Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Deadly Beautiful ❯ The Royal Tour ( Chapter 29 )

Disclaimer: I've said it before and I'll say it again: I don't own Gundam Wing.

Deadly Beautiful - Chapter 29

By danse

Noin turned a page in her book. It was the beginning of their third day in Vaduz, Liechtenstein, and they'd spent most of their time so far parked in one of three alleys (they switched periodically) just down the street from a huge estate. The palace, Zechs had said. It certainly was palatial- looking; it must have covered close to four acres, in the heart of the city. The house was built from white stone and had more wings than a flock of sparrows, and the gardens were a French-manicured green field, filled with new flowers in a riot of colours. Zechs grew up here, she'd thought with some awe, when she'd first seen it.

After three days of staring out of the car window at it, it was just a building the size of a shopping mall, and that was it.

"Tell me again why we're here, spying on your old house?" she grumbled, staring at her book. She'd read it before.

Zechs was still watching the estate intently through the window, with the same hawk-like attention he'd had since they'd gotten there. "Waiting to see if and when my sister shows up," he said. "I checked, and she was supposed to have been on a flight to Vaduz yesterday." He turned his head to look at Noin briefly. "Jesus, Lu, you didn't have to come."

"You didn't tell me what we were doing until we were halfway to Paris," she muttered. If Zechs heard her comment, any reaction was lost in his sudden excitement as he turned back to the window.

"There she is! That's her!" He pointed at the window, and she crawled out of her spot in the passenger seat to look through the back window with him. Around the edge of the building they were parked snugly against, she saw the tail end of a taxi as it pulled up to the front gate. Two women got out.

"Are you sure it's her?" Noin asked. She didn't like to make wild assumptions.

"Positive," Zechs said. He picked up a pair of binoculars from the car floor and looked through them. "Yes--she looks just like our mother."

Noin stole the binoculars from him and focussed them on the pair to see more clearly. The younger one drew her attention. Zechs' sister, she thought. The girl was of average height, with long blonde hair and--Noin squinted to see--blue eyes. The shape of her face actually resembled that of the man beside Noin, especially around the nose. His mother looked like that... his family.... She numbly handed the binoculars back to him and settled back against the seat. "So, now what?" she asked.

Zechs went back to looking through the window as the two women shut the cab door and walked out of sight, towards the front gate of the palace. "...I don't know," he answered finally. He flopped back against the seat and looked at Noin tiredly, betraying his lack of sleep for the last three days. "I was half-expecting to never see her at all," he said with a weak smile.

Noin blew a strand of dark hair out of her eyes and stared out of the window next to her, studying the brick wall that was close at hand. If he was too tired to plot, then that left it up to her.

Relena stared in wide-eyed wonder at the city as the taxi navigated through it. She was still jet-lagged from the previous day's flight, but she couldn't possibly sleep; she might miss something.

She'd spent most of the waking hours since their landing in Vaduz wondering both privately and vocally when they were going to go and see her house. She'd tried not to harass Mrs. Darlian too much since the funeral, because she was still in deep mourning, but although Relena cried at night the same as her mother did, during the daylight hours, her life had gotten too busy and exciting to think much about it. That's the key, she thought, keep busy. She stole a glance at Mrs. Darlian, who was staring quietly out of the other window. At first, she'd pointed out some landmarks in town as they passed, but after several minutes silence had fallen. Relena knew what she was thinking of. She sees Dad everywhere, she thought, noticing a few mascara-darkened tears in her mother's reflection, prominent against images of parks and buildings whizzing by.

Realizing that Mrs. Darlian's grief was meant to be private, Relena went back to looking through her own window at the world. They had stayed in a hotel the night before, and now were taking a taxi to the estate where Relena had once lived. There was a twice-weekly tour of the place, and it started in half an hour. The middle-aged cab driver had raised his eyebrows when they'd told him where they wanted to go, and had given Relena a long look. A curt word in German from Mrs. Darlian had been necessary for him to stop staring and start driving. Relena wondered what had happened, because there was obviously something going on there that was over her head.

That was another thing, this language barrier. While she'd been counting down the days to this trip, she'd entertained private fantasies that once she was here, in her long-lost homeland, she'd suddenly unlock a hidden part of her mind and be able to speak and understand German perfectly, just as she apparently once had. All it would take was a friendly hello from a stranger, or words from a shopkeeper, and just like that, she could understand them and give a witty or welcome reply. Of course, that didn't happen at all. It was all gibberish to her, and she had no idea how to respond. Luckily Mrs. Darlian was a good, if somewhat rusty, interpreter, or Relena might have died from the culture shock. I want to understand, she thought desperately. It was frustrating, this lack of knowledge where it had once been.

The cab pulled up to the curb and stopped, and Relena stared at the mansion of white stone. It was a cross between the White House and her own expensive home in New York, but four times the size. "This is it? This is the place?" she asked.

"Yes," her mother said. Relena noticed the black-streaked tissue as it disappeared back into Mrs. Darlian's purse. "Let's go." She paid the cab driver and motioned for Relena to get out.

"Welcome to the royal palace of the house of Friedenskraft," Mrs. Darlian said ceremoniously as they stepped onto the broad sidewalk outside the gates.

