Book II of  The Lilac Princess

By Lady Dante

Chapter 8

“Incoming message for you, ma’am. Line four.”

Lady Une acknowledged her underling with characteristic coldness and dismissed the boy with a sharp wave. She was right in the middle of planning her next mission and had no wish to be disturbed. Outwardly, she was to be the delegate at an upcoming Alliance conference. Secretly, she was under orders by Romefellar to eliminate a certain major general who was making noise about the Specials’ rise in popularity among the people. She took no particular pleasure in that aspect of the job, but it was necessary and she was pretty damned good at it. Every successful mission completed brought her one step closer to promotion. Every rise in rank lifted her upward towards the proverbial glass ceiling that kept members of her gender out of the highest offices of Romefellar. Une had every intention of shattering that glass ceiling and was well on her way of accomplishing that goal.

Her position as His Excellency’s second, at first merely a stepping stone, proved to be fundamental to Une’s goals. The duke had proven himself an extraordinary leader, well deserving of the high regards of his peers. Her own trust was not so easily won, but once given, nearly intractable. Treize Kushrenada had earned her respect and Une’s loyalty to the rising star was now cemented. As he rose, so did she.

The Lady finally condescended to answer the call and activated the comlink. To her surprise it was not a live link, rather an encoded text message awaiting her security clearance. Une quickly input the proper information and waited for the message to decode. It was a plain communication, two sentences long, but the impact was immediate. She cleared the screen, leapt up and barked for her assistants. She quickly ordered one to contact the Alliance conference organizers and inform them she would not be attending. The other was dispatched to ready her shuttle. All necessary arrangements made, Une headed for her quarters to pack.

Upon arrival, she ordered her two startled maids to gather her things immediately, then quickly sent out an order for all of Treize’s officers to return to the Brussels base. She began to gather her papers and other Specials official communiqués, all the while reeling from the news. The message was a simple announcement of the death of a decorated Specials captain as a result of a terrorist attack on a civilian residence on colony X-18999. It held no personal significance for her, but she feared His Excellency’s reaction to his brother’s death.

It was an open secret among the aristocracy that the late Duke had another son, but it was never discussed, not even by the bored noblewomen whose only joy arose from gossip. Une did not recall ever actually being told about the connection, but it seemed obvious given the striking resemblance between the two men. A resemblance so remarkable, in fact, that the younger man had been mistaken for the duke on many occasions. Therein lay the Lady’s reasons for hastening her return. If it were simply a random act of terrorism, then there was little worry, but there were two other likely possibilities. First, there was the likelihood the bomb was indeed meant to kill His Excellency’s brother, to send a warning to Mr. Treize. The other, and to Une, more dangerous possibility was mistaken identity. Lady Une’s best guess was that the duke was the target and his brother was a victim of genetics. If that be the case, she needed to return to Mr. Treize immediately. She needed to be there to offer her support during his time of loss. Most importantly, she needed to be there to protect him.

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            It was such a lovely dream. She couldn’t quite put her finger on why it was a lovely dream, but Noin was loathe to give it up. Maybe it was simply the absence of confusion and terror that so often  accompanied her sleep. Whatever the cause, she clung to the hazy warmth of sleep as possible, ignoring the faint beeping that continued to intrude upon that comforting, fuzzy world between total oblivion and the dreaded moment of complete consciousness. The beep became steadily louder, prying into her delicious peace by degrees until it could be ignored no longer. She reached up with a heavy arm and slapped at the comlink by her bed until she managed to activate the call button.

“Hello?”

The word was terribly muffled by the pillow Noin had over her head but was evidently loud enough for the caller to make out and he answered in kind.

“Good morning, Noin. Looking fine as usual.”

The familiar male voice brought Noin to full consciousness in two seconds flat. She cowered under the pillow, gathering courage before peeking out to meet the familiar ice blue gaze of Zechs Merquise. She ran her fingers through her tousled hair, trying to make herself reasonably presentable as she looked up to the com display. Noin swallowed hard as she caught her first glimpse of Zechs framed in the small screen. Obviously fresh from the shower, he toweled his long hair for a moment then tossed the linen out of view and hunched towards the screen. Noin stared a moment. Zechs was shirtless, damp hair clinging to his forehead and shoulders in thin tendrils. Small residual beads of water meandered along his neck and down the well defined muscles of the young man’s chest. Noin swallowed again before daring to speak.

“Good morning yourself. To what do I owe the pleasure of this obnoxiously early call?”

“We are to report to His Excellency’s headquarters immediately.”

“Did he say why?”

“She, actually--Lady Une’s order--and, no, she didn’t elaborate.”

“Une?” Noin couldn’t keep the derision out of her voice at the revelation. “That can’t be good.”

“Agreed,” Zechs nodded, frowning. “It feels like we’re being gathered to form a united front.”

“Lining all of His Excellency’s pretty soldiers in a row.”

“Exactly.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“Me, too.”

“Well,” Noin shrugged and tilted her head,  “I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.”

Zechs nodded and reached up to slick back his hair, giving Noin full view of his fine features. There was a slight pink glow to his skin which she presumed to be the result of a particularly hot shower. He liked to take hot showers after his morning workout. His skin was still covered with a thin layer of moisture. He was probably about to put on his aftershave. She loved the smell of his aftershave. It always reminded her of the kiss they shared on their fifteenth birthday. Noin sat up straighter and tried to push those thoughts out of her mind, acutely aware of the heat rising to her cheeks.

