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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: Relena Notes: Challenge 95. Baby Series 3 #48. Takes
place at approximately the same time as The Sisterhood. Many thanks to ShenLong for her work betaing
this fic.
One Must Not Relena smiled at her partner, the final steps of the dance bringing immense relief. This heralded her allocated break where she could sit and rest her aching feet. They would still watch her, still try to use the power of their stare to influence her, but for the duration of one waltz she could sit and rest. The final notes faded on the air and she curtsied, as was proper, to her partner and with carefully measured steps made her way from the dance floor. It was all a game. A carefully managed, well planned out game. Every gesture, every smile, every whisper was carefully considered and inserted into just the right moment to effect just the right result. She had to consider how she fluttered her eyelashes or when she flicked a strand of hair out of her eyes, lest someone mistake the gesture. In her opinion being royalty sucked. //Duo pollution.// No, she must not smile, that was the wrong thing to do. It might be misunderstood and encourage a suitor to trespass on her opportunity to rest. That simply would not do. Her mother was waiting and Pagan with her, the latter looking over the gathering with something frighteningly like an expression on his face. Pagan, the master of the neutral expression, was not happy. //Another play in the game. Who did what? Why has Milliardo not returned?// She was very tired of the intrigue accompanying the position she had been born into. For as long as she could recall hers had been a life of privilege, but the daughter of the Vice Foreign Minister had not been a Princess. She had complained of the strictures binding her before the war revealed her birthright, but now she longed for the greater freedom of her lost innocence. //Those who dream of being Princesses have no concept of what is involved. If they did, they would find something else to dream about.// Harsh, she supposed, but she was tired and not of a mind to gloss over the necessities of her position. She would prefer to live in a smaller, cosy house and at this hour of the night she would be thinking of going to bed, not dancing until her feet felt they would drop off and her lungs and ribs protested the strictures of the tightly laced gown. But one must not look harried, one must not look tired; one must not look anything other than perfect. It was all a part of the game they played which so many did not understand. Did the children playing innocent games in the street understand the games played in political circles? No. Did the baker and his wife understand what had to be done to secure the power source to run their ovens so that they might bake bread? No. Too many people saw the glitz and the glamour of the game and failed to understand what moved beneath the surface. Would that she could be so innocent. ~ * ~ |
