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

Chapter 4

Cagalli cursed silently- then thought the better of it and did it aloud.

"There's nobody to hear me anyway." She said plainly, crumpling a fistful of the sheets she was sitting on.

But there was nothing to curse about if you wanted to be objective. Rune Estragon was certainly no under-privileged man. If anything, he was over privileged and he was generous to his prisoners, prisoners like her. Even if the week passed by with no hint of his returning, she had been a bored but nevertheless well-looked after captive in this room. She had been like this, in his house, on The Isle,

for nearly a month now.

There was no sign of anything changing, and a dulled acceptance had become part of her being, although there was a fluttering of her heart each time she thought of something beyond the seas and impenetrable barriers of the room.

"Athrun," She said absently. "Bloody hell."

He had sent in things for her perusal, in place of his presence, and she eagerly opened the parcels, hoping for something without knowing what. First, she received books, and then the next parcels opened to reveal glittering things in their depths. He sent her measurements over to an entire council of outfitters and she was supplied with everything from hairbrushes and undergarments to lavish dresses. She was expected to wear those, and it was at this point that Cagalli suspected that he did not know how else to please her.

For both their sake, she accepted them with a quiet dignity.

The baubles were of a different case, in fact-, they were hardly mere baubles. The pearls were of varying lengths and sizes but all moony with white radiance and gleaming on her skin. There were emerald brooches she was immediately attracted to with their honey and forest hues, but did not dare try on until he requested that she did. Cagalli, however, did not use any of these if she could afford not to, knowing that it was not what she needed.

But then, she did not know she needed exactly.

Overall, Athrun's desire that she accept those was an obvious and undeniable one. She simply could not refuse him when his word was the law in his house. More accurately, she could not escape the prying hands of the maids as they outfitted her when dusk came.

And so, there were a few more occasions that Cagalli had dinner together with Athrun, during which, the twins looped rainbow-hewed gems onto her earlobes and around her neck and wrists or hair. The black scarf was a final touch to everything- around her eyes.

Each time, she revised the key steps over and over again while passing along the blindfolded route of the acres of the balcony to the room she would eventually have to return to. The consistency of her counting in the number of times she had done this sealed her trust in the belief that there was only one way to travel from her room to the balcony.

Throughout this time, Cagalli found Athrun to be distant, polite, and removed from her. Dinner would always originate from a note under her door, and at the stated time, the twins would arrive for her, but not before she was bade to follow his instructions, if he had specified any.

Today, he had left a note in a slanting, elegant script she recognized to be his handwriting.

'Dinner at seven. Wear the peach silk.'

What difference did it make, she thought curiously, even if she turned up in a rag?

Nevertheless, she allowed herself to be attended to, her hair still warm and curling from her bath, and her skin smelling faintly of rose soap. Her figure was full and luscious in the straining of the silk across her white-peach flesh, creamy from not seeing the sun, and her wrists were baptized with a drop of lavender water each. The twins matched pink tourmalines on her, and she seemed to glow with a strange radiance as the evening beckoned her to it.

Athrun was more distant than ever. No-doubt, his manner was polite and he was as cordial as ever, standing and helping her to her seat before resuming his own. He presented her with some delicate blooms that she politely put behind her with as much anticipation in receiving them as that he had presented those to her with.

There was a slight effort to hold a conversation and a slight effort to maintain it, but the words were vacuous, and the sentences disconnected and she had not a single insight into his thoughts or his heart.

"Athrun," She said slowly, "Is anything the matter?"

He looked at her with a slight smile. "None whatsoever. Why the need to clarify?"

"Nothing," mumbled she, "But you looked a little distracted and-,"

"You look beautiful," He interposed. "This becomes you."

She looked up, confused by the sudden leap of conversation if there had been any to begin with in the first place, and saw that his eyes were no longer the cool, calm mist of emerald, but warm and distinctively genuine. For the first time that day, she smiled.

"Thank you."

They had their meal in silence, but it was not an awkward one. These things confused her more than ever. Was he Rune Estragon or Athrun? Or perhaps, was he a cumulating of personalities, the cunningness and intelligence really a single trait and the distant smile and the cunning one merely the same, only that he had not bothered pronouncing the first one at times?

She lay in bed and thought about Athrun Zala.

"Why don't you take my hand?" He had asked once, when she had stood at the stairs of a ballroom, awkward and not willing to go. The crimson gown she had been wearing was beautiful, but she was not comfortable in it. She looked at him, afraid to take it, wanting to take it, not knowing if she ought to take it when he was Alex Dino. But his hand was stretched out to her, and she looked at him as he smiled.

She hesitated, about to say something, but the words failed her and slowly, she gave him her hand.

He had drawn her to him with his serious, but somehow wry character, the way he cared so deeply for those around him without appearing emotionally connected to anything, and how he always seemed to be frowning slightly but how wretchedly attractive he was, and more so when he smiled. She had cared for him more than she would ever say, and they had hurt each other so.

Either way, she was trapped. She could not tell him or herself, how much she regretted having him go away from Orb when he had sought her. That would have been exposing the lie she had lived. And yet, she could not stay sane like this- with a man who was supposedly dead, a mere ghost or lesser than that, of the past she had given up.

Every evening, she dined with the ghosts and the memories that not being content with the time, haunted her dreams at night. Was there an escape? No.

Not if she stayed here on The Isle where he would always find her.

The grief flooding through her, in the solitude and confinement of her gilded cage, was mostly unbearable.

Sometimes, Cagalli stole glances around the balcony.

Beyond them were hedges that blocked most of everything except the sky from her sight, and Athrun seemed to have taken this into consideration already.

