26 Jan 2001
This is the first chapter of an AU fic set in early 19th century England. The two main characters are Treize, Zechs, and one other and all of the g-boys as well as some of the female characters will make appearances.
Please note the warnings below and thanks for reading.
DISCLAIMER: All Gundam Wing characters are property of Sunrise, Bandai Visuals, Sotsu Agency, and Asahi TV. This work is not written for profit, but for entertainment purposes only.
PAIRINGS: 13 x many and many x 13
WARNING: AU/England, early 1800s; implied yaoi will turn to yaoi and lemon in later chapters; this chapter includes a brief scene of NCS by an adult with a minor
AUTHOR'S NOTES: The inspiration for this fic came largely from the wonderful actor who played Mr. D'Arcy in Pride & Prejudice, as well as from various readings about the life of Oscar Wilde. This fic is written from Zechs/Miriald's character's pov.
It seems strange to say it now, but both the saddest and happiest days of my childhood began with funerals.
Burying the dead with reverence and sacred rites is a powerful ritual. The coffin lowered into the ground can hold, not only the remains of the deceased, but sometimes hopes, dreams, even fears. Whatever relationship we have had with the individual is altered with the tossing of earth and the murmurs of prayers, and we are released from the bonds of the earthly, physical tie.
Twice when I was young I looked into open graves and felt that release. In the first instance it was a curse, in the second, a blessing.
But first things first. My name is Miriald Peacecraft and I am 20 years old. I was an only child, the son of a bookseller who, through his good looks, had attracted a rich girl who wanted to marry him. Her family expressed mild disapproval of the match, but, given that she was the third daughter in the family and not likely to inherit the large fortune they held, they did not prevent the marriage from taking place. My parents made their new home in a comfortable flat in London, near the book shop, and a year later I was born.
They were cheerful and loved music and games, and they doted on me, but never enough to make me obstinate or high tempered. They were simply two people who loved each other and the child they had created, and so it was all the more devastating to me when, in the year 18__ when I was 10 years old, our servant girl came upstairs to my nursery one day to tell me that there had been a fire at the book shop and that both of my parents had perished in it.
The next two days went by in a blur, as relatives arrived for the funerals. Inevitably, the question arose as to which family member would take custody of me. My father had few relations and they were mostly older and unmarried, not inclined to take in a 10-year-old boy in want of a home.
My mother's family, however, was large and rather intimidating, being descendants of Russian aristocrats who had come to England some 100 years before. On the day before my parents were to be buried, they gathered at our dining table and, as I hid in a corner unobserved and listening, they began to discuss me.
Every person who spoke seemed to have a compelling reason why taking me in simply wouldn't work, and as the conversation wore on I began to fear greatly that I would be taken to an orphanage and abandoned. When all hope seemed lost, however, my grandfather Tsubarov stood up and, in a gravelly voice announced that since no other reasonable home could be found amongst the relatives, he would take me to his home in East Anglia. I crept away to begin packing, comforted at least with the thought that the orphanage would not be my fate.
The next morning, in a dismal London fog, I watched my parents' coffins being lowered into their double grave. As the vicar covered them with handfuls of earth, it came to me just how profound my loss had been. I remember beginning to cry and trying to stop, but being unable to do anything about it. In the end one of my mother's elder sisters had to lead me away, so severe was my sobbing.
A day later, I traveled with my grandfather to his home, a large, old estate house 20 miles east of Peterborough. It lay, very isolated, in the midst of the flat, dreary fen country, not another house around it for miles.
Schooling for me was problematic and my grandfather decided that the easiest thing to do would be to hire a tutor and companion for me. His choice, a Mr. Harkin, was a fair tutor but as company for a boy used to games and high spirits he could not have been worse. When not instructing me in my lessons, he tended to bury himself in his books and leave me to my own devices.
Not a month had passed when my grandfather announced that I must come to him in the evenings for a 'cleanliness inspection.' He claimed that the servants had told him I wasn't taking proper care with my hygiene, and that it was his responsibility to see to it that I was thoroughly clean before going to bed.
It seemed simply an annoyance when he told me about it, but soon enough I found it was much worse. Every evening it was done in the same way. I came to a room adjoining his suite and was made to remove all of my clothing, while he watched. Then I had to lay upon a table, and once I was there, my grandfather would stand over me and begin to run his hands along my body, looking closely at every part of it, but lingering on my chest, belly, and in between my legs.