Relena continued to stare at it, trying to reconcile it with any memory she might have locked away. Nothing came. It certainly wasn't the castle she had dreamt of, either. She felt a little embarrassed when she thought of her notions of medieval-style kings and princesses. Of course it's not a castle, she berated herself. We're not in the tenth century. I bet it has a pool, too, she thought, appraising the building. She followed her foster mother up the sidewalk and through the open gate. There were three people standing around outside the ornate front door, probably waiting for the tour to begin.

At the exact time that the tour was supposed to start, the front door opened to reveal an old man in a butler's uniform, blinking in the spring sunlight. His eyes locked almost immediately on Relena, and she saw a minute flicker in his calm expression before he stepped back and said, "Right this way, please," in German.

Relena trailed along behind the group as they walked inside the house. The foyer had a white marble floor, veined with black, spidery lines. Tall plants reached toward the vaulted ceiling, and cherry wood tables just inside the door held pamphlets in German and French for visitors. The butler paused just long enough for people to take copies before proceeding along a route lined with red velvet ropes and carpeted with a worn, red runner, pausing at certain rooms to talk to the group. Mrs. Darlian quietly translated everything he said into Relena's ear. Relena watched and listened in rapture as they journeyed through the house, scarcely able to believe that this sprawling, wealthy manor used to be her family home.

They walked in a large loop through the main part of the building and stopped at the end of the tour near the foyer, standing in front of a large painting. The tour guide stopped with the assembled group right in front of Relena, obstructing her view of both the painting and the rest of the group, which annoyed her to no end. She was about to open her mouth and say something when the guide suddenly announced something loudly in German to the group which prompted them to file slowly back to the foyer and out the door.

"Tour's over," Mrs. Darlian whispered to her. "Time to go. Did you enjoy it?"

They followed the group out the front door. "It was really interesting," Relena said. "But a bit weird. I was on a tour through my old house!" She said the last part as quietly as she could manage, so she wouldn't attract attention. Mrs. Darlian smirked.

They were just about to descend the front steps, where two of the people from the tour still stood, talking, when a voice came from behind them, speaking in heavily accented English.

"For people who are interested in a better look at the residence, there is a special extra tour. You may be interested, Miss Relena."

Relena's eyes widened in surprise, and she turned around quickly. The elderly tour guide was standing in the doorway again, holding the door open as he looked at them. He scratched at his grey moustache and smiled at them both.

"H-how do you know my name?" she asked warily.

The man glanced at Mrs. Darlian before looking back at Relena. "Would you like to have a better look at the house, Miss?" he repeated. He held the door open a little wider and beckoned, like a butler.

Relena raised an eyebrow, glanced at the unreadable Mrs. Darlian, and walked back to the door. The man bowed as she stepped inside, followed closely by her foster mother. The door closed behind them, bathing the three of them in cool, shaded solitude. Relena scrutinized the man. "How do you know my name?" she asked again.

He chuckled and led them back down the hallway they'd exited the tour from, stopping in front of the painting again. This time, Relena could see it, and she gasped in shock. It depicted four people: a strong-jawed man with pale, blond hair that hung to his shoulders and a stubbly beard; a young boy with hair like his father's; and a woman holding a baby swaddled in white lace. The woman smiled lightly at the painter, cradling the baby near her heart. Relena might have been looking in a mirror when she saw her--that was her jaw, her nose, and her eyes. The woman's hair was a slightly darker honey-gold than hers, and was styled into a braid that crowned her head like a tiara. "Oh, my god..." she breathed, stepping forward with her hand extended, as if to touch it.

"That is Queen Katrina, with her husband, the great King Wilhelm, and their children, Prince Milliard...and Princess Relena." The man smiled softly as she turned to look at him, tears starting to brim in her eyes.

"...You were standing in front of me when you showed this painting."

The man smiled. "I did not want to give the rest of the group such a good opportunity to put two and two together, so I blocked their view of you. There is no need for the nation to know that the house of Peacecraft has returned until you are ready to tell them."

"Who are you?" she asked finally.

The man bowed. "My name is Pargan. I have served the family faithfully for years...even in their absence. I remember both you and your brother as children. Your parents were truly wonderful people." He looked at Mrs. Darlian and smiled. "Allison! It is good to see you. How is Edward?"

"Er ist tot," she said, reverting to German, though whether because of the volume of her grief or because of the setting, Relena couldn't say. Pargan's face fell in shock, and he muttered something under his breath, moving to embrace the widow. She collapsed in his arms, and Relena was paralyzed to see the steadfast woman she'd known as her mother for years break down so completely, sobbing and wailing with careless abandon into Pargan's shoulder. Pargan rubbed her back in soothing circles and murmured things in her ear as she let it all out. Relena couldn't watch for very long, and shortly wandered back down the hall, trying to distance herself from the scene.

At length, the distant sounds of sobbing stopped, and Pargan and Mrs. Darlian joined Relena, who was looking at another painting down the hall. "Relena, Pargan and I have some things to discuss. We're going to sit in the parlour over there," she pointed at the entrance to a sitting room down the hall, "and have some tea. He says you can look around the house, if you want. Make sure you don't get lost, though."

"Also, keep in mind that most of the furniture is covered in dust cloths, to keep it clean," Pargan added. "Most of the rooms are not very interesting, due to their lack of use, I am afraid."

Relena nodded, and watched as the two adults wandered into the parlour, already talking quietly in German. She frowned at their backs and went exploring through the maze of hallways and empty rooms that was her family's house, trying to picture a kind woman who looked like her, and a kingly father figure playing with a platinum-haired little boy. It didn't work.