something to drug him with so she could escape from there. The possibilities were endless, but the probabilities woefully limited.
Sighing, Cagalli flopped on the bed, her figure lush and tender in the muslin and her legs sprawled in a comely and unconscious manner. She held the paper above her head and stared at it. First things first, she vowed, I'll have to make Athrun tell me the things I need to understand.
A sound distracted her, and startled, she sat up very abruptly and resultantly hit her head on the bed-pole. Damn her tendency to suffer accident.
In an instant, the security locks were simultaneously cleared and she only had time to stuff the papers towards the side, where they went under the bed.
The hinges made slight sounds of discontent as the hinge swung on those and then admitted a person through before locking itself securely again.
She gaped in a developed state of shock, and instinctively pulled the covers over herself for modesty's sake, her face reflecting outrage and fear. But Athrun did not even bat an eye.
"It's been an hour," He said eventually.
She scoffed. "So you have a clock too."
He registered a slight smile. "Have you calmed down enough to ensure a civilized façade at very least?"
Cagalli glared, and then attempted to hide it. Her priorities were to make him feel as if she had given up hope on leaving, and she would have to gain his trust first. Her efforts went noticed, apparently, for he smiled at her questioningly, challenging her.
"I thought we might talk, never mind that we just had a little ah-," He paused, his voice droll with dry wit and chief amusement at her unease, "Dispute."
That was about as accurate as it could be- if disputes considered of the highly-irresistible urge to strangle him with her bare hands. She grimaced in the direction of the chair fitted under the handsome vanity.
"You could either talk with the manners you were brought up with in a far more cultured manner than in the style you displayed an hour ago," Athrun said comfortably, hauling the chair next to her again and settling into it with a fluid ease. "Unless you would rather spend the rest of the night sulking."
"You've got absolutely no damn right to mention the word culture," Cagalli gritted back, "When you could go as far as to bring me here and threaten me with cuffs. I'm not a beast you've bought for your amusement."
He smiled courteously and ambivalently, and something lurked in his eyes. A warning signal, perhaps. But she knew what he was thinking- that in all respects, he had made her his beast and she was playing into his hands by behaving like one.
But suddenly, a crucial thought occurred, making the image of the rustling papers under the bed that she had crushed in a hurry reappear in her mind.
"Talk," She said hastily. She awkwardly arranged the blanket around her shoulders to fit her better, and Athrun registered no embarrassment, unfortunately adding a new dimension of self-consciousness on top of her current emotions.
"It's not as if I haven't seen a woman before," He said calmly, leaning back and regarding her with some scorn in his eyes. She colored badly and snapped, "I thought you were a gentleman or pretending to be like one at bare minimum!"
He grinned suddenly, and Cagalli was horrified to find herself wondering if she had ever forgotten his smile when he was entirely relaxed, that clipped and politely curt demeanor removed from him for a short while at least.
"I suppose I should stand and look fascinatingly at a corner while you regain some decency."
"Yes," Cagalli said awkwardly, "Please."
"Right," He said automatically, standing up and moving to a corner, doing as good as his word and not reverting his eyes from where he was. "I supposed it's mostly my fault for not knocking."
"Kidnappers usually don't bother with that much courtesy," Cagalli scoffed, removing the blanket and then pulling the nightgown over her head again.
He laughed a dry laugh from where he was, and when she confirmed that she was ready, he turned around and strode back to his seat. "I suppose that's what it is now," He muttered regretfully, "Although it wasn't intended."
"What do you mean?" Cagalli said sharply, "I'm here in this locked room, aren't I?"
He shook his head morosely. "I was supposed to convince you to follow me, but not without signing an agreement that I would have left behind on that ship. An agreement that said you did this entirely out of your will and would be back in a certain degree of time."
"For how long?" She asked, bewildered.
"For as long as I had estimated as being both necessary and adequate. But you had your adventure, I suppose," He gestured to her collarbone where thankfully, nothing but a faint line remained, "And I couldn't leave you there."
"Why not?" She said, puzzled.
Athrun's face registered nothing but a cold rational process that was ongoing in his head. "First, they would accuse me of attacking you with a gun when it had really been the opposite. Secondly, you would have been in grave danger if I had not taken you along with me. Third, I wanted to bring you back anyhow, so the means did not really matter, although I was counting on diplomatic persuasion to bring you here. Rest assured that you would still be required to stay here, however, had you agreed to come along on your own free will."
