Disclaimer: I own nothing of GS/GSD. R&R please.
Chapter 5
A pile of paper pieces, ripped white wings, lay in a waste basket in the far, far corners of the room, amongst other miscellaneous things, apples that had been pared for her and such. Those were calendar pages, clandestine and useless.
She lay in her bed, chained to it, as if she were merely reclining like a resting seraphim in the soft white muslin dress they had changed her into. But the cuff gleamed on one wrist. They had wanted to make sure that she was incapable of harming herself first.
But it would be foolish to try breaking free of it, as much as it was instinctive. It was pointless, and she wanted freedom here on The Isle, even if it was a limited one. And tfo gain that, she had to be obedient. Athrun had asked that of her- no, forced that out of her.
So when Cartesia approached her with food that she would feed to Cagalli, Cagalli forced herself to accept it.
While she ate clumsily with her left hand gripping the utensil badly, Cartesia stood apprehensively, the metal circle of the tray pressed to her body, her white fingers gripping at its edge. Her pale eyes were fearful.
"What is it?" Cagalli asked bewilderedly, "Do you think I'll kill myself?"
She began to laugh quietly, in a manner that did not suggest full sanity. Cartesia stared, wide-eyed, and shook her head mutely. "Your Excellence, I only think that-,"
Her small, rough voice shook and crumbled to nothing. Cagalli's eyes regarded her with something like subdued misery. "Say it, whatever you are thinking. There are too many things being thought that are not said. I cannot understand anyone here on The Isle."
Athrun's imperceptible gaze sifted through her mind. His lips were always sealed. How would she pry them open?
He wanted a kiss. Why didn't he just take it as he had before? She was chained now- she would not struggle very much in any case. Her mind was plagued with his games. Soon, she would be broken.
"I was only thinking that Your Excellence is suffering so much. I was thinking that I would take some onto myself if I could." The girl's whispered tones were very faint and she looked frail and ill with knowing what her master was capable of. Her white knuckles were already bone-brittle, and Cagalli noticed a few bandages on her small fingers. What had she been up to?
Cagalli's eyes softened. "Impossible, and I would not allow it. But I thank you. Will you sit?"
Carefully, Cartesia sat on the edge, afraid to come close, afraid that she would go as far as to touch a single fold of the splendid white muslin that lay everywhere, but there was a carelessness to which Cagalli wore it with and the picture was somehow disconcerting in its strange beauty.
Cagalli forced a bite down. "What's been going on in the Manor?"
Cartesia chewed her lip. "I think it would be safe for me to say that the master has been in a foul temper. Oh, he doesn't show it openly," She added, noticing the exasperation on Cagalli's face, "But he locks himself in the drawing room for longer than usual and argued with Mr. Cleamont over something. It was all muffled, but then the rooms are very well sound-proofed and if you can hear nay a sound at all, it must be a loud one."
They looked at each other, and doubtlessly, they were imagininfg Athrun's stormy eyes. Something must have gone wrong for him to raise his voice; certainly, it was uncharacteristic of a man like him.
"Foul mood, you say," Cagalli mused, putting the utensil down, "Perhaps something didn't go according fto his plans?"
Cartesia's eyes silently pitied her. "I'm afraid it was you, fmy Lady."
"Surely," Cagalli said in disbelief, "He did not think I would sit still, missing from the world outside The Isle, without the single notion of escaping?"
Her companion shook her head, looking like a quaint albino bird perched next to her. "I think he had hoped against all possible hope that Your Excellency would. Perffhaps I go too far in saying this, but he must have hoped this for your own sake and his."
A click of the door and a clearing of the throat echoed.
"You may go."
The girl jumped up, curtseyed and fled. Cagalli turned around slowly and watched Athrun. In turn, he surveyed her with a slight frown on his face, although she instinctively understood that it was not she he was upset with. Most likely, he was upset with the general.
"Well," He said after a moment of silence when the door had shut securely, "Don't let me interrupt your dinner."
She ignored him, turning the only part of her body she could control away, so that her face looked at the ivory walls, and Cagalli did not touch the food anymore.
He settled on the bed and held the spoon to her lips. Stubbornly, she turned her head away, as far as she could until she strained, aching slightly as she unconsciously revealed the stretch of white-honey, the perfect expanse of neck he found himself quietly admiring. Her eyes were golden and rebellious.
And he sighed a little.
"Must we go through all of this?"
She watched the haze of sumptuous steam rise high and lazily in circles, like concentric layouts of brides leaping to the skies, in their white, wispy glories. The meat was most probably roast pork, and the baby vegetables were sautéed today. But Cagalli swallowed whatever appetite it had induced in her and turned away.
"Until you unchain me and agree to give me information, "Cagalli said through gritted teeth, "Yes. We certainly must."
He glanced at the cuff and then regarded her with something like long-suffering in his eyes. "I want to make sure that you don't harm yourself first."
Cagalli snorted. "I can hardly believe the irony you drench you words in. By chaining me here, haven't you already harmed me?"
"Only because you tried to escape." He remarked calmly.
"Of course I would!" Cagalli said angrily. "You refused to tell me anything!"
She glared at him and demonstrated her unwillingness to be obedient by forcefully tugging at the bed post she was chained to. The wood of the four-poster was already scratched, but she didn't care. Neither did he, for that matter- his eyes were fixed onto her raw wrist.
"Stop that."
"I won't if I don't want to." She said piquantly.
As if to mock him, her skin split, and a thin hiss eased its way from her lips the way trickle of ruby found its sliding way from the crack
He looked frustrated. "Do you want me to harm you?"
"Harm me?" She sneered. "Harm me so I won't harm myself?"
He shrugged flippantly. "Even if the logic seems unsound, I could always stoop to that myself. Or if I was afraid of getting my hands dirty, Miles would suffice. Epstein's my assistant- he would do nicely as well."
Her reaction was a livid one.
"You coward," Cagalli spat. "Your hands are bloodstained and as filthy as what you harbor in you. Your father gave you that as part of your inheritance didn't he? All the time you spent trying to deviate from his nature- you went back to the War, did you not? Do you see the blood on your hands as I speak now?"
The words came fierce and wild, like a lashing of a whip against their faces and bodies, and she knew how presumptuous they were. Cagalli had her hands bloodstained as well, she was not very different from this man sitting across her. And yet, she hated him for being imperceptible and his composure, the way he pretended to care about her well-being when he most certainly did not. Those times had long been over. The Second War had come and gone, aged them all, made some part of her blood run dry, and time had passed since then. They were pledged to be man and wife once, but that time had passed. He was Rune Estragon- not Athrun Zala.
She lunged badly at him, restrained by the cuff, and she was effectually pulled back with a terrible raw scraping to her wrist. The pain did not come- the little that entered her was nothing in comparison to all that had already been there, and the little that she felt was a relief. She could still feel, couldn't she?