"Were you searching for anything?" He asked knowingly, as she pretended to focus her eyes back to where the table was.

"No," She said hurriedly, as a cool spring-evening wind blew across her cheeks. "Just that it's been a month and a week here, and I thought I'd like to see what the place was like."

He smiled, pouring a fragrant wine into her glass. "Curiosity was always representative of you."

She blushed but justified this. "Naturally, if you were kept here."

He considered what she had said, and his eyes focused on hers. "That is ultimately true. I'm afraid this has been an ordeal for you."

Eagerly, she nodded. "I want to understand my surroundings."

"Simple enough," Athrun conceded, "But of course, certain things must remain unseen."

Overjoyed, her eyes shone and her lips uplifted in a smile that made him take her entire being into consideration. She was perfect every time he saw her, partially because he had requested for it, the same golden hair and eyes he had left behind and had with him now. But sometimes, Athrun was well-aware that he wanted her to appear as thus because he could not bear to be reminded that she was a captive by his own hands.

Each time she dined with him, it merely looked as though it was a simple meal and nothing more, because of the dresses she wore and the attention given to the etiquette of the evening. It hardly looked as though she spent most of her hours as a captive in where he had placed her.

He wanted to forget that at the very least.

This evening, she wore a cream colored dress and a string of pink pearls around her neck. Her hair had been trimmed recently and it appeared just above her shoulders in a fine mist of gold, and he was tempted to reach out and run his fingers through it.

When she moved to the edge of the balcony, he watched, from his chair, as she spread her arms out longingly, holding the sunset in her soft arms, the wind tousling her hair, and the gems shining at her earlobes, her lashes fine and golden against her cheek as she inhaled the fresh air gleefully. She showed a certain wistfulness that, he guessed, was the same of anyone who did not have the freedom they wanted.

There was irony in this of course- she had been freed from her office, taken out of her role of the people's leader and servant, and removed of any duties she might have had to bear on her young shoulders.

"What do you love about Orb?" He asked her one evening.

Her eyes closed and then opened slowly as she tested his question, chewing her lip in that maddening way. He despised the way her lips were so delicately pink and furled as she bit it- he abhorred the way the unconscious mannerism could make his mind wander without his knowledge.

"Everything?" She said hesitantly in response.

He looked at her, and she blushed.

"One day," He said very softly, "I will ask you the same question again. And your answer will be different for your own sake."

At times, Athrun found himself wondering how they struggled against the tide, pushing and pedaling furiously against the current even as they were swept to their pasts. The ghosts would haunt him each and every night- he had grown accustomed to this, until mere recollection was all that remained of the memory he had of him holding a suitcase and leaving Orb.

He would stir in his sleep, grasping onto something and finding solace, even if temporary, in the arms of another warm body nestled against his. It wasn't her, it was another, but this was good enough.

The present mattered more.

In his spare moments, he was tempted to imagine what Cagalli was doing in her room, writing and reading, stubbornly coming up with proposals that were surely overdue and creating solutions for issues in Orb that had probably been already solved while she was here on The Isle. Or perhaps, she was doing none of this at all, but merely sulking.

The more one tried not to think of her, the more one thought of her.

It irritated him, silently, secretly, but it wasn't his nature to deny it. He would leave the forms of denial to her.

Now, he sat straight in his hard-backed chair, looking through letters and confirmations. These were all of the same nature, and he would answer them later.

The man standing next to him looked at him and asked curiously, "How's the Princess?"

"As feisty as every," Athrun answered evenly, "And free-spirited. The other day, she tried to commit suicide."

His friend laughed. "Quite a tempest of a woman. Lovely, yes, but troublesome."

"It is her nature."

"Surely you aren't getting too attached to her, are you?" His friend said teasingly. But his eyes grew serious.

"It'd be too dangerous. That was why they tried to bring her to The Isle without your knowledge. But you did it yourself in the end, and they still don't trust us for it because you defied their orders."

Athrun merely resumed reading after he met the man's view fully in the face. The answer was unknown to both men, even up till the point when the assistant, Epstein, knocked on the door and requested for his audience.

Time was running out. If a certain set of desired outcomes did not come from that single gamble Athrun had taken that night, she would be as good as gone.

So his thoughts were on Cagalli as Athrun marched past the halls, slow, unhurried thoughts, pervading and insistent.

Cagalli was made many things, innocence and the fragments of a broken past, like so many of those who were born from the war. She was beautiful, headstrong, stubborn and intelligent, and he had loved her, perhaps, from the first time he had seen her. Certainly, he hadn't known her very well, but she was easy to read, like a book, rash in her inner insecurities and intoxicating in a mixture of child and woman.

And Athrun was aware of how dangerous and delectable she inherently was with her knowledge of the world, but the lacking understanding of what the world asked of her. Because of her, his nights were endured with fantasies of her golden hair and golden eyes pooling like molten honey and the awakening dawn. Sometimes, he imagined her soft arms around his neck and shoulders the way they'd kissed before he left for Plant- thrown everything away like that with her blessing, blast the irony in that. Even here on The Isle, in his manor, where his whim was a reality and his word a law by itself, Cagalli was not subject to his extent of possession. She was trapped here, was she not?

But she was simply not his to have.

When one particular morning came, Cagalli cracked open her eyes. Usually, a clock rang at a certain time- today, she was slightly early.

Blearily, she peered at the corner, where the usual mahogany wardrobe, vanity, table and two chairs stood solidly, greeting her. Of course, the flowers had shed a few pink petals, charming the carpets with pieces of soft silk here and there, and the usual furniture grinned at her as they saluted in their usual positions, along with the twins and-

"Wait!"