I hated his touches, but they weren't the worst of the experience. Once he'd covered every inch of me, I had to stand and bend over the table, while he pushed his fingers up inside of me, telling me he was making certain that my bowels were in good health.
He wouldn't allow me to speak and would slap me if I cried out, so I endured it, night after night, my hatred of him growing stronger with each experience.
Aside from those nightly examinations, I never saw my grandfather, and spent most of my days reading or wandering around the flat, endless fens that surrounded the house. I could feel my heart dying a little each day and the future stretched out before me as ugly as the grayish canals that crossed the countryside.
Then, one evening, two years after I had come to live with my grandfather, it all changed. I'd had my dinner with Mr. Harkin as usual, eating little because of the growing dread I felt whenever the hour grew near for the examination. But the time for it came and went and still my grandfather had not summoned me. Mr. Harkin and I looked at each other nervously and at last he decided to go to my grandfather's rooms to determine the cause of the delay. He found my grandfather, lying dead on the floor of the examination room. He had evidently purchased some large metal stirrups and, in trying to attach them to the table, his heart had given out on him.
Three days later, watching another vicar toss handfuls of dirt on another coffin, I felt a joy and freedom such as I'd never known. I had no idea of where I would be sent now that my one guardian was dead, and I really didn't care. The monster who had been my grandfather was buried beneath the earth and anywhere I went would have to be a better place.
For several days after the funeral, the family argued again about who would take me. This time I chose *not* to listen to their discussion. But at the end of the day, Mr. Harkin came and told me that the family had gotten an older cousin of mine to agree to take me in, in exchange for a modest, monthly fee from my grandfather's estate.
Up to that point I hadn't known I had a cousin. Still, I was told only a few things things about him: his name was Treize Khushrenada, he was 28 years old and comfortably rich, and he lived alone somewhere in Kent, which seemed to make some members of the family distrust him. I was also told that he would be coming in two days time to collect me and take me back with him.
I'd never been to Kent, but was absolutely sure that it had to be a better place than East Anglia. I tended to feel the same about the mysterious cousin - that surely *no one* could be worse that Grandfather Tsubarov and that my life could only be the better for this move.
The day of his arrival came and I waited near my window on the second floor to watch for him. It seemed hours but at last I saw his carriage pull up to the house and felt at sudden thrill of anticipation.
When he stepped out of the carriage, I thought to myself that I had *never* seen a more elegant and stylish man in all my life. His coat was of a creamy ginger-brown that matched the lights in his hair, and his long traveling cloak was of a deep cinnamon color. He wore cream colored breeches, high black boots and a creamy pink rose in his lapel. I thought he looked like someone out of a fairy tale.
When he came to my room, I rose and greeted him, expressing my gratitude at his undeserved kindness. His eyes flickered up and down my body and then he said in a drawling voice, "I'm Treize Khushrenada. I'm told we're first cousins... Really, we'll have to get you new clothes - and burn what you're wearing. They're hideous, truly."
I glanced down in shame at the white shirt and dark gray breeches I was wearing, while my cousin wandered around the small room I had occupied during my stay. "This house completely depresses me," he said, glancing out the window, "so get your cloak on and meet me down by the carriage. I don't want to stay in East Anglia a moment longer than I have to."
He moved to go and as he passed me he pulled a handkerchief out of one of his pockets. As he did so, something golden fell from the pocket, and I bent to pick it up and give it to him. It was a ring and I could just make out, inscribed on the inside, "For H, love T."
"Excuse me, but... you dropped this," I said as he opened the door.
He turned and I saw his face go white when he saw what I held in my hand. Snatching it from me, he narrowed his eyes and growled, "Where did you get this? Did you steal it from me just now?"
"No!" I said, "You - you dropped it, as your handkerchief came out."
He stood for a moment, staring hard at me, while I trembled and prayed he would believe me. At last he grimaced, as if in pain, and said "You never saw this! Is that clear?"
I nodded shakily, and with that, he swept out of the room and I was left with my puzzlement to gather my things and follow him.
