27-Ju1-2000
Title: Act One 1/1
Author: TB (with major help from Marsh)
Archive: yes please GW Addiction
Catagory: AU, yaoi, OZ-centric
Pairing: 13x?
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: lemon, language, OZ-pov
Spoilers: not really
Notes: Plenty! Number one--the idea for this came from an RP that I'm on (yes, I got full permission). I did not use anyone's writing but my own, however.
Number two--Marsh is very often the guiding light behind Laren Andrews, the original character who provides the ? up there in the pairing part.
Number three--thanks go to Marsh not only for helping with laren, but also for beta-ing for me.
Number four--this is a very AU sort of thing that takes an inside look at OZ, and more specifically, at Treize.
Number five--I have absolutely no idea how a military hearing is run. I don't even watch JAG. So don't be angry if I get anything wrong.
Feedback: thanks in advance
Disclaimers: I do not own nor do I profit by Treize or the GW universe.
Duke Dermail, long-standing chairman of the Romafeller Foundation and ultimate superior of the World Nation, leaned forward in his chair and rapped his gavel sharply to open the hearing. "General, you understand why you are here?"
Treize was standing, apparently without the slightest nervousness, before the assembled personalities of the Board, dressed in his immaculate uniform. His affable half- smile was worn as easily as the cape that dared not hang an inch too low off those straight, broad shoulders.
"I do," he conceded.
"Then would you mind terribly if we put certain questions to you?" Dermail demanded sarcastically.
"As you wish, sir."
The look in the cornflower-blue eyes was beginning to be severely irritating to the Duke. He leaned forward even further and snapped, "You *have* been made aware of the seriousness of the charges against you? Your career is in the balance, man."
"I am aware, Uncle."
Dermail did not take kindly to the reminder of their relationship, deliberately delivered here in front of certain men and women who would be delighted to hold that blood kinship against him.
Lady Rhiannon of Gwynedd, a young board member who had pursued a law degree with a certain lazy determination and had declared herself capable of running the show, swept forward. Her outfit was vaguely military, suggesting an air of confidence that Treize plainly found amusing. She paced back and forth before the General rather dramatically, before spearing him with a sharp gaze that only served to broaden his smile.
"Declare before this board where you were on the date of January 19th, AC 196," she commanded.
Quite agreeably he answered, "I was leading an unsuccessful attack on outlying areas of Sank's capitol city."
"Sank--as in the kingdom?"
His eyebrow twitched upward slightly. "Of course."
"Why the outlying areas? Why was the attack unsuccessful?"
"The presence of the Gundams, specifically the Gundams 01, 03, and 04, turned back my troops before they were able to reach the inner sections of the city."
"What was the objective of this attack?"
"The destruction of the city."
"On whose orders?"
"I am the military director of the Romafeller organisation which is the leading arm of the World Nation. In all occasions where force becomes necessary, OZ, and myself, act autonomously." His gaze casually wandered to meet Dermail's-a reminder that his silence on who had given the now highly-unpopular "suggestion" to attack Sank came with a price. Dermail glanced away.
"Can you describe in detail the attack?"
"Yes."
Lady Rhiannon tilted her head expectantly; when Treize did not elaborate, merely stood politely waiting for the next question, she slowly flushed with anger. "Then do it!"
"As you wish." Clearly the young man was enjoying himself. He went on to detail the battle, long past the point when eyes glazed over and heads began to droop. Finally Rhiannon interrupted, her fists clenched and poorly hidden behind her back.
"And after the battle? You left Sank, defeated, and returned to Austria, to an estate where you had set up a base of operations?"
"The estate is one of my personal residences, Lady, part of the family inheritance to which I make claim."
"Answer the question," she snapped.
Treize smiled slightly again. "Yes. I sent my troops to a nearby repair station and went on alone except for my personal staff to my Austrian estate."
"And you were contacted by Colonel Une?"
"Yes."
"By radio?"
"Yes."
"And you had not been in contact with Une for some time?"
"That is correct."
"And why is that?" The woman began to pace again, pausing every so often to pierce Treize with a glare she clearly thought was threatening. If anything, the man seemed more at ease, however.
"Une and I had experienced a minor disagreement of philosophy," he explained gently. "However, the split between us was *minor*, and temporary. There was no reason for me not to receive her back into my staff."
"You didn't suspect her of duplicity?"
"No."
"And why would you not?"
"Because, Lady, I am a very good judge of character." He grinned suddenly, predatorily. "Didn't I warn you that your first husband was a liar and a cheat? As I recall the last we heard of dear Edwin was that fiasco in the Caribbean with the lovely little fashion model... "
Rhiannon sucked in a furious breath. Dermail, perceiving that the hearing could very easily descend into a shouting match, re-established control with a hard rap of his gavel. Treize was too clever for this woman by half.
"You're here to answer questions, Treize, not needle the interrogator," he reminded the General.
Khushrenada immediately wiped all trace of amusement off his face, and bowed. "Forgive me," he murmured, just softly enough that the complete lack of apology in that statement would be lost on the majority of those in the room.
"Get on with it," the Duke muttered.
Rhiannon had collected herself. She folded her arms and looked at Treize with faint contempt. "In your own words," she said, "describe the events that followed your attack on Sank, beginning with your return to the Austrian estate. Keep in mind that you have sworn an oath to be truthful, and remember also that you *are* on trial for a variety of charges, of which misconduct is the very least."
"Since you asked so nicely," Treize smiled. He shifted slightly, spreading his weight a little more evenly on his long legs. "Very well. Beginning with my return to my estate."
I move slowly, languidly, over the smooth body under mine, kissing every ivory inch within reach and finally arriving at the warm lips that smile under the pressure of my mouth. For a moment, our tongues move together sensuously, and then I ease my pleasantly sore body down beside my lover's, and slide an arm around the toned and muscular chest, and rest.
Not my Milliard. Never quite the same as it was with Milliard. Had been. Doesn't help much to think of the past. Doesn't help much to recreate it, with my starlit look- alike lovers.
Laren Andrews. Another young man in a line of young men who have taken their turns in Treize Khushrenada's bed. Another young man with platinum-blonde hair, grown and groomed the way I prefer, another beautiful face with almond-shaped ice-blue eyes, turned down just a little at the outer edge, giving him a permanently sorrowful expression. Another perfect body.
Not my Milliard.
*What sick psychology has led me to this?* I wonder. *I dress them like dolls and make them my kept-men, give them money and women and commands and anything at all they ask for, in exchange for some mild intimacies and the right to look on them with affection. Corrupt, all of them, grasping opportunists, taking all those gifts and playing me, asking coyly for more, until they think they have achieved a kind of power over me.*
And so, one by one, I replace them with another. *I could love this one,* I muse, looking down at the sweet slumbering face of my companion. Laren Andrews is younger than any of the others, a big-boned but slender boy-soldier who has shyly accepted my obvious interest. He knows nothing of the rumours of my procession of bedmates. He'd been flattered by the attention. The gifts came by the bundle and Andrews was adorably confused, suddenly indignant. "Did you think you needed to buy me?" he demanded, stalking about my office, those long legs drawing more attention than his words. Andrews melted into my love, Andrews came eagerly to my bed, Andrews... is perhaps a better companion than any of the others.
He will change. I am certain of it. All the others had been different, better, sweeter and lovelier than the one before. I rise and begin to dress as quietly as I can, not wishing to disturb him. When I leave, I also "forget" to take with me a few expensive little items that I want to give him, but can't for the life of me convince him to take. I kiss him gently and close the door firmly behind me. The office beckons. I have a dozen memos to send out, that should have received my immediate attention. People to see, droning tallies of damage reports. The grim and painful tally of the dead.
Captain Hilary is waiting for me, armed with a positive barrel load of papers that will need a fine-toothed comb to pick over. With a heavy feeling in my chest, I settle down to work.
A short while later, I hold up a hand to halt my young captain's earnest report. "A moment," I apologise, seeing one of the older members of my personal staff waiting for me at the door of our little Command Centre.
"Yes?" I ask.
"Mr. Treize, an important call." The words are calm enough, but the elderly gentleman's eyes are saying something else. Something urgent. I nod, and make my excuses to the captain before following the old man down the hall to what has quickly become a transmissions monitor closet. I take the headset he offers me, and lean against the desk.
"This is Khushrenada," I murmur.
"Mr. Treize, this is Lady Une. Please respond. I have a gift for you."
How unexpected! A smile springs to my lips, no doubt surprising the old gentleman who seemed to expect a thundering rant of fury. I place the headset on rather than just lifting it to an ear, and wave him off.
"Lady," I reply. "How wonderful to hear your voice again." Strangely enough, I'm not lying. I find that I have missed my dear Lady. "A gift, you say? My dear... my attention is all yours."
"Yes, a gift, Mr. Treize." So bold. A light laugh escapes me. Yes, we understand each other well, don't we, Une? Her voice softens as she continues. "This is my peace offering, your Excellency. I have Relena Peacecraft."
Quite an unexpected turn of events. I prop a hip against the desk and listen closely to the explanation that follows.
"The girl suffered some kind of accident--frolicking around suicidal Gundam pilots will produce that kind of effect," Une adds drily. "She got herself a good-sized bump on the head, and as a result is experiencing noticeable memory loss."
"Memory loss?" I pause, thinking. "Amnesia? Or merely a temporary impairment?"
"Doctors confirmed it as amnesia, Mr. Treize." A slightly shrill note of triumph enters the woman's voice as she continues. "It was almost pathetically easy to break her past the hospital security. She's lucid, remarkably so, considering. I've managed to convince her that I'm her aunt." Triumph has become excitement now. "Mr. Treize, we can use this girl to our advantage! Think of what a crippling blow to the rebel effort her betrayal to their cause would be! Think of how those pacifist protests in Space and on Earth would melt away if the primary focal point of the movement declares herself for OZ!"
I can almost see the smile on Une's face; imagination and memory serve to conjure the picture for me. Une was always such a straight-forward woman.
"It's a start. May I welcome you back to the fold, my dear?" I chuckle softly. "Bring the child to my office when you arrive. Be gentle with her; it wouldn't do to frighten her, if her condition is so tenuous." It will be much easier to bring her to our side if she has reason to trust and respect us. "Aunt," I repeat, and it makes me laugh. Does Une have any idea how utterly delightful I find her? How entirely amusing--and how perfectly serviceable for my needs. Dear Une has always been so conscientious of my needs.
By the time I hang up with the Lady, my mood is immeasurably lifted--as if the defeat today at Sank had never existed!
"I'll require your assistance a moment longer," I say to the old gentleman who patiently refrained from listening to my conversation. "We must prepare a room. An important guest is coming to stay with us."
Une has arrived, with the child-Queen in tow. I watch from my window as the car arrives and the Lady holds the door for Relena Peacecraft.
I find myself searching the girl's face for signs of my absent friend, Milliard. Though I never knew the King of Sank, I have taken the strength and distinctly male beauty I see in Milliard's face and formed a picture in my mind. I see that resemblance, that underlying hardness in the fifteen year old girl being led into the building--but where that hardness was once a built-in mask for my friend, it is intensity and poise in his sister. I will enjoy getting to know her in the atmosphere of a "family" that Une has kindly created... A smile curves my lips upward. How shall I introduce myself? A friend of the family. I have always been that, in my heart, even when my actions have, of necessity, made me a political enemy of that same family. I would do nothing less for Milliard--and I'd proved that, in sparing Relena's life once before, though Milliard was too proud to ask.
Memories threatened to suck me down. Perhaps I should be watching myself--I have been extremely emotional of late. But how can I not be? All my life I have waited for this battle. I will win. I must. I am composed and ready when the knock at my door announces the Lady's arrival with my "guest." I open the door, and smile at them both.
"Welcome home," I say, and briefly touch Relena's hair. *Darker than Zechs',* I think--but it suits her perfectly. Such a serious looking child. I lead her inside, and pause for just a moment as I hold a chair for her to seat herself and look up at Une.
"Lady," I greet her gently. "I hope you know... how great a pleasure it is to see you again." A small smile replies wordlessly to that, warming me just a little more... all is forgiven between us. All is right once again, and will be even better, with the usefulness of this splendid gift Une has brought me.
Relena smiles up at me as I walk around her chair to seat myself on the small, Romanesque couch across from her. Good breeding in this child; Dorian did a surpassingly fine job with her. "Mr. Treize, sir?" she asks me quietly, but with exquisite courtesy. "I'm terribly sorry... this is so embarrassing. I'm afraid I don't--I'm afraid that none of this is familiar to me. You obviously know me, but I can't remember you, sir."