She tried to stand out of bed, got badly tangled with the blanket, and tumbled rather ungracefully to the ground, although the resulting thump to her back was still not severe because of the carpet's plumed and maroon textures.

The twins curtseyed in unison, without batting an eyelid.

And Cagalli got up, muttering to herself in a creaky morning voice. "Why are you two here? It scares the hell out of people to wake up and find two people who weren't there the night before staring right at them?"

They looked at each other; their strangely luminous opal-colored hair long but neatly- looped and their funny blue eyes making them look like fairies. Other than that, they were decked in maid uniforms, their aprons white and spick-span, so only a close examination revealed what atypical features they had. They weren't ugly, quite the opposite, but they did not look as if they were quite normal. Yet, their expression was secretive and their smiles very slight. So they were having a private joke then, Cagalli realized.

"It's a little too late for an introduction," She said apologetically, "But can you both tell me your names?"

They looked at each other again, communicating silently with their eyes, and Cagalli waited, curiously staring at each. Were the twins really possessive of telepathy? But it was probably not consistent or it was just a pronounced case of a good understanding of one another's character- Kira and she had never shown abilities of twin-telepathy. Or perhaps, she reflected ruefully, they had been separated for so long that telepathy was rather far-fetched in their case.

Then one spoke and Cagalli found that she was quite amazed to hear a voice. It was like listening for the rain but being rewarded with the roar of the ocean. The voice was hesitant and raspy, like someone was rubbing sandpaper against a blackboard, not quite flinch-inducing, but girlish nevertheless. Perhaps this was the cause of the reluctance to verbalize normally.

"Please, I'm the older twin," the first child said cautiously, a shy half-smile coming into her previously emotionless eyes, "I'm Cartesia Daemon. She's Laplacia Daemon."

Cagalli raised her eyebrows. Clearly, these were false names as well. But why such obvious aliases? There could be only one conclusion to arrive at. It would not matter that Cagalli recognized that their names were false ones, as long as she did not know their real names.

The second one bobbed a perfunctory curtsey. "Please, we will attend to you and ensure you are properly attired for breakfast."

She looked trustingly, like a small child, at Cagalli. Their height was the same, now that Cagalli was seated, and lovingly, she placed a delicate, white hand, a lily of a limb, into Cagalli's as they shook hands.

Cagalli smiled wanly, unsure of how to react. She had considered being as biting as possible, take out a little of her anger on Athrun's charges, but it was beyond her.

"Hello." She said cautiously. "As for breakfast, I doubt anybody will care that I'm tucking in while wearing my pajamas. Why don't we all sit down and get to know each other instead?"

They looked startled. Had nobody bothered ever speaking to them before? Or had her request been extraordinary?

"If it pleases your Excellence," Cartesia said hurriedly, "You must be properly attired. Mr. Estragon has given the instructions."

"Alright," Cagalli said with a sigh, "And he's like King here in his own house. As expected of course."

If the twins heard her comments, they showed no reaction. They performed the same routine- waited for her to wash up, then outfitted her and began to brush her hair. For today, she was given a simple white blouse, fastened with a soft black leather belt that circled her waist over a deep maroon skirt. It was far less elaborate than anything in the wardrobe, but then, Cagalli had no choice but to follow the instructions in any given case. Here, everything was dictated from the time she woke up, to the time she lost herself in fitful sleep.

But today, she was curious about more things than ever before- and called for Laplacia, who had been standing in front of the wardrobe, looking like a doll of sorts that was only waiting to spring into action upon command. And this was not an inaccurate description- at the call of her name, the young girl came pattering, like a grey-lavender kitten, silent and docile, as if expecting to be kicked or scolded.

"Why don't you tell me more about yourself?" Cagalli suggested. "You can start by telling me how old you are and what you do around here."

Her words were eagerly caught by Laplacia, although her shining eyes were the only things that registered acknowledgement of what Cagalli had asked. Discernably, Laplacia was processing every word and thinking of the censure that had probably been required. Cagalli bit back a sigh. When would this end?

"I am thirteen this year," Laplacia said astutely, although Cagalli sensed the absence of a reason to lie and the fact that the girl had not, "And I am a maid in the Master's household."

"I deduced that," Cagalli said thoughtfully, "But you both are so young- surely you should be going to school?"

In a flash, Cartesia had put down the brush. "You are ready, Ms. Atha. The master has instructed you to be shown around and made familiar with the East Wing. You may explore as you wish, but the master has ordered that you stay far from the West Wing today."

"So I suppose the blindfold makes its appearance again." Cagalli said bitingly.

The twins exchanged glances that bordered on a fearful appreciation of her wit and surprise that extended into something like empathy.

"I thought so," Cagalli said blandly.

They shook their heads anxiously.

"No," Cartesia said calmingly, "There is more than one way to enter each wing from each part of the house."

It was true then. Every palace had its dungeons, and in each dungeon, passageways, either brightly-lighted or dim from minimal use, led to somewhere.

Cagalli nodded in acknowledgement, storing the important piece of information with here. Whether or not it would have been useful did not matter anymore- now, everything would be retained or written down sooner or later, kept in secret, for her to use in the case of an emergency. If there were presumably two ways or more to get from one wing to another in the house, then allowing her to see and learn the pathways to the East Wing probably revealed a route that would not risk anything in the plans Athrun was keeping so carefully as a secret.

But that also meant-

The necessary nature of the black scarf around her eyes the night before would surely mean that there was only one way to get to the balcony, therefore it being the imperative that she did not learn how to travel there. And from what she had observed, the balcony would be the apex of Athrun's stronghold. Beyond the hearse of hedges, there was surely something that revealed the location of his Manor on The Isle. But what?