Noin had come to accept the fact that she was physically attracted to Zechs. It had not been an easy admission to make to herself, but she did finally realize that there was nothing wrong with what she felt. Soldier or not, she was a woman as well and it would be strange for her not to react in such a way to the handsome young man, even if she had known him most of her life. If her heart occasionally skipped a beat when he approached, what of it? So she blushed from time to time when they brushed up against each other in passing, it didn't change anything. Not that it was easy to ignore those feelings. Every single time Zechs would lean down to make a comment for her ears only and his soft breath warmed the skin of her neck, it was all Noin could do not to tremble in delight. Most young women who saw him responded to his looks with varying degrees of lustful avarice. At least Noin didn't openly drool over Zechs. Well…not when anyone was paying attention.

Sometimes, usually in the early morning, Noin would watch Zechs taking a walk or having his exercise and marvel at his beauty. He stood at just under six feet in height and was still growing. His slender body was lean and strong from constant activity, yet there was a grace in his movement that belied the power in his limbs. His long, platinum hair always seemed to dance with light, as did his eyes…when she could see them. That damned mask made its appearance more frequently as the young man’s notoriety grew among Romefeller’s elite. Away from the meddlesome nobility, Zechs had taken to wearing his dark aviator glasses almost constantly, ostensibly for convenience, but Noin suspected it was to avoid holding anyone's gaze for very long. Wearing the sunglasses nonetheless gave him an air of  masculine dignity mixed with just a hint of cockiness. All of their young troops looked to Zechs to set the example for how they behaved, how they dressed, how they drank their coffee, everything. It was hero worship at its finest and Noin was first in line. Although, she hoped she was a bit more cool in her admiration than the others.

When Noin found herself looking at her friend with such feminine admiration, her thoughts invariably bent towards how their relationship might change if she ever told him. It was not something she ever seriously considered doing, but wondered about anyway. How did Zechs feel about her? They had long since moved beyond the sibling rivalry they shared as children, but had he let go of that image of her completely? Yes, they had shared their first experimental kiss. Once or twice Zechs had allowed her the comfort of an friendly embrace, but all of those instances were spread out over two years. Three gestures of affection in all that time. He was not a physical person in that respect, never really had been, but if he felt more for her than camaraderie, wouldn't Zechs show some sign? It was not uncommon to look up and find the young man leaning in the doorway, waiting to be noticed or sometimes staring at her in an odd way, as though studying her.

“Noin?”

The young woman was wrenched from her meandering thoughts by the very object of her musings. “Huh?”

Zechs frowned slightly and repeated his question, “I asked if you can return to base by two o’clock?”

“Sure.” Noin glanced at her watch, more in an attempt to hide a blush than to ascertain the time. “I can be on a plane in an hour. Meet you at the airstrip?”

“I’ll be waiting. Zechs out.”

            The nanosecond the screen was blank and the connection cut, Noin flopped on her back and pulled her pillow back over her head to stifle a groan. Why did she do this to herself? Between her nice evenings with Paolo and the shirtless image of Zechs on her comlink, Noin felt she would burst. To her horror, she found herself becoming one of those swooning, asinine females she had always held in contempt. Her duties, her studies, her career. Those were the things in which she prided herself, not silly visions of romance. Yet, here she was, flushed and flabbergasted, unseemly thoughts streaking through her mind too quickly for her to stop. After a moment, she started laughing. This was so not her. Lieutenant Lucretzia Noin--pilot, leader, diplomat--succumbing to lustful thoughts about her two oldest friends. The fact that she could harbor such feelings about two young men who were so very different confused the hell out of her. Nothing in her years of military training, none of the political etiquette lessons she endured over the past few weeks, nothing she had been taught by OZ prepared her for those feelings. She had no idea what to do about it. 

It wasn’t terribly difficult to deal with what she felt for Paolo. Somehow it seemed rather normal to be attracted to the dark eyed young man. When they were living in Livorno, it was assumed that the natural course of their lives would bring them together. It was amazing after so many years and the vast differences in their circumstances that he should still be part of her life, but also expected in a way. They made sense. A brilliant young man with a future and a…what? Noin wasn’t certain how to finish her own thought. In Rome she wasn’t a soldier, she was a politician, or at least studying to be a politician, but was that really any better than being a lieutenant in the military? She never gave much thought to what she really wanted to do with her life. She had once entertained the idea of being an astronomer, but Noin never had the opportunity to make that choice for herself and rarely contemplated the idea. If it were possible, would she indeed wish to stay in Rome? Become a normal student, sing in the choir, have a boyfriend? All of that would mean leaving Zechs.

Zechs.  Talk about  confusing emotions. One day he was simply her buddy and friendly adversary. The next he was the Lightening Count, a charismatic leader, steady and self-assured. A man who could rouse the hearts of troops to such a frenzy of pride that they would follow him into Hell. Then there were moments such as that morning when he was something all together different and alien.  It wasn’t the easy relationship she enjoyed with the carefree Paolo, but she and Zechs had a long, painful history. There was a bond there that reached far beyond friendship, a bond that had existed for as long as she could remember. That wasn't something that could be disregarded. He wasn't simply a good friend, she felt as though Zechs was part of her somehow, though Noin wasn’t quite certain what to make of that feeling or what it meant to Zechs. Whether what they felt for each other ever developed into something else, it would always be there, binding them together, regardless of who might come and go in their lives. Of course, knowing that didn’t make the situation any less confusing. Two boys, two kisses, two entirely different versions of her life. What was she supposed to do?

“Do your duty and leave the rest to God.” Noin mumbled to herself from beneath the pillow.