"He's a friend of your brother's," Une cuts in quickly, quellingly. I shoot her an admonitory look; but suddenly I realise, looking at her, that my poor Lady is in severe discomfort. She doesn't like Relena Peacecraft, does she? That might be something to remember, later.
Very kindly I say, "Your brother, Milliard, is a very dear person to me. He is unable to care directly for you at the moment, but I am sure that it would ease his mind to know that you are safe now, and will be cared for." Oh, Zechs, you'd glare yourself silly to hear me twist the truth so. Safe, yes, undoubtedly he'd be overjoyed... in *my* hands, well--but such is the way of love. It drives men, even me, to do strange things. I won't harm her, Zechs, but I will use her, don't ever think I won't.
Relena is looking at me uncertainly. "My--brother?" she asks, a little painfully.
"You don't recall?" Hmm. This amnesia of hers is pretty thorough. I smile and nod, attempting to alleviate her discomfort some. "He is fighting at the American front," I explain, and that much is true--the last I heard of Milliard, two months ago.
"And... " Relena's eyes, very powerful eyes, probe mine. "Who exactly are *you*, sir?"
I smile. "I am the General of OZ, Relena. Do you remember anything at all about recent events?"
Hesitantly she nods. "Some. I remember--the Alliance was overthrown by an internal coup led by--" She stops, and her eyes widen.
"By me," I finish. "By OZ, my military unit, which is a part of Romafeller. This is all familiar? Good. You remember also that we are at war, Relena?"
"Sort of... "
Une speaks up again, looking at us through narrowed eyes behind the lenses of her glasses. "There are colonial rebels," she interjects cooly. "They have revolted against the lawful rule of the Alliance, and despite Mr. Treize's attempts to bring about an agreement between the governments of Earth and Space, vigilante fighters continue to attack our military, often endangering peaceful citizens."
Relena nods. Her face becomes troubled, and she opens her mouth--then closes it as confusion replaces her doubt. She doesn't remember all her passionate arguments now.
Time to end this for tonight. "I've had a room set up for you. Some doctors will come and look at your leg, if it is bothering you," I add, having just noticed the splint and crutches which attend Relena's appearance. A small gesture brings a butler forward, a kindly old woman who is well on the way toward senility and unlikely to distress Relena at all. Murmured "thank yous" follow, and Relena is taken from us, hobbling off out the door.
"I take it you already have a plan?" Une asks me.
I make a show of checking a clock affixed to a nearby wall. "I was hoping for a lively discussion over dinner, Lady."
The woman looks at me in slight surprise. "You intend to just--"
"Why threaten the girl with an intense and frightening briefing from uniformed soldiers and uncompromising interrogators? She's obviously undergone a traumatic experience. Some pleasant conversation is just what she needs. I trust you to make your input where and when you feel necessary, of course... After all, you *are* her aunt. She'll feel a natural obligation to listen to you. I wouldn't be at all surprised if Relena's well- trained manners don't work entirely in our favour."
A sour look, quickly smothered, greets this. I am smiling. Yes, I'd definitely missed the dear Lady. "It won't be for too long, Une. My word on that." I face her fully, and for a moment I put the stimulation of this new venture aside and look at her coldly. "Tell me, Lady," I say very softly, "where exactly you have been these past few months?"
Une swallows, hard, but her gaze doesn't waver. Ah, yes, be brave, my dearest one. "I have made certain errors in judgement," she murmurs. "I believed them to be unforgivable, and so I was reluctant to return to you."
"Reluctant to leave a man's bed, you mean." The hidden note of danger in my tone prompts a slight widening of her eyes. "Yes, I know about Nicol... You should be wary, Lady, of men who seek to dominate you with what lies between their legs."
She sits very still now.
And suddenly, I don't want to have this hurtful conversation. After all, it was not really *my* Lady who meekly obeyed that arrogant nuisance of a captain, was it? It was the other side of her, which once earned my pity, and now deserves my mercy...
"I am loyal to Treize." The barely audible mutter is her only answer. I say nothing more. Yes, she is loyal, now and always. There is something inherently different between her feelings for Nicol and her duty to me. One is dead. The other is eternal.
"Lady?" She looks up. "Your regular quarters are ready for you. A hot bath has been drawn, some personal effects set out. Take a while to refresh yourself, and get some rest. Wear something nice to dinner tonight. Let's take care to impress the young Peacecraft."
Une nods and turns on her heel, heading for the door. "And Lady?" She looks over her shoulder. "Welcome back." She hesitates, then nods sharply; a moment later and she is gone.
Rhiannon came to a stop mere inches away from Treize.
"And?" she demanded.
"The dinner went as planned," Treize replied, ignoring the invasion of his space. "Relena Peacecraft was, if not completely accepting of the information we fed her, then not in possession of enough knowledge to refute anything we said. Over a period of two weeks we continued this routine."
"So long?"
"I am a busy man, Lady, unlike some who have little else to do but pursue an argument to the death." His glittering eyes prevented any retaliation for the minor prick at her pride. "You will recall that I was conducting a war. The game with the Peacecraft was hardly a top priority."
Rhiannon struggled to find something wrong with that; after a moment, she stepped back slightly and redoubled to an angle she'd already harped upon several times.
"And during these two weeks you continued to see Laren Andrews romantically?"
"I did."
"During this time he received a promotion."
"Yes."
"How did he manage this? He is not recorded as having been in any battles where he performed with exceptional valour. He contributed nothing to the campaign by way of information or advice or skill. In fact, Laren Andrews did very little but inspect your bedsheets, General!"
"This is true," Treize admitted calmly.
"Then would you mind explaining for this board, General, the meaning of your presumptuous disregard of military custom and law?"
"As a matter of fact, Lady, I would mind." The sudden coldness of his tone silenced her for a moment, and the hidden strength of his cold blue gaze was turned fully on her, forcing her back an uncertain step. Dermail sighed, and rapped his gavel once again. "Get on with it," he ordered.
Rhiannon swallowed hard, and struggled to find her place in the questioning again. After a moment, she mumbled only, "Continue."
Une enters the dining room with the hobbling Relena Peacecraft. During her stay here the girl has regained her health--but not, thankfully, a great deal of her memory. I have spent the past two weeks absorbed in sweeping up the last of the reports from the attack on Sank and repositioning troops in anticipation of a counter attack by the rebels. Military matters aside, it's also been quite amusing to watch my dear Lady deal with Relena. The nausea on her face whenever she hears "Aunty Une" nearly makes me choke on my laughter every time.
Relena seems to have accepted my position as a "family friend." I've taken the time to have various items brought to her to make her stay more comfortable-books, ornaments for her room, favoured foods-though I confess I know little enough about the situation beyond the moment it took to make a note with one of my secretaries. Having a competent staff has always been a great advantage for me.
"Relena," I greet her, rising from where I sat at the table already and going to hold her chair for her. Whimsically I imagine the fit Milliard would have if I dared to kiss her cheek, or some such affectionate gesture.
"Mr. Treize," she replies politely, easing slowly into her seat. The chatting that follows is pleasant and vague, freeing my deeper thoughts to contemplate the plan of action for tonight. Une takes the last place at the table, completing our little triangle-- always at my right, the Lady, and now, to my left, my adversary and possibly my newest weapon, Relena Peacecraft--and leading, always at the head and in control, myself.
The symbolism appeals to my ego.
I accept the wine offered by a servant who fills my glass. "Une," I begin, relaxing in my cushioned chair and stretching long legs under the table, "What did you think of the news this evening?"
"A tragedy," is the short reply. Une has little patience for my dramatisations, as always--but the game is simply too enjoyable, and I do believe she deserves to squirm a *little*.
"What tragedy?" Relena interrupts hesitantly.
I smile over at her, ready to make some condescending remark about how she needn't worry herself; of course I stop when I see the determination in her face, duly impressed with her maturity and all that rot. Really, at times she's no more profound of thought some times than your average teenager, once deprived of that fanatic pacifist cult drivel. "Well," I explain, "last night, a vicious attack on one of our training bases resulted in the deaths of over forty first-year cadets." It had truly been the Victoria Base debacle repeated-it was reportedly even the same Gundam pilot, Chang Wufei, whom I found to be quite impressive, despite his tiny stature and distressingly young age. The casualties that boy was capable of inflicting, apparently without the slightest pause of conscience, are rather appalling.
"It's completely obvious why our training camps are being targeted," Une contributes with a scowl that needs no adjusting for the performance. "The predator always attacks the weak and the young of a herd." She stabs at a potato with her fork, making Relena jump, wide-eyed. "They don't dare attack us until they've worn us down a little, murdering children no older than you, Relena."
Dinner conversation does wonders for the digestion, I do believe. Relena is troubled. Can it be that she remembers her old feelings of distaste for war--and dislike for Romafeller in particular? Ah, but how kind of my Dragon, my honourable and remorseless five-foot warrior, to have provided me with exactly the tragedy I need.
Finally she gets up the nerve to speak. She clears her throat and carefully places her fork neatly beside her plate; then she looks up at us--at me, actually, having long ago recognised that I am the reigning authority in this house. When she speaks, her voice is soft, innocent. I'm hardly fooled. There is a sharp mind hiding there.
"But don't the rebels believe that what they're doing is for the best for humanity? For the colonies? Isn't it possible that their views are just as valid as... ours... Has anyone tried to negotiate with them?"
Une has a quicker tongue in her head tonight that I. Smoothly she replies, "Of course they believe in what they're fighting for, that it will turn out for the best. Every side does, don't they? But there is a difference between their actions and ours, as the defenders of the established order. The rebels have attacked Earth on a mission of revenge. They fight for a cause, yes-but that cause is their hate of us. They resent the prosperity that the Earth-born enjoy, not realising that if they only worked harder to improve the condition of the colonies, they would achieve those riches the envy in an honourable fashion. Instead, they simply retaliate for all the imagined slights they feel they have endured for centuries. They're very full of hate."
A fine argument, but one that does not touch on the deeper political reasons for the presence of rebels here in our atmosphere. For the sake of accuracy, and because I doubt Relena would have been satisfied with anything less, I take the time to explain the changeover of political factions with the Alliance.
I complete the little crash-course with the statement, "The rebels have yet to acknowledge that those who truly were their enemies are gone, replaced by a new class, that, though certainly not perfect, is still much more sympathetic to the colonial cause."
"I see," Relena says finally, dropping her gaze back down to her plate as her entree is placed before her. Each night it happens in much the same way-she confronts us on an issue, and seems to be persuaded to our view. But I begin to wonder if she isn't playing me... Something feels off about that way she makes her polite little inquiries, always so humble, always, "Mr. Treize" or "Aunty Une", never a stumble or dissenting murmur.
Eyes so demurely downturned. I can't read her when she doesn't look me in the eyes.
By the time dessert arrives, she looks tired, a little confused. Une is talking, but I've ceased paying attention to the Lady; later tonight I'd have time to sit with her and chat. The gambit is more or less completed. Relena has either bought it, or she hasn't-- and I think it's time to see for myself, rather than sitting in a chair that has lost is comfortable charm with a sorbet I don't intend to eat. I lean across the table, and cover Relena's hand with mine where she plays idly with an unused knife. "The view from the balcony is breath-taking," I tell her, interrupting Une mid-sentence. "Has anyone shown it to you yet? No? Well, allow me to do so. Une, if you'll excuse us?"
Une's mouth snaps shut for a moment as she looks up at me. "Of course," she replies softly, after a long moment. Maybe she thinks I'm going to give Ms. Peacecraft a helpful push over the railing... Well, I'll keep the idea in reserve, but it's such a barbaric little notion, and undeserving of me.
I lead Relena through the hallways toward my balcony, taking the walk slowly to accommodate her crutching. "Enjoying your stay?" I ask casually.
"Yes, Mr. Treize."
"You'll have to forgive me if the conversation tonight upset you, dear... no, it's perfectly obvious that it has. You're an intelligent young woman--with a very mature and serious attitude toward the rebels, and your Aunt and I both noticed. But Relena... " I shrug. I feel like I'm talking to a wall. What is going on behind her eyes? I dearly wish I was on the battlefield, anywhere but here. I'm struggling to remember why this seemed like such a good idea.
If only the girl would *say* something--she's being so damnably quiet! How long does she need to think over the brainless chatter I've been producing the past five minutes? By the time we make it to the balcony, I'm half convinced that tonight's attempt was a complete waste of time. Maybe the poor child is simply too weary to think much of the situation at all.