The pieces were not quite coming together yet. Or was she fitting them in blind corners to begin with?

Slowly, she stood, and waited impatiently while the maids keyed in the complex combinations of numerals and dates over and over again, and held up their palms to a corner of the door that appeared normal. The lock clicked regretfully and the door swung open silently.

The wall that lay in front of her eyes was part of a long, winding corridor. She would have to reverse the sequence and directions of the number of steps she had taken before that when she had visited the balcony overlooking the ocean and the glorious sunset. But not today, apparently.

They turned a corner and a few others, Cagalli barely having enough time to observe Athrun's tastes even in a mere corridor. There were canvases hanging in gold and enamel frames, ochre and sepia from age but their colors gleaming mysteriously, and the carpets were horizons of tapestries, rich and ornamental but beautifully textured and woven.

Corner after corner. And then a winding staircase appeared in front of them.

"We will find you when you are ready to return," the girls said in unison.

She nodded, feeling remarkably apprehensive, and gingerly picked up her skirts and treaded on each step. When she looked down for confirmation, there was nobody in the corridor, and she had no choice but to continue.

And presently, Cagalli exited into another corridor, and slightly irritably, she marched her way down, cursing Athrun's maddening habitat and his insistence that she be kept out of the loop.

She paused abruptly- staring.

A small table, set for only one person, lay in front, a steaming breakfast waiting with fresh flowers and a plump teapot smoking slightly.

Confusedly, Cagalli sat down, and shook her head once, and then she ate quickly and ravenously.

The hours passed quickly, in spite of the lack of a watch to keep track of the time.

Cagalli found room after room, corridor after corridor, which opened comfortably and welcomingly enough. There was nobody anywhere- a ghost town of sorts. Still, she took note of each room's style and their placement along the corridors, walking up and down until she had familiarized herself completely. Some rooms were locked, however, and those, she yearned to open more than ever.

She wandered along, feeling as if a hundred people were hiding behind pillars and corners and under tables, ordered to be breathlessly silent until she passed. No doubt, this very wing would have comfortably held about that number for a ball or two.

Out of the nine rooms along the first corridor, Cagalli found two locked, but found two perfectly extensive drawing rooms, one done up in a regal navy color, and another in an apple white.

There was a single empty room that resembled the original state of her room, three other rooms that resembled dining halls with their long, oblong tables and fine silver candlesticks, and another three that looked like the office meeting rooms for her Cabinet. She made a note in her head- if money was essential to escape, the candlesticks would more than suffice. They would serve well as weapons too, swung this and that way. Her hands, although tiny, were quite strong.

She pattered through a wood frame, the door already opened to her.

The rooms were airy, in spite of the lack of opened windows. What was it about this damned place that lay shrouded in so much thick intrigue, so thick that one could cut the palpable air with a sharp knife?

And did Athrun even come here to do business in these meeting rooms, dine in the light of the golden candles with their silver stands, and call for servants to open the windows when it grew unbearably stifling in these massive halls?

The image of him sitting back, entire relaxed, replying languidly that he was prepared to live his life without working made her feel suddenly bad-tempered. She stomped like a troll, although she looked nothing like one.

Presently, she found herself in the second corridor, which had one beautiful room that was filled with all sorts of paintings and bric-a-brac that she spent more than a justifiable amount of time in. It was here that Cagalli began fulfilling her curiosity by pottering about in the slightly dusty but well-maintained art pieces. The rest of the rooms were vaguely similar in the meticulous planning of the things in it, but most were locked again.

One door was flung open to reveal more than three dozen shelves of books and records- and she fetched the ladder and spent a few blissful hours curling up to read in a cheerfully lethargic condition of sorts. Then it struck her that Athrun would have possessed certain books that would in turn, reveal something about the area, and so she frantically combed the place, looking for books on the site and location of The Isle.

Again, nothing.

Her excitement in the notion of finding information to unlock the elusiveness of the very place she was in had been fuelled by naïve hope. Soon, Cagalli had given up hope of ever finding a clue there. Besides, Athrun would have been more than a little cautious, especially if he had gone to such extents and pains to ensure that information was being withheld at this stage.

And yet, she lost her slight paranoia of the area with the mental justification that Athrun had given her as much freedom as possible in at least half the house, and feeling slightly less bitter, Cagalli sat in the rooms, trying to pry open the windows to no avail, since one needed keys to open them fully. And finally giving up, moved into the next nearest room.

The last one near the corridor was a dead end. But Cagalli held her head high, and pushed it open.

It creaked grumpily and she took one step in, half-expecting to see the same heavy curtains and grand mantel pieces with a table or two or some kind of furniture at least.

She shrieked.

Athrun Zala smiled placidly at her, where he was standing in front of the door that had just closed. "I heard you were adamant about being left alone."

"You!" Cagalli choked, "Where did you come out from?"

Furiously, she massaged her neck, "Don't scare me like that!"

He shrugged. "I was helping you open the door from the other side. You could thank me."

"Thank you!" She snapped.

Athrun surveyed her apathetically. "Did you do anything wrong? Break a vase or two in the storage room, by any chance? Fret not, I'll think of a lenient enough punishment."

Her eyes were golden saucers in sheer anger. "I did nothing of that sort."

"And there you were creeping around like a thief," He said drolly, "I would have thought otherwise."

She was about to retort that he was more likely to be the one in the throes of paranoia, when he abruptly stopped leaning against the mantle he had been relaxing upon for the past few minutes and strode towards her, yanking her hand in his and leading her out of the room.