When I got down to the carriage, my cousin told me that the ride was to be divided into two days - the first one beginning here, at Grandfather's estate near Peterborough, and ending in Essex, in the town of Ingate. We would stay the night there and then get an early start in the morning to reach his house near Maidstone. The freedom I had gained with my grandfather's death was still rich upon me and I secretly delighted at the unknown towns and places I would be able to see.
Having said my goodbyes to the few servants I had come to know, I climbed into my cousin's carriage and we set off for what was to be a very long day of travel. I suppose I seemed a trifle overeager to him, because I was all smiles and simply couldn't do anything else but kick my legs and jump up to look out the window as Grandfather's estate, and the flat fens around it, receded further and further into the distance.
"Oh, *do* settle *down,*" he said, in a slightly exasperated manner, and I tried my best to sit quietly on my seat and not swing my legs too much.
I looked up at him through my lashes, intimidated by his age and his beauty. "What... what should I... *call* you... sir?"
He turned from the window and looked at me in mild consternation. "Call me?" he drawled, one eyebrow arching. "Call me by my *name*, of course," and then he went back to watching the dreary countryside.
"Ah, yes..." I said, hating to ask again, "but *which* name, sir, do you prefer I use? Mr. Khushrenada or... Treize?" I said the latter one quickly, not wanting him to think I was deliberately trying to be overly familiar.
He didn't look at me this time, just started talking. "Now, let's work this out," he said, the drawl in his voice more pronounced, "I am your first cousin," he ticked off a finger, "and am not yet into my gray and portly years," a second finger gone, "and I have not a title to my name," the third finger went. "So it seems as if any *schoolchild* would know to call me 'Treize.'" Now he turned to look at me, "Or have you not yet been to school?"
I could feel my cheeks go scarlet, and apparently he could, too, for he leaned a bit closer and murmured, "Oooh, a *blusher*. Won't *you* be the amusing one..."
"I was only trying to be polite," I said, my voice quiet and somewhat sullen. Suddenly I felt his hand under my chin, raising my face up level with his. His eyes, which I hadn't really noticed before, were simply *piercing* - a stunning, saturated blue that seemed to see into my very heart - or at least that's how it felt to be captured in that gaze.
"And *I*," he said, "was only being my charming self. You'd better get used to it because I'm far too set in my ways to change now." An eyebrow raised again, and he smiled faintly.
Feeling a tiny bit emboldened by this turn of events, as only a child could be, I gazed at him frankly. "So it's just in your nature to be rude then, is it?"
To my great relief, his smile broadened. "*Yes*, yes it *is,*" he said. "I'm rude to simply *everyone* so don't think I'll make an exception for *you.*" He let me go and sat back in his seat again, scowling out the window.
"What's wrong?" I asked cautiously.
"What's wrong?" he repeated. "*That* is what's wrong." He pointed a long, gloved finger towards the window and burrowed more deeply into his cloak. "There's far too much light and fresh air about this time of day," he complained.
I frowned, puzzled. "But - it's *morning,*" I said.
He turned to look at me, face half hidden in cinnamon colored wool. "Exactly my point," he said tersely. "I am *never* up at this ungodly hour."
Feeling clever, I replied, "Of course you are - right *now,*" and smirked the tiniest bit. Something soft and heavy hit me in the face and I looked at him in astonishment. He had hit me - with his scarf, a great long thing of heavy blue wool.
"*Don't* be cheeky - that's the number one rule for boys in my house," he said. he smiled to himself and then wrapped the scarf around his neck, so that now only his eyes were visible.
"Yes, *sir,*" I said, feeling suddenly rebellious, "and how many boys have you *had* in your house?"
I could have sworn his eyes twinkled at that, but I couldn't be quite sure. "*That,*" he said pointedly, is *my* business. Now *do* be quiet and let me have a nap."
He gave a great shrug and seemed to sink into his cloak, closed eyelashes brushing the scarf. I sat, watching him for a moment, then turned to my window and murmured, "A *nap*? He probably just got up, why should he need a *nap?*"
I was hit again, this time by one of the seat cushions which flew across the carriage at me. I grabbed it and, wrapping my arms around it, stared sulkily out my window at the gray, East Anglian countryside.
By mid-afternoon we had reached Great Chesterford and my cousin stopped to change horses. We went into the large inn to wait while the driver arranged things, and Treize led us to a small table near the back.
