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"The Bulwark Contingency"Written By: t-shirt Disclaimer: Gundam Wing and its characters are
copyright to Sunrise, Bandai, Sotsu Agency, and associated parties.
I make no money with this fic. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: AU/Fantasy, Fluff, angst, sap…again,
TONS of sap! I can’t even convey the sappiness contained herein… you
might want waders O.o gloves at the very least. Mention of lemon Pairings: 1x2, 3x4, 5+2+ or … something… maybe
a little 5-1? rofl! Summary: Disturbing dreams lead a restless warrior on the adventure of a lifetime. Beta’ed by Mechante Fille ^-^ Art links: http://usera.imagecave.com/t-shirt/fanart/d_sketch_elf.jpg http://usera.imagecave.com/t-shirt/fanart/h_sketch_6_cg_mergjrevis.jpg
"The Bulwark Contingency"
Ch 1 He came up out of the bed gasping for breath; his clothes drenched in sweat and a fire in his mind that threatened to consume him body and soul. The small, silver cross that lay on his chest burned so hot he gasped and tried to slap it away but the chain around his neck held it fast. His hands grasped desperately at the sodden sheets, his lungs sucking in the cool, sweet night air as he rummaged savagely through bedside drawers in search of something, anything he might record what little he could recall of the dream on but the memories were already slipping away. He could never hold onto them for long and threw a drawer to splinter angrily against the wall in his frustration. What had it been?! The forest… or a garden? Someone was there… waiting… no… he had been working… in a circle or…DAMN! He slumped to his bedside shivering in the dark as his damp clothes cooled, his mind slowing as he tried to retain any small nuance of the dream but as with all the times before it had slipped away. There was nothing left but the bone, cold chill of emptiness, the kind of emptiness one could only feel when they had been granted their hearts desire and had it, all at once, ripped from their grasp. “Sir Hiiro?” a tentative knock sounded at the door. “Are you all right?” He sat for a moment reluctant to reply to his attendants concern should his voice betray even a fraction of the chaos that encircled his heart before his eyes hardened and his breath stilled. “Faign!” he barked already on his feet as the young boy peered warily in the door. “Ready my horse!” he commanded ignoring the child’s astonished expression as he quickly pulled on tunic and sword. “Is there a hunt?” the boy asked darting in to aid his master. “No,” he replied allowing the child to add is dagger, coin purse and sling. Faign did his duties as quickly as he could refraining from further comment as he was an intelligent child and knew when to hold his tongue. As soon as Hiiro was dressed to a point he was no longer required he darted from the room to go wake the stable master. Dawn was just beginning to lighten the sky when he descended the palace steps and strode across the dusty courtyard. Faign was busily haltering his usual mount, his saddle already secured and equipped with leather bags that would hold the normal supplies. He spared a satisfied nod to his page earning a bright smile from the child before adding a tablet and coal to his wares. Faign’s smile faltered and died even though he tried valiantly to maintain such a confident air as Hiiro’s when the Princesses shocked cry resounded in the early morning air. “Hiiro!” she called dragging her many-layered skirt behind her as she rushed to his side. “Are you leaving? Why didn’t you tell me?” “The trip was unexpected,” he replied. “But… what of your duties here? Have arrangements been made…” “Your brother is a capable man,” he reminded her slipping Faign an extra half weeks pay before pulling himself into the saddle. The steed snorted and stepped anxiously back but the Princess advanced regardless, her displeasure plain to see in her sorrowful eyes. “When will you return?” she asked pleadingly. “That is uncertain,” he explained feeling the metal of the cross burning hotly against his chest. His eyes flashed as Faign pulled the heavy gate open, his horse stamping his hooves in anticipation. “But!” “I will send word if I am able,” he told her and left her in a whirl of gauzy skirts as he galloped past the castle wall and into the ancient trees of Katsu Jinku. It had been some time since he had traveled alone yet his heart beat restlessly denying him peace as he raced blindly down the road ahead. His usual companions, the Prince Milliardo and his attendant Otto; the infantrymen and pages that normally attended the hunts were only just waking in the castle far behind him. Had it truly been almost a year since he came to this place? How long had it been since he stood upon the Earth as a free man? But he wasn’t free; not truthfully, he knew that. He had willingly given his pledge to serve and protect the monarchy of Sanc and knew he would return somehow but his heart would not allow his feet to disobey the calling. By midmorning the sun had reminded him that the road was unclear and slowed his pace. He dismounted by a small stream where his usual procession had stopped many times to water their horses and did so again. The forest quietly sang around him, the wind in the trees coming to play with the sprinkles of water splashing along the stones of the stream. Small songbirds twittered their melodies and the sun bathed the picturesque clearing in warm life. He filled