"Where-," She gasped, half-trotting, half-running to keep up with Athrun, "Are you taking me?"

"To your room," He replied automatically, "Where you should be anyway. I relieved the twins of their duties. In any case, I want you to meet someone."

She bit back a cry of helplessness, because he had been kind enough already.

'Kind enough?' She screamed inwardly, 'Are you developing a Stockholm's syndrome?'

"It's time for me to introduce you to my assistant," Athrun said briefly, "And perhaps you'll enjoy his children's' company more than his."

She could barely protest as a person at the end of the corridor turned and she stumbled up to him, no thanks to Athrun, her cheeks flushed from activity and her eyes wide and questioning.

"Cagalli," Athun said casually, almost too causally, "I'd like you to meet Epstein Cleamont."

She stared at the man, losing her tongue. She never knew that Athrun went for the handsome ones- but then Athrun had an unconscious taste for beautiful things that were somehow difficult to understand at a single glance. But Epstein Cleamont was truly a masterpiece.

He was young, about Athrun's height and had a boyish face that reminded Cagalli of Kira instantly. No wonder her tongue-tied state then.

"Pleased to meet you," She managed, sounding a little shaky. Athrun looked at her with something like a scornful smile in his eyes, and Cagalli was suddenly afraid that she had done something wrong. But she hadn't- for if she had, then Epstein Cleamont would not have smiled so angelically. He was such a young man, and she was suddenly disconcerted that he was in this place for God knew what reason. Would his children resemble him?

"As it is with I," He said acquiescently, smiling to reveal how charismatic his nature was, "And I hope we will get along well."

"I trust you both will," Athrun said, with only the barest hint of a warning lurking in his voice. What did it mean, Cagalli wondered. Were they exchanging a sort of silent conversation to remind Epstein to keep mum on certain things, as the rest of the people she was currently in contact were doing? Or was there something more?

Epstein swept his hand in a deep, graceful bow, and Athrun strode of in the direction of another corridor, and within seconds, had materialized into thin air. Cagalli muttered something and then blushed when she realized that Epstein had been gazing intently at her.

Slightly uneasy, she looked at him, not understanding why something was familiar and unfamiliar about the person staring at her.

"I think I can say this, without over-assertion or presumption," Epstein said gently, "You are very beautiful. No wonder then, that my master insists and ensures that you do not come to any harm."

Her embarrassed pleasure at being complemented by him was ruined immediately as she scoffed derisively. "Do not come to harm? I suppose not, if your definition of harm does not include wasted hours of sheer boredom and the ten thousandth reading of reports on the Plant Economy in the Cosmic Era year twenty-three."

He laughed, and she was pleased to see that it was genuine. She took in a deep breathe and stared at him, taking note of his pleasant features and the auburn hair and pale blue eyes, the well tailored grey suit and the black gloves that were dark clashes against his fair coloring. Together, the contrast was both striking and unforgettable.

"If you will please follow me," Epstein said pleasantly, "You'll find our lunch ready."

She shook her head, feeling slightly dejected. "I'll never recognize and learn the system of these corridors."

He smiled teasingly. "I could teach you."

Her ears pricked up. "You would? Truly? Why, thank you! It's been harder than climbing the wall with two fingers where it comes to learning about where The Isle is and where this house is on The Isle in the first place. If it was such a Godforsaken secret, then," She bit her lip. "Then why bring me here in the first place?"

Epstein looked at her sharply. "I will reveal to you all I can about this place that my master has allowed for you to know at this point. Other than that, we must either ignore your questions or risk the ruining of an otherwise pleasant meeting. And it is fate that we meet, for he believes you are a key of sorts."

She started, her face changed by the impact of the bombshell he had just dropped. "Key?"

He grinned. "In due time."

There was not a hint of patronizing disdain or scorn, rather, mellow warmth was the distinctive timbre of his voice, and she found herself trying to memorize each note of the complex interweaving of melodies within his sentences, trying to grasp onto a sort of song that would never be played again.

He showed her the system of doors, how one was adjoined to each other, and how turning in the opposite direction did not lead one backwards to the same door, but showed another room's entrance. Intrinsically, it did make sense, although the system was not instinctive. It was an abyss- escaping would mean finding one door that led to the final one of an exit. And which direction would the escape have to be planned in? She would not try now. Too many doors were locked.

Epstein opened a door and she followed him through it. Inside, was an absolute bower of blooms and the glass ceiling revealed another level of gardens above them. One could have easily imagined someone looking down at them the way humans peered into fishbowls, watching the creatures swim about. Now, she and Epstein were in that position.

Delightedly, she ran over to a parameter of curiously-shaped flowers, hawthorn like and pink like Bachelors Buttons, but more exquisite. "Why, I've seen these before!"

He smiled lightly to reply. "Those are red clovers. I imagine Mr. Estragon must have presented some to you. They were taken from the Baltic Coasts and planted here."

This was true. He had given her a bouquet of those, although she had not taken much notice of them, not because of anything in particular, but because each evening with him was often fraught with unease and apprehension.

"Red clovers?" She questioned, "Why these? I don't recall Athrun having a preference for these."

Epstein looked carefully at them, and she had the impression that he was avoiding her eye. "These are the national flowers of Denmark."

"National flowers," She said warily. Something did not fit here. Athrun had no need to plant these here in a show of patriotism, and yet, these were so well-maintained and beautifully grown. Surely, he did not have so pronounced affection for these?