Athrun watched her with no change of expression- and her heart sank deeper than she thought possible. He simply did not care. Whatever his plans were, those that involved her would require no more than a pawn. And she was already one. Her mouth trembled.
"There's blood on your hands." She whispered stubbornly.
He did not show any sign of being successfully provoked. "Obviously. Now, will you open your mouth?"
She looked at the spoon of food he was offering and the soft, hidden pain in his eyes.
Her hands shook.
But his were steady.
Instantly, she regretted all that she had said. Stiffly, she parted her lips and took it in her mouth.
The taste was immensely satisfying but hollow at the same time. She might have been eating crushed autumn leaves. But his eyes were tender.
"Thank you," He said briefly. "Now another."
They sat there, in that queer co-operation they had agreed upon, and she obeyed until she could not swallow anymore, and only then did he leave her. The mouthfuls she had taken were salty and wet with the tears that escaped freely from her eyes, and he had wiped them away carelessly, bringing another spoonful to her mouth, concentrating on the task ahead. He gave no indication to the tears that she could not rein in when he was so close by, and Cagalli herself was afraid to look at his eyes. When he wiped them away, they both pretended that nothing had happened.
When he left, she was alone again. The throbbing wrist was bleeding with its scratches.
Cartesia crept through a while later, and Cagalli absent-mindedly allowed her to bandage the hand. Her mind was on him, fixated with not the past, but the present of what he was.
He would always be a combination of dialectic points, cruelty and tenderness intermingled as one, and he was Rune Estragon and Athrun Zala as the same being while here on The Isle. Were they the same person?
Possibly.
And she had allowed Rune Estragon to be borne from him.
Tonight, he brought her an amusing wooden toy, a bit like a Rubik's cube, but with twenty-four hexagons that formed a giant one.
"If you find the correct side and make all of the twenty four hexagons face it," he said, "It will open."
"What's inside?" She asked in her curiosity, quite forgetting to be aloof and distant.
He looked directly at her. "If I told you, it would stop you from trying to open it."
This was true. The opening was for the sole purpose of finding what lay within, the chase of the hunt, possibly. She had a sudden vision of herself sitting there for every night, trying to open it. Perhaps it was stave off her boredom.
"I could smash it open," Cagalli countered. "And it would certainly be easier with one hand than trying to open it like this."
He looked amused, and she found herself warming up a little. They knew she would not do such a thing because it was not in her nature to destroy to obtain something. But then, she had to ruin it all.
"Unless you mean to free me so I can do it with both hands?"
"No," He said calmly, not missing the rashness in her voice and the flush under her cheeks. "Not even from this bed. You tried to escape, and I cannot allow that."
Her frown deepened. "And what if I promise not to?"
"My trust amounts to nothing if you betray it," Athrun replied morosely. "I cannot risk you escaping from here and going to the mainland or anywhere outside The Isle."
She gritted her teeth, wanting to shake her fist at him but not doing so anyway. "Why are you doing this? I'm not a fool- surely if I go back to Orb, a plan of yours would be ruined. And I know this place is within the Denmark borders and oceans, according to what you said at least. If I am held in the Scandinavian region even while they realize I was abducted there, surely Orb will be making forceful inquiries. I've been here for a month, damn it!"
A moment passed whereby he surveyed her heaving chest and her tightened lips, and he disquietingly crossed his legs. Cagalli was straining so hard against the cuff; he thought she would shatter herself entirely from just that action. But no- it was not forceful enough, and in any case, he would not have allowed her to harm herself that way.
Certainly, as she had asserted, Cagalli was no fool. Athrun had long recognized this and valued it with so many other things she harbored within the physical vessel he had now pinned thus to the bed. It seemed unjustified and crude to lock someone like her to a metal frame, even if the bed was made of solid, highly-polished and golden brass with choice sheets and plump pillows to bolster her back. But she didn't deserve to be locked here like this. Or did she?
An uprising of intense, almost hatred-like emotion rose in him, and he focused on her face. There was innocence in her anger, a naiveté in believing that all that mattered was for her to return to Orb to resolve the matter of her abduction. He could not fault her guilessness, he could only resent her lack of knowledge of how she hurt him with that naiveté.
"A month. You're absolutely right."
He watched as she lost her stateliness. So fascinating was she, a woman at times, a child for some others, a noble Prince for the majority of it, a Lioness partially, so many things at so many different times. Now, she was a woman, impatient, shrewish and so strangely interesting.
"And where the hell is this place?" She exclaimed loudly in her anger. "It's Godforsaken or something?"
"Technically," Athrun replied humourlessly, "Yes. It's one of the many islands that I told you about. By itself, it isn't even written on the most recent, up-to-date map because the people who rediscovered it are the inhabitants who now guard its secret fiercely. Even the powers that rule over the borders drawn on the map have no knowledge of it. It won't harm me to tell you a little to what is the prelude of our agreement- this place was blasted to smithereens in one battle before the Bloody Valentine, and it's been forgotten since then."
She listened to this eagerly, but then her face fell. "But so many other places had the same fate! Even Orb territories have been written off maps!"
"I told you," He said genially. "It wouldn't harm me to tell you all that I just did, and it didn't, did it?"
Her frown deepened in contrast to his calm countenance.
"Well?" She demanded fiercely. "When do I get to go back to Orb?"
"I told you," He said calmly. "You'll stay here for half a year or five months more, since you've just passed the first one."
"I can't accept that." Cagalli replied in a low voice.
Athrun looked entirely unfazed. "You don't have a choice. You can either stay here in agony or try to enjoy what this place provides in place of your immediate return to Orb. Why are you so keen to go back, in any case?"
Her mouth parted in a gape, and he noticed how radiant she looked in spite of the blazing anger, how much energy she had within that vitality in her eyes and the disbelief on her face. "Isn't it obvious?"
"What is?" He said irritatingly.
"Well, if I disappeared from the Baltic Sea while being a guest of Scandinavia's, then obviously, Orb would investigate on my behalf, or my permanent head of secretary's, at least. And if I don't get back soon enough to prevent that, it could well escalate into a fault finding mission when the guilty party is really and quite obviously you!"
She ended her tirade with a snarl that suggested something less than a human.
"Your permanent head of secretary's sake?" He said with a bark of laughter. "And why would he be that desperate to get you back? Wouldn't it be a chance of promotion? I could imagine the other lesser nobles of Orb vying for his attention and offering him things few can resist where rat races are concerned."
Her eyes narrowed. "Aaron isn't like that. He cares about me."
Athrun's face did not change, although the eyes became a little sharper. "Does he? What makes you think so? And where did he come from? Aaron Mauritius-Biliensky, was it?"
"What about it?" Cagalli countered. "Is anything wrong with that?"
"Nothing," Athrun breathed, his eyes like slits in the white mask of his face.
Cagalli leaned forward impassively. "Your'e just jealous because you don't have anyone like him to care about you the way he does for me."
