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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: Pagan Notes: Challenge 131. Baby Series 3 #165. Takes
place immediately following True To His Ideals. Many thanks to ShenLong for her work betaing
this fic.
Fate All that was old was not necessarily redundant in these modern times. Certainly this elderly woman who controlled an intelligence network as intricate as his own, was far from redundant. Her bones might be frail, her muscles weak, but there was nothing wrong with her mind. She was dangerous, strong for all she appeared frail. It was her eyes that gave her away. To stare into those depths was to stare into the eyes of a predator. Undoubtedly members of the Sisterhood had alerted her to the antics taking place and it was sheer misfortune, as far as Pagan was concerned, that their Grand Dame was resident within the palace at this time. He could have wished she was at her country estate, but Milliardo had been meeting with her during the last few days and Pagan admitted to himself he was almost afraid to find out what they had been discussing. Somehow he did not think they were spending their time together discussing the finer points of fine china tea cups and antique lace. It was time he found out exactly what the King and the Duchess were up to and if he would need to make additional security preparations in the event of a storm breaking over their heads. Traditionally the Sisterhood was charged with the protection of the heirs to Sanc, the children of the Royal Family and noble houses, particularly those blooded close to the Peacecraft lineage. It was their entire reason for existing, protecting those children, the purpose for which their dedication had driven them to extremes in the past. Recently he had found himself wondering just how much time Milliardo had spent in their midst before he had been spirited safely out of Sanc. Snatches of conversation he had chanced to overhear gave him little doubt the King remembered time spent with the Sisterhood. Given the time Milliardo was spending with the Duchess Anastasia, Pagan decided he needed to investigate how much contact they had maintained in the intervening years to the Restoration. Had the Sisterhood kept contact with the royal refugee or had they, like he, lost touch with the heir? He had looked for the child; he had looked hard for the boy. For a body, for a living child, following up every rumour that came to his agents ears. He had searched to say, one way or another, that the child was alive or dead. He had thought dead, after so many years of searching and failing and it had come as a surprise to see that face, the face so like Stephen. There had been no mistaking his bloodlines. It had been unmistakably the face of a Peacecraft… and for the boy to be wearing the uniform of an Alliance cadet! Pagan had not known what to think and had kept himself back, seeking news of this cadet who had appeared out of nowhere piloting a mobile suit. Ironic that a machine that had laid waste to Sanc had been piloted by a Peacecraft and saved the life of another. His sister. Had Anastasia known? Or had she been as surprised as he when she learned of the Prince? What had her reaction been? She had had members of the Sisterhood watching Relena, he knew that. They had even maintained contact with each other, allowing him to set the groundwork at establishing a restoration and, for some years, seek sign of the lost Prince. He had thought the Sisterhood had not known Milliardo's fate, not until that day he had appeared out of nowhere to save his sister. Had Anastasia contacted him after that day? Had she stepped back, perhaps regretting the saving of him? No, Anastasia was of the old blood. She was old school. She knew what it was, how it was, to serve Royalty. She knew what it was to do one's duty, even if one disagreed with one's Liege Lord. He had not agreed with much of what Stephan had done, but he had obeyed. He had obeyed and at the same time he had made plans and, at the least, survived with one of the children. When he had given up on her brother's survival he had determined to see her take up the throne. And Relena had cast it down, refusing the crown. He had despaired of the years of hard work, thinking the prince lost, too far gone into madness. He had been resigned to Sanc never being the monarchy it needed to be to survive with grace and an identity in this modern world. To his eternal shame, he had lost faith in the Peacecrafts. More fool him who thought he knew so much and understood the complicated dance of politics. Relena was no fool for all she entertained grand dreams of a better world. It was the dreamers who would see the world progress, marching ever onwards. The dreamers dreamt of a better future, but it was not they who saw its birth. It was the soldiers, like Milliardo, like he and Anastasia. It was those who fought who gave them the reality of their dream. For good or ill. She gave her brother back to Sanc. One must never forget that one man's good was another man's evil. It had not been his resistance movement that had given Sanc back its independence. It had not been Relena's dream of peace that had freed the country of the Alliance yoke. It had been Oz and the missing Prince riding that wild white charger that had come to free Sanc. Politics had seen Sanc fall and politics had driven the invasion that had restored it. Twice. Oz had handed Sanc over to Relena. It had returned control to the rightful bloodline, giving back to the people their freedom. Relena had handed the country over to Romefeller… and Treize Khushrenada had in turn returned Sanc its independence. Fate, thy name should be irony.
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