A quick glance revealed the same care that the other flowers had received. There were lattices of Madonna lilies she had received before from Athrun, white and very pure to look at, valleys full of multi-colored cabbage-like roses with their deep perfumes, and other varying shades of wild blooms. This place was not quite maintained with a steel ruler, she could see, and somehow, the hint of wildness added to its charm. There might have been a dozen or so who worked on the flowerbeds everyday, tending carefully to ensure its continued beauty, and yet, there was no one in sight.

Amidst these, were white statues dancing amongst dark green weeds, and their eyes were full of empty hopes as they mimicked those who were not frozen in eternity. A circular white-marble fountain was at the centre of the concentric rings of flowers, and fat goldfishes leapt under the silver drops that cascaded from the fountain's peak.

Now. a large ginger tomcat wandered to them and with delight, she fondled its marmalade head and it seemed comfortable and familiar perhaps, with Epstein. The only thing that seemed incongruent with all of this was the glass ceiling above their heads and the factual realization that plants grew above that surface of it.

"How does one get to the second storey of this green house?" She asked curiously.

Epstein looked apologetic. "Through another door of another storey, I'm afraid. I cannot lead you there, however."

"It's alright," She assured him, "I would have expected that anyway. Nevertheless, this is a fine sight."

He was put at ease, and led her forward where a table was set for two.

"You have given my employer quite a lot of trouble," He teased, offering her a seat.

She took it and scowled, but complied with his courteous gesture anyway. "Why does Ath- Rune Estragon not dine with us?"

He turned back a little, smiling secretively. "Business matters."

"Oh," Cagalli said distractedly. "Wasn't he occupied since this morning until now? Is not still incomplete? In this very place?"

Epstein nodded a few times, shrugging smilingly. And she realized how much she liked him.

"You know," He told her, "The Manor is divided into two, and then two again, so there are in fact four wings, two main ones, and four sub ones. Of course, you'd have familiarized yourself with the entire East Wing by now, so there is no reason to suspect that the layout of the West Wing, which is where Mr. Estragon's quarters are, would be any different."

"I noticed though," She said thoughtfully, "That one half of the East Wing is very much larger than the other, which is the one I reside in. Is it the same for the other main wing then?"

He looked surprised, then wary, and then, smiled interestedly. "An astute observation. I suppose it won't do any harm to reveal that your guess is quite accurate. The master of the Manor, however, resides in the smaller sub wing, citing preferences for less confusing corridors and a more localized layout."

Their conversation was light-hearted and pleasant, and it was entirely different when he deflected her pointed questions. Athrun would have made it clear that she was pressing her luck, but Epstein was completely different. He looked apologetic and looked so pitiful that Cagalli was embarrassed for even trying to wheedle information from a loyal and trustworthy man that Epstein was.

On hindsight however- he was shrewd enough to portray the charismatic, slightly absent-minded but clearly very efficient person that he was. Underneath it all, she suspected that the waters ran for miles at great depths. Her suspicion was hinged to the fact that Athrun had an outstanding habit for working with people who were like him, and Epstein was probably one of them- unassuming on the outside and unfortunately very intelligent with a great deal of cunning on the inside.

Too soon, a few more hours passed, and she knew it was time to return when Epstein kept looking at his watch, inducing her to smile disappointedly and say, "Will I see you again?"

"I hope so," Epstein replied instantly and genuinely, and she was pleased with his answer. Cagalli found that she did not mind his company, in fact, she enjoyed in his skill at making conversation and his sincerity.

He led her back to her room, and she was sorry to see him turn his back to her and unlock it so she could step into the cage she had grown so familiar with. Miserable suddenly, she turned to him and waved as he stood outside the door, relaxed on the surface, but careful on closer inspection- he was ready to prevent her from protesting if she had ever considered doing that. But she didn't, and he smiled and shut it. The lock activated once more.

She smiled serenely to herself, feeling well at ease, and turned around and promptly gasped.

Athrun was sitting quite composedly on the edge of her bed, his long legs folded neatly, the room spick-and span and not a single thing out of place, save for the crumpled papers he held, straightened out and wrinkled like pale lettuce leaves on the maroon coverlet. His expression was indiscernible.

His gloves, the gloves he had always entered with and never taken off once, lay discarded by the side of the vanity, silky white and very fine. This was incongruent. He had never taken off his gloves in this room before. They looked as if he had meant to wear them again- as he always had once he stepped into the room, but today, he had not.

She stared, her heart beating very violently.

"I hope you enjoyed your entertainment," He said politely, with the air of welcoming back an acquaintance who had only just returned from the theatre. "I know I did."

In bolt of lightning speed, she ran over, accidentally brushing past the vanity too fast and causing the lid of the pretty trinket box with the cat sitting on top of the lid to slide off and fall to the ground, scattering brightly-colored baubles and trinkets everywhere on the floor. A pearl necklace broke as she tripped badly over the things, and the milky white drops sprung all over the carpet, pure but weak against the raging depth of maroon that covered the ground.

Something in her screamed for Cagalli to remain calm. But it was unheeded.

Angered and fearful, she reached him and reached for the papers he held in his hands now, as if tempting her to fight for her secrets that had been foolishly written on paper.

Her wrists extended towards him, and the last thing she recalled of a valid consciousness was a hint of a smirk on his handsome face before his hands wrapped like vines around her naked wrists, the way he had expected them to reach for the papers, the way he had expected that she'd fall for the bait on the bed. They clamped down tight and she yelped in pain as he tossed her easily onto her own bed, pressing down her weight with his own. A hand grasped the circumference of her throat and she choked the last of the breath of air.

Nothing was uttered.