She gaped, and then stammered an apology. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause so much trouble. But-," Cagalli looked up at him, doubt still etched in her face, "It was your fault anyway."
"Whatever you say," Athrun admitted readily, "But you will still follow my plans. You're in a foreign place where the best form of safety I can ensure for you is by following what I have arranged."
She snorted. "Yeah, safe. But not from boredom."
"And apparently not from self-inflicted harm," He said quietly. But she did not hear him.
"Athrun," Cagalli said carefully, but with just the hint of a plea in her voice, "Please don't withhold things from me anymore. I must learn more about this place, or I will spend sleepless nights fretting about the unknown that plagues me. Please."
His face hardened, and she was frightened that she had pushed too far too fast. But his shoulders relaxed gradually, and he surveyed her with his green eyes, searching her face for something she hoped she would not show that convinced him to deny her request.
"I would have told you gradually anyway," Athrun said simply, "But in my own time. I promise you however, that all will be understood eventually. But you must be patient."
She bit back her cry that she could hardly afford to be patient when so much was being kept from her, and nodded desperately instead.
"Good," Athrun said, clearly satisfied with her effort at obedience, "Now we will talk of whatever you want us to except that which I cannot reveal at this moment."
"How long must I be here?" Cagalli asked, clearly devastated and quietly shattered.
He nodded, as if to confirm that she had a right to know. "Half a year. I promise you that you'll not stay a shorter duration or a longer one. It will all end in half a year."
She closed her eyes, feeling the prickling of tears and the growing fear in her body, but her pride was too strong for her to buckle under the situation. Besides, this only confirmed that she needed to plan to leave this place as soon as possible. "I understand."
"Thank you," Athrun said gently. "I'll try to provide you everything you need."
"Athrun," said she softly, "Did you ever harbor a grudge against me?"
He leaned back, breathing heavily. "M y current actions have nothing to do with our past. But the answer to your question is obvious."
Her heart sank, but she had expected this at the very least.
"However," He continued morosely, "there are things that we must first work for."
"Work for?"
"Precisely. Sacrifices have to be made."
He refused to say anymore than his cryptic words, and eventually, she gave up and switched the line of conversation.
"Tell me," She said curiously, "What's life here like on the Isle?"
His face lightened, and she was entranced by how peaceful he looked. It was unexpected, and she wondered if this was a pretense. "On a normal day, the inhabitants live in their traditional ways, planting and growing their crops and feeding their families. The surplus is secretly shipped off to separate islands with other islands' titles inscribed on them, and we have informants from the other islands that arrange this. So a little more income is supplied to the native inhabitants here. The Isle is relatively large, but it functions well enough with schools and a hospital."
"The one I am in now." She said uncomfortably.
"No," Athrun said, but not without a hint of cunning, "You're in my house."
The effect was immediate and as extreme as the situation called for.
She shot up, stiffening. "So my guess was correct!"
"This is a spare room," He said lightly, adjusting the things on the mantel here and there, which irritated her because he was putting the things straight again, and he was avoiding her eye, which she was mostly guilty of, but now angered that he was giving her the same treatment. "And Miles Summon and June Requiem are part of my staff."
"Lord," Cagalli breathed, "Why didn't you say so?"
"You didn't ask," He pointed out with the same courtesy as before, "And I didn't bothered clarifying, of course. But it doesn't matter, does it?"
She had to agree. It did not quite matter, the place she was in now, whether a hospital or his home, was ultimately still a stronghold of his. No wonder he had such power over the two and the maids- he was their master from the start, not merely a customer they were obliged to be obedient to.
Being in his service, Cagalli suddenly suspected, meant more than obedience and the daily dusting. Miles had sharp eyes and the hands of not a doctor, deftly shaped but rough and unpolished. Was he trained with a gun? And June Requiem looked young, but her memory was incredible- she could recited the number of books in order of titles that Cagalli had read backwards and forwards, in spite of their sheer number. These two girls were young and overtly silent but somewhat menacing in their own ways, with their almost inaudible pattering in the room and the deftness in which they did their work. The elder had hands that could lift a wardrobe quite easily, and the younger one pared apples with deft slashes.
Cagalli shivered.
"What does your house look like?" She asked interestedly. Inside, she half-expected him to refuse to answer. But he smiled and responded, "I could let you find out for yourself."