his lungs with the sweet air as he had so many times before and crouched to taste the clear water but his mind refused to calm. He sighed, his hand coming to draw the small, silver cross from beneath his tunic, his brow creasing as he starred at it’s glinting surface where it twisted in the light. Such a simple looking trinket; he’d thought little of it when he’d found it hanging from a limb three months prior during one of those long hunts Faign always got so excited about. He had been drawn away by a sound, something he had been unfamiliar with. The tracks of the animal were strange, first seeming like those of hoofed feet, perhaps a deer or bore but the impression was wrong. But then they had changed as if a new animal, one with the padded feet of a predator had appeared. He had thought nothing of it, obviously the predator had frightened the prey away but he was unfamiliar with this track as well. It seemed odd so he had followed but never caught a glimpse of the creature and had instead come face forward upon the unimposing cross now clasped in his palm. His curiosity in taking the thing had been his undoing for the dreams had begun that night. Now, he found himself on a road he had no idea where led with nothing to guide him but a silent cross and the absent memories of a dream he couldn’t remember. With no sure direction and less conviction about why he had come out here in the first place he found himself in the clearing where he had acquired the cross helplessly searching for some clue as to it’s origins. He suspected it was elfin made though the simplicity of the design begged to differ. Elves were known for their intricate perfection when adorning their jewelry, weapons and armor. Sometimes the complicated beauty of the work made it seem a shame that they would use it in battle but this piece, though exquisitely fashioned bore no intricate lacework, no encrypted ruins or inset jewels of different colors. It was merely a simple, silver cross, a small but adequate ring on the top to accommodate the thin braided chain of matching silver that was now fastened around the Capitan of the Guards neck. He sighed as he stoked the fire and sank beside it wondering once again what in the world he was doing. When he awoke thrashing in his blanket he knew he hadn’t been asleep for very long. The quality of the air he sucked into his lungs told him dawn was still a long way off but his mind was screaming much to loudly to care about time. His hand clutched as his chest, the stench of smoldering leather and seared flesh stinging his nostrils as he knelt on the cold Earth and tried to catch his breath. There was no fear, but then there never was, only the complete and utter despair of waking once again to find it hadn’t been real. That he hadn’t been real… he… he gasped and scrambled for his pack jerking his tablet and coal out to scribble down the fleeting thoughts. There had been a boy… no a man… but he had seemed so young. With dark hair… or was it fair? No… it had been warm and enticing like cinnamon and sugar on top of freshly baked bread. But he recalled someone with fair hair as well. It was all so jumbled he growled and scratched out what was sure was incorrect in his log only to hiss and rewrite it again. Within a moment the memories were to obscure to make any sense out of them and then, as always, they were frustratingly gone. He was left sitting quietly as he stared into the dying flames of his fire with nothing but his new resolve to solve the puzzle to comfort him. The morning brought with it no revelations. He scoured the surrounding woods twice more before deciding to go see an elderly woman who he knew had some knowledge of elfin wares. It was rumored her ancestors had at some point added the blood of the fey in her lineage. If anyone could identify the cross as elfin she could so he set out for the east side of the forest where the mire Sumptow lay. It was half a day’s journey leaving him to arrive at the tumble down shack near dusk. The woman was considered by many to be a witch though Hiiro knew better, her only magical quality being the wisdom of long life for she was known to be well over a hundred years old. He hoped her knowledge would once again aid him as he dismounted and went to seek her out. “Bless my soul,” came a sweetly graveled voice before he had finished seeing to his mount. He turned to find the smiling face he was searching for beaming warmly from above a large basket of wildflowers. “Hello, Bertha,” he smiled going to take the heavy basket from her. “Hiiro,” she grinned delightedly then promptly asked, “What’s wrong?” “Everything’s fine,” he assured her chuckling as he helped her inside. “I just have a favor to ask if I may.” “Of course,” she smiled foregoing the seat he offered at the scrubbed table in favor of going to put on a pot for tea. He shook his head but allowed her her dignity and took the seat himself before she turned to smirk at him and commented, “But I thought surely that Princess of yours had you hooked by now.” “She is hardly my Princess,” he snorted. “Then is it advise on matters of the heart you have come to seek from a poor old woman?” she grinned shuffling over to a cabinet to fetch cups and plates. “No,” he admitted nervously. “I have an… artifact… I would like you to look at. I’m fairly sure it is an elfin craft but there are no markings to confirm it.” “No markings?” she repeated curiously setting a scared cutting