The pearls still lay scattered in all directions. The string was a sad line of silk, harboring only a few of the former inhabitants, the spaces between each tiny globe increased beyond belief in a misrepresentation of a necklace. The effect was a dissonance in the impeccably arranged room.

She opened her eyes, flinching, not quite feeling the fingers around her throat, although those might have left a bruise.

He gazed at her, unwillingly taking note of how exquisite she was even without beautiful garments or glittering pieces that would have only enhanced her beauty at best, and not given her what she did not already possess. Her eyes were staring up at him, apprehension and panic staining them, her lips curved and parted, pink and ripe, and her golden hair framing her face on the pillow. Gingerly, he let go of her throat. The semi-state of choking she had been in eased and she coughed badly.

She was sure that he could hear the pounding of her heart, notice how she was transfixed by the strength and deftness in which he had pinned her down and was mesmerized by the depth of his eyes and the pain in them- pain because of what?

She didn't know that the pain blossoming in her chest, the pain of reminiscence and recollection, the agony of understanding that time was impossible to regain, was the same thing that his eyes carried.

Abruptly, he spoke. His voice was harsh and rough, whispered like an uneven surface grazing her skin.

"Tell me what you wanted to do with the directions you cleverly memorized. Directions, I think, along the way from the roof balcony to your room, and those you wrote down in case you needed confirmation again."

Her eyes widened, and she began to struggle, kicking and trying to push him off, but he held firm and avoided her attacks easily.

The paper he had held fluttered to the ground, revealing her self-written instructions on the exact number of steps from one end of the corridor to the roof, where she had planned to go so that the vantage point would give her some clue as to which way the sea extended, and from there, what possible locations The Isle was at. To give due credit, Cagalli had not been as foolish as to write the steps down without first using a code. But he had solved it effortlessly- he knew his own stronghold like the back of his hand, well enough to know what she had been planning.

"Tell me," He drawled, pressing so hard on her wrists that she cried out and ceased her movements, "That my suspicions are correct. You know what I think, don't you?"

"What?" She cried, losing her wits.

"You were trying to escape," Athrun said calmly. "Even though I tried so hard to keep you satisfied. What do you want? What more can you want?"

She could not do anything but to choke out, "Let go!"

He did, but only with one hand, and he got off the bed, yanking her to a sitting position, and swiftly reached for something in his pocket. Cagalli started to struggle, but it was a moment too late, and his hand that held one hand still captive was far too strong. The thing he whipped out gleamed mysterious and silver in the air for a second; and a terrible snap was heard, and there was metal cutting slightly into her skin, the other end clipped around the bed post.

She began to scream in earnest, pulling and yanking hard against the bed pole although the bed was too heavy for it to be slackened by her struggling, and she cried out, like a hare trapped in a trap while knowing that the hunter was observing it struggle helplessly.

He watched her momentary loss of sanity, feeling sickened by everything, how indomitable her spirit was but how untamable the woman he had loved was. She was a tempest, a whirlpool, drawing him deeper and deeper in until he was senseless and insane to win a sort of golden prize and everything he desired, and now, he was ruining her, step by step, strand by strand, until she would be entirely useless and broken. But he needed her to stay put.

She was still screaming, her coarse shrieks filling the room with strains of panting insanity and ear-shattering manifestations of the same fear. And suddenly, Athrun, enraged by her pointless disobedience and disregard for her surroundings, stalked to the bed and brought himself next to her. She did not notice him; she only continued to cry out, panting and wrenching her hand against the cuff.

But he caught her head between his hands very swiftly, and lowered his head forcefully, making her mouth captive for his lips, kissing her for her disobedience and biting her fiercely to feed his lust, taking entire possession of her will as her voice was cut off and her form, trapped beneath his, froze.

He finally broke it, observing her swollen lips and the rising and falling of her shoulders as she continued panting. Tears were streaming openly down her cheeks, and the other free hand was clenched near the imprisoned hand, as if she could unlock it with the free hand.

And remorse was unwelcome, but very relevant in this situation where he could do nothing more than to remember and feel the past taking control of his will to be someone who she did not know anymore, someone who was not Athrun Zala. He was Rune Estragon- master of the household and gatekeeper to the secrets held beyond her reach. Rune Estragon did not care if she hurt herself as long as she lived, he did not care beyond the fact that she would have to remain captive for him to use her properly for his purposes.

Roughly, he wiped the tears away with his fingers, and Cagalli gave a dry sob and trembled. He felt a surge of very warm desire run through him, and tautly sat up next to her while she half-sat, half-lay, held by the silver cuff.

Her mouth was trembling, crumbling.

Then abruptly, took her into his arms, pressing her soft head against his chest, sensing how her wet cheeks stained his shirt, feeling her body quiver violently like a mounted bow with a ready arrow in its sling, feeling his own pleasurable sensations course through him immeasurably and uncontrollably. Was he to be Athrun Zala now?

He pressed his mouth against the tip of her cold ear, feeling the fine skin grow warm and pink with his attention, and still holding her by her shoulders so she was even more constrained, he tickled the sensitive rim with his breath. He had missed this- missed the effect she had on him without her full consciousness. Did she understand? Perhaps, perhaps not. Most probably not. Did she want to? No. Most certainly not.

The thoughts were becoming muddled. All he knew was that he had her. She was his. She was not allowed anywhere else, nobody else was allowed to have her. She was flinching, as if she was repulsed by him. But it did not make a difference. She was his now.

She tensed, still shaking, but he ignored her reactions. The cuff, diabolical, was a symbol of her captivity, but it was silver and bright. He hadn't wanted to harm her.