"What has grandfather Tsubarov been feeding you?" he asked as he perused the small sheet of parchment that held the inn's offerings.
"Puddings, mostly," I said with a grimace. "They were horrible."
"Yes, I imagine they were..." he said vaguely, tossing the parchment down and summoning the owner. "Two of your largest pieces of beef," he told the man, "and a drinkable bottle of wine."
The man nodded, looking at me uneasily. Treize noticed the direction of his gaze and said, Oh. Yes. Well *he* will drink..." He waved a hand in my direction and I realized that I was supposed to supply a possible beverage.
"Oh! Ah - do you have milk?"
The man looked at me in surprise and my cousin burst into laughter. "Forgive him," he said to the surprised man, "he's only a child, really -though he looks a good deal older. Miriald, see here - this is an *inn* and they serve *drinks*, not nursery food." He smiled up at the owner again, nearly giggling, and said, "Why don't you bring my little friend a cider -that'll do it."
Shaking his head at the both of us, the man turned and went back to the kitchen to put in our order.
I looked back to Treize, who was looking at me with interest. "How *old* did you say you were, Miriald?" he said with amusement.
"Twelve," I said, frowning at him. "Why?"
"You have been away from civilized society far too long, my boy. It's high time you begin to grow up a bit, eh?"
My cheeks reddened again and I felt suddenly very young and very stupid, especially compared to my sophisticated cousin.
He patted the table with his hand. "Now, now - don't pout," he said sternly. "I don't tolerate pouts. They cut me to the quick. You'll feel much less peevish when you've hand some real food. Now - tell me what you know about me - from all those relatives of ours..."
I could have sworn that he was fishing for compliments, and I hadn't many to give him. "Well, one of them said you were 'well-off."
"Yes..."
"And another said you were terribly clever."
"Yes..."
"And the third... well the third said you weren't to be trusted alone with men under the age of 30, but I couldn't work out what that meant."
Treize stared at me of a moment, and then burst into another fit of laughter, which drew stares from all over the room. He was wiping his eyes now and saying, "Oh, *do* tell - it *must* have been dear Aunt Relena. She's a spinster, you know - I'm sure she's got cobwebs between her legs by now!" He went back to laughing and I turned bright red, stealing a glance around the room at the other patrons who were beginning to raise their eyebrows at us.
"*Treize*," I said, putting all the reproach I could into that one name.
"Oh, don't looked so shocked. I can't believe you were born in London and still so innocent."
The owner interrupted him, setting the drinks down at our table and eyeing Treize nervously. Your beef will be coming up shortly sir," he said and left the table hurriedly.
Taking a long drink of his wine, Treize put an arm over the back of his chair and stared at me. "Seriously though, we *will* have to go over some basic rules."
"Rules?" I said, sipping hesitantly at the cider and finding it quite delicious.
"Yes, Miriald - rules. I'm a very particular man and I don't like having my ways disturbed. You appear to be quite an intelligent and capable child, so I expect you can keep to them quite easily." He held up a long and elegant finger. "One - you must never give me any cause to awaken before 10 o'clock in the morning." Another finger went up. "Two - when I tell you to go to your room it will always be with extremely good reason, so you will go as quickly and quietly as you can." Yet another finger was raised. "Three - I have many guests, not all of them in the mood for adorable children, so it's best you stay away from them when I tell you to do so." A fourth finger was up now. "Four - There will be times when I am away from home. Most of these trips you cannot share in, so don't whine at me to take you." His thumb came up last. "And *five*... " His eyes narrowed and I felt the shock of that sapphire gaze once again. "You are never, and I mean *never,* to ask me about my personal affairs or to say anything to anyone about them. Do you understand?"
My mouth had gone a bit dry but I stammered out, "Y-Yes. Yes of course."
He relaxed immediately. "Excellent. Now follow the rules and we'll get on fine together, there's a good boy."
Just then, the owner of the inn came up with two plates. My eyes went wide as he set them down on the table, for each contained more meat than I'd been eating in a week at my Grandfather's, plus potatoes and greens besides. Treize must have noticed because he reached over and patted my cheek. "There now - that'll make you grow up big and strong, won't it?" He smiled brilliantly at me and then we both turned our attentions to our plates.
End of Chapter 1
(:./kumiko/mor1)