It was a childish barb, meant only to provoke him, but Athrun found himself jerking with anger inside, beneath the facade of composure, and it bewildered him, although it was not unfamiliar. There was a face he associated this helpless distaste and immense dislike with, a face that had jeered at him while he had watched Cagalli being led away where he, Athrun, could not follow. Yuna Roma Seiran had been a pain in the ass, no doubt.
"Whether true or not," He said readily, shrugging. "It matters very little. I have my own plans that take precedence over petty little issues like those you associate yourself with."
Dear Lord. He was getting to be just as bad as her, like biting and scratching puppies fighting.
"Which is what?" Cagalli cut in sharply. "You've obtained some things haven't you? An Orb citizenship thousands of others would love to get their hands on, be it the international businessmen, the normal citizens or the political refugees. Isn't that what you wanted?"
He looked at her with a small smile tugging at his lips, and she was reminded of the other thing she had promised to exchange. Blushing tersely, she tried to cover the fact.
" I don't know why you wanted it, but if that's what you needed, you have it. Why can't you just let me go now?"
Athrun bent a little closer, catching her off-guard with his solemn emerald eyes that flashed a little in his face. "Those were side-profits. A little like the perks of a job."
The enormity of it made her flabbergasted, and she wrung one hand, the other jerking within the steel grasp of the cuff. "You're exploiting me, aren't you?"
"But you agreed to it," Athrun said, with a show of surprise, his eyes mocking her however. "Didn't you?"
This was true, no matter how terrible the situation had been in when she had been forced to make that decision. She had wanted the deal herself, and now, she could not blame him for setting the conditions that benefited him more than her.
He moved a little closer, and she instinctively backed away. "What are you doing?"
She could not move any further- she was basically chained to the bed and her back was being stuffed against the wall that the four-poster was adjacent to. But he eased closer, his face cool and imperceptible and the eyes boring through hers, and she shuddered visibly. He was sitting next to her now, no longer in the wooden, hard-backed chair for her visitor, but right next to her. Roughly, he took her face between his hands.
"Do you really want the information?" He said softly. "The information that would possibly, if you are fortunate enough, allow you to escape from The Isle?"
"What are you talking about?" Cagalli rasped, suddenly losing her voice, afraid to speak above his volume for fear that something would be destroyed, torn apart from that pervasive, delicate hold he now had on her. "I- I need to leave."
His lips were very close to hers, and she could feel the warm, vivid closeness of his breath on her lips and the tangy spice of his aftershave. She did not dare to inhale too much of it- intoxication was dangerous when it was he.
"Do you?" He said, curving his lips. "Is leaving The Isle really what you want?"
She found she could not answer. There were two possibilities for this inability: One, if she accepted her fate as a prisoner here for the half-year he had informed her of, the enjoyment of everything would suddenly heighten. And it was not a simple merry-go-round ride he was offering. Athrun was probably offering only the appetizer.
Besides, leaving The Isle like this, without first uncovering its secret seemed to be as annoyingly difficult as leaving the wooden puzzle alone, without first trying to open it. Returning to Orb to settle the differences that had arisen out of her disappearance would merely put a stop to the inquiry. And Cagalli herself was very sure of the fact that she would never reveal Athrun's existence or even his role in her disappearance. If asked how she had disappeared, she would lie and say she found herself washed ashore some hastily-researched island. False witnesses would be aplenty, and Aaron could arrange for that with no hiccups. Curiosity had always gotten the better of her, had it not? First, she had managed to unlock the room of her father's things and the woman in the photography who could not have been her mother. As a child, she had cried for days, knowing that the rumors were true- she wasn't other father's daughter. Then Heliopolis and the stolen weapons, and how she'd nearly lost her life for being there. Years later, was it to be the same? Would she really accept being a prisoner for the sole reason of finding out what lay in The Isle?
Yet, the dilemma was troublesome by itself: probing into why Athrun had fetched her here would hurt her more than his re-appearance itself. The possibility of him being with the terrorists had lurked in her mind, consciously and constantly, although it would be improbable. After so many years, Athrun was physically intact but perhaps it was as he had mentioned. The man no longer existed here.
She had offered Athrun this so many times during all her efforts to escape. All he had to do was let her go and she would return to Orb without a single mention of his name or anything that had transpired with The Isle. Throughout this, he had merely smiled and shook his head. It frustrated her to no end- either he did not trust her, or he did not agree with what she was offering.
Then what did he want? For her to eventually return to Orb and tell the whole world that he still existed, unlike what the conspiracies claimed of him with the corpse under Orb and all that rubbish?
But it was more than that. The second reason for her inability to confirm her desire to leave immediately was probably to do with the hands that were cupping either side of her face and their owner. It was very elementary. Leaving The Isle like this, if she did succeed, would close this chapter. She would be allowed to forget him entirely the way he had made the world forget him.
And leaving The Isle was the same as leaving him.
He had disappeared for seven years- no mean feat, presumably, since he was ultimately a war hero and an heir of immense fortunes, some probably even hidden from the declaration of property. How had he done this so completely and so perfectly?
A more pressing issue lay ahead of her, however. Her silence, derived form her hesitation in replying, was an opportunity for her to dip her head back, almost as if he were to capture her mouth and kiss her full. She looked into his eyes and saw memories, pain and some other things lurking there. Was it time for her to give what she had offered?
She closed her eyes, trying to shut herself off from remember anything of him. Athrun did not exist anymore. No such person would ever again. Was this man Athrun?
Who was Athrun?
What was he like?
Her memories stained her thoughts, those memories she had locked away for so long. The last of these were the faint recollections of how her body had melded into his arms as he had taken her into his embrace, swept her close to him for her head to rest on his shoulder, unembarrassed, painfully honest while the others watched. They might have never seen each other again, what with he on the Archangel to fight the battle of Requiem, and she in Orb. The immensity of them moment had been locked away then, locked in the ring she had given away, hoping that life would start afresh, the memories die out, and for him to be happy.
But he had come back for her.
She had refused him, driven him away.
And he had come back for her again, although in a very different way. He had chained her to this bed, and she would be at his mercy.
He watched her as she closed herself in the darkness of her shut lids and watched as her soft pink lips parted slightly, sending warning signals and yet, a thrill in him. But no- not now. He would save her for after, after making her kiss him as tempestuously as he wanted to kiss her now. Abruptly, he let go of her and observed her as her eyes opened in confusion.
"What is it?" She whispered.
Vaguely, she took in their surroundings. The color above him was white- the ceiling. Her head was caught by something soft and something less soft. The pillows, of course, she thought absent-mindedly, and one of his hands was tangled in her hair, the fingers around the back of her head. His shirt was a deep black, almost like the cold space she had once been in, save for the white of his forearms since he had rolled up the sleeves to reveal the lithe, sculpted parts that could crush whatever it wanted, and she shivered. The wall was ivory, and on their right, the rest of the room was blurred in colors with the curtain he had pulled down from the four-poster's frame, effectively cutting them off from anything else in that small chamber-like portion of the large room.