Relena looks up at me, balancing herself with effort on her crutches. She speaks softly, elegantly, the way a princess should. Milliard, are you proud of her?
"I'm sorry Mr. Treize," she says, and sighs, tilting her head away and staring out over the rail at the gardens below. "It's just rather confusing to me. I can barely remember--that is, there's so many walls, and it's so *frustrating*--I am getting better though, you see I've been having..." Relena stops in mid-sentence. As though I can't guess from the flash of guilt that spasms over her face. So, she's remembering things, now, is she? Ah, and now she's going to make a grave mistake--she's going to lie to me.
My anger rises and hardens the longer she speaks. "I've been having... a lot of clarity," she says quickly, the words tumbling over each other with just a tad too much speed, "when it comes to the circumstances here. And I realise that you're right. Oz is the only fortress between the innocent population of Earth and Space which so horribly resents humanity." I raise an eyebrow. She hurries on, sensing that I don't believe her and urgent now to rectify the lie. "I'm sorry if I've been a problem recently. But, I wasn't sure. Now I am."
After a moment, I smile down at her, and pat her hair a little bit to tame it where the breeze has disheveled the blonde locks. "Of course, dear," I reply. "Don't worry about it, any of it. You're quite safe here."
I see to it that the girl has an escort back to her room, and return to the dining table and my annoyed and anxious Lady. I wave to her to stay seated when she starts to rise, and slide back into my own chair.
"What happened with the girl?" she asks me.
I smile a chill smile. "Good news," I mock the absent Relena. "Let us celebrate, Une... we have a Peacecraft in the fold again."
"Then you don't believe a word of it?" Lady Une watches me, sitting very still as she concentrates on discerning my mood.
"It doesn't matter if I believe it or not. Whether or not she herself is convinced of our perspective is irrelevant; as long as she feels forced to keep up the charade, the outside world will never know the difference. Her dishonesty hardly affects our plans." A slight nod indicates her agreement, and Une leaves me, off to bid the child good night. My poor Une. I see the look of disgust that she only barely suppresses within my sight at the very mention of the girl. I can imagine the dear Lady screwing up her courage to the sticking point, just to kiss the girl on the forehead. A chuckle almost escapes my control--almost. Une hears me smother it and turns, but I am already innocently smiling at her.
For the first time tonight, I feel like the twenty-five year old I am, not an old man with a youth's body, fuming in silent rage for having the ability to do almost anything with that body and yet being forced into inactivity by the sheer stupidity of the government.
Relena's abilities were not to be discounted after all. She'd just lied her way through dinner, and looked me in the face while she told me she had "clarity" about OZ. Clarity! Did she think I was one of those sheep in Romafeller, to be led by a pretty face and cleverly phrased statements? It is time to hatch Plan B. I find myself in my office; I leave there unhurriedly, strolling through the little halls of my pretty house, until I stand outside the door I know so well, a hand raised to knock.
"Milliard," I whisper to myself. "You'll positively loathe me for this one."
I lift my hand, and rap my knuckles against the door. After a slight pause, a surprised pair of ice blue eyes peer out at me.
"Your Excellency," the young man greets me, a little shyly. "Uh--please come in."
I smile as I follow him inside his lavishly appointed room. I've showered my considerable favour on this one; and still such formality!
"Relax," I counsel him kindly. We sit across from each other in ornate chairs before his brick fireplace; I assume a casual pose, to let him know that this meeting is between friends, not an officer and his commander. Laren Andrews' handsome features arrange themselves in an expression of sincere bewilderment.
"May I ask what brings you here?" he hesitantly begins. Normally a creature of habit, I never come to him this early in the evening.
"Unless this is just a visit..."
That almost-invitation brings a smile to my face. So purely charming, my lovely Laren. "I do indeed wish that it were," I reply gently. "Unfortunately, I am here on business." I remove my cufflinks as I spoke, pocketing them. "Andrews, you're aware of the presence of our guest, the young lady?"
"Miss Peacecraft, sir?" It appears the gossip has gotten around. Relena's is a famous face, these days.
"Miss Peacecraft. Yes... She's had a very unfortunate accident, Andrews. She doesn't remember her past." From his look, I can see that he knew this. Satisfied that Andrews is capable and knowledgeable, I simply proceeded to outline my plan for him. When I have finished, he nods slowly. There is a little uncertainty in his gorgeous eyes, but he squashes it with his desire to please me.
"I won't fail you, your Excellency," he said, quietly but passionately. "I will do this for you."
Milliard, you would never have agreed so quickly; you would have probed me deeply, asked me numerous questions until my answers suited your beliefs and ponderous conscience. Andrews is a good man. Maybe not as intrinsically honorable as you, but his obedience will be complete--something I could never expect from you.
I smile. "Then tomorrow morning, I would like you to come and dine with myself and Lady Une-and your new sister."
Later that night, I outline my plan to Une. I do not emphasize Une's failure to connect to Relena's affections, but neither do I skip over it. Andrews is younger, his face is kind and instantly inspires confidence. Should Relena's bothersome little flashbacks include knowledge of her brother, Laren's close resemblance to Milliard will perfectly ratify his "kinship" to her. If neither I nor Une are able to draw Relena into the fold, Andrews will surely succeed. That boyish, guileless face will convince Relena Peacecraft where we have failed. How could such an earnest and pleasant young man lie about the rebels? The more I think about it, the more I become sure that Relena will trust him-- and, more importantly, trust that when he tells her the rebels are the real enemies of peace, she will take it for truth.
And then we will use her for everything she is worth.
Beside me Andrews tugs on the hem of his shirt nervously, checking in every reflective surface we pass to be sure that his appearance is immaculate. I am amused by this, though I pretend not to notice--I am already in love with this one, and I don't want him to think I'm laughing at him. It would never do to laugh-certainly not at a member of the Peacecraft family.
We arrive at Relena's door. Early morning sunshine filters down through the sunroofs and puts a golden sheen on everything, including Andrews' shoulder-length platinum coloured hair. I glance at him for confirmation; he nods. So I lift my hand and knock on Relena's door.
"Good morning," I call. "Care to join us for breakfast?" Une described for me, privately in the late (or early, I suppose) hours of the night, the way the girl had dropped a bit of folded paper from her blouse as she undressed the night before. Some kind of invitation, expensive watermarking and fancy calligraphy. It had been torn in two. A good luck charm, Une had called it contemptuously. I can imagine Relena touching it like a talisman, willing it to bring her strength.
Relena doesn't need strength. She has me--and OZ. We will do whatever is necessary to end this war in victory. Finally, she opens the door and emerges, complete with crutches, in a darling little white dress. The perfectionist in me, as well as the denied paternal urges I had once lavished on Milliard and in turn Andrews, had led me to personally chose an assortment of suitably charming wear for the girl. I was quite pleased with the result.
"You're absolutely lovely," I say, completely truthfully, absently brushing a wayward strand of hair out of her eyes. She smiled up and murmured something in reply. Then her eyes went to Andrews, and I saw her brows contract in a frown.
A memory, perhaps? Light flashing off the waterfall of long blonde hair and sparking in the ice blue eyes?
"I have wonderful news for you," I explain gently.
"Relena, your brother has just gotten back from his duties in the field; he heard you were injured and rushed here to be with you all the way from South America." I tilt my glance to take in Andrews.
"Milliard, do say something before the poor child concludes that you're entirely mute."
He draws a deep breath. "They told me your injuries weren't too serious," he says to Relena, a little formally. "I'm very glad to see that Treize didn't exaggerate to ease my fears." I spread my hands as if to say, Would I do that? Andrews then takes the girl's hand, and holds it, looking a little lost, waiting for her reaction, uncertainty radiating from him. I watch Relena.
If she accepts Andrews as "dear brother Milli", then I have confidence that between the three of us, Une, Andrews and I, we will be able to use Relena Peacecraft in such a way that will benefit not only OZ, but all of Earth and Space, by bringing order to a chaotic realm. If she doesn't accept Andrews--well, then her presence here will become a little more burdensome, won't it?
A startled look crosses Relena's face. It is followed by sudden, acute embarrassment.
"I-I don't exactly remember-" she stutters.
Andrews nods and drops her hand. "Forgive me, then," he mumbles.
"No!" She shakes her head. "I believe you-and I'm sure it will come back... " It is hard, because of her crutches, but she manages to get close enough to the young man to embrace him.
Andrews hesitantly holds her. "Relena."
I intercede, eager to keep this drama moving along. I have several appointments waiting, I really can't afford to tarry at breakfast all morning. "I'm sure you're both starving," I say politely. "Shall we continue this in the dining room? Une is probably wondering what's keeping us."
And so the three of us start off-a blushing blonde, a hobbling princess, and I.
We have all taken our seats. The two "siblings" are shy with each other at first, but Relena seems determined to break the silence. I admire her warmth; it can't be easy to keep it up when she honestly has no memory of the young man who hesitantly answers her harmless questions.
As sliced fruit disappears from our plates, Andrews leans over to Relena. His expression is... well, hard to describe. A mixture of concern, of the instant affection that I have observed many feel for this young woman, of the earnestness that only the truly young feel. I wonder how much of that is an act.
"Relena," he murmurs, low as though he doesn't want me or Une to hear--how delightful! A private moment; Andrews plays this part so well--"Relena, I swear to you. I will make the rebels sorry for doing this to you. Seeing you like this--" He shakes his head, silvery-blonde hair falling in his eyes. Relena looks at him, wide-eyed. "The rebels?" she slowly repeats.
Andrews glances at me, to be sure my attention is firmly fixed on my plate, which I immediately do attach it to. Besides, it hides my smile. Oh, Milliard, you would rather have shot yourself in the--family jewels, shall we say--than played out this game for me.
Friend, you were; skilled plotter, you weren't. Andrews is such a find. It amuses me to know that you wouldn't have liked him, and here he is, pretending to be you!
"Relena," Andrews is whispering, gripping her hand tightly. "Hasn't anyone told you how your 'accident' occurred? They're sheltering you. I think you should know. You used to urge conciliation between us and those--those killers, and to reward you they take everything you've ever known from you, and nearly your life as well!" He squeezes her hand hard, then blushes faintly as he lets her go.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I shouldn't say these things. You haven't even got a clue what I'm talking about, you just don't remember!" He glares down at his own plate. "I'm just so furious. Relena, I was worried sick when I heard. Now that I know you're healing *physically*, I'm just so--so *angry* to discover what they've done to your mind!"
Relena takes in this stream of heated hissing from Dear Brother Milli with a slightly flabbergasted expression. I lean forward slightly, without appearing to, waiting for her response. Perhaps Une and I *have* danced around the subject too much.
Perhaps if we'd waved war-flags and ranted and cursed the rebels to the heavens, we might have achieved our goal without needing to bring in a third player--ah well. Even I can't be perfect.
Relena, think what you will about *us*--but think only what we want you to about the rebels.
Nothing more comes from the children, and so I once again decide to move things along. I move us out to the balcony. There is no need to blunder by dragging out our little act... I have no urge to destroy the balance we're creating here, in our world of Pretend.
And I have to push at some point. I'm losing time here, coddling Relena. This is no way to conduct a war, kept prisoner in my own estate by a girl-child while my troops fall prey to the murdering ravages of little Dragon and his Gundam friends.
"Dear," I say, looking over at Relena. "I have a few friends coming over this weekend. Officers and the like, quite the perfect gentleman, each of them. I was wondering if perhaps you'd find it interesting to join us for tea?" I stretch as though I haven't a care in the world, but her response is important. We could very easily arrange for a few cameras and recorders to be placed about the room, discretely capturing Relena Peacecraft spouting the words that would win us the colonies..."If nothing else, maybe these men and women could answer some of your questions about the rebels," I add, hoping that key word will entice her.
She hesitates. She's not seen more than Une, myself, and a few servants since her arrival in Austria. "Will Milliard be coming?" she asks softly.
I glance quickly at Laren and shake my head just slightly.
Andrews responds, "Relena, I'm afraid I can't attend. Your Aunt and I... we have some business to discuss."
"What kind of business?" she presses.
Une stirs. "We are planning a good time to attack the rebels who are responsible for your condition," she replies coldly.
This seems to strike a nerve. Fire comes into her eyes, though she quickly suppresses it. "Aunty Une, Mr. Treize, Milliard, I don't understand. Why is revenge such an important consideration? Shouldn't we stand back and hope for a break in the war? Perhaps peace can come out of our honourable refusal to attack them!"