board filled with bread and cheese down on the table before him. “Doesn’t seem likely it would be of elfin origin.” “I know,” he confessed drawing the cross from beneath his tunic while she poured the tea. “But it seems to have some sort of magical qualities…” “Magic?” she exclaimed groaning softly as she seated her weathered old body in an adjacent chair. “Here now,” she told him pushing the cutting board his way and holding out her hand. “Lets have a look.” He smiled understanding his duty and took the cross off to give her before taking up the knife and beginning to cut the bread. He watched and waited while she turned it this way and that, her soft grunts or hummed thoughts setting his nerves on end as he served the meal and awaited a verdict. He sat forward in anticipation when she opened her mouth to speak. “Would you mind getting me the looking glass from the pot on the third shelf?” He sat back on a breath of air then went to retrieve the requested item. Once in her hand the humming and grunting resumed while he nibbled at his food and sipped his tea and wished with all his might she would just hurry the hell up! Once again he felt the tension still his heart as her jaw dropped to speak. “Have you been plagued by dreams?” “Yes!” he barked excitedly blushing madly when her aged, silver/blue eyes rolled up to consider him. Her mouth curled slightly, a knowing glint flashing in her eyes as she asked, “And were you seduced in these dreams?” “I…” He was shocked that he couldn’t answer the question. Had he been? Was that why he woke in a fever sweat every night? But he was sure there hadn’t been any women in the dream, only the boy… “…don’t know,” was all he was sure of. “You don’t remember?” “They fade as quickly as I wake,” he sighed. “There is magic in this,” she told him handing it back to him. “Then it is elfin made?” “And bewitched,” she nodded digging into her meal. “A spell?” he mused examining the cross more closely. “A beckon,” she corroded. “Where did you get it?” “I found it,” he explained. “In the woods while on a hunt.” She paused in her drinking to peer at him over the rim of her cup then smiled and set it down. “Then I would say it is safe to assume you have been summoned.” “By who?” “Whomever owns the cross.” “Why?” he pondered out loud. “For whatever purpose the craftsman may have.” He hadn’t really expected an answer but it posed a new question he hadn’t considered. What did this person want from him so badly that he would go to such great lengths to summon him? “Will you stay the night?” she asked hopefully. “Yes, thank you,” he replied happy for the bed and more than willing to repay her kindness with his meager company for the night. He still had no way of knowing where he was supposed to go so there was little reason to hurry off. The evening was spent listening to tales of old, stories of elfin warriors in glorious battle, ancient yarns of days gone by but only one bade him commit it to memory. Bertha’s tone had softened, her voice grown tired and wan after a long night of unpracticed speech when her memories began to revolve around a time when man and elf were not so friendly as they were now. A time when the fey were not much more than men themselves, a time before the Injunction. “Why?” he asked after hearing a harrowing tale that had cost the lives of thousands of men and elves alike. “What were they fighting for?” “Life,” she chuckled wryly coughing softly as she tapped her pipe on the side of the hearth. “The old memories tell us that Elandra, the ancient queen of the fey sought desperately for a way to retain her resplendent youth and beauty. In an act of desperation she sold the souls of man to a demon. The war was meant to reap the payment necessary to ensure her immortality.” Hiiro sat quietly absently stroking the cross between his fingertips. “What of the elfin warriors that gave their lives as well?” he asked at length and glanced up when the bright, dancing flame of a match set the old woman’s pipe aglow once more. “Ahhhh,” she crooned laughing lightly. “There is the reason our queen no longer walks the living plane. So grieved was she when she saw what her vanity had cost that she offered her own life to the demon. In return… he granted her wish to her people and the long life of the elves began.” “But they are not immortal,” Hiiro pointed out. “Nee,” she nodded relaxing back in the fires glow. “Those of good fortune may last a thousand years,” she reasoned then laughed harshly as her aged eyes crinkled with mirth. “Perhaps one queens life was to small a payment for the immortality of an race.” “You seem to be holding your own,” he grinned though his words were spoken softly as her eyes were drifting closed in the late hour. “My day will come,” she assured him shifting slightly as if finding some reminiscent position that would allow her peaceful rest. He watched fondly as she chewed some nonexistent morsel and tucked her shawl up under her chin but the restlessness returned to his eyes when she quietly rumbled… “Shinigami comes for us all.” With her silence came sleep and with his slumber came the dreams. A boy walked along a hidden path, his skin as pale as an ivory rose and eyes of ocean green. He wore naught but the sun in his golden hair and a white, silken mawashi. There was confusion over the traditional warriors garb wrapped so tenderly around such a frail, beauteous body but all was suddenly understood when a man quickly attacked