Like a Candle Wasted From Burning
Title: Like a Candle Wasted From Burning
Fandom: Gundam Wing
Characters/Pairings: Sébastien, Nichol, Trowa, Otto, Iria Winner, Lucre, Alex
Word Count: 3200
Summary: Reunited with his father, Sébastien learns not everything on the mainland is as it seems at first glance.
A/N: aquatinted. Once again, only got through half my notes... I meant for this to be longer.
Part Fifteen of Negotiation of Lineage, sequel to A Thread That's Bound To Drop.
***
In the same way that the city appeared similar, but also nothing the same-Sébastien listened to the sound of Tomas Nichol’s voice more than the words. Certainly, he could repeat the stories of his childhood abduction if asked, but both Nichol and his father had pointedly refrained from asking about the past years of his absence.
Perhaps they didn’t want to know.
Perhaps they knew that Sébastien often had wanted to return to being the child they remembered as well. But nothing could undo the time Sébastien spent on the Peacemillion held hostage by his own mother. He only could move forward. He tightened his fingers into the material of his trousers.
Nichol had neglected to cut the hair from his cheeks, but it made his smiles seem more genuine and nothing could disguise their warmth. Nichol had moved both father and son to a separate place where they could sit at a table overlooking the gardens and a servant girl brought them all sweet wine. Sébastien tasted his with immediate relish, but for all that he wanted permission to drink it the flavor wasn’t to his liking.
Filling his cup again, Nichol stopped long enough to take a drink and only the shrill sound of a songbird in the garden interrupted the more obvious silence. Sunlight made everything colorful green highlighted by the softer white petals of the blossoming trees. Sébastien cautiously sought out the similarly green eyes of his father. Aside from his lean body, that color was the most similar feature he had inherited from Trowa Barton.
“What brought you back, my boy?” Trowa asked. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. A breeze blew between them as did Nichol’s concerned murmur.
“Do we need to discuss that now?” Nichol asked, but set his mouth closed soon after. Apparently he saw something in Sébastien’s father indicating the question remained.
“It’s Lucre,” Sébastien started, testing their reactions. Nichol’s brown eyes widened in surprise, but Trowa seemed to have expected exactly that response. “I was… I am afraid something bad will happen to him. And he’s my friend.”
“No other purpose but that?”
“Trowa,” Nichol tried to interrupt again.
“Can I trust you?” Sébastien retorted, feeling the ache of his long journey and the suffocating pressure of the palace. Even when he was a hostage, his life had been more carefree knowing that Sylvia Noventa loved him and wouldn’t let him come to harm. Had he misjudged his father?
“Yes,” Nichol said, swinging around in his seat and reaching out to take Sébastien’s hand. “Of course, you can trust us...”
Trowa might have smiled slightly, but it was immediately lost in a long exhale. “You’d be wiser not to trust anyone here. I suspect you’ve noticed as much. Dorothy said she met you in Otto’s company?”
“Yes,” Sébastien acknowledged. “Dorothy knows everything that happened to me since I arrived.”
“How did you escape?” Nichol kept Sébastien’s hand under his, but only briefly. The boy didn’t mind so much for the moment.
“Easily,” Sébastien shrugged. “Sally helped me. And yes, she’s still with mother.” He answered the coming question.
“All this way… for Lucre?” Trowa returned to the original purpose of his questions.
Sébastien nodded, “He’s Lucre. He’s important to me.”
“This seems familiar somehow,” Nichol sat back to elbow Sébastien’s father in the side. “Friendship over all else? Trowa, he’s your son without a doubt.”
***
When the shadows grew long and the sun had disappeared behind the trees, they were left with the comfortable silence of shadows. His father seemed able to enjoy the stillness as much as Sébastien, which was remarkable to the boy. Nichol moved around, coming in and out to shake his head at seeing the unmoved father and son. Eventually, Nichol settling down to read a book until the light became too dim.
“It’s about that time,” Trowa said, turning to look at Nichol as if waiting for something unpleasant. Sébastien felt the rising tension, but couldn’t discern what instigated the change.
“Just me, this time or do you want me to take your son as well?” Nichol said with a cascading pace of resignation and brief frustration.
“You don’t mind going with Uncle Tomas, do you?” Trowa stood and waited for Sébastien’s reply.
Nodding in acquiescence, Sébastien followed both men inside the manor rooms. The servants had been busy. A new fire crackled in the hearth and a dining table had been set for two. The herbs from the meal awakened Sébastien’s own taste buds.
“Don’t worry,” Nichol said as if able to read Sébastien’s thoughts. “I’ll make sure we get something as well. Perhaps even visit Dorothy and that lovely daughter of hers.” He said the last loudly enough that Trowa knew he was included.
Nichol pulled open the door to leave the main chamber just as a woman outside had lifted her hand to knock. She had hair that was a yellow as a dandelion, but Sébastien could tell from her appearance that something enhanced that brilliance. Her age was the same as his mother or Sally.
“Ma’am,” Nichol murmured, stepping aside to let her enter first. Sébastien moved as well. Her eyes cut to him only the one time and then pointedly ignored him.
“Trowa,” she said, with delight. “I heard from Quatre that you had returned early. And I’m glad to see that I was expected.”
“As always, Iria,” Sébastien’s father greeted her with an embrace and a broad smile unlike any he’d spared for Nichol or Sébastien all day.
“Come along,” Nichol said softly, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“What? What was that? Who is she?” Sébastien asked as soon as they were out of the building and moving leisurely from their rooms in the palace district toward the main streets of the city. “Uncle,” Sébastien tried again, finding himself relaxed and more comfortable to speak his mind when it was only Nichol.
