Well, we've reached very close to the end of the story. And as my beta reader informs me I will give people a nervous disorder if I don't put the end up shortly after this chapter, I'm going to finish the whole thing on Sunday. So you only have to live with the suspense for a little while. After that, I'm taking the last two weeks of December to add onto one of my most-requested stories, and then it is the debut of the new adventure! I'll announce the new crossover at the end of this story on Sunday.
Warning – major character death ahead. Just sayin'. Hang in there.
Enjoy!
Heero came back to himself lying on his back on a very large bed. He sat up, his hand moving of its own accord to cradle the bruise the soldier had dropped on his head. But his hair felt dry, which meant he wasn't bleeding. Good – nothing to slow him down, then.
He surveyed his surroundings. This was the honeymoon suite, so it was more elaborate than most of the rest of the palace combined. Heero disregarded the decorations and the flowers and finery, seeking instead weapons. He'd take practically anything he could use at this point – an embroidery needle would be better than facing guards in full chainmail with bare hands. And face them he would.
Realizing this would also have been the bed he would have shared with Prince Zechs, and shuddering at the thought, Heero considered his situation from another angle: if Zechs did not know if he could trust his new husband, would he leave himself totally unprotected in his presence? Heero rolled across the bed to the other side where a low table held a fine, gold-handled comb that could only belong to the prince. If that was his side of the bed, then…
"Clever," Heero felt a smile twist his lips a bit. If he hadn't thought to look for it, he never would have spotted the strange, slightly discolored knob neatly concealed amidst the carved wood of the table. Pressing it revealed a hidden latch, and beneath that, diagonally through a hollow place in the pedestal a sword waited. Heero drew it out, struck by the loveliness of its forging and the solidness of its weight. Its filigree was delicate, worked in gold and silver, but the blade was not decorative in any way. It reflected the firelight with a steady sheen and an edge like obsidian.
"He is not worthy of you," he said, balancing the sword for a moment. Then he promptly put it to use, viciously slashing at the thick curtains that covered the windows.
The light in the sky told him he had only been unaware a matter of short moments rather than hours, but the view confirmed that climbing out the window was more risk than it was worth. The central tower of the castle did not lend itself to an easy escape. Heero abandoned that thinking and turned to the door. Before beginning his work, however, he stripped off the heavy outer jerkin and swirling cape of green and the three extra layers of ornamental chains and medals and other adornments. When he was down to boots, breeches, and a loose white shirt, he used some of the chains to approximate bracers for his arms but left the rest alone.
Now he was only faced with the door itself. Locked from the outside, of course. Heero lowered his shoulder and backed up into the room to charge it. With enough force, he might be able to break through it with sheer strength.
Before he could begin his sprint, however, the door swung open.
"This door is more than a hand-span thick and reinforced with iron. You'd never break it down that way. Besides," Quatre grinned broadly, a vivid joy in his eyes, "There's a shortage of perfect bodies in the world. It would be a pity to damage yours on something so simple."
"Quatre!" Heero dashed at him and caught him in his arms. "Quatre, are you all right? What happened to you? Zechs said…"
"Zechs and Treize are not as brilliant as they think," Quatre leaned his head against Heero's, "and they really don't know the first thing about true love. A thousand of their machines could not have taken me from you for long."
Heero was seized with the irrepressible desire to laugh, so he did, running his hands over Quatre's back. And as he felt Quatre laughing with him, he felt a warmth grow in himself, like a tiny candle had been lit somewhere in his chest. It flared brightly after several moments, and Heero could almost feel it pulsing like a heartbeat. Almost as if…
"Yes Heero," Quatre said, smiling at the wonder in his eyes, "that's me. You said once that I am your heart. I thought you might like to feel me a little, to know for yourself that you are my heart, too."
"Are you doing this, Quatre?" Heero rubbed a hand on his chest, amazed at the sensation. If a butterfly of summer warmth had decided to settle inside his ribcage, its wings delicately opening and closing with his breath, it might have felt like this.
"Not anymore. My time with our enemies taught me many things, and the very root of my empathy is something I discovered because of them. It was hardly a leap of great power to take a cutting from my own roots and plant them in your heart." He touched Heero's face tenderly. "Had you not wanted it, had you rejected it, it would have faded at once; instead, you are strengthening and nurturing it every moment. You will never be a true empath, but you now bear a piece of me within you, enough to share in what I have always felt."
There were no words worth speaking, so Heero simply drew Quatre's face to him and kissed him instead.