Right now her duty was with OZ. The idea of leaving the military and staying in Rome was tempting to be sure, but it was not realistic. She had, over the years, come to believe in OZ and what the organization could accomplish. Her need for vengeance had dissipated with her youth and been replaced with a sense of duty. Noin wanted to be part of what was to come. She wanted to help bring a true and lasting peace to the world so that no other child had to travel in loneliness and despair as she had so many years ago. Being a soldier was a harsh, unyielding and contrary to her very nature, but it was in pursuit of a better future and she could help make that happen. She would remain as she was, a dedicated knight of OZ, for just a bit longer. Not just to support Zechs, not just to hide from her past, but because she was good at it and it gave her the opportunity to make a difference. Noin wanted a purpose, she wanted to believe.

With a sigh, Noin heaved herself out of bed and headed for the bathroom, calculating how much time she would have to say good bye to Sister Marguerite and Paolo. She could shower and dress in no time. She brought very little, so packing would not be a problem. Saying goodbye once again, especially since she was forced to leave without warning, that would be the hard part. Noin knew, though, that things would be different this time. Now she had a place to return to if the wars became too much or her duties weighed too heavily. If she ever changed her mind about OZ or if the world finally came to its senses and peace was a reality, she had this place to return to. She could always go home.

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It was difficult for Lady Une to imagine that it had been a week since her hurried return to His Excellency’s residence. The aftermath of the bombing on colony X-18999 had been as harsh as expected, but also quite surprising. In the days following, Romefellar, Treize in particular, set about canonizing the victims as they vilified the murderers. It made sense. A noble young officer killed alongside a young mother, a member of the powerful Barton clan no less, was prime material for the public relations division of Romefellar. It was the perfect opportunity to solidify the popularity of the Specials among the people of Earth. What troubled Une was not the opportunism of OZ, but her commanding officer’s lack of concern.

She stood at a respectable distance as His Excellency, Treize Kushrenada, received various members of the OZ elite. The pre-service reception lagged on for more than two hours already and was scheduled to last another. Such gatherings were tedious on a good day, but the present circumstances rendered the event even more unpalatable that day. She watched Mr. Treize expertly glide through the crowd, attending to each and every guest with his trademark charm. Anyone observing His Excellency would have trouble determining if the death of his best officer had any affect on him whatsoever. Une knew, however, that the loss was more devastating than he let on. She could see the subtle signs, the light circles under his eyes indicating sleeplessness, the increase in his alcohol intake, the uneaten meals left in his quarters. He was in pain, but could not afford to show it. The ceremony of his title forced him to hide the loss of his brother under layers of social decorum and forced etiquette.

            She couldn’t imagine what it must be like not to acknowledge your own kin, though she was somewhat familiar with the awkwardness of never knowing one’s father. Her aunt was a kind and loving guardian who never tired of telling the young woman of her late mother, but her father was a different matter. Une never knew anything of him and learned early on not to ask. She suspected some scandal involved, perhaps an imprudent elopement or no marriage at all, but could never determine why her aunt was so evasive. Whatever her origins, Letitia never once made Une feel less than loved and respected. She was treated no differently among the nobility than any other young woman of her rank. The idea of being rejected because of the circumstances of one’s birth was foreign to her. Of course, that might have something to do with her gender.

            As much as she liked to think OZ and Romefellar were oblivious to the stereotypes of gender, the bias did still exist. If anything good could be said of the Alliance, it was that gender played no part in promotion. Romefellar’s strict adherence to old codes, however, often resulted in a strong division between men and women. Generally, this worked against ambitious women such as Lady Une, but in the matter of inheritance, it was often the opposite. Johnny could not be openly acknowledged for the simple fact that it complicated the line of succession for the Kushrenada titles. Une only formally met Johnny once, but had observed the brothers together on many occasions. They were obviously close, but the barrier of rank and social station must have had some impact. The young duke could not even claim his brother in death. What must it be like, she wondered, for His Excellency to be denied the simple privilege of mourning his brother openly? She did not know how it felt and had no way of determining how it might affect her superior officer, so Une pledged to remain close and watch carefully for any sign that he might need her assistance. Even the cool, sophisticated Treize Kushrenada had his breaking point.

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            Johnny was dead.

            The memorial service was one hour away, if it could be called a memorial service. To Zechs Merquise it smacked more of a three hour recruitment commercial for the Specials. It was to be a grand display, worthy of one of OZ’s most decorated young leaders. No less than seven speakers were scheduled, all no doubt anxious to hold the young man up as an example of dedication and sacrifice. Follow us and you too can die a hero’s death. Statues would be erected, plaques engraved to commemorate the dead hero, schools renamed in his honor so that no one would forget. Martyrdom had its perks. Zechs grimaced as the razor he was using once again sliced a tiny groove in his cheek. That was the third nick this morning. His hands were shaking again. When he learned of Johnny’s death, Zechs had to clutch his hands in tight fists to quell the trembling. A week later and he couldn’t seem to get a handle on himself. It still felt as though someone shoved a sword in his gut.  The lieutenant wasn’t used to feeling so unnerved and he hated the sensation, but the whole situation was so unexpected. Johnny was a soldier, his death should have been in honor on a battle field, not snuffed out by a coward’s bomb.