"I'm going to apologize for the last time," Athrun said coarsely. "But I need you here. I would never do anything to hurt you. But you mustn't do anything to harm yourself. Just please, trust me fully, completely. There are certain things that cannot be allowed, and you must learn your place here on The Isle."

Not struggling anymore, Cagalli lay still as a crumpled mess, alive and soft near his body, like a molten fire he wanted to have entirely to himself. Then she spoke, and her voice was shaking, a dying song, hoarse from her screaming even though there was no possible help, but determined beyond a humane possibility and any rational belief.

"You say there are things that cannot be allowed. I understand. But what will you want in exchange for them then?"

He stared at her, surprised and slightly appalled by the desperation in her face, how close she was to breaking herself entirely. And his own desire for her, made even more intense by the proximity and the warmth of her body that flooded through the thin linen of her blouse, caused the sudden rush of blood to his head. He thought of her admiration for Epstein, the faint warmth and vitality in her that a single glance had restored, and the way she was trying to escape now, and felt half-faint with bitterness. Had she taken lovers during the seven years? Most probably. There were a few she could have married with a nod of her head. Now she wanted an exchange. It was an insult to him, a slap across his face.

But it did not change the issue that he needed to sustain her and possibly, himself.

"Very well." He said savagely, his being reduced to beast, "What do you want?"

"I want to leave," She said in a tiny voice. She was not fighting him, and she allowed him to hold and press her close to him in that way, but she had neither a distinction of choice nor any sign of being as affected as he was by her at that very moment. That was the point, really. That she had no choice but to let him hold her as he pleased. He would have let go because of the intrinsic knowledge and self-awareness of the basal, terrible weight of his own desires, but those were important to fulfill too.

He shook his head, closing his eyes briefly. "Impossible."

Frustration gripped at her face. "Then I want to know what is happening outside The Isle- what's happening in Orb and the rest of the world."

Again, he shook his head, feeling a bleakness that she had by virtue of proximity and the intensity of her emotions, forced in him, no matter how ironic it was in that sense. And there was evident misery somewhere although it was subtle and the intensity of his eyes was far more of the essence at the moment.

"Then," Cagalli whispered desperately, "I want all the information about this goddamned place before I find a way to kill myself."

She did not understand, in all her willfulness and the madly determined spirit, that she had pushed him over a line of self-conscience and pure, fraught desire. She had shown him the last straw, taken away the last reserve of hidden honor and unburied the desire in him. He might not have given in to her and his own desires if she had merely asked. Now she was threatening him. It was a valid threat she would have carried out- that he was sure of. She was leaving him no choice.

He began, delicately, to stroke her head, skillfully untangling the yarns of gold and the messy tangles that he combed out with his fingers. She did not resist again, merely looked at him with a subdued pain, and he was convinced then, that she believed that she had nothing more to lose. But she was wrong, and she had somehow helped him to take advantage of that very fact that she had nothing to gain but everything to lose in the long run with her incessant questioning.

So Athrun looked at her in the eye, forgoing all notions of honor against the face of temptation and gaining instead, the burning need to make her recall what they had possessed in the past.

He said softly, "I can offer that."

"Good," Cagalli said wearily. "Now what do you want? I can't offer anything at this point, nor anything that matches the value of what I can obtain from you at this stage, but I have an inheritance you might find useful for funding, or lifelong insurance of your rights even as a traitor of Plant in Orb. If you want-,"

"In exchange for what I can offer," He broke in, visibly shaken but steeled in his resolve, as steeled as she had been in hers, "You will personally sign the legalization of an Orb citizenship."

She understood this. The citizenship would allow him to do business there without the immediate weight of the taxes, along with many other advantages. And Athrun had a Plant passport and presumably one here- of course he would desire one from Orb, the leader of the neutral nations.

Eagerly, she nodded.

But Athrun stared at her and said slowly, "That's not all."

"Is it not enough," Cagalli argued, "For something as trivial as information about this place?"

He shook his head. "The information about this place, just the very empirical information, would allow you to piece together some part of my plans that you should not know at this stage."

And she took it- hook, line and sinker. "Alright. What else do you want in exchange?"

Athrun's eyes refocused on her, where they had wandered to a space behind her head, as if he had been hesitating about something previously. Now, there was no hesitation or consideration, for the decision had been made, and the deal would be carried out.

"A kiss."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"I want you to kiss me," He said quietly, "Kiss me like you mean it."

There was a difference to the kisses he had seized from her lips. She had not kissed him back, merely tried to break free. It was another action altogether, fiery and tantalizing in its rebellious nature, but it wasn't enough for him to quell the fire that raged in him. She understood, suddenly, and she began to stammer as the weight of the words burnt in the air and on her flesh, the way his fingers drew warmth from her flesh as he held her close to him.

"Athrun! T-That's not possible, I-,"

He looked stormily at her, watching her discomfort with every ounce of will that poured form his emerald eyes. "Then the deal's off."

She hesitated. There was no hope in saving her soul if she did not do it herself.

And so, Cagalli drew in a deep breath.

The die was cast.

Silenced rang throughout the room, her form still shivering against him in not cold, not repulsion now, but a maddening agony, the knowledge of what could be risked with the resurfacing of memories and hopes that had been laid to rest a long time ago, and what it meant to allow herself to desire one she had tried to forget for so long. But the trembling of her body was ceased as he held her more tightly and protectively than ever, like a man who had lost something a very long time ago and had only just recovered his loss. They remained like that for a little longer, the way he had brought her tighter into his arms, binding her in a grip tighter than the one the cuff had on her wrist, and he bound her tighter than the contract they had made, straight after the instant when she uttered a single word.

"Done."

5 months. 9 days