29-Apr-2001
Pairings: None
Part: 1/? (maybe)
Warnings: Angst.
I don't own Gundam Wing.
Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee,
All through the night;
Guardian angels God will send thee,
All through the night;
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,
Hill and vale in slumber sleeping,
I my loving vigil keeping,
All through the night.
Gideon yawned and leaned against his mother's shoulder, snuggling closer. Rough, calloused fingers combed through his hair, brushed against his cheek. Her nightshirt was soft and worn, patched over many times as were most of her clothes. Gideon's were the same; sewn out of whatever scraps she could manage to get her hands on.
He was sleepy and content tonight. Someone had given them a load of potatoes and it was one of the few times he had been able to eat as much as he wished. There had been enough for his mother as well; for when food was scarce she gave most of it to him, only eating enough to keep herself alive. She was small as a result, appearing more frail than she actually was.
Their home had once been a Gypsy wagon, for his mother had once traveled with the wild band. On warm nights they would often sit on the steps together, and she would tell him stories of the places she had been and the things she had seen. If she wasn't too tired she would teach him some of the dances from her childhood. She would spin around in the moonlight, her threadbare skirts flying out around her ankles, and Gideon would laugh and clap in delight.
Her days were spent in the house of a near-by farm, cooking and cleaning and mending. Gideon, now that he was four, helped out as well, fetching water from the well and feeding the chickens.
He didn't like the farmer and his wife, who treated him like he was something dirty. Dela's bastard. He didn't know what a bastard was, and he had never gotten up the courage to ask his mother. He just knew that it must be something very bad, for the farmer's children were not permitted to play with him. Once when he had accidentally brushed against one she had shrieked as if burned and ran to scrub her flesh raw. He had made it an effort to avoid all of them ever since.
He rarely spoke to anyone except his mother, for her eyes never held any scorn or contempt, only love.
He had asked her once why she no longer lived with the Gypsy band and her hand had tightened around his arm for a moment. "Tis for the best I left." she said at last. "My roving days are over, my son." He knew there was more; he knew there had to be more, but she had not talked about it since, and seeing the subject upsetting to her, neither had he.
Tonight, he was nearly asleep when she stood up to carry him to his own small bed. It was because of this that he did not register the hoofbeats at first. Only the tension that turned his mother solid brought him awake again.
"Mama?" he asked.
With a crash the door of their wagon fell to the floor.
Another woman might have screamed, but Dela stood tall, holding her little boy close. "It's okay, Gideon." she muttered. "Sh, it's okay."
Two men stepped into the tiny wagon, filling a good portion of it. The boy's eyes widened; he had never seen men that large. They were dressed in leather armor, with swords at their hips. They also smelled like the horses that had just carried them here, and his nose wrinkled. He pressed closer to his mother.
"That's the one." the first man turned to his partner. "That's him."
"No!" Dela's arms clenched around the boy. "Leave us alone."
The second man walked forward and with a savage jerk ripped Gideon from his mother's arms, tucking the child under his own. "Let's go."
"NO!!!!" Dela launched herself at the soldier. Gideon cried out in rage as a large fist connected with his mother's head and she slumped to the floor of the wagon, unmoving.
"MAMA!" Gideon struggled in the soldier's grasp, trying to bite the man, trying to free himself. A blow to his own head silenced him, and the soldiers left the wagon, returning with their prize to the waiting horses.
He awoke to the smell of smoke.
The soldiers had made camp in the woods. The stars were still out but the sky in the distance was just beginning to lighten. He rubbed his head, and took in his surroundings.
The fire was almost out, and his captors were asleep near it, using their saddles as pillows. A thick rope had been tied around Gideon's wrist, and was wrapped around the wrist of the bigger man. He did not know that they had discussed binding him tighter but had decided against it, reasoning that a four year old boy would be too frightened to run off into the forest alone even if he did awaken.
They did not know Gideon. He had often roamed the woods with Dela, gathering wild mushrooms and herbs, snaring rabbits. He did not know these woods, or where he was, or where they led, but right now they seemed a lot more inviting than staying with strangers who had hurt his mother.
His small fingers tugged at the knot around his wrist and it came loose easily. He scooted away from his captors carefully, holding his breath the entire time, edging toward the line of trees. Once in them, he broke into a run.
It was not easy. He had been dressed for bed when he had been taken, so his feet were bare, and his nightshirt caught on tree branches. Too young to be modest, he slipped out of it and ran naked through the brush, not knowing where he was going, following a primitive instinct to flee the unknown danger the soldiers presented.
But the strength of Gideon's heart outweighed the strength of his body. He slowed down after a while, his bare legs and feet torn and bloody, his head dropping low. He still pressed onward, deeper into the forest, but he fell often now. The bruise on his head ached and his vision swam. Finally he toppled forward into the dead leaves, unconscious once more.
He was unaware when a shadow fell over him, nor did he feel himself being lifted and cradled, and he did not hear the soothing words whispered in his ear.
He was laid sometime later in a soft straw bed, and words were spoken over him, guaranteeing that he would not awaken. His torn skin was cleaned, his bones probed to make sure none were broken. A shirt far too large for one so little was placed over him to cover his nakedness, and a warm meat broth was coaxed into his throat. A gnarled hand touched his hair gently.
"When you awake, Small One, you'll remember none of this. None of who you are or where you are from. Forgive me, but it must be this way. You must live, Small One. You must survive, and there are those here who want very badly for that not to happen. You must go now, go where you will be safe, go where you can grow up into manhood. Then, then you will return to us and claim what is yours by right." She kissed his forehead.
"Mama." he muttered in his sleep, and the old woman's eyes filled with tears.
"I'll take him now." Said a voice behind her.
"You will be good to him?" her resolve faltered.
"His life will be far easier with me than the alternative..."
"Take him then." She moved away, and watched the man pick up the little boy. "Farewell, Gideon." She kissed her fingers and touched them to his cheek. "God keep you safe."
The man snorted and walked toward the cabin door, Gideon small in his arms. The old woman watched them vanish into the morning mists and then with a sigh went to start her daily chores. "Be safe, little Gideon." she whispered. "For in you, in the man you become, so do we all live or die."
End Part 1
(:./lasha/night1)