            Zechs finally gave up shaving and finished buttoning his shirt, taking a deep breath to calm himself. Death surrounded him since he was a small boy. Zechs wondered at his ability to be shocked by it now. His entire life was about death. Oh, he dressed it up in duty and honor, pretended it was unavoidable and necessary to protect the weak, but deep down he knew better. He was meant for this, destined to death and destruction, war and blood. He couldn’t avoid it even when he tried. Another friend dead. Zechs stared at himself in the small mirror above the sink, gazing into his own eyes. He did not see the pained expression of a young man mourning the death of a surrogate brother. Instead, he saw his father staring back with scorn.

            “Remember who you are, son. We are Peacecrafts.”

Peacecraft. The very name was such a contradiction when applied to him. Zechs had little to do with peace, nothing to do with his father’s non-violent teachings. He rejected the name not only to hide himself, but because he could no longer claim the honor. The heir to Cinq was dead. The crown would one day pass to someone truly worthy of the name. He would liberate, she would lead. Relena would take his place and live up to their father’s ideals. Releana would restore all that men like her brother tore down. Zechs stiffened and glowered at his reflection. No, he could not even call himself her brother any longer. The boy she knew as Milli, the loving brother who created fantastic worlds and adventures for her was no longer. An ironic smile curved the edge of his lips as he recalled all of the fairytale imaginings from his childhood. It was so exciting back then to imagine himself in battle with trolls and evil wizards. Rescue the princess, save the kingdom, go home for lunch. It all seemed so benign. He understood the reality now and cringed at his childish fantasies of glory. He wished he could go back in time and talk some sense to the boy he had been. Slap the simple, trusting Milli hard across the face to teach him a lesson before it was too late, before the Alliance had the chance to knock that out of him.

The young man looked at his hands, rubbing fingers together roughly before bending over the sink and violently wrenching the hot water faucet. As the warm water quickly heated to near scalding, Zechs soaped his hands, scrubbing between every finger, under every nail, until the skin was raw and red. He thrust his hands under the hot stream and grit his teeth at the familiar burning sensation. He repeated the action twice more before satisfying himself that his hands were clean and finally grabbed a hand towel, further irritating the now sensitive flesh. 

Zechs tucked in his shirttails and  put on the heavy red wool coat that marked his station and rank. He was no longer a prince, but somehow could not escape the trappings. Heavy gold braid, brass buttons, polished pewter buckles. The patent leather of his boots held a high gloss, his ceremonial saber clanked against his leg when he walked. Somewhere along the way he had turned into a caricature of the swashbuckling cavalier he pretended to be at age five. He cut quite the romantic figure now. He was a pilot and a knight. Everything he wished himself to be as a boy. The young lieutenant walked out into the bedroom to retrieve the last item he needed to be completely dressed. He picked up a silver mask, polished within an inch of existence, and held it at arm’s length. Once again his reflection caught his gaze and held it mercilessly. His face was distorted by the curves and sharp angles of the finely crafted helmet, almost as though mocking the handsome man’s fine features. The pointed nose guard cut a sharp line across his face as the small glass windows completely obscured his eyes. Appropriate and ironic, he decided, that this view of himself should be without eyes, the windows to the soul.

The five-year-old Milliardo Peacecraft would have loved the idea of wearing a mask and the romantic idea of hiding his identity from the world. The grown Zechs Merquise felt like a coward. He didn’t want to hide from his enemies, he wanted them to see who he was, to fight them with the full understanding of who brought their doom. Treize insisted, however, that his revenge be calculated and timed perfectly. If he was to indeed avenge his family, he must coolly wait for the proper opportunity. Zechs found this increasingly difficult the older he got. Every new step up the chain of command brought him into closer contact with the Alliance officers who destroyed his family. Sometimes he wondered if Treize did that on purpose, if he got some sick thrill out of dangling these men in front of his protégé, just to see what would happen. Once, Zechs actually had to shake hands with one of the men present at his father’s assassination. It took every ounce of self control not to draw his saber and slice the man open right there, but a gentle hand at his elbow stayed such violent thoughts and Zech managed to leave without incident.

            A light knock at the door and the soft sound of a female voice calling his name from the corridor pulled Zechs from his morbid thoughts. Speak of the devil, he mused. The owner of that gentling hand was now waiting for him in the hall. Noin. As horrid as the day would be, at least Noin would be there beside him.

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            Lady Une sat on the dais behind His Excellency and carefully scanned the large crowd packed into the cathedral. She had ordered extra security precautions be taken during the funeral but still she refused to relax. It was clear to her now that the bomb was indeed intended for Duke Treize and not his brother. Une was more determined than ever to guard her commander with all due diligence and then some. As it turned out, the memorial continued smoothly as did every other  function attended by Mr. Treize there after. Perhaps, she theorized, the bomb was a last minute effort prompted by the young officer’s uncanny resemblance to his elder brother. If it was simply an attempt to take advantage of an apparent opportunity, then it was unlikely another plan was in the works, at least for the time being.  In any event, Une’s vigil by His Excellency’s side did not end with the funeral.

The Lady remained by his side for weeks after, not just as his personal aid, but now also as his clandestined bodyguard. Une observed him closely over those weeks, noting the subtle change in His Excellency. She doubted anyone else would notice the small differences, but she knew and that was all that mattered. He took fewer visitors as the days progressed, canceling one engagement after another, making excuses to avoid important meetings. The only guest he seemed to welcome with any equanimity was Lieutenant Merquise. Their meetings were generally of some length and involved the consumption of large quantities of cognac, but afterwards, Mr. Treize always seemed in better spirits. Une was somewhat relieved that His Excellency was spending time with his former ward, hoping that the meetings provided some familial solace, but these hopes proved too ambitious.