With a sudden shock, she realised that she saw all of this from the perspective of one behind pinned down, and effectively that was truly the case. But he moved off the crouching stance he had instinctively adopted, and blearily, she sat up.
"Not today," Athrun said suddenly, his voice authoritative. "The information won't be yours today."
"Why not?" Cagalli said, defensive and irritated for no proper reason. "Tomorrow is one more day here in this place."
He considered this, but then turned away, pulling the curtains open and striding to the door. "It's not as if you can escape with that information."
The door closed as she registered this and raged silently, with nobody to hear her. Had the deal been made for nothing? The citizenship, he probably wanted it for business benefits that she could condone as long as she never knew which businesses were under his control. But the second thing-
Enraged, she shouted at the door, thinking that nobody would hear her and taking advantage of how her uncivilised show of temper would never be seen "You know something? You're a bastard and I hope you never get laid!"
Unbeknowst to her on the other side of the door, Athrun stopped, looked back at the wooden face, and began, very quietly and helplessly, to chuckle.
He did not visit for two more days, and she despaired of having the deal done. Perhaps he had sensed her unwillingness to be near him and had written the entire thing off.
Boredom gnawed at her, and she began solving the puzzle, clumsily and badly with her left hand. But it was good enough to pass the time- every time she finished making one part of its entire spectrum face the side she was banking on, its beautifully inscribed mural on its face gleaming up at her, she wanted to shout for joy. But then it would not remain for very long. The elation gave way to frustration as she faced the next part that refused to face the side she had decided upon.
The food that was brought in never gave her clues to where she was, save that it was truly a place in the watery depths of ocean. Nevertheless, she enjoyed the fresh white fish every day, minimally seasoned with some salt and a thin coat of rich sauce. Potatoes were often brought in as well, well mashed to a cream that melted in her mouth, and sirloin meats with fresh greens that did not give a clue as to where they had been brought from.
"You must finish all the soup tonight," Cartesia piped up. "I had the cook make it specially for you."
Cagalli paused, looking at her. "Is there something special about it?"
The girl's back was turned to her, not facing her, she busying herself with something Cagalli could not quite identify at the angle they were both at. "It's very nutritrious, that's all."
The twins were very good to her, they often sat by her and told her jokes and anecdotes she would laugh over. Gradually, she began to trust them completely, allowing Cartesia and Laplacia some insight on who Athrun had been at one point or the other.
"We knew he was an important person before this," Cartesia said breathlessly, once Cagalli had finished telling them about Athrun's role in the war and the Infinite Justice he had piloted. "But we never knew he had done so much before coming to The Isle."
There was a slight irony in the entire scenario. It was almost like a mother telling her children about how heroic or immensely talented their father was to create the sense of awe the twins displayed as they sat next to her, their faces rapt with attention.
Cagalli glanced at them and laughed a little. "He's been forgotten by the rest of the world, I think. Save for the odd crop-up of controversy articles in third-rate magazines."
"Why did he leave all that?" Laplacia said in amazement. "To come here?"
Cagalli pursed her lips.
"I don't know," She said quite honestly. All she had wanted was for Athrun to get on with his life, move where she would not be so he could start over. Granted, he had done that, but it had been an extreme move, had it not?
"In any case," Cagalli said hurriedly, "The fact that you didn't know much of him means the both of you must have lived rather sheltered lives before this. Were you both born on The Isle? Athrun tells me nobody can get here without having been born here, in spite of his hold here," She laughed a little ironically. "So which is it?"
They exchanged glances.
"The truth is," Laplacia said hesitantly, "We were brought here, just as he probably was. Your Excellence, it is seven in the night, we must have you bathe and change into a new dress."
Cagalli's eyebrows raised high on her fine face. "Isn't every night an early night? And why don't'we all live a little?"
She grinned teasingly, and they smiled carefully, but their eyes looked at each others, a disconcerting thing for a third party, since it must have been like a mirror view of one pale-lilac haired girl looking at her own live reflection.
"Why the consistency with time today?" Cagalli said, suddenly confused. "Is Athrun coming?"
"The master is at home," Cartesia said after a pause.
Cagalli nodded a little, still nonplussed. So did that mean he was coming to see her?
They would not say any more, but busies themselves with unchaining her temporarily so she could bathe and cleanse herself while they prepared a fresh change of clothes for the night.
The bath was a little hurried. Today, they did not allow her to soak herself for as long as she wished for the warm water to lap around her and soothe the ache and sluggishness in her body from reclining or sitting upright for all day. With an attention for detail that surprised even herself, Cagalli noticed Cartesia shampooing her hair with a definite swiftness that bordered on carelessness if the girl had not been quite as expert with this task, and she had put in a little too much scented liquid into the bath- Cagalli would perfume her own bed later. It was aromatic and soothing in the rose and honey tanginess, and perhaps it made her yawn more than three times while in the bath. She giggled headily, feeling as though she were in a dream. For some reason, Laplacia and her twin did not laugh along with her sudden sleepiness. They hurried along like mice, pouring in more hot water into the pool-like depression in the ground Cagalli used as a bath-tub, one made of black and white marble, deep enough to drown her if she stooped a little and held her head under water.
Her meal had not been particularly heavy that night, but Cagalli felt suddenly drowsy. The atmosphere was not helping either- the twins had lighted candles, bathing the room in a golden-orange glow and making her drowsy. She stumbled to the bed, allowing Cartesia to lock the cuff back in place after checking the fresh bandages they had placed there. Her yawns were stifled only by her other hand as they fluffed her pillows and whispered amongst themselves. Cagalli was far too sleepy to concentrate on whatever they might have been saying, and in any case, they spoke in a strange language she had honestly never heard before. She had recognized traces of German in them, once, she had heard Athrun speak to them in fluent German, but this language- a dialect, perhaps?
The door creaked a little, and she was not sure if it had closed. The candles were not blown out completely- one or two remained and the wax was warm and slid down the lengths of the brass holders. They had replaced the flowers in her room, had they not? These were marigolds; their heady, powdery scents were making her even more tired.
The room was slightly stuffy, but she slept on.
How long did the hours pass?
She did not know.
But the door burst open, and she sat up in terror, forgetting her dream, forgetting that when she sat up too suddenly the way she was now doing, the cuff yanked hard against her.
Athrun had never burst in- the twins would not as well. But this person had.
The person standing in the doorway was pulling off his gloves, flinging it to one side, and Cagalli stared in the darkness and the single silhouette in the light of the opened door and lighted corridor beyond it.
"Who's there?" Cagalli called defiantly.
He was a very tall man. Taller than Athrun.
He came forward into the light, shutting the door, but not completely, as Cagalli's eyes noticed. There was a fine gap that did not enable the automatic locks to function yet.
She looked into his face as he pulled the bed's curtains apart. It was weathered and crusty- clearly not Athrun's.