Can't let her go on thinking *those* thoughts, can I? I see Relena searching my expression as I speak, but trust she will only see the solemn sincerity I am projecting.
"Honestly, Relena-revenge is a large part of war." I shake my head, and gaze out over the rail at the well-kept lawn below, though I very much want to look back at the Peacecraft girl to judge her reaction. As swiftly as my good mood had grown, it has been replaced by a strange tight feeling in my chest, a churning in my stomach, a tingling in my body--as if I were readying myself for battle.
"Relena," I murmur. "I don't pretend to have all the answers. I don't pretend to be all-knowing or wise beyond my years--and I don't pretend that I haven't ever made mistakes. But a mistake that I have made all too frequently has been underestimating the force and will and spirit of my enemies. And they *are* my enemies, Relena--rebels, revolting against the natural order and brining anarchy to a world that was once ordered and beautiful."
I take her hand, and draw her closer to me, careful of her leg. "Look out at these gardens," I instruct, settling an arm around her shoulders and guiding her to follow my pointing finger. "They're perfect; each blossom formed without flaw, each hedge manicured or wild in harmony with the whole of the design. I like to surround myself with beauty, Relena." I squeeze her shoulders as I speak this last part, and smile up at Une and Andrews as well, both of them models of strength and loveliness and perfection of form. Yes, there is no need for lying to the Peacecraft girl now. Everything I tell her is the truth. My truth. "But more importantly, Relena, I wish to surround myself with a world whose design is unbroken--flawless, like this garden. To that end, the withered and rotten Alliance was removed from Earth's garden. For a while, it seemed like that might be enough to save the design. "People went about their daily lives, Relena, with a new assurance. Yes, the Alliance was gone, and it is always hard to forget something that has always been there; but OZ created a new security for the people. We have established justice where before there was none, crushed the opposition to our rule because to allow dissent would mean the fragmenting of our design. OZ is not flawless, Relena, but our intentions are pure. Bring order. Bring harmony. Bring unity. Security. In the end, peace--enforced peace, ensured peace, guided and carefully led peace."
Relena is no longer stiff in my hold. She is listening. Her shoulders quiver slightly with the force of her concentration on my words, and the intensity she senses in me. She must be able to know that this time, everything I am telling her is unadulterated truth.
Maybe not *her* truth, the Peacecraft truth-but a worthy version nonetheless. Maybe a better version.
"The rebels are worms in the garden of Earth and Space," I whisper. My head is bent, my cheek pressed against the warm silk of her hair, my breath ghosting over her ear as I speak to her. Une and Andrews are completely silent: it is as if they do not even exist. Only Relena Peacecraft and Treize Khushrenada exist in this moment, on this balcony, two idealists who were enemies, but must become one for the good of our shared universe. "The rebels are worms, eating at the tender roots of our flowers. They destroy law and order. They wreak havoc in the lives of innocents--they kill, Relena, appear from nowhere in their advanced and matchless machines of death and destroy all within their reach. War is about revenge, for lives lost, ground taken, hopes crushed--the rebels have taken the responsibility for all those lost hopes on their shoulders, and thus they have become, for OZ and for humanity, the epitome of bloody, hopeless war and death. OZ must be life. We must replace the rebels, remove them from the garden as we did the Alliance, to preserve the flowers. "Relena, you must understand me. It is vital, vital that you understand!" I am urgent now, and this is still all very real, all too real, as my grip on her tightens and I lean forward even farther so that my words will be heard only between us. "All my life I have known that corruption surrounded me. And I have known, in my heart, that I had the power, or could gain the power, to uproot and stamp out that corruption. I have already dealt with the Alliance. Now I *must* deal with the rebels! It doesn't matter if they are good people, have good intentions, and fight because they believe in their cause--because both sides in a conflict *always* feel those things. My intentions are to end the chaos and illness which has spread through Earth's highest channels. I will bring order and harmony back to the garden."
In the ragged silence that follows, my own thoughts thunder through me with my racing heartbeat. Hear my passion, Relena, and believe me this time. Every word I have spoken has been the purest dilution of my soul--this is the kind of moment I was created for. This is the conflict where I see my enemy most clearly. The battle of will. I have the will to win, Relena, and you have the will to exert your special influence on the inevitable leftovers of this war--the politicians are mine to deal with, but you will bring the people, the billions of Earth-dwellers and Colonists, to the peace we will create for them. I have the heavens in view, and you have humanity. Let us combine them. Join me, Relena... we will bring the highest order to the garden.
"Your name?"
"Laren Andrews."
"Your rank?"
"Lieutenant."
"You've been paying close attention to the General's testimony, Lieutenant Andrews. In your opinion, has the General been truthful with this Board?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"There isn't anything you want to correct, or add? No small detail that might have been left out? Nothing that you think might be important?"
Laren gazed straight ahead, looking past the woman. "Nothing, ma'am."
"Mmhm." Rhiannon paused, studying the young man. He wore his dress uniform with an air of faint pain; bandaging was visible at the loosened collar and beneath one cuff. However, he did not squirm as he faced the pseudo-court. His expression was carefully blank.
Sitting not too far away with their lawyers, Treize watched his young friend. His fingers tapped the table soundlessly. His eyes never left Laren's face.
"Lieutenant Andrews, I have some questions for you," Rhiannon said at last.
"However, I think they can wait for the minute. I'd like you to continue where General Khushrenada left off."
Andrews nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
I have taken the short walk back to Relena's room with her. She's been very quiet since Treize's speech. So have I. I feel... shell shocked, was the old term. Treize is so amazing. Only he could have said those perfect things, only he could have gotten straight to the heart of our war and made it the beautiful struggle for betterment that it is, not the bloody vicious battles so many believe it to be.
"Here's your room," I murmur as we reach the door.
Relena comes to a stop, grimacing as her ankle turns uncomfortably. "Thank you for accompanying me, Milliard. I'm sorry to be such a burden."
I smile suddenly. "You're hardly a burden, Relena. You're a sweet and wonderful person."
A sad smile replies to that. She is so subdued. All her light is gone. Where is the girl who embraced the brother she couldn't even remember?
Suddenly I find myself placing a hand on her shoulder. I say, "Relena. You're my sister, and I care for you. But I wonder, Relena... would you tell me the truth if something was bothering you? Can I trust you to do that for me? To always be honest with me?"
She bites her lower lip. "I'm sorry, Milliard. I'm just so-confused. Frightened. I want to be honest with you, and I will try to be. But I'm just so-Milliard, can I trust Mr. Treize? And Aunt Une-even you? Can I trust *you*?"
I swallow hard. "Yes."
Something softens in her eyes. The rigidity of her shoulders eases. "Thank you, brother."
I leave her there.
I walk slowly back to Treize's office, knowing that I'll find him there, still working, despite the lateness of the hour. Satisfaction occupies the forefront of my consciousness, but I still feel--drained. Treize must be utterly exhausted. A battle, yes, that *had* been a battle--and he'd won it. Maybe the war wasn't over, but I felt as though something significant had passed there on his balcony. Now was the time to move swiftly, to monopolise our advantage over Relena's capitulation. He would have the cameras and recorders set up immediately--no, Une could do that for him. And he'd have to have the right people present in that room--would have to pick and choose non- threatening, reasonable, *likeable* personalities to conduct the "tea" with Relena. She'd fought hard, too, and it wouldn't do to vex her. Above all, Treize can't allow any move to be made that would upset the delicate balance of power between her and himself. My General is in control. He must, absolutely must stay that way.
Idly I wondered what the Earth would do if Treize suffered a temporary break- down. Spin off its axis into space, perhaps, collide with the Colonies and end the damn disputes between our governments. Perhaps. Unfortunately, not too likely.
Which means that he'll just have to work a little harder, a little faster, a little better--and win the war a little sooner. I was right, he's in his office. Those straight shoulders will never slump, but I know how tired he is; I can practically feel it, as if the strength of my body was sapping away with his. However, there is no rest for the wicked... and I think his schedule has us booked for a great deal of wickedness yet. A few phone calls and the occasional sugary bit of flattery secures him the men and women he'll want present for his "tea" this Sunday. Guiding forces in Romafeller, the old aristocracy, the Powers with the money to waste on pink cars and polite servants- -not unlike "my sister" Relena. People of strong convictions, but most of all, people of experience, who will bend for the good of the Earth, if it benefits their position. Treize will make sure that it does.
I slowly take in the scene. My General stands at the huge French windows-I've noticed before the almost reverential worship that any half-way decent window view will draw from him-he's grasping the velvet curtains in a white-knuckled fist. He's worried.
His little drama has opened a new act. This social event could be a turning point in the campaign, and best of all, it doesn't involve the slightest bloodshed. But it has to be done so carefully, even as young and inexperienced as I am, I can see that. Certain subjects must not arise, and others must be played to the advantage. Relena'll be the unknown variable--but even though we all know she's lying when she meekly agrees with what we say about the rebels, her response, if Treize moves fast and corners her into saying what he wants to hear, and preserve for others to hear, will probably be in our favour after all. I think she'll play along, even if only because she's afraid of what'll happen if she doesn't.
I have a sudden, strong desire to be in some undemanding company. To merely sit and drink some good wine with, to talk of pleasant, completely unearth-shaking things with.
"Milliard, I have never felt so alone as I have since you left me."
The whisper makes me look up. God, he doesn't realise that he's not alone. Part of me feels guilty for listening to his secret pain-but more of me is too angry and too hurt to care. Treize, don't you see me here? Don't you know how much I've come to hate this Milliard Peacecraft, for taking your heart with him when he left and holding it impossibly out of my reach?
"I miss your strength and your friendship. I miss how you could read the hidden expressions in my eyes, when no other being could see past the mask--and most of all, I miss you."
I am silent, but my stomach churns suddenly. I hope I never learn to hate you, too, Treize, or my soul is lost.
Finally, he becomes aware of my presence. He summons one of his beautiful, easy smiles, one that makes the web-work of laugh lines around his eyes and mouth deepen and make him even more handsome. When he gestures me near, my anger melts away. Up close I can see how weary he is. I want to kiss away the sorrow.
"Attention to detail, my lovely Laren," he says. He draws me near to him by the window, and his cornflower-blue gaze moves away from me and back to the sunlight lawn. "All my life, that one attribute has gotten me wherever I wanted to be. Yes, my ideals and my ambition and my skills have earned me my titles and my connections--but it is attention to detail which has made me what I am today. From personal appearance to the felicitous arrangement of flowers on the coffee table, to carrying out a coup among the withered and twisted remains of the Alliance which granted my current rank, that perfectionism has never failed to serve me well."
I have to smile. "Feeling nostalgic, your Excellency?"
He acknowledges that with the tilt of his head, and softly continues. "Details are abounding now for this 'tea' upcoming. I half fancy that I'll go insane from the sheer magnitude of it--but it is, when put in proper perspective, but a tiny stepping stone in the war. A shortcut, if you will, and one that may be ultimately unimportant. Relena has a certain quality about her, an intensity and a charisma, that makes me fear I will lose control if I let my attention drift for a single second. That force of personality is no doubt what attracted the Gundam pilots to her side, and earned her that world-wide popularity. How else could she have risen to the prominence of her position without the very same qualities I myself possess--the indefinable qualities of leadership?
"It troubles me, Laren, that she has submissively gone along with our plan so far. It troubles me that she might suddenly change sides, though logically my mind tells me that she has overheard no secrets and seen no important operations that could give her the key to OZ's destruction. Une has just informed me that Relena is experiencing 'flashbacks.' How will this affect her performance? Can I maintain the almost brainwashed glaze in her eyes simply by speechifying all thoughts of resistance away? Highly doubtful. My histrionics on the balcony will only hold for so long."
He moves like he wants to pace, and only good breeding is holding him back. He smooths the stormy expression from his face with a conscious effort. A good commander does not allow his worries to show, he's said more than once. Worries must be used, channeled, to sharpen his wits and focus the confusion around him--must be used to enhance his performance. Attention to detail. It all comes back to that for you, my General, doesn't it?
After a moment, I tug gently on the soft black leather cuff of his jacket. "Let it go for a while, Treize. You've done plenty for tonight."
"It's not nearly so easy, Laren." He brushes me off and takes a step away. I feel... stung. Still in command mode, even with me? Softly, because it hurts, I say, "Won't you let me even touch you?"