One afternoon she returned to the plush suite of  Mr. Treize’s office and heard the unmistakable voices of  the duke and the lieutenant arguing loudly. That is to say, Lieutenant Zechs was uncharacteristically loud. The duke’s voice was as even and low as always. Lady Une was not given to eavesdropping, at least not with His Excellency, but it was all but impossible not to hear some portion of the argument. The gist of the disagreement escaped her, but it had something to do with the young count’s position in OZ. It ended with the normally cool Lieutenant Merquise storming out, not to return for some time. If the fight had any disturbing affect on His Excellency, he did not outwardly indicate so. His demeanor did not change. His mask of refined class and sophistication remained eerily intact. He seemed to be dealing with recent events remarkably well.

Two months later, he finally broke.

            It started at an insignificant meeting of Romefellar’s general membership. The duke was one of the scheduled speakers, last on the agenda. As always, Mr. Treize spoke with eloquence on the role of the nobility in modern society, of a return to past graciousness yet the need to press forward. Halfway through the presentation. Une, ever watchful from the wings, began to note a tightness in the young man’s voice, a rigidity in his bearing. She watched with increasing alarm as Mr. Treize slowly made a fist behind the podium, squeezing his fingers into his palm so tightly as to appear painful. As he concluded and the audience erupted in applause, Treize seemed to grow tense. His smile was forced, the wave of acknowledgement too sharp. He turned and briskly walked off stage where he was greeted by a swarm of female well wishers. Une expertly waded through the see of taffeta and lace until she reached His Excellency’s side. She announced loudly that he was expected elsewhere and boldly took his elbow, guiding him out of the meeting hall and into his waiting car.

            The ride back to his residence was deathly quiet. His Excellency did not even look at her. He simply stared out of his window with a strangely calm expression. When the car came to a stop, he exited without waiting for the servant to open his door and headed straight for his study. Une followed quietly, uncertain as to whether she had overstepped her position and angered His Excellency or if he was indeed as overwrought as she believed. If the latter were true, she could not leave him alone so followed him into the study but remained by the door so as not to intrude anymore than necessary. If Mr. Treize noticed her presence, he made no indication. The young man simply poured himself a stiff drink and quickly drained it then proceeded to pour another.

The refill remained in the glass as His Excellency slowly walked to the plate-glass picture window that spanned the wall behind the oak desk. He stood staring out at nothing, glass in hand, unmoving. Daylight was beginning to fade but was still strong enough to highlight the man’s neatly groomed hair. Une was suddenly taken back to their first meeting. He was so confident and deservedly so. No one had as much right to self confidence than the man standing before her. He bore the burdens of leadership on strong and willing shoulders, never faltering in his beliefs, never failing in his quest. He was going to be all right, Une decided as she turned to go.

Before she reached the door the startling sound of breaking glass stopped her in her tracks. She whirled around to see His Excellency clutching the broken shards of his goblet in his fist. The blood from his injured hand now soaked through his crisp white glove and began to drip onto the toe of his immaculately polished boots. His face betrayed nothing. His stare was as blank as before, his posture as rigid. Une dashed forward and grasped the man’s wrist, pressing on a specific spot on at the base of his palm. It was a pressure point that would weaken the muscles in his hand, hopefully enough for the shards of crystal to fall away. This was normally a defensive move used in hand-to-hand combat. Une never dreamed she would have to use it on her commanding officer.

Her action produced the desired effect and His Excellency’s hand went slack. Lady Une carefully removed the remaining slivers and gingerly peeled away the torn and stained glove. There were several small gashes crisscrossing the man’s palm, but none seemed exceptionally deep. She looked up at Mr. Treize, searching for some sign of recognition, but found only an emotionless stone. She called his name. No response. Une retrieved a towel from the adjoining bath and wrapped His Excellency’s hand tightly. Once again she took his arm, this time guiding him out of the study and upstairs to his private chamber as she quietly issued orders to the shocked servants.

The first night was the most difficult. Une managed to rid him of his uncomfortably elaborate uniform jacket and boots. She coaxed the unresponsive man into laying down and set about properly tending his wounded hand. She cleaned the cuts, picking out tiny bits of glass, then disinfected and bandaged his hand. Through out the entire operation, Mr. Treize did not flinch, did not react. He flung his other arm across his eyes and simply lay on the velvet bedspread, unmoving. Lady Une sat in a chair near the bed and watched all night as her commander fell into an uneasy sleep. She watched as he tossed and mumbled through nightmares. All night, she watched.

The next morning, when he seemed to finally have become more restful, she walked into the bathroom to see if she needed to straighten herself up a bit. One glance in the mirror told her everything she needed to know. Her mascara was smudged, her lipstick all but gone and small wisps of hair had pulled free of the tight braids at the nape of her neck. Sighing at her decidedly unglamorous reflection, Une set about washing her face and freeing her hair from its bonds. She finger combed her shoulder-length hair as best she could and put on her glasses. The young woman ran a hand over her uniform in a futile effort to smooth out the many wrinkles, but decided it was a lost cause and removed the coat altogether. She tugged at her undervest, then returned to find Mr. Treize sitting on the edge of his bed, shoulders hunched in an unnatural air of defeat. She almost gasped at the sight. This was not right. This was not the man she knew. This was a shell. She could not-- would not allow this to happen to His Excellency.