His eyes were ochre, not emerald like Athrun's.
Why, she thought, suddenly desperate, why was she only able to think of Athrun as the man before her drew a gun out?
Her voice shook, ringing out into the expanse of the room.
"Who are you?"
He did not answer, and she was struck by how deep the scar down his face was. His beard was speckled with grey and his eyes like an animal's- savage and uncomprehending. He was quite heavyset, but the muscles bulged under his coat, and she knew he could break her leg as easily as bend a flower into two.
Instinctively, she shielded herself with the covers, disorientated from her sleep, not knowing if it was still the night or morning, and Cagalli might have made a dash for the door if she had not been chained to it. The gun was lowered to her temples. She could feel its cold muzzle against her even colder flesh. A drop of sweat was easing its way down the man's cheek and she was transfixed by the single bead.
"Who am I?" He repeated slowly. "I suppose telling you will not harm you. The dead keep their secrets well. You must die now, you understand, Cagalli Yula Atha? He has no more need for you."
His voice was twanged with the slight accent the twins had. So he had come from where they had both been originally? Would she know only that before she died? Why had Athrun no more need of her? Would this assailant not say?
"You are so lovely," He said wryly. "Pity about your death. That man will have to find a substitute for the nights, eh? We didn't think he'd grow so fond of you, but nobody takes chances here even if he does. Have you seen her yet? She looks almost like you. Uncanny really. Coincidence or more than that?"
He began to cackle.
And Athrun- why did he want her dead, had she not tried so hard to make him find his own happiness away from her? Was The Isle not good enough for him? Had he only wanted to bring her here so she could die? Was this a sort of revenge?
"We aren't- no," Cagalli croaked. "Oh please, don't d-,"
She had never wanted to hurt him, it had been carefully-executed, the secret removal of his application to the Imperial Orb forces even though his experience would put him there as a General if one wanted to look objectively at everything. Admiral in the sub-branch? Laughable- Kisaka had said that himself, but then she'd insisted and he had had to follow Cagalli's order since her father had made him promise to-
The muzzle sank into the flesh under her chin. He began squeezing the trigger.
Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth in a silent shriek, pulling, tugging madly at the cuff and chain, trying to escape from this madman, imagining it was just her imagination, dreaming that she was still in the grip of her dreams, unable to break free from the cuff and the dream itself-
There was a hoarse scream that pierced the air and Cagalli felt something warm and strangely comforting spray its rusty crimson droplets across her face. The man's expression was not triumphant any longer- it was shocked and strangely curious, curious, perhaps, to see who had stabbed him right in the back and through his chest.
She stared, hypnotized by the silver tip that extended through his shirt's front. He had been stabbed, no, impaled by a sword. A long, fine blade with a silver hilt and a pale hand attached to it. The person holding it was staring at her, then at his victim.
The stranger began to wrestle with the blade he was being hung on to dry, allowing the gun to drop, and the blood was splattering everywhere, swallowed by the maroon of the carpets and the white of her dress. Those were like poppies in the snow.
A shot rang out, then another. And for good measure, another, in his chest.
The dead man fell on top of her, and Cagalli tried to say something, but all that came out was a muffled cry. He was still warm and gurgling his last moments. She peered down into his face and saw that his tongue was hanging out like the devil's, writhing and his eyeballs wide in his head like orbs that were bloodshot and near the point of explosions. The man coughed once, and something poured into her lap. She glanced down to see black blood and phlegm, poisoned and vile like an incurable disease in his lungs. He brought his trembling fingers to her face and smeared it with his blood, and the stench was unmistakable. Then the hand fell.
"Oh G-,"
"Cagalli," Athrun said urgently. "Cagalli."
He was crouching near her, and she squashed herself against the wall, afraid that he would touch her. He brought his hand near to her, and she saw the blood on it.
She calmed herself quite effectively- she bit back her scream by biting her tongue. The pain was comforting, although she found herself choking in the process. It was better this way. Then she would wake from the dream and find herself in her bedroom in Orb, where nothing had existed beyond her standard of normalcy and Athrun Zala was stored as a memory far behind her and there was nothing that existed that she knew of The Isle and the people who lived and died on it.
The corpse's face was huddled near her neck. His weight was immense and crushing.
'Good', Cagalli thought faintly. 'Crush me and smite me to death quickly. No more questions.'
She thought of Lacus and that perfect, glowing smile. Kira too, his boyish face serious and questioning as he had asked her in the first year, where Athrun had gone to. He missed his friend, didn't he? The questions ran through her head. Had that man made any sense? No. None. She had not understood a single thing except that he was to kill her and that Athrun had no more need of her. Had he sent the man in to harm her the way he'd threatened to with Epstein and Miles to help him?
'Athrun is not here', she thought feverishly. 'And he died a long time ago.'
But in an instant, Athrun was standing over her, prying her mouth open, stopping her from clamping it shut again by balling a fist, allowing her to bite onto the hard knuckles to silence her own screams. And his arms around her, he saying something that she did not quite hear, and when he did take the fist away, with some vague recollection of what her own voice sounded like, Cagalli was aware of the room being filled with the sounds of her hoarse, shrieking voice.
Athrun was throwing the sword aside and plying the corpse off. He had been alive only a few seconds ago.
It slid to the floor as a bloodied, broken heap. Its face grinned up at her and she was shoving madly, struggling against Athrun's arms as he tried to hold her, hurting herself and whatever of him that she could hurt, scratching, sobbing, blood on his hands and hers. And suddenly, he was not bothering to fight her anymore as she lay chained to the bed, but brought a stiff hand swiftly upon her neck, and her eyes widened and then closed as he delivered her back to her dreams.
The twins had her bathed and washed even while she slumbered fitfully, her forehead knotted with sweat they carefully cleansed. The fire in the hearth crackled fastidiously, and Athrun contemplated adding more coal to it. But anymore would change the comfortable temperature to a stifling one. He did not want that.
Nothing was left to remind Athrun of who had charged in here, ready to kill Cagalli Yula Atha, and then died because of that intent by Athrun's own hand. But the poison in his cup had already gotten him by then- Athrun was not entirely to blame for the man's death.
The flames licked at the dark shapes in the rectangular frame of the fireplace. He looked at it from where he was sitting and thought of the changed carpets and the ruined dress. White with blood- pointless to wash, really.
He had been in a quietly maddened state after he had saved Cagalli from being slaughtered in her own bed while she was chained to it. They had expected the intent and the action, but they had not expected the poison to take such a long time to work its effect on her assailant. And Athrun had only just made it in the nick of time.
"I will never risk that again." Athrun had said quietly to the twins. They looked at him with trepidation in their young faces, and hopelessly, he waved them away, convinced that they would not return while he was still there.
Nobody was allowed in this room when he was in it. That was an unwritten rule. Epstein had not set foot into this place, not even when Athrun trusted him entirely with his life. Friend or foe, nobody was allowed in it except those Athrun permitted in as servants.