Her heart skipped a few beats, and she nodded eagerly, not caring if he was playing mind games with her or calling her bluff. Knowledge was the key to understanding, and then routing her escape. But truthfully, she was curious as well. What would Athrun's house look like?
Unconsciously, her eyes fell on the bedside table and the vanity. Those were exquisite and judging by his consistency of character up until recently where nothing seemed the same anymore, his house would be beautifully furnished with the highest quality of lamp stands to armchairs.
"Tomorrow, perhaps?" Cagalli said innocently, looking at him carefully, "Will you show me around?"
He shook his head with a tinge of regret. "I'm afraid not. The twins will if I instruct them too. I suppose it's time you got to explore the East Wing."
"So there are four?" She guessed, tilting her head and thinking of corridors of winding paths and rooms that were similar to this one.
He smiled knowingly and shook his head. "It will not harm me to tell you that there are only two. The East Wing and West Wing. And the West one is solely my quarters, whereby it is divided into the Regent West Wing and the Main West Wing."
"Divided?" Cagalli said in astonishment, "What for?"
He smiled a soft, slightly strange smile that made the blood rise in her body. "One for business and the other- for pleasure."
She looked away quickly, afraid to stare into his face as he was doing at that instant. "And what do you do for business?"
"I deal with the shares the companies I hold control," Athrun said evenly, "It's a lucrative business and rather extensive. Perhaps tomorrow, I will introduce my assistant to you. You might enjoy his company, since he has remarkable tolerance for questions and that sort of thing you are so characteristic of. Naturally so, in my opinion, because his children are only toddlers at this stage."
"How old is he?" Cagalli said questioningly, ignoring Athrun's barb with some effort "And is he a native?"
Athrun laughed. "He's young enough, but not too young to know that he oughtn't to meddle with what I do. He's twenty-one this year, but very talented and more crucially, knows how to keep his mouth shut. A good man in all honesty. He is, as you say, a native, but an immigrant of sorts as well."
His last words made puzzlement rise in Cagalli. How could one be both an immigrant and a native? Strange. Perhaps she had misunderstood Athrun somewhere.
"So this is the East Wing," She confirmed at last, looking at the room again even though she knew each nook and cranny well enough to reconstruct it blindfolded with the scarf the twins provided. "And a former guest room."
"Correct," Athrun said plainly, without an overt expression of any sort. This, she was coming to realize, was his default status where he did not want her to read into his thoughts. "This is part of it."
"Is it divided as well?" Cagalli questioned uneasily.
He smiled languidly. "Do you want it to be?"
She recalled his explanation about the West Wing's apparent division, his voice being reproduced in her blood, and felt feverish in an instant. Furiously, she berated herself for the unknown feelings and the trickling of suppressed emotions that were darting in her veins, and focused her eyes at him, forcing herself to be steady.
"If that's all, you should rest now." Athrun said quietly, standing up so he towered over her, "Good night."
He bent in a slight bow, acknowledging her, and suddenly, as if something had possessed her, she slipped from the bed, unconsciously pulling the end of the blanket with her so it slid lazily to the floor, but there was no embarrassment in her as she slipped into his arms, tiptoeing as a child would, to embrace him. His arms froze, but slowly and so gently, slid around her waist, pulling her closer.
When she let go, his face was half-impassive, something she realized with a pang, was still the same effort to remain unread, and yet, the other was half clearly shaken. No triumph came to her that she had broken through his shell, but there was a strange reassurance in her body and the warmth that had flooded through from her thin nightgown into his body. She had meant it as a test of his possible reactions to her, or so she now tried to rationalize, but it had been a zugzwang on her part, intermingled with unconscious, secret desires and the tendrils of memories that had been put away for too long.
He stared at her.
They might have spoken, talked about the past maybe, or the mistakes they had made, the terrible flaws in their judgment that had cost them that glowing, one chance of happiness together. But they did not. Too much had changed since then- it wasn't being out of the loop, it was being in a separate, entirely foreign one altogether.
"Goodnight" She said softly, and slipped under the covers.
He moved languidly to the door, and just before he produced the key that hung around his neck under his shirt, he turned around to take one final glance at her, his eyes traveling over her face to the soft lines of her body that had contrasted but complimented the harder lines of his so well. One hand was by the switch, and the lights faded, the door clicking to announce his departure.
And Cagalli sank into a dreamless sleep.
5 months. 22 days