First order of business was a bath. She filled the spacious tub and convinced Mr. Treize to partake. The young man followed obediently but Une ended up undressing him and helping him into the warm soapy water, carefully averting her gaze with as much dignity as she could muster. After a few minutes, the duke seemed to finally relax and enjoy the warm water, but still did not acknowledge his surroundings. Afraid to leave him alone when he remained in a near catatonic state, Une unceremoniously knelt by the tub and began to wash him, soaping and rising his well-muscled body with an almost clinical efficiency. She would not take the time to admire his physique, it wouldn’t be proper and Une would not take advantage of the circumstances, no matter how tempting. She shampooed his thick hair, using more tenderness than she thought herself capable of and helped him out of the bath and into his robe.

His Excellency was clean, but not quite groomed, so she sat him in a chair by the huge antique sink and prepared to give him a shave. With a  light touch, she applied a thin layer of lotion then picked up the old-fashioned straight razor Mr. Treize insisted on using. Une sighed inwardly as she skillfully began to glide the blade along His Excellency’s unblemished skin. She could never could quite understand why her aunt insisted she learn how to shave a man. It never seemed a likely prospect, but now she was grateful for Letitia’s instruction.  As the Lady finished the last stroke, she finally looked down and noticed Mr. Treize staring. He was not blankly gazing but actually looking at her with clear-eyed intensity. Une held the man’s stare before a blush threatened to appear and she forced herself to look away. She grabbed a towel and gently wiped the residual soap from Mr. Treize’s chin. Une was about to ask him if he wished to order breakfast when the young man unexpectedly leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her, resting his head against her chest. Under different circumstances, Une would have broken a man’s arm for such a maneuver, but this wasn’t a coy young  nobleman making a pass. It was an act of grief.

            Une stiffened, uncertain as to how to react. Her colonel was reaching out for consolation, but she did not know how to respond. Giving comfort was a rather foreign idea to her and she was reluctant to try. She didn’t know what to say to ease his pain nor what action to take to lessen to his anguish. After an uncomfortably long pause, Une hesitantly wrapped her arms around the young man and began stroking his damp hair, trying to think of some soothing words to offer. Unable to think of anything appropriate, she remained silent and allowed him the moment of weakness he denied himself for far too long. Une simply gave in to the instincts she normally quashed and held him close, the icy façade of a battle mistress slipping away. In its place rose the serene woman she allowed to surface only in those rare moments of affection she shared with her aunt. Gone, for now, was the officer. Now she was simply Une, a trusted friend. She smoothed the duke’s ginger hair in rhythmic strokes and gently rubbed the other hand across his back as he trembled with grief.

They stayed like that for quite a while, for once unmindful of the image each tried so diligently to project. For the time being, they were not officers, not superior and subordinate, but two human beings. Lady Une found herself absorbing as much comfort as she offered, trying to make sense of the unusual sensation of this emotional connection. At length, Mr. Treize did loosen his tight hold on the young woman, hastily wiping his eyes as he drew back.  As Lady Une pulled away, His Excellency looked up at her with earnest, red-rimmed eyes and spoke.

“Please…what is your name?”

Alarmed that he did not seem to recognize her, Une leaned over an put a hand on his shoulder, staring into his eyes intently. “It’s me, Excellency…it’s Une…”

Treize smiled tolerantly at her and clarified, “Yes, Lady, I know who you are…” He enclosed her hand with his and squeezed it gently. “I was asking for your given name. I don’t recall it.”

“Oh…it’s Aneke.”

“Aneke.” The young man repeated the name, allowing it to roll off his tongue a few times, “that is a lovely name. Do you mind if I call you Aneke while we are here?”

“No, of course not, sir.”

“And please, Aneke…” he lifted her hand to his mouth and lightly kissed Une’s knuckles, not with flirtation but with honest gratitude. “Please call me Treize…just Treize.”

“All right, Treize.” Aneke Une looked down at her patient, touched by the gentle smile on his lips. She smiled in return and gave his hand a squeeze. “Now, I think you should get some rest.”

“As you wish.”

Treize allowed her to lead the way back into the bedroom and obeyed her gentle command to return to bed. She pulled the covers up around him. As she leaned over, Treize reached up and ran his fingers through her unbound hair, offering her a weak smile. Relieved by the spark of life she detected there, Une called down to the kitchen for a breakfast tray.

            He remained in his suite, attended only by Aneke, for two more days. His absence was explained by an unexpected cold, all contact was filtered through Lady Une. Over the course of that weekend, and with Aneke’s quiet care, Treize gradually regained himself. By Monday, he was reconciled to his brother’s death as much as could be expected and ready to reemerge as the charming duke everyone anticipated. Lady Une spent her last hour alone with Treize helping him dress. She held out his freshly cleaned uniform coat as he slipped his arms inside, brushing at insignificant bits of lint clinging about the shoulders, then turned her attention to the buttons. Aneke Une took a step back and surveyed her handiwork. Before her stood His Excellency once more, no longer in need of her attentions. It was time for her to go. Just as she turned, Treize caught her hand, holding her in place.

“Lady, when we leave this room…” The fact that Treize was once again using her title finished the sentence for him.

“This will never be spoken of, Excellency, you have my word.”

“Good.” Treize nodded, smiling a little sadly. “Before you go, I wanted to tell you how very much I appreciated your presence these past few days.”

Une looked down briefly, glancing at her hand still held delicately in his. “It was nothing, sir.”

“Oh, but it was to me.” He turned towards her, taking a step closer and raised a gloved hand to her cheek. “I will never forget your kindness, my dear Aneke. I know I would have run mad if not for you.”