But the assailant had sullied this ground with his blood and his very entrance. Athrun frowned and looked at the slumbering form on the bed. Cagalli was dreaming. Her lips were moving slightly and her eyes were partially but almost indefinitely open, as was her sleeping habit.
"Wretched child." Athrun murmured. "Poor wretched child."
He reached out and brushed a strand of golden hair from her pale cheek. She was clad in a pale golden sleeping gown Athrun had chosen for her, not as sensuous against the skin like silk, but as light as air and comforting to touch. Athrun himself chained her back to the bed. He had to- for their sake.
When his bonfire awoke, he was already sitting by her bed. He had been doing that for the past three hours, thinking of brighter, better and more hopeful times.
She yawned a little and looked at him with a misfit smile.
She was so close to forgetting.
But then she remembered and a wild look of panic came into her eyes. She backed against the wall, like a beaten animal, cowering, wringing the blanket between her hands, like a captive angel faced with a monster. Her face was contorted with fear. Athrun bent closer to reassure her, but a strangled sound escaped her throat and she threw a look of unthinking, unimaginable terror at the cuff he had replaced on her wrist after the twins had bathed and changed her.
"Hush," He whispered, trying to be as comforting as possible, "I'm here."
She opened her mouth in mute horror, and he realised, with a terrible hammering in his chest, that she was staring at his hands, shivering and cringing as if he would hit her. She must have seen blood there.
He saw it too. It was crimson and dripping to every inch of his body. But when he blinked, the hands, pale and perfectly-shaped, were facing palm-up at him. There was nothing. Everything had been washed off with a dash of cold water.
Cagalli was huddled against the wall, her knees drawn protectively to her chest. She was mewling hoarse ragged sounds, no words, just sound, and her cheeks were blotchy as she held her tears back, broken but proud still. He could not bear to break her any more.
He turned away, ringing a bell. In a minute, the twins had arrived.
"Take care of her," He said quietly, and only the twins heard the regret in his voice.
Three days passed, and he lost his patience.
"What do you mean she hasn't recovered from the shock?" Athrun said in a low voice. His pen was still scribbling across the paper and the twins trembled, their faces very white. "Did you not do as I instructed?"
"Please," Laplacia said tremblingly, "The last we spoke to her and received a reply was during her meal, three days ago. We measured the right amount of drug, triple-checked it even if an overdose would not be potent, and it was the drug you selected for her to sleep soundly."
He nodded. "And she woke still. Of course, she was chained so it did not make a difference."
Cartesia spoke fearfully. "We cannot coax her to say anything, even to us."
"And she doesn't move much," Laplacia chimed in, not seeing Athrun's knuckles turning hard as he gripped the pen, still writing as he had before they had been sent in. Epstein watched the three of them, his eyes worried and his mouth tight.
"Why?" Athrun said calmly, putting aside the pen for the first time since they'd entered.
The windows had been boarded up since Cagalli had arrived. Now, they presented a stifling atmosphere to the overall situation. The papers were neatly piled, ready for submission. Epstein would take care of those later.
"We- don't know," Cartesia whispered. "We've tried talking to her, and she lets us change her clothes and bathe her, but she doesn't move. But when Laplacia presented her with a warmer blanket, she struggled against her chains."
"A new blanket?" Epstein exclaimed. "Why?"
"What color was it?" Athrun said sharply.
Thee looked confused. "White."
"Be clearer," Athrun asked between gritted teeth. "White? Not likely."
Laplacia looked like a lost kitten, pleading and not understanding. He could not blame her for it, but they anger was too great. How could they have miscalculated the poison's timing?
"It was a white background, but it had large patterns of dark maroon on the underside."
He imagined himself in Cagalli's state, frightened and chained to the bed, still plagued by terrible nightmares, and a new, thick blanket, maroon to her as it enveloped her, suffocating, a weight crushing down upon her face.
"Dark maroon. No wonder."
Black blood.
Infected, poisoned blood.
The corpse had been removed and he had only just settled the procedures involving the man. That man had been dead since he first stepped into Athrun's manor- he had been destined as a box of wormseed from the time his superior had asked him to come to Rune Estragon's stronghold.
He strode into her room, not caring to hear the frantic explanations the hurriedly following twins offered in explaining why she had not spoken yet. With a kind of violence that wasn't apparent until one looked deep into his face and saw that the action was not a merely forceful one, he ripped open the four-poster's curtains and glared at the form nestled in the bed.
"Cagalli-" His voice was sharp. "Get up and speak to me."
He turned to the twins. "Leave us alone."
They bowed uneasily and disappeared, closing the door so it locked, leaving her with him. He watched her apprehensively, not sure if their lack of presence and his in replacement of theirs would cause her to panic and break into hysteria. But she did not. Her face was turned to the side, a bit like an incomplete sculpture which did not have eyeballs within its sockets.
He sat in the chair by her side. "I said, sit up.
No response. He drew an angry breath, balling his fists into tight curls.
"Cagalli," He said in a low voice, "It's time you stopped brooding about it. He was a dead man anyway; you saw the poison in his blood. It would have killed him if I had given a few more minutes for him to struggle and fight it. And in that time he would have shot."
She did not move or even face him. Livid suddenly, the past few days of struggling suddenly coming down hard on his shoulders, he grasped her by her shoulders, pulling her to face him. The chain rattled, and he caught sight of her face. It was wan, almost unrecognizable, and the lips were nearly white.
"You saw a man die." He said slowly. "It's been a shock. I do not begrudge you that. But you must talk to me now."
She looked where she had when he turned her over- to the ceiling, not saying anything.
"What do you want me to do?" Athrun said tightly. "Shake you so you'll look me in the eye and talk?"
As if hearing him for the first time, she rotated her head slowly so she was looking straight into his face. There was a faded beauty he recognized, but it made his heart skip a few times, nevertheless. She had a sort of panic in her eyes now that he saw blossoming to her hands as she reached tiredly and held his harms the way he was holding hers, and she opened her mouth then closed it and shook her head.
A heart-wrenching mewling sound emitted and she began to shake her head again, hopelessly, tears spilling everywhere as she clung to him, silently sobbing.
It was then that he understood.
"I had to, you know," Athrun said faintly but still very steadily, "Or he'd have killed you. He had planned on doing it. I knew. I couldn't let him do it."
"Now," He said heavily, breathing very hard, "Say something."
He watched her struggle to form the words, frustrations suddenly coloring her face as she hit the sheets weakly with whatever strength she had left, over and over again, and his temper, usually reserved even in the most common situations when a little frustration was bound to be shown, became very apparent.
"Call my name!" He said harshly. "I want to hear it!"