from the shadow of a bush. The boy moved so fast it was hard to comprehend what had happened until the man lay wheezing on the grass but the boy paid him no mind and resumed his path. A short distance further on two more men lurched from the shadows only to fall to the same fate as the fair child fought his way toward his goal. No sooner had the second man hit the ground than more assailants appeared but they proved o match for the child as he cut through the crowd, his thin body twisting in impossible ways as lightening fast hand brought down blows the soon left him standing alone in the garden, his chest rising and falling evenly as his eyes glistened in the light of a pristine fountain springing from the center of a circle of stones. Before the fountain stood a mountain of a man, his black eyes glaring accusingly but the child refused to yield. The man’s eyes hardened as his feet set firm, his arms coming up to guard against the child’s passing but the boy only creased his brow in return and charged. For a moment the two bared down on each other until suddenly there was another, a boy so impossibly beautiful it was unclear if he were truly of the Earth or had come down from the sky but he stepped in between the warring two and suddenly the very fabric of reality began to crumble and fade. The dream had shifted into a sea of darkness but he was not afraid. His heart beat madly not in trepidation but enthralling anticipation. His mind remembered, his body yearned and his hands reached for that which he new would come. “Why haven’t you come?” came the sweet voice that brought pin prickle shivers to his skin. “I don’t know the way,” he replied drawing a long, deep breath when his hand closed around the warmth of another. “I’m waiting,” the angel sighed allowing him the thrill of a slow embrace. “How can I find you?” he asked breathing deeply of the intoxicating scent that surrounded this sublime creature. “You will find me,” he replied as he kissed him softly, his mouth slowly devouring his will as a fire flared in his stomach so hot he clutched at the slender body that was irretrievably slipping away. “Please,” he begged wishing with all his heart as he stared into smiling violet eyes but the boy kept drifting away until all that was left was the words echoing in his ears once again. “You will find me. You need only follow your heart.” He gasped so loudly as he came out of his chair Bertha woke and screamed out loud but he had no sympathy to spare her as his legs gave way and he crumbled to the floor coughing and snatching at elusive breaths until his frustration bit hard and he growled right out loud to ease the pain. Bertha looked as if she’d seen a demon once he’d regained his control but her expression swiftly changed from fearful to pure determination when his eyes reflected himself and he gasped softly when her palm slapped against his brow. The memories were already fading even though he fought desperately to retain them but a sudden, desperate glimmer of hope sparked in his mind when the sifting of thoughts began to slow. “What did you see?” she demanded, her old eyes flashing insanely in the firelight. “A garden,” he gasped out. “And a boy of fair hair…” “What else?!” she snapped hastily and he clamped his eyes shut in his effort to hold onto the memories. “He fought men of dark skin… and…” “There was another,” she finished for him but her strength had reached its limit and she suddenly slumped back taking the rest of the memories with her. “No!” he barked diving for her hand but it only lay lax in his hand as she rasped for breath. “Bertha?” he called gently rubbing her palm. He had thought her devoid of any sort of magic but that was obviously not the truth though what little she possessed was apparently easily spent. He had made fresh tea and brought extra blankets before she had recovered enough to speak readily to him. “Do you remember?” she asked as he returned to his chair. “I remember a garden,” he confessed but was unable to keep the disappointment from his tone. “And the boy?” “I don’t know who he was,” he sighed. “But he was as pale as oleander and just as deadly.” “Was there a fountain in this garden?” she asked. “Yes,” he replied curiously. “You know it?” Her laugh was warm and tolerant and she made him wait while she took a long draw from her tea before she replied. “It is Elision.” His eyes widened in comprehension as the revelation fell from his lips. “The Life Spring.” His thoughts revolved around what little remained of his memories of the dream, the pale child warrior and his determination to reach the spring, the words of the tale of the Injunction dancing in his mind as he asked. “Does it truly exist?” “Deep in the south some say,” she nodded. “Though no one has ever returned from there to make a claim.” When the morning sun brightened the sky Hiiro was already in the saddle and prepared to leave. Bertha stood with her gnarled cane at the door of her ramshackle shack to bid him goodbye but cocked her gray haired head when he turned his nose to the west. “Will you not go to the garden?” she called in surprise. “If that is where the road leads,” he smiled. “But,” she replied in confusion. “It lies… to the south.” “Hai,” he nodded spurring his steed forward. “But my heart leads west.” She chuckled as she watched him go and shook her head commenting quietly, “Perhaps your heart remembers what your mind is not yet ready to embrace.” ~ * ~ tbc... |