Lady Une, feeling a bit overwhelmed, swallowed back a lump in her throat before responding. “Please know that if you ever need anything—anything—you may call on me…Treize.”

Treize made no verbal reply. He raised his other hand to cup the young woman’s face tenderly and smiled. It was the rarest of smiles, one of genuine affection not smooth refinement or casual flirtation. It was a smile Une would later come to treasure and one made precious by its infrequency. A smile meant solely for her.

==========================

“Once again, you have a choice, Zechs. You may leave now—and leave behind all hope of vengeance—or follow me. One option will leave you free to make your own choices, the other free to exact a brilliant revenge. The choice is yours.”

            Treize’s words still rang in Zechs’ mind with crystal clarity two months after the fact. Yes, he had a choice and Treize made it perfectly clear. He could continue to run for the rest of his life or have his revenge. Some bloody choice. Zechs had no qualms about fighting nor about following orders which contradicted his upbringing as a prince of Peacecraft, that was not the cause of the argument that suddenly sprang up between the two men. He was willing to move into the command position of Johnny’s battalion, despite the hideous way in which he received the promotion. Johnny’s death had been turned to the service of OZ with sickening skill. Everyone benefited, whether it be the chance for the elites to grandstand or his own promotion, all tragedy could be turned to the use of Romefellar. Even that mercenary tact could be dealt with. What upset Zechs was something altogether different.

            Zechs took command of Johnny’s—now, his—mobile suite division almost immediately. His first act was to select a second in command. The best officer under his command. Noin. He submitted the proper paperwork, mainly out of formality, but was stunned to find his recommendation overturned by order of His Excellency. Noin brushed the incident off remarkably well, though Zechs new what a blow it must be to her. He wasn’t certain what made him angrier. The fact that his suggestion had been summarily rejected or that the best pilot in OZ was being held back. He immediately arranged a meeting with Treize to speak about the matter, certain that Noin’s status as a commoner with a conferred title must be the cause of His Excellency’s veto. Instead, to his shock, Zechs discovered that Noin’s lack of social status had very little to do with the matter.

            “ ‘You’ve grown too dependent on the girl, Zechs.’ ” Zechs quoted his mentor in a mumble slurred by the alcohol he was steadily ingesting.

            His father had made almost exactly the same comment twelve years prior. The situations were vastly different, but the sentiment was oddly the same. Treize also thought that the friendship Zechs maintained with Noin somehow made him weak, that his duties suffered. Never mind that the efficiency rating of his mobile suit division was the highest in OZ. Ignore the fact that Noin’s skills with strategy assured them victory in almost every battle they fought. None of that mattered. What mattered was that Zechs was fond of her and, according to Treize, that made him vulnerable. Treize was going to transfer her to the political wing of OZ. If she were placed in command of her own division, perhaps Zechs could accept that. After all, some of what Treize said made sense. The concept that Noin would be better off away from him was logical, but transfer to the diplomatic corps? She was a pilot. To be anything else was an insult to her hard won accomplishments. It was her punishment for having the unmitigated nerve to befriend the Lightening Count.

            He should have seen it coming, Zechs supposed. Since the chateau ball several months ago, Treize had found all manner of ‘temporary’ assignments for Lieutenant Noin. Diplomatic training in Rome, protocol duties at Romefeller’s conference in St. Petersburg, escorting colony delegates on a brief visit to Earth. Any little excuse. It was so obvious now. Treize was trying to split them up. Divide and Conquer. Loyalty to no one but His Excellency and his vision of peace. Dissention was not tolerated.

            Zechs gulped down what was left in his shot glass and set it down, opting instead for a swig straight from the bottle. He was sitting in the middle of the floor in his comfortable room at division headquarters. He was only hours out of the most recent battle, one fought without the support of Noin. Once again, she was called away just before his team was called out. She was on her way back and he considered waiting for her but changed his mind and retired to his room with a full bottle of whiskey. He didn’t open it immediately, instead going through the motions of cleaning himself up and changing into a fresh uniform. He got as far as changing into clean trousers before the call of alcohol got the better of him. So there he sat, shirtless, shoeless and perfectly drunk. One of the many lessons he learned from the Kushrenadas.

            Surprisingly, it wasn’t Treize’s revelation that drove the young man to his present state, but rather the realization that Treize was right. It was not a new thought to Zechs, the idea that his friendship with Noin was in direct conflict to his purpose in OZ, but he had successfully rationalized it over the years. As they grew up and he found himself growing more attracted to his beautiful young comrade, Zechs began to feel the pull of other desires. There were times when he even questioned his need for revenge. Would it really change anything? Would killing the men who destroyed his family really take away the anger and pain that had fueled him for so long? He was still young. At seventeen he still had time to turn away from the life of blood he so willingly flung himself into at age eleven. He could still save himself from the Hell he created with Treize. He and Noin could leave, together. Find some quiet place to finish growing up.

            Reality always broke through such fanciful thoughts. The nightmare memory of his fathers mangled face and the searing image of his mother’s delicate, broken body reminded him of his true course, his destiny. There was no room for friends in his quest. Friends end up dead, their loss blurring one’s vision and delaying the inevitable. Johnny once told him that OZ did not own his heart. Treize insisted a true soldier had no heart, only the claims of duty. Somewhere in between lay the truth. Somewhere in between lay the capacity to fight and still keep his best friend. Fierce, loyal Noin. Beautiful, brave, intelligent Noin, with eyes too deep for any man’s good. Perfect lips, perfect hair. Perfect, lilac-scented Noin. 