She cried harder, all the signs of her feistiness non-apparent, a weak child pinned there rather than the golden tempest he had been forced to chain in case she ran off. She was not being disobedient, she simply could not obey. Now, the chain was there because this sobbing child in place of the strong-willed, stubborn woman needed it. She had no place to go. Sending her back to Orb was out of question now because she could not return without her ability to speak.
He took her head to his chest and held it there, something long dead and numb in him coming alive in its pain and slight joy as she buried it there, grasping handfuls of his shirt, tiring herself out with the heaving, soundless sobs.
"I killed him for you," Athrun muttered. "He tried to harm you and perhaps, he didn't deserve to die that way. But he tried to harm you."
And he would physically remove anybody who dared to hurt her.
He eventually laid her head back on the pillow and watched as she fell asleep, having tired herself out. And he thought of the blurred, faded times of when she had done the same, unbeknownst to the public, because the Lioness of Orb never cried or showed a sign of weakness even when her father was mentioned in the worst way possible. She had cried privately, in front of him, because she didn't know how to hide it all in when she was with him. He had watched her, comforted her, taken her into his arms the way he had only just done, laid her on the bed and watched over her while she had slept, had he not?
Seven years later, nothing had changed.
She grew to accept him slowly, in a sort of uneasy truce.
At very least, Athrun liked to think so.
He was gentle and careful with her each time he sat by and fed her- he came during the evening, most of the time, after he'd finished his work.
During this time, she was mostly listless and he could never bring much of a reaction out of her. He privately enjoyed brushing her hair although she was like a doll, dead and beautiful to look at.
The first stroke was always a careful one, as if his vertical movement would tear her scalp when all it did was sort the strands into golden streams in the path of the bristles. He would watch her carefully during the first stroke, as if she would violently protest. But she never did.
Cagalli gave no indication that he had brushed her hair- only looked into the distance at something Athrun could not quite see. Nevertheless, his voice filled the room every evening, as he told the silent form on the bed of the funny jokes Epstein had related to him that day, and mentioned how irritating work was at times.
Athrun did not force her to speak still. As long as she allowed him near her, like this-
His hand gripped the brush. The ivory was as white as his knuckles.
They still bore a few marks to where she'd bitten down hard.
He gazed at her. Her hair was fine and golden.
He ran a hand through it, cautiously, afraid to startle her.
Her eyes were closed and her lips were pink with the health that had returned to her.
He did not have any regrets for bringing her to The Isle. He could not afford any.
"Cagalli," He said in a low voice, "Turn around. I want to get at that bit."
She obeyed and he brushed slowly, prolonging it, taking his time, savoring how close she was. She did not speak. Of course, he noticed how she hummed tunelessly a little at times, under her breath, when he brushed her hair after she'd eaten- but she did not speak.
Secretly, Athrun was beside himself with a silent, indelible panic. She refused to let Miles examine her- although the doctor was quite convinced that it was a shock that would eventually wear off.
It wasn't, as he suspected, because she didn't want to. Cagalli's words were lost somewhere because she had forgotten how to speak.
He exercised her limbs by moving each arm up, then down, one at a time, the right one as far as the cuff would allow, then her feet in the same fashion. The first time he had done that, she had resisted, struggled and cried silently. But then, he had hid his hands behind his back, sat on her bed, and waited until Cagalli had calmed down. Then he had tried again, more insidious than before, and she allowed him near.
When he had completed it fully for the first time, Athrun had stroked her cheek tenderly with his fingers, not caring to look into the eyes and see only glass there, only that she was alive and he would see to it that she remained that way.
His voice was a murmuring brook. The words, she may not have heard. But the sound of his voice made her less tense each time, and he used it to lull her into a dream-like state, caressing her hand, the hand she had allowed him to take into his, sometimes even daring to stroke her face and watch the golden lashes lower on her white cheekbones.
"You are a good child."
He stroked her head uneasily. The silence was very disheartening.
"You are pure and whole and nobody will harm you."
He lifted her face to make sure she was listening. No response.
"You are a good child. Good-,"
He sent for Epstein in the meantime.
The black leather of his chair was pressing itself to his form, and he ran a hand across his forehead wearily. Epstein, in contrast, stood tall and alert, watching him, waiting for Athrun to speak.
"Get a speech therapist ready." He said finally. "I will give the signal for one to treat the Orb Princess."
"Very well." Epstein said, already finishing the last syllable of the words Athrun had only just uttered. There was that machine like efficiency that Athrun valued and often reminiscence about. Clearly, Epstein took after someone. The eyes were the same too. If they had been round and child-like in the photography Athrun had received and seen once, they were now that intriguing shade of steel and blue that once belonged to someone else.
The man paused to look at him. "Mr. Estragon, do you have a preference for any sort of therapist?"
Athrun nodded briskly. "Experience is an imperative, and I will have a speech therapist that spends years if necessary in coaxing the Orb Princess to speak. Of course, I want one who has the highest rates of effectiveness. The cost is obviously not an issue."
"Very well."
"And one more thing," Athrun said carefully. "Send for a female therapist."
Epstein took this down, but no expression flitted across his face, or any question surfaced in his eyes. He was a perfect soldier, one who carried out orders unquestioningly, perfectly, and very efficiently, although Athrun better. Epstein had been a frustrated, rash child, one without his parents or anybody to care, once. Athrun himself was very aware of this fact. Now, it was merely that the thoughts were not reflected across Epstein Cleamont's face. Athrun watched him, not thinking, but suddenly sitting upright in the chair.
"The poison did not work as well as predicted," He said mildly. "He had time to barge into the Princess' room. He was only expected to collapse right outside it for us to confirm his intent."
"Timing issues, sir." Epstein said apologetically. "But at least he shot you so we could confirm the intent. And that gave us the justification to withhold the antidote, although he was a bull of a man. Managed the whole way down that hall, didn't he? But he didn't lay a hand on her, at least, not before you finished him off."
They glanced at the metal vest sitting insidiously on the chair at the side. There was a large dent where Athrun's heart would have been.
"No," Athrun said heavily. "But it was bad enough. The princess lost her speaking ability, and you know we must have that. Or the ability to write at least. Of course, the highest level of intactness would be the best. When we release her and she cannot speak, all hell would break loose."
"Hasn't it already, sir?" Epstein answered politely.
"Technically yes," He answered wryly. "The General has been accused of arranging for his impromptu promotion after his twin's mysterious disappearance in the middle of the ocean. And the Scandinavian Kingdom is a major case of screwed, if you'll excuse my language. Orb's deterrence is truly nothing to laugh at."
Epstein smiled a little. "It had never been, since the war. But then, the Orb Princess took it to a new level, didn't she?"
"Post-war paranoia, just like all the other ruling powers." Athrun muttered, with a touch of sad affection and dullness. "But then, you can never be too sure. She hasn't had any closure since the First War, really. If the Lord Uzumi had been her fortress, he was destroyed during the First War, and from then on, she had to cope as what she is today. "
Esptein shook his head. "War. I want it to disappear forever."