But he broke away far sooner than he wished, remembering. "Quatre, we have to –"
"Princess Relena is perfectly safe," the blond rushed to assure him. "She's with Duo and making her case to the nobles. And Treize is being handled by Wufei. Your men have joined with mine and together they are retaking the palace."
"Leaving only Zechs."
"Speaking of whom," Quatre stepped away and turned towards the door. He nodded significantly and Heero stepped to one side so they would not encumber one another, lifting his new sword in salute. When Zechs entered, he found himself confronted with three blades – one sword that was his favorite and two curved shotels – and two identical grim expressions.
"It seems you will not be king at dawn, Zechs," Heero said lowly, not bothering to hide his amusement.
"Our failed wedding ceremony is merely a technicality. I need only ensure this chaos leaves me an only child. But first," his eyes shifted to Quatre, "to the death, you and I!"
"No," Heero brandished his sword. "This is between us, Zechs. This is our fight and I will not surrender it."
"Oh, but you're a Captain of the Royal Guard," Zechs smiled lazily. "Would you really break your oaths and go against your first duty? Would you really harm me?"
"You have endangered everything I have ever loved or valued," Heero replied with growing anger. "You threatened my lands and my people, you killed the king, you intend to murder Princess Relena, and you tried to take Quatre away from me. I will not hesitate to end you."
"We both know I am the superior warrior," Zechs said, but he was removing his own elaborate cloak.
"And I have defeated dozens of warriors, endured five years of a pain you could never understand, and survived it all. And that was when I had nothing to live for. Fight me if you dare, Zechs."
"Heero," Quatre said softly, moving to one side, "do not forget me."
"Never, Quatre."
Heero did not even flick his eyes to his beloved, which was wise given that the prince took that moment of what ought to have been distraction to attack. But Heero expected as much and met the blow easily. At once they began to battle in earnest, swords flashing. Heero felt his heart leap as a power like a storm rose up inside him. For the five years he had mourned Quatre, he had never allowed himself to embrace the truth of himself, either his emotions or his skills. But Quatre was alive. Quatre was here. If he asked it, Heero could fly.
For the first time in years, Heero unleashed the very truth and nature of his heart and let it sing out through his blade.
He was vaguely aware of the fact that he and Zechs had ranged all throughout the honeymoon bedchamber and the sheer speed and ferocity of their battle forced them to find other surroundings. They raced through hallways, sometimes plowing through crowds of guards already engaged with each other. In the end, they found themselves in the throne room.
"You have ruined my plans!" Zechs shouted, cutting down at Heero as though he would split him in two. "How is it possible? You were my soldier, ready to fight my war!"
"Yes," Heero snarled back, "ready to fight against you to the death. You should have asked Count Khushrenada if his empathy was infallible. Or if you ever did, he lied to you. Truth and trust and faithfulness will always confuse a heart that knows none!"
"If you must be the first casualty of my war, so be it!" Zechs spun away. "With you dead, the throne, Sanc, my war – all of them will be mine!"
Heero never saw it, a darting form in the shadows and a crossbow pointed at his back. He turned as the hair on the back of his neck stood up, in time for a form dressed in simple browns with golden hair to step between him and death.
"QUATRE!"
Quatre threw one of his shotels with practiced strength, and it sliced deeply into the throat of the would-be assassin, dropping him. But as Quatre turned back to Heero, he too crumpled to the ground. Heero raced to catch him, seeing the bolt where it had punctured his left side. Blood rained down.
"Quatre, look at me," Heero demanded. That echoing heartbeat he had unconsciously been aware of throughout his battle felt brittle, uncertain. "Quatre!"
"Heero," Quatre said, his voice strained with pain, "finish your battle. I will be here when it ends. I promise, love. Death cannot keep me from you."
"Quatre…ninmu ryokai."
As Zechs moved silently to strike down his opponent while the soldier was distracted, he found his sword blocked. Heero Yuy had not turned around, but he had brought up his own blade so quickly Zechs had not even seen it move. He stepped back in surprise.
The warrior that rose from the ground, where the blond pirate breathed audibly and dripped blood with every beat of his heart, was not Heero Yuy, Captain of the Royal Guard. This was not the opponent Zechs had fought in the courtyard days before, nor the opponent he had fought until this moment.
His hands were wet and slick with blood, and his white shirt showed the red stain where he had clutched his wounded love to his side. His body was taut like the string of a bow, trembling at its limit. And when he raised his eyes, the eyes that could be so deep and intensely blue, they were dark like pools of night, oblivion written in their depths.