            As if on cue, Zechs heard a soft knock. He ignored it and the successive repeats until he heard the squeak of hinges as the door opened a fraction. He knew who it was without looking, but asked anyway.

“Noin?”

“Of course,” she confirmed as she walked in, “who were you expecting? The Queen of Sheba?”

“Hmm. There does seem to be a resemblance.” Zechs murmured groggily as he took another swig from the bottle.

“How much of that have you had?”

“Dear little Noin. Always so concerned.” He held the bottle up in toast to the puzzled young woman. “ ‘Like a lily among thorns is my darling among the maidens.’ ”

“Poetry? God, you are drunk,” Noin responded in annoyance, purposely ignoring the sentiment of the slurred words.

“Pardon me, but I was quoting the Bible.” Noin’s look of skepticism prompted Zechs to defend himself with specifics. “Song of Solomon, chapter 2, verse 2.”

Noin nodded in defeat as she took the bottle away and set it aside. She grabbed his arm, tugging at him a bit and finally managed to pull Zechs unsteadily to his feet. “Of all  the Bible verses Ingrid made us learn and that’s the one you remember?” Zechs swayed precariously a moment before draping heavy arms around his caretaker. Noin hooked an arm around his waist and led him over to the bed.

“It was the only book of the Bible Ingrid wouldn’t allow us to read unsupervised, remember? Naturally I snuck off to read it whenever I had the opportunity. I just didn’t understand most of it at the time. I remember many verses…for instance,” Zechs turned so that he was facing Noin, keeping her trapped in the circle of his embrace. “I also remember a verse from chapter 4… ‘Awake, north wind, and come, thou south wind and…and…” He paused, frowning down at Noin, pretending he couldn’t quite remember.

“ ‘And send thy breeze across my garden that its fragrance may spread abroad.’ ” Noin supplied quietly.

“That right…but there’s more, is there not?” Zechs knew the rest but, in his present state of inebriated inhibition, he wanted to make Noin say it.

“ ‘Let my lover come into his garden and taste its choice fruits.’ ”

Zechs smiled at the faint tint of pink that spread across Noin’s cheeks. She was so pretty when she blushed. She was always so daring and forceful in uniform. So confident and unflappable. He admired all of those things about her, but making Noin reveal the softer, less self-possessed side he knew so well seemed like good recreation at the moment, so Zechs decided to make her blush again. He pulled Noin forward, gently pushing her head to his chest.

“That’s right, now I remember.” Zechs nuzzled against her hair and dipped his head to whisper in her ear. “Chapter 8, verse 6. ‘Set me as a seal upon thine heart, as a seal upon thine arm: for love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame,’ ” Zechs tightened his grip, pulling Noin closer. He breathed in the scent of her hair, absorbed the subtle warmth of her skin and murmured, “I remember a good number of verses from that book…” He brushed his lips across the girl’s earlobe down to the soft curve of skin below, “ ‘Thy neck is as an tower of ivory…And thy mouth like the best wine that goeth down sweetly, causing the lips of those that are asleep to speak.’ ”

Suddenly overcome by Noin’s presence, Zechs clutched her body tightly to his, burying his face in her neck. He wanted to block out everything else. No sight, no touch, no taste but Noin.  He wanted to know what it felt like to drown himself in the embrace of a woman. This woman.  He felt Noin lean into his embrace as her arms tightened around his waist. Delicate hands gently slid up the bare skin of his back, causing his muscles to instinctively contract and quiver under her touch. Noin burrowed against his chest, timidly pressing against him. Zechs whispered the young woman’s name against the pale skin of her throat, inhaling the soft fragrance with deep breaths. He lightly kissed at the exposed span of skin, indulging in the deliciously foreign taste. His lips traveled upward to the curve of her jaw, pausing to once again murmur affectionate phrases in the girl’s ear. He pulled back slightly, intending to enjoy a second kiss from Noin’s lips, when suddenly her hands were planted on his chest. She gave him a violent shove, her effort punctuated with a harsh grunt. Zechs found himself toppling backwards ungracefully onto the bed and looking up at a livid Noin.

“Sleep it off. We’ve got maneuvers in the morning and several members of Romefellar will be observing.”

Without another word, the young woman stiffly walked out of the room. She didn’t slam the door behind her as he might have expected. She didn’t yell at him nor shower him with all manner of well-deserved curses. She merely left. Violent & Angry Noin he understood. Throwing things, yelling, that he could handle, but Quiet & Angry Noin? That was disturbing. That was not good at all. The full force of what he had just done came crashing down on him. How could he have treated her like that? Drunk or not, Zechs never imagined he could behave in such a dishonorable way, especially with Noin. It was the worst kind of disrespect. Zechs put his hands to his face and moaned.

“What have I done?”

================ End Chapter 8 ==================  

Waddya know, Zechs has hormones and they’ve discovered Noin. Hehehe. Sorry if Zechs was a bit out of character, but he was drunk. I figure even Zechs gets out of character when he’s under the influence. As you may have guessed, that scene was based on the infamous “Wild Turkey” pic. Yes, all of those suggestive quotes Zechs used are from the Bible (I use the NIV version, but the last one was from the KJ version) in the book Song of Solomon, in case you want to look it up. Now, go forth and embarrass your Sunday school teachers.

Disclaimer: And the Lord said, “Lady Dante does not own Gundam Wing. If thee sue her, I will smite thee!”

Religious Disclaimer: No blasphemy intended, Lord, so please don’t shoot a lightening bolt at me or send a burning bush or anything. I have enough problems with toasters.