"I understand," Athrun said quietly, in a rare show of open gentleness for the man. "You aren't very much younger than any of us who survived the Second War- the loss you suffered is nothing to mock either."
"My mother was a Coordinator," Epstein said with a sigh. "And even then, she wasn't accepted by her own kind."
"That had nothing to do with war," Athrun objected. "Society will never truly accept a woman who carries her lover's child without the law agreeing to their union."
"But all the same," Epstein said quietly, "War took her away."
Athrun stood up, putting his hands on Epstein's shoulders, noting how young the man really was. "Do you despise me for what I'm doing to the Orb Princess?"
"No," his assistant said hesitantly, "To prevent what we despise from happening again, some sacrifices must be made."
"Ah,' Athrun said sadly. "I thought so before I met her."
Cagalli would be the sacrifice in their plans.
"You look well today," He said smilingly, although no smile graced his face. His fingers flitted here and there amongst gold, touching the ends of her hair with his fingers. "And you will look better and better as each day passes."
She stared into the mirror he had placed in her lap because he would not unchain her for her to look into the one at the vanity. But Athrun's words were ultimately true- under his care and the twins' management, Cagalli had regained so much of her color and natural freshness that her inability to speak was rather startling. He had chosen an azure gown for her today, and she wore it with a delicateness in her frame the material did well to bring out.
He wove a white flower behind her ear, tucking it securely. "Do you like this one or the red one?"
Her eyes widened, and he immediately hid those from sight. So she was not quite normal yet. Every night, he tested how far her progress was as time passed and she forgot the incident. To-night, he had tried a red flower, but she had an adverse reaction to it.
"But the white suits you better," He said swiftly, and he bent nearer to caress the petals, watching her relax visibly. "Today was a busy day. I had Epstein call in a therapist. Perhaps it is time."
She watched him with some apprehension and a strangled sound came out of throat. He watched her struggle to say something, admiring how fierce her eyes were as she probably attempted to deny needing one, but then he hushed her by pressing a finger to her lips.
"So feisty," He said tenderly. "Do you ever wear yourself out?"
She fell silent, and he bent closer, nearly touching her lips with his own, but then, he did not. Then quietly, he took the brush and stroked her hair until it positively shone and his arm was close to aching.
It continued this way, for another week. Every night, she seemed to make a little progress, although her words had been trapped somewhere. Athrun was desperate for her to regain her speech, but he did not indicate it. She was desperate for herself- the twins had informed him of the strange, muffled noises she made in an effort to say something.
But one night, she finally spoke, when he presented her with fresh, pink flowers that might have raised a dead man to a galliard.
"Red clovers." Cagalli said quietly, one word at one time. Her voice was low and sweet, louder than her quiet breathing- like listening for the rain and hearing the ocean.
The joy was blinding, and he gripped the flowers because he was afraid to grip her hand in his overwhelmed state. And Athrun's surprise showed in his voice and his face at her identification of the flowers and her sudden willingness to talk. "So you know these."
"-Rune."
He could not tell if she had tried to say his name or 'Rune'. But she was speaking and he was too overjoyed to care if she ever called him by his name again. She was smiling a little, a bit unsure, testing her newfound words again.
"Epstein told me. These are the national flowers of Denmark, are they not?"
"They are." He held them out to her, and disinterestedly, she took them with the unchained hand and performed a perfunctory observation for his sake. Then she put them aside, their distinctive scents filling the bed sheets, and their balmy pink textures like tiny spuds of clumped cotton by her pillow. They lay there secretively, as if their centers held something he was trying to tell her, something she could not yet grasp.
"You know to speak now." He said, testing the waters.
She looked at him with a shy or sly expression, either of which, he could not differentiate. "I was thinking."
"For a whole week?" Athrun said sharply. Was she planning another escape?
"Yes."
The days eased themselves by, and she began to rely more and more on him. A part of her rejoiced when the unwiring of the door's locks revealed him there, perfect and composed as he always was. He filled her room with flowers and the bright colors made her laugh and clap her hands together like a child, for she could not help it when he presented her with such simple gaieties. He would sit next to her, looking on very quietly.
He liked to watch her, Cagalli realised. He did not show obvious signs of it, but there was a certain mixture of tranquility in him she provided by smiling at him, no matter how wan it was, or how difficult it was to smile at times.
She chose not to ask him on the murder, because it was best saved until he fulfilled his side of the contract they had made. He slept a few hours, in the chair, by her side, for each night, and it was good enough. By the time he slipped off, she had fallen asleep, and the nightmares did not come.
He talked to her of simple, quaint things at times, how his day had went, how Epstein's children had came to the Manor and uprooted a few beds of flowers, much to Epstein's chagrin, and things like that-
During these times, Cagalli imagined she was with him again, back in a place where they truly belonged to, where they had known each other for as long as they had lived and would do so for the rest of eternity. It was a little less difficult to keep alive when she did that, when she watched Athrun's eyes rest themselves peacefully upon her face, and she knew that instinctively, she had never wanted to hurt him then, seven years ago, or even now.
One evening, he appeared to her again, and bent low. He neither sat, nor held a brush in his hand.
"What are you doing?" She whispered.
"Unchaining you."
This wasn't a temporary action, she suspected, for her to bathe and clean herself, or change into a fresh ensemble of clothes the twins prepared for her. The silvery metal slid off, and a hiss of relief escaped from her lips. She lay immobile; however, afraid that a sudden action would bring the tension in his face and body to a heightened direction, and that Athrun would change his mind and reinstate her to captivity of another kind.
But her fears were mostly unfounded-he brought her to her feet and inspected her.
She stood still, impatiently, allowing him to take each wrist in each hand, letting him see if the cuffs had hurt more than the surface skin.
When he was satisfied, he led her to another section of her room. He took her hand gently, afraid to give her pain when she had already undergone so much of it.
Her hand was small in his, cold and curled. But his was wrapped over hers, warm and reassuring, and she put it into his with a trust that surprised even her. He was no longer the cold-blooded killer. He was her benefactor, a sort of shield, and Cagalli wondered why the turmoil within her existed as it did.
Would Athrun Zala have killed as easily as that?
"He has no more need for you."
But he was settling the contract they'd made, wasn't he? If not need for her obedience then what?
"The contract stands." He said evenly. "And you will give me what you offered in exchange."
She nodded, biting her lip.
Her hand was in his. She had allowed him to take it and hold it thus.
'I've been here for more than a month,' She thought vaguely, 'And I still don't know anything about The Isle or if this man is really Athrun Zala.'
A faint memory tugged at her. She looked down, apprehensively at the carpet. But it was no longer the rich maroon that easily consumed the spilt blood. It had long been changed- a pretty, pure turquoise color, a color that disguised what had been lost and the killing Athrun had done for her sake.
"But first before we settle the deal," Athrun said suddenly, "I want you to tell me what transpired seven years ago, in order for me to leave Orb."
4 months. 29 days