Something flashes over his face, too fast to follow. But then he smiles, condescendingly-as though I were a child who had said something brainless. That hurts, too.
Suddenly the bitterness and the aggravation are back. "Forget it. Why don't you pick up the phone again and wake up some other stupid sod of a nobleman who can come to watch you pull Relena's puppet strings."
"That's more than enough, Andrews." *Go play, Laren.*
"I don't want to lie to her. I don't like playing around with her. What are you going to do when she remembers everything?"
"I have business to take care of." Treize turns away from me and sits down at his desk. I can't believe it! He's ignoring me!
"Business," I snap. "Business-that's what you call it now? *I* call it playing God."
That hits a nerve. Suddenly Treize is on his feet and stalking me-and like the frightened, helpless prey, I back away from him until my shoulders meet the glass of the window and I'm trapped. His glare sears me, and I feel tears pressing hotly against the backs of my eyes.
"I am a soldier," he says, so quietly. He stops when only inches separate us. "I will do what is needed," he whispers. His breath ghosts over my cheek. "In the end, you will too, Andrews, or you will find you are *very* replaceable."
Something clenches in my chest. "Like all the others, right?"
He pulls back just a bit. His eyes widen.
"You think I'm blind? I knew." My voice is choked. "I'm not the one who can't see what's right before me-you are, Treize. Haven't you realised yet that I'm not *like* all the others!"
He leaves my physical space so abruptly that it makes me dizzy. "No," he replies cooly as he heads back to the desk. "I don't think you are like them. So don't make their mistakes. Don't seek to rise above your station."
"I'm right where you put me! I love you, Treize, and I worry about your soul-"
"Dangerous ground, Laren."
"I worry that you're rising above yourself, Treize-"
"What is that supposed to mean?" He faces me. His eyes are burning me... but now I know what I have to say.
"This isn't right, Treize. What you're doing to that girl-what *we're* doing. What you're trying to do, what you've done all your life-it isn't right." Hesitantly, I begin to move closer to him. I can see the tiny twitching of a muscle in his cheek. He's going to strike me. He's never, never raised a hand to anyone before, except in battle, but I know that if I keep pushing him, he'll strike me. But the floodgates are open, the words are tumbling out, and I can't stop them. "You're so much better than this. This play, whatever you want to call it-it's ugly, Treize. And-and it's killing you. I can see that, even Une can see it."
The barest quiver of tension laces his voice. "I am working towards a goal, Andrews, and I can't afford to be picky about my methods this late in the game. You are young, and you are naive, so I will forgive you this once." He puts distance between us, wisely. "As to the state of my soul," he continues, frostily, "as to the state of my soul-I bought you as a lover, not a father-confessor."
I hold my hands out to him, begging. "I can be both."
That's it, I've pushed him too far. The furious yelling makes me cringe. "I don't want both, damn you, you insolent insipid *child*-"
"I should just wash my hands of you, before you wreck my life too!" This is wrong, so horribly wrong. I didn't want to do this!
"Then leave!" He throws a hand out, pointing to the door. He's livid with fury, but it's like a wound, bleeding.
When I see what I've done to him with my unfair words, I can't hold back the tears. I'm crying now, ashamed of my weakness; going to him, touching him with shaking hands and putting my arms around his neck and trying to hold on even when he shoves me away.
"You know I can't leave you, Treize. I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry." He buries his face in my shoulder and his arms wrap tightly around me, his heart beats in crazy rhythm with mine. "You know I'll never leave you. I love you. I'll do whatever you want, I swear, and if I'm damned for it, it doesn't matter. Please forgive me, Treize, I'm so sorry."
The barest of nods answers that. What have we done here? This wasn't supposed to happen... For the longest time we stand there, clinging to each other because there's nothing else strong enough. Eventually, I feel tentative fingers combing through my hair, cupping the back of my head and tilting my face so that he can kiss me, though he won't look me in the eyes.
"Come to bed," he whispers, so tired. "Forget we ever argued. Forget there was ever a problem. Forget Relena, Une, the entire damned planet-just let me stay with you for a while."
"Anything." I shake my head and try to catch his eyes. "Just don't push me away. Please. Don't throw me aside like those others. Don't find another pretty blonde to do your bidding and let you pretend, Treize."
"Oh God, Laren," he says. His embrace is crushing my rib cage and constricting my sobs, but I don't care. "Pretend with me," I breathe.
"So you did, in fact, find fault with this plan of General Khushrenada's?"
Laren nodded slowly. "Yes, but-"
"You found it-" She looked down at her notes. "The word you used in your deposition was 'dishonourable.'"
He was troubled. "Yes, but-"
"How could a man who values honour be drawn into a devious plot formulated by a man whose motive you did not respect?"
"I admit that what I did was wrong," he said softly. He shifted on his feet, trying without much success to keep from looking at Treize, or any of the other glowering faces around him.
"And yet you didn't request a transfer out of Austria?"
"No, ma'am."
"You didn't think to contact any superiors about the suspicious and amoral activity?"
He hesitated. "You mean, turn Treize in?"
Rhiannon snapped her fingers impatiently. "I think you know exactly what I mean, Lieutenant. Yes or no?"
His expression tightened. "No," he replied coolly and concisely.
"Is there any particular reason?" Rhiannon's sarcastic tone was grating. She came to a swirling stop in her pacing and glared narrowly at the young man. "What rationalisation did you concoct to explain away your ethical discomfort, Lieutenant?"
Andrews replied with strict correctness, "These events took place during the war. General Khushrenada already explained that the military arm of Romafeller had been given complete autonomy to act as it saw fit during this period of violence. What nobody seems to understand is that a war is an extraordinary time, and extraordinary measures have to be taken both to prevent further violence, and to stay ahead of your enemies by as many steps as possible."
Rhiannon clucked her tongue disapprovingly. The sound was curiously loud in the quiet court room. Mockingly, she taunted, "Your leash-holder has taught you very well, Lieutenant. I think you actually believe that."
Laren clenched his jaw. "Relena Peacecraft's position makes her a fair target for manipulation, ma'am. If any one of you here in this room had done what we've done, it would be called politics and no one would care. It's a risk that any person in power has to take, the possibility that they will be maneuvered into saying something averse to their personal beliefs."
"But the girl had lost her memory!"
"That's an extenuating circumstance. It's the least important point you've made all day, Lady." Laren glared coldly at Rhiannnon. "Let me tell you something, ma'am. In a war, you can't always play by the rules. People who do that lose. You can't always look down your nose at everyone from a moral high-horse. People who do that hesitate to take action, and in the end, they lose too. And if we, if Treize, and Oz, had lost, then none of you would be in power to conduct this farce you want to call a hearing."
Treize nodded slowly, and put his chin in his hand. "Clever lad," he murmured, and no one missed that.
Rhiannon's face was a dull red colour. There was nothing she could say to refute that. After a moment, she made a sharp gesture for Laren to continue with his narrative.
The summons from Lady Une has me jumping like the raw recruit I was, not too long ago. Before I even know where I'm headed I'm jogging down the corridor, struggling into my jacket and limping on a shoe that didn't quite settle right on the ankle. As I hurry toward his Excellency's study, I nearly careen off a slender dark-haired woman, and pause to collect myself.
"I'm terribly sorry," I puff, catching sight of the ribbons of rank on her gown and snapping off a salute, my cheeks burning. Oh, Lord. A Contessa. I've bowled over a Contessa.
She flashes a quick smile, showing off perfectly white teeth, as if to say all is forgiven. "I could never hold a grudge against a handsome soldier in uniform," she says.
To my embarrassment, my blush deepens, prompting a light laugh from her. "Now, if you'll excuse me..." She moves toward the door, and I leap to open it for her. Then I realise, it's the study--General Khushrenada's study, the same place I'm headed to. She must be here for the tea.
Treize catches sight of me at the door, and calls my name. "Come in, come in." He welcomes the woman a little cooly while I hover, shutting the door, glancing around and meeting Lady Une's oddly calculating gaze. She motions me over.
Treize pretends that everything is well between us now, and I think I know him well enough to guess that by tomorrow, he really will have put our horrible quarrel behind him. In a moment of spontaneous affection, I call up the memory of my beloved lord and master lying in my bed beside me last night, his long legs hanging over the foot, his golden skin glowing dimly in the moon light from the window.
I'm smiling goofily. I make haste to wipe the look off my face before I embarrass myself again.
Lady Une interrupts my field of vision, which had narrowed to the ginger-haired head of Treize to the exclusion of all else, by stepping up right in my face. "Go and check on the girl," she instructs me. "Make sure she's ready, and Heaven's sake don't give her a chance to somehow back out of coming to the tea."
"Yes, Lady."
"And watch her. She admitted to me that she is starting to have 'flashbacks.' Report anything she says to me that seems even slightly odd. I don't trust her yet."
"Yes, Lady." This seems to be the final command, because she is watching the General and the Contessa now, through narrowed eyes. I try to be unobtrusive as I head to the door, and leave.
I pause in the hallway by a mirror to be sure that I wasn't too disheveled from my run. Treize's attention to my looks has made me a little more vain than I ever was a kid. I take care to groom my hair the way I know he likes it, and to wear the clothes he buys for me. I wonder if I really remind him that much of the Lightning Baron, Zechs Merquise. I wonder if I can ever make him forget his Peacecraft, Milliard the Traitor.
I arrive at Relena's door, and knock. There's a startled, scurrying sound from inside. "Just a minute!" she calls.
She *is* brave, isn't she? And strong. She's a good person, and I-
And I like her.
Her door opens, and she smiles up. "Brother."
"Can I come in?" I ask, and part of me honestly wishes that my replying grin was as fake as it should be. For OZ. For Treize.
It takes substantially longer to return to the study when you're traveling with a girl on crutches than it does when you're running helter-skelter. We finally arrive at Treize's study, though, and I pause. There's something I want to say, something that I think I owe Relena if the tea turns out the way I expect it will.
I put my hands over Relena's arms gently. I notice how... well, big, I am, compared to her. Relena is aware that my hands wrap all the way around her thin arms without even squeezing her. If anything, this makes me feel even more protective-and guilty.
"Relena," I start, and stop. This is both harder and easier than I suspected. "If anything--if anything happens in there that makes you...uncomfortable, don't be afraid to tell them."
Relena has absolutely no idea what I'm talking about. After a moment, she humours me, and nods knowingly. I shake my head slightly and release my grip on her arms. One hand goes to straighten the front of my uniform, and the other is raised to knock on the door.
Suddenly Relena reaches out and grabs my elbow, stopping me. "Milliard," she says kindly, "Brother, thank you. You don't really know it, but I do enjoy your company, very much so. Mr Treize and Aunt Une are both so polite and they do try to look after me... but it's not the same as having a brother, and... and a friend."
Is this a knife twisting in my heart?
I lean down, and kiss her softly on the forehead.
"Relena, know that no matter what happens, you will always be my sister."
When I look up, the door is open. Treize is standing there, watching. I see the slight coldness in his eyes, and I know that he's heard what I just said to Relena. Heat rushes to my face.
The barest fraction of a second passes by, and then he smiles warmly. "Relena," he greets the girl. "Do come in. Milliard, thank you for bringing her. You may go."
I know what he's thinking-I know that I've made another mistake, giving him reason to doubt me. Last night's fight makes my declaration of eternal brotherhood an extremely foolhardy, and probably worthless, gesture.
I want to tell him I'm sorry, but that will ruin his game.
I waited too long. Treize pulls Relena inside, and shuts the door firmly, but politely, in my face.
Une emerges a while later. "Come along, Andrews," she says shortly. "We have a broadcast to supervise. There's no point in taking chances when you can do it yourself." I follow obediently. Yes. No point in failing Treize.
A short half-hour later, I watch several large monitors in the communications gigantic equipment storage closet, where we are making this somewhat hot-wired and illegal transmission. The plan is simple enough. Video tape the tea, broadcast it live. If it works, good. If it doesn't--
I watch Treize open the door and hold it for the Contessa and Relena, the way a gentlemen noble does. If there's one thing my General has in abundance, it's style. What followed where the customary rounds of bows and grand welcomes and gruff handshakes and titters from the nobles and the many big-scene politicians who are already seated in the ornate dining area. It's not very exciting, but Treize knows how fast he can push these people. He plays them off each other, every single one of them, and before they even know what's hit them they're asking the exact questions Treize wants to hear, all on their own, and with the hearty belief that it was their own bright idea.