"And now you will die."
"No, I don't believe so," Zechs said, but he continued to move backwards as fear crept into him. From the same direction as the shadowed assassin several of his most loyal guards appeared. In moments, Heero was surrounded, outnumbered, overwhelmed. "If you surrender, I will ensure your death is painless."
"No."
"Heero," Quatre called softly.
Through the sea of guards, Heero turned and found Quatre's eyes. They locked and time stopped.
"Don't fear, Quatre. For as long as you survive, I too will live. I have something to protect."
"I will live," Quatre promised. "Ninmu ryokai."
Heero nodded once and turned to his opponents.
When he struck, it was with the force of a volcano. Songs would be sung, legends would arise, wild tales and rumors would begin from the torrent of power and death that emerged in that fight. Years and decades later, great warriors would speak with awe of the impossible strength and speed and skill of the perfect soldier, of the heart of every warrior made manifest in a single man. If the gods themselves had descended to make war upon the earth, it was said, it would have looked like this.
When only Zechs remained, Heero focused all his power on that single target.
Heero moved like a man possessed, finding every weakness in Zechs's usually impeccable technique, striking here at his shoulder, there at his thigh, then slicing him across a cheek. Zechs attempted to block or evade, but always there was Heero's sword, his gauntleted arm, or simply his fist. Heero never slowed down even when Zechs left a deep cut on his arm between the makeshift bracer's links. Zechs moved for a killing strike on an opening at Heero's heart.
And froze. The point of his sword was pressed against Heero's bare chest, it was true, but Heero's blade was already lodged beneath his chin.
"What is your will?" Heero said, never looking away from Zechs's face, his eyes unreadable.
"If you kill me, I will kill you," Zechs growled back. "Be assured I will not die alone."
"Yes, you will," Heero's lips turned up in a tiny smile, "but I was not talking to you."
Zechs risked a glance to one side, where he could see Relena surrounded by the nobles and ministers of Sanc, and fully dozens of members of the Royal Guard as well as men dressed as though from a foreign land. Ranged beside her were three young men Zechs did not immediately recognize, but the look in their eyes was all too familiar.
"Zechs Peacecraft," Relena said, holding her head up, her eyes as dark and unblinking as Heero's, "you are hereby charged with high treason for the murder of the king and for conspiring to kill a member of the royal family. By the power vested in me as the Princess of Sanc and before a plurality of the royal court, I strip you of your rank and status and banish you for all time. You are an enemy to the entirety of Sanc."
"You're gonna spare him?" exclaimed Duo, looking at her with shock. "After what he did?!"
"Captain Heero Yuy," Relena continued, ignoring the outburst, "I give his life to you."
"I would rather die than have you spare me, Heero Yuy," Zechs spat. "Finish this if you dare, and face your end beside me."
"I think leaving you alive to face this defeat every moment forever would be far more satisfying," Heero replied, beginning to ease away. "Live well with your disgrace and cowardice and misery, Zechs."
The next moment passed almost too quickly to be believed.
Heero withdrew his sword, stepping back and away. Zechs, halted in surprise, let out an incoherent howl of rage and lunged forward, intending to impale Heero while his defenses were down.
A blade flashed in the air.
And Zechs fell, the long curve of the second shotel's edge embedded in his chest from shoulder to hip.
All eyes turned to Quatre, who had pulled himself up to lean against one of the room's pillars.
"I'm sorry, Princess, and also Heero," Quatre said softly. "But your fights are mine, love, now and forever. I was always at your side, even from here. And I couldn't let you break your promise to live."
And his eyes slid closed.
-==OOO==-
"...And his eyes slid closed..."
"NO! Oh, oh no! No, Quatre can't die!"
"Don't...oh for...ah, here's a tissue."
"You said this would have a happy ending!"
"I said 'more or less' if you recall."
"Why did you tell me this story if it's so awful?!
"Collect yourself, child. Or...oh, all right. Here."
"...Thanks. It helps to get hugged when you cry."
"Does it?"
"Yes. Don't you know that?"
"I don't get many hugs when I cry, and I don't cry very...what are you doing?"
"Now I'm hugging you."
"But I'm not crying."
"But I am!"
"I don't understand. But perhaps we should stop. You're getting very emotional about this story."
"Don't you dare stop! But...can you tell the rest of it while you're hugging me, just in case?"
"As you wish."