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"Baby Series 3"Written By: Karina Rating: PG Spoilers: None Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing or the Characters from the series but the baby is mine. Pairing: Milliardo Notes: Challenge 117. Baby Series 3 #119. Takes
place the day after Fuzzy Offness. Many thanks to ShenLong for her work betaing
this fic.
His Fate What might life have held in store for him? What might he have and what might he have lost, had those who professed to know best left him to a life undisturbed by the proprieties and weight of a Kingdom? What if he was Zechs Marquise and not Milliardo Peacecraft, scion of an ancient bloodline? He was dwelling on the impossible, but at one time it was not so. Had events not turned as they had, he would not have returned to Sanc. What then? He would not have been caught up in their restoration and political intrigue. He would have been able to live his life on his own terms. Was that dreaming? Of course it was. Had his life ever been his own? Ah, today was a day for wallowing in self pity. Such a useless waste of precious time. One could not escape the tapestry of fate, no matter how one tried. From the moment of his birth he had been a fly trapped in amber; Sanc did not give up on her children easily and relentlessly drew them back to her ancient shores. There were too many memories; too many nightmares and far too few memories of laughter. His clearest memories were of death, destruction and betrayal. He had watched a world, an entire way of life, murdered. Some days he felt he was the only one left who remembered. Frighteningly, he felt as alone today as he had then. A child, barely six years old, cowering in the rubble, watching his world crumble in fire and thunder. He had watched so may perish; so much blood, guts and gore. The nightmares even now haunted him; the terror, the noise, the screams of the people and thunder of the guns. He had watched; he had cowered in terror… and in the end, he had run. It was all the child could do. Run through the fire and snow. Run until he could run no more, until in the snow there was hands and a voice and the promise he was not alone. It was out there, somewhere. A circle of stone. The outlines of the stones would be softened by snow, as they had been on that long ago day; but there would be no blood in the circle as there had been on that day. He had bled then, bright blood on pristine white snow. He had stumbled into the circle and his knees had felt so weak… and he had known he must run, but the body had been so unwilling. It had been too much for the child who had witnessed too much. He should have died that day. More than half the population of the city and those nameless women who had found him, held him, died for him. They had set his feet to the path that led into the woods. Set him on a path that led to this day, so many years later. To his fate. ~ * ~ |