Within fifteen minutes, we have enough footage to cover every major issue of the rebel cause. Une is completely satisfied, and with a smirk, she begins to shut the transmissions equipment down. I keep watching the monitors, willing Treize to spontaneously develop telepathic powers and pick up the grimly triumphant thought I'm flinging at his image. *You've done it, your Excellency.*
Before too long, the conversation is dwindling. Relena has performed to expectation, thank any and all Gods. Treize, never one to linger any longer than necessary once he has what he wants, rises, makes some excuse about an unbearably full bladder, and leaves. I have to confess--I should be exuberant. What a gamble, and it will work, I'm sure of it. I should be happy. Shouldn't I be prancing madly or cackling in evil glee, like the villain of some penny-novel glory? No. I only lean against the wall, and felt a little saddened by what I've done to that girl.
But that's the price of having power, isn't it? The price of ensuring that others will never have power. The rebels have their visions and their leaders and their tragic nobility--and history, as anyone with a pinch of wisdom knows, is written by the victor. Treize has to be that victor. He has to survive this war. He has to, to share *his* vision, *his* leadership, *his* honour.
I have a new battleground as of this moment. I know the rebels are out there. The Gundams may even be the least of them, or just symbols for the main body of the revolution. There could even be countless tiny revolutions, some turning on each other, some united by their hatred of Treize and of OZ. Let them come. My General has thrown the gauntlet and shown the tiniest bit of his strength.
I meet him in the hallway, loitering about, edgy, nervous, pacing. He turns and sees me, and silently joins me.
"It went well," I say to him.
He nods.
Suddenly he draws me close and presses a quick kiss on each of my pale cheeks. I want to hold him tightly, so tightly, and tell him that I will die if I can't be with him right now-but I don't. That isn't what he needs right now.
So I clasp him gently by the shoulders and gently trace his cheek with my fingertip.
I feel Colonel Une coming the way I smell something bad. She's rotten, and I don't like her. But I know that Treize pities her, and loves her in a way that I can't understand, and out of consideration for my lord I step back from him and try not to look affectionate as she joins us.
"Anything else, sir?" the Lady asks crisply.
His question is absent, his thoughts are already elsewhere. "Is my Tallgeese ready?"
"Repaired, and quickly accessible. You plan on participating in any battles that may arise?" Une probes, looking slightly uneasy.
"Of course. What kind of leader will not do what he asks of his men?" I don't like the way he just dismisses the problem out of hand.
It's all well and noble for him to fight beside his troops, but not if it endangers his life!
Une interrupts my thoughts with a murmured conversation to Treize. I hear the name "Zechs" and stiffen, listening more closely. "... received his call. He's very clear in his threats, Mr. Treize. He's already gathered a small army, and he's declared that he will attack your estate and free Relena unless she is released and this broadcast is recanted by none other than yourself."
Treize smiles a little sadly. "Oh, Milliard," he sighs, not bothering to keep his voice down. "Chivalry will not get you everywhere. Didn't he always tell me that? And where exactly was this call made from? The cockpit of Tallgeese, I haven't the slightest doubt. Heading toward me, toward his sister?"
Milliard Peacecraft, coming here to attack Treize?
Traitor. What a traitor! If you knew that Treize still loved you so much that it ate him alive, that he'd rather embrace you as a brother and a friend, than meet you as an enemy, would you be touched?
Of course not. You were always the steady one, of the two of you. Keeping your General grounded while he let his dreams fly.
And that's why Treize is winning, Zechs. That's why Treize is going to emerge the victor, why you won't even scratch the surface of his shining armour. Treize has all the glorious ideals you lacked from the start, and finally you hated him so much for being your better that you left him. Damn you.
"Back to the tea we go. Time to extricate our beloved Peacecraft," Treize says. "Laren, will you join me?"
"Yes, sir."
Inside the dining room, the guests were beginning to drift off, some heading out to the grounds or the stables in groups, some heading back to their rooms to think and make secret phone calls to associates. Relena is still in her seat, trapped, or perhaps rescued, by the same Contessa I'd bumped into earlier.
The lady was keeping up mostly one-sided chatter, allowing Relena to relax a little after an event that had obviously been difficult for her.
Treize touched Relena's hair and spoke a tender greeting. The Contessa excused herself immediately and wandered off in swish of her wide skirts.
"Shall we go, Relena?" Treize asks. "Your Aunt is going to look after you for awhile. Is there anything special you'd like to do? Anything you want, dear. Just let Une know, and we'll make it happen for you."
"Could I sit with the two of you for a while?" is the quiet, hopeful request.
Treize's face suddenly softens. He smiles, and strokes her hair, caresses her cheek. "Of course, child. I should like nothing more."
My throat constricts when I see how easily this pleases her. Such a little kindness, really, but then, she hasn't had very much kindness from us, has she? With that realisation, I can see, now, the marks that loneliness and fear have left on her. She's too thin and there are circles under her eyes. She lights up when Treize takes the seat the Contessa had vacated and finally pays her the attention she deserves as a person, as a young girl stuck in a big, unfamiliar estate and surrounded by clues to a past she doesn't remember.
What have we done to this girl?
Treize can't stay long, he always has so much to do. But I can see from the look in his eyes that even though he wants me with him, he knows that I want to stay here with Relena a little longer. When he stands, I walk him to the door.
"Sir," I start, under my breath so that no one but he will hear. "Please don't misunderstand..."
"I trust I don't," he replies. There is something a little odd about his smile, and it occurs to me that since he overheard me telling Relena that I would always be her brother this morning, he's been wondering if he can be sure of me.
His next words confirm this. "Do you want to stay behind when the battle begins?"
"Your Excellency?"
"Treize, my lovely one, the name is Treize, and I'm sure you're not unfamiliar with it. I was asking if perhaps you felt you should stay behind and protect our beloved Goddess of Sank."
Slowly I shake my head. Very quietly, but with all my heart, I say, "My place is wherever you decide... Treize... but I would like to remain at your side."
The strangeness of the smile disappears. He steps closer to me, and immediately my heart begins to race. I recognise the look in his incredible eyes. When he leans his head forward and lets his lips brush over mine, I am aware that all talk in the room has abruptly ceased, and all stares are on us. And then I am aware of nothing but Treize, and the sweetness of his mouth on mine.
I know then that I'd die for him in an instant if he asked it. He's kissed me here, in front of all these people who've sniggered up their lace-edged sleeves at him for keeping his pet toys-he's shown them... shown me... that I'm different from all those others.
As I return to the table once he is gone, not even the look of open shock and betrayal on Relena's face bothers me.
It's late. Going to sleep tonight will be hard. So much has happened today. The tea, the kiss, the upcoming battle-it makes my head reel. As much as I try to concentrate on the first and the last of the three, however, all I can really think about is the one that validated my love for Treize.
The kiss.
Maybe I don't hold his heart yet, but I know my General, and I know he would never, ever have done that if he hadn't felt something real for me. It may not be love, I remind myself for the hundredth time that night, as I sit in a chair and begin to brush my hair. But even if it isn't love, and won't ever be, I could live ten lifetimes on that kiss.
The knock at the door pauses the motion of my comb. After a moment, I rise to answer it. It's Treize, not the slightest bit disheveled though midnight is far past. He smiles at me warmly, and asks if he can come in.
"Of course," I say, belatedly, and step aside to let him pass. "Can I ask what brings you here so late?"
Treize settles gracefully into the chair opposite mine. "I didn't get a chance earlier, Laren, but I wanted to tell you how pleased I was with you today. You've more than done your part."
"Please," I start, shaking my head in denial.
"Wait a moment," he commands, lifting a hand to effectively shut me up. More softly, he continues. "I want to say this, Laren, because it is more clear to me than ever that you are truly uncomfortable in the role I have written for you."
"I don't care," I reply, truthfully. "I won't deny that I don't always like it-but I don't blame you. You don't have to worry about that. I understand, Treize."
Something stiff eases out of his shoulders when I say that. Was he really afraid? Of me, for me? Because he thought he might lose me while he was busy saving the world? I want to say something, something grand and wonderful, the way he always does, but nothing comes to mind that doesn't sound childish. But now, here in my room again, looking at him in the dim light without any of the day's distractions, it's like I'm seeing a completely different Treize. Here, with me, he's just a young man, not really much older than me, though sometimes he seems positively ancient.
Here, alone and without his masks, I see in him the same disturbing signs I saw earlier today in Relena-fear and loneliness and paranoia, need and weariness all warring for another piece of him just when he's thought he's given all he could. What kind of man can have the sort of visions that Treize has, and stay sane?
Simple enough... *he* can. And he's come to me, a nobody, for comfort, for something a little like love. I want him more in this moment that I ever have before.
Slowly, I go to him, and kneel before his chair. "You can relax here," I promise him, looking up and smiling at him as I reach around his knee and unbuckle the top strap of his boot. "The world won't stop turning for one night if you take a little break."
His chuckle is permission for me to remove the boot. I set it aside neatly, and then slide the second one off the long stockinged calf. And then I reach up and thread my fingers through his silky ginger-and-cinnamon hair, cupping the back of his head, and tugging it close to mine until our noses brush and we're kissing.
Always before, I've been unsure if I could touch him unless he touches me first.
Control is so important to him, it would almost be a betrayal to take the lead from him. But tonight I want to do exactly that, show him just how different I am, and how wonderful it will be for him to be the receptor of *my* kisses and caresses.
At first, I think I've frightened him. His teeth scrape over my lower lip too roughly, and his fist clenches in the fabric of my shirt uncertainly. After a moment I pull back a little, and whisper, "Shh. It's all right, Treize. Just surrender to me. I swear I'll make it worth it." Without giving him time to reply, I'm kissing him again, coaxing his lips open, tasting the faint tang of alcohol on his tongue as I massage it with mine.
"That's right, my General. That's right." Little breaths of encouragement seem to excite him; how many nights have I heard the same words from his mouth as he instructed me in those unsatisfying intimacies? How many times has he settled for less from me when I would have gladly given him more, if only he'd have imagined I wanted to? I can feel only disgust for his other lovers, who must have denied him even the slightest gestures of affection and left him starving and almost fearful of this closeness.
"That's right, Treize."
His eyes are downcast as I finally break the kiss, his lips flushed from the friction and damp. I press my mouth lightly as the breeze against his lashes, and take my hands from his hair down to his jacket, fingers twisting all the buttons efficiently until I can slip it off his shoulders. He helps me, and catches one of my hands to hold to his cheek.
"Is that better, General?" I ask, smiling at him.
"Sometimes the weight of the uniform is too heavy to bear," he admits gravely. "Laren... "
"Shh, my General. Shh." Another kiss to seal his silence, as I slowly unwind the linen stock wrapped around his neck. Like a noose being lifted away, with every inch removed, a little more life comes into him. When I drop the stock to the floor, he unbuttons his shirt himself, and leaves it open for me. The sight of his skin, slightly paler where the sun cannot reach, taught over muscles that haven't lost the tiniest bit of their solidity despite too much time behind a desk, is so seductive. I feel his hands in my hair as I nuzzle his neck, moving down the line of his breast and nipping lightly at his collarbone. By the time I reach his navel, I'm aware that his arousal has made the tight confines of his white breeches a distinct discomfort. I want skin to touch skin, I want to taste him...
He's pulling away. He doesn't believe I'll go through with what I've started.
Doesn't he realise how much I'm aching for him? I refuse to let him to draw this to a close before I've had a chance to be with him, the way true lovers are together.
"Won't you let me do this?" I ask quietly, looking up at him, settling my hands on his thighs.
He smiles, though it's forced. "You can stop at any time, my dearest one." His fingers trace my cheek. "Do nothing you don't want to."
"But that's just it." Slowly, I trace the bulge of his erection through the fabric of his pants, never losing my hold on his eyes. His eyelids flutter slightly as I work open the fastenings and insinute a hand inside, gripping his member with the heat of my palm and shuddering to feel his excitement. His hips lift under my guidance and I tug at the stiff material until it pools around his ankles and I can toss it aside; I take a moment to shed my own jacket and shirt. I prefer the silk of his skin to the starched uniform any night.
When I take the head of my lord's arousal into my mouth, the shudder that wracks him tells me more than any words how long it's been for him. I ready myself just in time to take the first thrusts of his hips into my throat. No... now he's stopping himself, afraid of hurting me. He's trembling, his body resists his iron will, but the hand that shakily smooths my hair says it won't last long.
"Give it up to me, Treize," I whisper, ghosting my breath across his slicked and leaking hardness. "I want you, all of you." I take him to the hilt in one practised plunge, sucking hard and nipping just a little at the base. The choked gasp that follows that is so heady, and suddenly I feel frenzied excitement merely from giving my beloved this intense pleasure. I do it again, taking all of him, running my hand up his thigh to cradle his sac, then reach under even farther to the heat of his internal passage and slip a finger inside.
"Oh, God, Laren," I hear him whimper. Again he thrusts his hips, helpless between the onslaught of my mouth and my probing digit. He's on the edge... and so am I, as though his ecstacy is mine, sweeping me up... the combination of pressure against his prostate and the torture of my tongue and suckling ends in the explosion of his essence into my throat and a cry that thrills me almost unbearably.
Mine.
Trembling hands pull me into his lap and a hungry mouth comes down on every inch of my face and neck. I kiss him deeply, letting him taste himself in me, the erotic and wonderful completion of my worship of him. As we kiss, I soothe away the last of his tension with tender hands sifting through his hair and stroking his jawline.
Eventually, I feel him fumble as he reaches for the focal point of my own needs. I stop him; it isn't even necessary, and besides... "Tonight is for you, my General."
He shakes his head, not understanding. "But-"
"Another night," I smile. God, yes-a million other nights.
For a while, it's quiet, as we hold each other and wonder at what's passed between us here. The silence is broken by a nuzzle at my ear, and a the merest whisper.
"Would it scare you away if I told you that with the slightest, I do mean slightest, encouragement, I could spend the rest of my life in this moment with you?"
I have to laugh. "Paradise. Nothing would make me happier, Treize." My hand smooths over the firm muscles of his chest.
"Honestly... I'm more afraid that you wouldn't want that."
I hear his frown, and will not allow myself to look up to see it. "How could I possibly not?"
"We're-two very different people." I find it hard to explain suddenly. Where are the words for what I feel? "I'm... not in your league, Treize."
Fingers tilt my chin up just a little roughly, and when I see his expression, I wish to God I hadn't said anything. The stormy glare in the cornflower blue almost makes me shrink back.
"Don't ever think that," he orders me, and the fierceness with which he says it takes me aback. Because I can't bear that look any longer, I lean my head on his shoulder and close my eyes.
"I'm afraid that if I tell you how deeply I've fallen in love with you... " I trail off, unable to finish.
His arms are warm around me. "I'm not afraid."
"You're... not?"
"No." His kisses are moving slowly from my temples through my hair, and his fingers brush my cheek as he re-arranges one silvery lock. "I was afraid. But it's groundless, lovely Laren. You're far beyond what I deserve, but I can only be thankful, as I have no intention of giving you up, now."
Angrily I start to say, "You deserve the best of everything"-and then the last of what he told me sinks in. Almost meekly, I manage to gasp, "You... don't?"
"You've given me such a gift, my dearest one." His cheek presses against mine. He's holding off the sleep he desperately needs to say this to me. "Peace, beloved. For the first time in my life, peace. Completeness. And selfishly, I admit it, I want to keep that feeling... for as long as you'll allow me at your side."
I hope he heard me say "forever," but I'm not sure. I know that he stayed awake long enough to feel the last kiss I gave him as I drew him to the floor and covered him with a quilt. Then I lay beside him, propped up on an elbow to watch him slumber.
Reality won't intrude until the morning, and I know I won't have another chance to do this again for a long time, not with a battle coming.
But tonight was for Treize.
My Treize.
Rhiannon clasped her hands before her. "Lieutenant, may I remind you that you have been asked to keep a *running* narrative? I'm sure whatever you're thinking about is enthralling, but you're standing trial on Earth, young man, not in the clouds!"
Andrews flushed.
Dermail leaned forward, and rapped the table once with his gavel. "Enough, Lady. It's been a long morning. We'll take a short recess, and when we return, the defence can have their turn. Learn to ask questions with briefer answers, in the future."
Treize smirked slightly. His lawyer touched his arm and bent to whisper something in his ear; the General was not paying attention. His eyes were on Andrews.
As the Lieutenant turned and two officers approached the stand to help the young man descend the steps, their gazes met. Only a tiny pause marked the wordless exchange-but Laren held his head high as he was led away from the microphone.
The strategy of the defence was simple. Get Treize on the stand again, and pray that his skill with oration would work the usual miracle with the jury of his peers, all of whom were uncomfortably aware that it was Treize Khushrenada himself who was responsible for their present status, and for the survival of the World Nation.
Andrews studies the many printouts spread before him with eyes that are tired from two days of ceaseless planning. Une is quietly awaiting anything I might have to say; she is better at improvising than my dear blonde friend, and of all people I know that she understands my mindset and will know when to move, even if the plan is not securely fixed in her mind. My other captains are long since dismissed, readying the troops.
Andrews finally says, "You think the alarms tripped in the broadcast computer network was really the rebels? What if it was just some curious crew or journalist? What if we just weren't careful enough?"
"It doesn't matter," I murmur in return. "I trust that it was them. The hacking was carefully done, the signal tracing quick and perfect, which speaks of skill and training-- but again, it doesn't really matter. They are on Earth, and more importantly, they are nearly here."
Une moves to my side. I catch the elusive scent of her perfume, and find it rather comforting. "If the rebels attack us now," she said, "with any luck, it will appear as though they are moving to destroy Relena. And if not, we will *make* it appear so."
Andrews' face is hidden from me by the sweep of pale hair--not that it matters.
His shoulders go rigid under the weight of those words. Perhaps he is more like Milliard than I had thought. Too proud to ask me to save her life, too uncertain of where his duty lay. I am surrounded by children, these gentle children of an era that has coddled them and filled them with ideas about the sanctity of purpose and the purity of the action.
I lean over to lift his chin with gentle fingers. "Laren," I say, addressing by his given name to be sure that he understands my sincerity. "Laren, you have trusted me because I have always worked for the common good. I am still doing so! Perhaps what we have done smells of treachery to you. No, I see in your eyes that I am correct, don't hide from me, dear one. You think I am sentencing the girl to death.
"Perhaps, you are correct. If I have to kill her, Laren, I will. I'll hardly enjoy it. Don't misunderstand that. She's been a helpless pawn here, and her death would be horribly unjust and unclean. But please take in the larger picture, dear one. You remember the history of old Rome, how it fell because it had rotted from within? And the great emperor Caesar Augustus worked for the endurance of his life to resurrect the old Rome, and yet it still died a slow death of decay and corruption. That will not happen with this world that I love. I am no Caesar. But I *am* Treize Khushrenada, and it *is* within my power to change this world and make it strong and whole, and hand it back to the people better than it was before my time."
Une quietly added, "The rebels are an invasive disease. They are fighting for a cause that will be forgotten in the grand scheme. Revenge, freedom from the regime that spawned them, all of it nonsense. We are fighting to unify and strengthen. You understand?"
Poor Laren. Children. All of them children, unable to understand the necessary sacrifices and unable to take the necessary steps.
"Go ready yourself for bed. The Lady and I will be right behind you."
"And tomorrow?" he asks as he rises obediently.
"Tomorrow, we wait. We've done all we can. The next move is theirs."
Treize's lawyer, a short, balding man whose physical presence in no way approached the strength of his defendant's, was smart enough to draw as little attention away from the General's testimony as possible. He did not pace, nor did he raise his voice, as Rhiannon had done. Instead he quietly provided the occasional question to direct Treize's tale in the best direction.
"You received a second message from Zechs Merquise the next day?"
"Yes."
"At what time?"
"0900 hours."
He held up a paper. "The defence submits this transcript of the Count's message as exhibit a-10." He placed it before Treize. "Could you please read the body of this message, General?"
Treize tilted the transcript toward him. "'I stand now on the hills surrounding this estate where you and I played together as boys, Treize. I remember the ringing of the bells in the family chapel, every hour precisely. I hear them now, ringing nine o'clock. Do you hear it too, Treize? That sound is your defeat, tolling ever closer. I may not be the instrument, but I am the driving force behind it.'"
"Thank you." The lawyer retrieved the paper. "When you received this, you ordered your troop of one hundred fifty mobile suits into the field surrounding your estate, correct?"
"Yes."
"You led."
"I did."
"And among those who attacked your private home were the Lightning Count, Zechs Merquise, and men and women of a break-away faction of the old Alliance?"
"Yes."
"Recruited by Merquise to demand the release of Relena Peacecraft?" Treize shifted slightly to a more comfortable stance.
"Not if one judges by the level of preparedness for this attack. The rescue mission was nothing more than a front. The true objective of the attack was my capture, and/or death. The rebels had very easily obtained reports on the number and strength of my personal troops, and the size of their own army indicates careful planning. A rescue mission could have been carried out by just the Tallgeese and a few score of trained pilots. An army of three hundred mobile dolls, in addition to two hundred human-piloted mobile suits, is a force specifically designed to outnumber and crush."
"Objection," Rhiannon interrupted, rising from her chair. "This is one man's opinion."
Treize's lawyer appealed to Dermail. "The General is a trained strategic analyst with a decade of field experience, my lord. His point is valid."
Dermail considered it for a time. "I'll let it pass. Continue."
The lawyer turned back to Treize. "Please describe the battle for us from your perspective, as clearly as you recall, sir."
The first wave of mobile suits never knew what hit them. They were mere home- guards, assigned to watch over what was considered the most secure private estate on the Earth.
The second wave is more alert, more focused, and more deadly. I value my privacy, not to mention my safety, and I do not hire poor pilots to protect my home and my loved ones. Unfortunately, the soulless mobile dolls are cutting through my men like scythes through a wheat field, for Zechs had not scrupled over the issue of mobile dolls as I had. My old friend has troops to waste, and the dolls throw themselves at us with abandon, line after line. It takes a while, but my troops are slowly crumbling.
The air is already thick with explosions and death screams as I re-enter the field, having momentarily quit to recover from a mechanical failure. My Tallgeese II, though repaired, had suffered heavy damage in the attack on Sank and now requires a stronger hand than I am used to. Reaction time is dangerously slow. The remote calm which has always accompanied battle comes over me, and with cool efficiency I open several new views on my Tallgeese's viewscreen to observe the battle. Three times I come within metres of one of Zechs, but each time the flow of the charge sweeps us apart. Mobile Dolls explode all around me, and soon they are followed by suits with living pilots, but still they keep coming. Will this never end?
And then, the most astonishing thing happens. As a unit, the leading rebels break away from my loyal soldiers and charge my home--charge me. The Lady propels her suit gently in front of mine, then shoots forward in that cold eagerness she learned from me. I follow, urging Andrews along.
We meet less than a half-mile from my home.
I can guess which of them will attack me-Zechs, my old friend, Milliard, my one- time companion. There is no guile, no attempt to play with me--no, just a hard, full-on attack. How sad it feels.
"Shall we duel?" he growls, broadcasting the sound openly for all to hear. "You're destined to lose, Treize. Surrender now!"
"I think we both know that won't happen," I reply cooly, adjusting the engine control to fully manual. I will need all my skill to defeat the ace pilot of our generation. An inarticulate snarl accompanies the thrust of his Tallgeese over the distance between us. I prepare for my own launch-and pause fatally in my horror as Laren's suit flashes between mine and Tallgeese. An instant later, and they will engage.
A fury like I have never known comes over me. I am screaming, words that I have rarely uttered tumbling from my lips with such absolute wrath that I am actually trembling even as I realise that in switching to manual, I triggered a shutdown of my secondary engine power. I cannot move.
"Idiot!" I howl, in the precious microsecond before Laren collides with Tallgeese.
"He'll kill you without a second thought!"
Ineffectually I slam a fist onto the console. "Damnit, Laren!"
I will lose him. Another love gone-the only love gone-
The screech of metal and the explosion of sparks on my viewscreen does not even register. Only one imperative mission does-revenge. There is no chance even that I can save my dearest one, but I can kill Zechs for taking his life.
And then all voices are silent, and Tallgeese fills my vision.
"You believed to him to be dead already?" the lawyer asked quietly.
"Or as good as dead." Treize hesitated, his eyes going to the young man.
"Continue, please."
White rage. Black grief. Tears.
I'm sure that I feel all of these, and yet curiously I feel nothing as I watch the most ironic event of my life pass before my eyes in a mere tenth of a minute. Zechs Merquise, my childhood friend and one time confidante, destroying the living, breathing embodiment of his imposter, my young and foolish and lovely and doomed Laren, my lover... One Peacecraft killing another, and the great and terribly irony of it was that Zechs probably had no idea who was in that suit. White rage. Blackest grief. And tears, for the first time I can remember.
His killer is less than a stone's throw away. Come for his darling sister, has he?
Does he know that I could kill her with the depression of a button, destruct my own estate from here and feel *nothing*, absolutely *nothing*?
An eye for an eye. A life for a life. Feel my grief, Zechs.
I reach for the button...
but I don't press it.
*Alright,* that little voice whispers encouragingly. *Alright, so he's gone. Will he die for nothing? Will you make his tragedy worthless? In the end, he stood by you, him and all those other loyal men and women who are on this field and fighting in your name, because they believe the way you believe. Make that worth something.*
Very well, then. There's no one left here to keep fighting, anyway. I don't know if they can hear me, the few who are left of my troops. "Surrender," I say. "Lay down your arms--give them the land. It's just a piece of dirt with blood in it now." And then, privately, to my Lady, I order her to run before they have a chance to detain her. "Stay free at any cost, my dear," I say, and trust that she will.
In stony silence I sit in my suit and wait for someone to come for me. Perhaps five, perhaps ten, minutes pass... something flickers at the edge of my vision. The communications frequency used only by OZ.
My hand moves as if struggling against slow motion. I call up a view screen.
A battered, bloody face smiles at me. /"Treize,"/ the familiar voice whispers.
I close my eyes slowly.
Thank you, God.
"Ladies and gentlemen, what you've seen here in these long hours has been a complete waste of your time." Treize's lawyer stood quietly composed before the Board, hands crossed behind his back, his face serious.
"We've all heard the charges. And I think that we all know, on some level, just how ridiculous they are.
"This man," he said, pointing to General Khushrenada, "is unquestionably one of the most brilliant military leaders that history has seen in some time. Like all great leaders, he is a man of great conviction, and great personal strength, and his honour should be above question. You haven't been presented with any character witnesses, nor, frankly, any witnesses at all. Why? Because there is no way for the prosecution to impeach this man. Now, if I had been the prosecution, I would have looked for a way to appeal to the prejudices of the jury." He turned and looked pointedly at Laren Andrews.
"I would have gone to great lengths to try and turn a man's relationship with his lover into a case for sexual exploitation. And why would I have done this? Because I wouldn't have had anything else to fall back on."
He stepped back a few paces, and leaned a hip against the table that Treize sat behind. "Ladies and gentlemen, this man is a General. He conducts war. That's what he went to school for, that's what taxpayers pay for him to do, and he's good at it-that's why we hired him. Now, this charge of kidnapping and manipulating Relena Peacecraft-shall we take a second to look into that?"
He lifted a hefty book from the table. "This is an encyclopaedia. Specifically, a military encyclopaedia. I have it open to the term 'prisoner of war.' I trust you're all familiar with that. Taking prisoners from the enemy ranks and using them as leverage in negotiation, or in this case, to make a broadcast, however legal, is a standard military custom that has been observed throughout time. It's not a crime."
The lawyer laid the book down, and returned to stand before the ranks of the Board. "In conclusion, I ask you to examine all the evidence that you have seen here today with a skeptical eye. You've been privy to a rather amazingly poorly conducted witch-hunt, ladies and gentlemen. When a battle is lost, the people look for someone to blame for their sorrows, and the easiest target is the man who was supposed to be running the show. Treize Khushrenada. Unfortunately, the prosecution has also chosen to try and drag down another innocent man, Laren Andrews, in their zeal to convict *somebody* for losing the Eastern European front. I urge you to find my defendants not guilty of the charges brought against them." He sketched a short bow, and returned to his seat.
Rhiannon stood composed and calm as she delivered her closing argument. Clearly she considered her closing a mere formality.
The fate of the accused had been decided long before the trial even began. "*I* urge you, lords and ladies of the Board, to be strict and stern in your judgement of these men," she addressed them. "Look at the history of their conduct purely as officers. The sordid nature of their relationship has not been withheld from you. The defence claims otherwise, but that is their job. My job is to bring you the truth." She turned and gestured to Laren. "On the one hand, you see a young, handsome man-using sexual favours to advance his military career. On the other hand, you have a General, a man renowned for his abilities and his intelligence-using this boy, inexperienced and barely older than the legal age of consent, to satisfy his perverse and disgusting desires. You will be the judge of whether or not this was a criminal activity, members of the Board.
"Far worse than this, however, is that the two collaborated, with full knowledge of the consequences, in the kidnapping of Relena Peacecraft of Sank, and proceeded to brainwash her and use her for their own political ends. Do we know everything that happened in the Austrian estate? Don't believe for a minute that we do, my lords. But we can guess. Prisoner of war? Let me tell you something, my lords and ladies. A prisoner of war usually comes from the *enemy* ranks. And I do not need witnesses nor evidence to prove to you that at the time of her kidnapping, Relena Peacecraft had already been admitted to this Board as the ruler of the Sank Kingdom, and become part of the World Nation, the very entity which is superior and executive to Treize Khushrenada."
Each word hit Laren Andrews like a whip-lash. Protests died on his lips as his lawyer laid a hand on his arm. Hurt and confused blue eyes sought out his General.
Treize was gazing coldy out the window. If he even heard Rhiannon's closing, it didn't show. Only the fist clenched in his lap indicated that he was affected at all.
In the back of the room, Relena Peacecraft, reinstated Representative of Sank of the World Nation not two days earlier upon a declaration that her memory had returned sufficiently that her faculties were unimpaired, watched the closing with a troubled heart. Her eyes were on Andrews. Betrayal struggled against the pain of losing the man she'd truly believed to be her brother-the man who had sworn always to love her as a sister.
Rhiannon smoothly concluded her argument. "I ask you, members of the Board, to convict these men on all charges and sentence them as strongly as you can. The blatant disregard for law and moral conduct which these two have evinced cannot be ignored by this court."
Rhiannon's words echoed for a moment in the still room; and then Dermail rapped his gavel.
"The Board will recess," he announced. "When we return, the defence will stand and receive their verdict." He left his dias, and slowly the Board filed out after him.
Relena had to make the walk from the back of the room to join them, and the entire way, she felt the weight of a cornflower blue stare on her. She fully expected it when, as she passed Treize, his hand shot out and caught her arm.
Treize met her eyes deliberately. "I have no intention of asking for leniency for myself," he said, so quietly she almost didn't hear him. His hand on her arm was chill, his hold just slightly too tight to be comfortable. "But I will beg on my knees before you for Laren. Remember, child, that boy was only acting under orders, and he fought me every step of the way. He *did* love you. That much was no charade."
"What do you think I can do to save him?" Relena returned. "His own actions will decide his guilt or innocence."
Treize released her. "It is within your power to intercede for him. If you say nothing, no one will blame you, least of all I. Crimes were committed against you and I do not deny that, not to your face. But save Laren. With all my soul, I ask you to save Laren."
Wordlessly, Relena fled.
Only when he was sure that his blank expression would hold did he turn to look at Laren. Consciously he summoned every ounce of love and adoration that he felt for the young man; consciously he tried to reassure with his eyes, make promises he wasn't positive he could keep.
Laren was frightened. The trial had been especially hard on him, first in watching the games that Treize had played with Rhiannon to keep her from learning the full extent of the events that had passed in the Austrian estate, and then in taking the stand himself, only to have his character picked apart.
Treize, who was more used to the often corrupt politics of Romafeller, had armour that he'd been unable to share with his young lover.
But as Laren looked back at Treize across the court room, something became clear. Laren slowly relaxed, and then he smiled softly. *Whatever happens,* his eyes promised, *whatever happens-it changes nothing between us.*
A half-hour later, the return of Dermail and the Board broke them from the only intimacy they had been allowed since their arrest. Both turned away immediately when the door crashed loudly in opening; both looked disoriented and unsure. Treize stared down at the table to hide his sense of loss and confusion. The sharp rap of his uncle's gavel made him flinch.
"You're both aware of the charges," Dermail said, shifting slightly in his large, throne-like chair. "In the interest of time, I see no need to repeat them. Only those of which you have been found guilty will be read to you. Lieutenant Laren Andrews and his defence, please rise."
Slowly, the young man rose. He was almost serene now that the moment had come.
"Lieutenant Laren Andrews-in *my* opinion," Dermail said, leaning forward, "you are guilty of nothing but a gross error in judgement and the crime of a little ambition."
Surprised, Laren looked uncertainly at the man. "Unfortunately," the Duke continued, "you have in fact committed crimes which cannot be overlooked, whatever your motivation was." Dermail paused. He looked to the long raised platform which had housed the World Nation Board members who served as jury and judges to the two officers; his eyes met Relena Peacecraft's. Expressionlessly she returned the look, her hands folded demurely on the table before her.
Watching closely, Treize narrowed his eyes. Could it be?
Dermail broke the brief contact by looking down to rearrange the papers before him; and Relena casually tilted her head to glance in the General's direction. She looked at Treize, and nodded slightly.
Treize solemnly acknowledged her effort by bowing his head.
"Lieutenant Laren Andrews, you have been found guilty of conduct unbecoming of an officer and of fraud. All other charges have been dismissed. The sentence is ten years in a high-security prison, and you will be provided with the opportunity to lessen your sentence to house arrest through good behaviour."
There was no relief in Laren's face at the lenient sentencing. Instead he turned with a horrified look to Treize as he realised that only one of them would be walking away with such a light conviction.
"General Treize Khushrenada, please stand."
Treize rose gracefully to his feet.
"General, you have been convicted of all charges against you. This court has found you guilty of conduct unbecoming of an officer, of sexual exploitation of officers under your command, fraud, kidnapping, and treason against a member of the World Nation, the Sank Kingdom."
Treize did not appear surprised or alarmed. His expression was almost peculiarly blank, and his eyes seemed far away. Laren, however, was stricken; he stared at Treize in dread.
"However," Dermail added, and paused slightly; "however, there has been a plea for mercy to the defendant in the interest of peace."
The Board had obviously not heard of this before-sharp and angry looks were directed at the Duke from many who had just spent the past minute smirking at their long-time political thorn. "Taking that plea into consideration, it is the judgement of this court that for these crimes the sentence is imprisonment and hard labour on the L1 cluster, specifically colony X-38225. You are to be stripped of your rank, both military and aristocratic, and under no circumstance is your sentence to be lightened. The length of your imprisonment will be determined at a later date, but I feel it necessary to inform you that you must expect no less than fifty years, and quite possibly a life sentence."
Treize lowered his eyes slightly. "It occurs to me, uncle, that a sentence of death would have been more merciful."
Dermail ignored that with some effort. He lifted his gavel. "The business of this court is concluded. You are all dismissed." The retort of the wood banging was like a gun-shot.
Treize accepted the manacles that an older officer rose to place on his wrists; he watched as Laren was handcuffed as well. The two held eye contact for a long moment, Treize dry-eyed, Laren devastated.
Good-bye, the General mouthed.
Laren shook his head helplessly.
And then both were led away.
The young guard opened Treize's cell, and entered carrying a pile of folded clothing. He placed this on the cot which had served as the General's bed for the past two days as preparation was made for his transport to the colony.
Apologetically, the young man said, "General, I'm going to have to ask you to remove your uniform."
Treize smiled slightly. "How humiliating," he murmured softly, running a hand over the coarse material of the clothes he would wear for the rest of his life.
The guard hesitated. "I'm sorry, General. Those are my orders."
"Of course. Allow me just a moment-unless I am no longer to be given privacy to change my clothing."
The guard ducked his head, embarrassed. "Yes, sir." He retreated outside the cell, locking it behind him; the sound of his steps leading him down the hall from the tiny room was reassuring to the man left inside it.
Treize laid his jacket beside his long cape, and sat to remove his boots. Hands that shook suddenly were unable to work the buckles; moments later, he was violently ill in the corner of his cell. When all that was left of the overwhelming sense of defeat was dry heaves and faint dizziness, Treize returned to the cot and grimly finished dressing.
For a moment, his fingers lingered on the deep navy cloth of his General's uniform. Then he straightened his shoulders, and lifted his head. Slowly, he transformed himself from a ragged prisoner who faced a lifetime of punishment for crimes he would never believe he had committed and a lifetime of separation from the last and best lover.
He became the man he had always been, a man of strength and confidence, a man who believed in justice and would face it with his chin held high.
He turned to the door of his prison and said, "I'm ready."
The End
A pic of Laren Andrews
(:./erin/actone)