“That,” Nichol started with a huff. Then re-evaluating the harshness of his tone, Nichol said more quietly, “She is Quatre Winner’s sister, Iria. She does work with your father.”
“That didn’t look like work,” Sébastien objected. He remembered the way Lucre had doted on his former wife.
“She is of the right social class and standing to be friends with… ah, hell, kid,” Nichol scratched along the back of his neck and abruptly stopped walking. “I don’t much care for it either. But whatever makes him happy…”
“And they’re always alone?” asked Sébastien. Around them a night-bird sang between the rhythmic chanting of the insects. Lights flickered on in the windows of the building at the bottom of the hill and across the twinkling-black river.
“I’m not allowed to stay,” Nichol said, looking away as if to make certain they were not overheard. “Your father doesn’t talk about her with me-not that he should,” Nichol admitted hastily. “But I don’t think you have to worry about her getting on with any half-siblings for you to worry about. She’s far too old for…”
“Perhaps it isn’t like that at all,” Sébastien pondered aloud. “She is a Winner, yes?”
“What are you saying?” Nichol replied in a way that made Sébastien suddenly happy. He asked as if he cared to hear and consider what the boy thought.
“Mother said that he forgot to be careful of scheming women. That he fancied her so much that he was easy to fool because she was a girl,” Sébastien confided.
“Your father loved Sylvia…” Nichol defended.
“I know,” interrupted Sébastien. “I know he truly did. And that’s why my mother’s plan worked.”
Nichol’s uneasy smile was brilliant in the near-dark. “My boy, you’ve changed.”
“I am fourteen years old now,” Sébastien agreed, returning the smile warmly. “I’ve been around the world. I know so much more than the child you remember.”
Nichol considered for a moment, then he solemnly answered, “I’ve traveled the world, and the older I get--the more I realize I don’t know.
“Now tell me what you couldn’t before… how is Sally?”
***
At some point, Sébastien had found a drink that he both could stomach and enjoyed. Nichol had been so delighted that he’d bought a round for the entire tavern and it must have been those gracious souls who escorted them safely back to the palace. He somewhat remembered Nichol putting a sloppy kiss on his forehead after Sébastien was folded under his bedding.
He pushed his hair back from his face and wiped that spot. As much fun as he could have with Nichol, the man still saw the infant he helped recover and raise with Trowa Barton.
Sitting upright, Sébastien looked around the room. He’d been given a different place to sleep. The simple but expensive furniture suggested a room Halyna might give to a visiting lord. The single window was covered by a gently blowing curtain, which allowed slivers of daylight in like rippling currents.
Had Nichol gone back to his father’s rooms or was he in a similar chamber?
The drink from the night before left Sébastien somewhat unsteady, but he pulled back the curtain and the brisk air steadily revived his better senses. Sally had commented on the Noventa tolerance and he thought he understood better what she meant.
Thinking of his mother pulled Sébastien into the puzzle of his father’s new mistress. He didn’t have enough details to rationally explain why a Winner would pursue Trowa Barton. The Queen’s husband was from the fifth colony after all. But the way she completely shut Nichol out, certainly that wasn’t his father’s original intent?, gave Sébastien enough cause to suspect more devious intent.
I should talk to Dorothy, Sébastien decided as he laced his boots. He didn’t know how to make that happen or if Halyna would allow him to go about the city unescorted. He thought he might convince Nichol, when a knocking at the door interrupted his progress.
“Yes?” Sébastien waited, then once finished he went to open the door himself. Looking up into the earnest expression of Otto, Sébastien inquired, “What is it?”
“I have a message for you from Miss Relena,” Otto said, simply. The man’s gaze dropped to the floor. Sébastien wondered if he had been transformed into a prince as this Otto seemed to show incredibly more respect than he had during their traveling together.
Holding out his hand did nothing, so Sébastien said, “What is it?”
“She says you must ask to see Lucre now, by note. I will take you to the young lord…” Otto winced at his phrasing. “Then deliver your request in a delayed fashion to allow you some time.”
“What is it?” Sébastien barely could control his voice. “Has he come to some harm?”
“Hurry,” Otto stammered.
***
Unlike the main floors, the basement of the castle was ill kept. Familiar with the guards, Otto gained them both access to the lowest levels. The place smelled dank and torchlight revealed a thick mold along every stone. Otto sneezed.
They went past several unused cells, the doors open. Some of them were solid frames while others were bars that might allow an arm to push through to the shoulder. Sébastien held his own torch and swung it around to better see whichever direction he wanted to look.
Shackles were along the wall. In one place, Sébastien lifted them to test their weight. As the metal clanked back into place, he studied the large dark stain at about skull-height. He turned away and walked faster to keep up with Otto.
“Alex,” Otto said to the last guard.
The only guard? Sébastien observed.
“The keys please,” Otto requested. “How is he?”
“Yeah, yeah, old man,” Alex flipped the keys around his finger. “I’ve got it.” He winked at Sébastien as if they were sharing a joke, and at Otto’s expense. Sébastien frowned, but the other man had already turned his back to pull out the key to the only closed door. It was of the sort Sébastien had observed earlier, solid with only a slot with which to view the inside.
“You’ve got company,” with a sing-song lilt, Alex called into the unlocked room.
Sébastien heard a low whimpering of the words, “Leave me alone.”
“Lucre,” he shouted, immediately pushing away both men to get to his friend. He knew that voice, so weak sounding, but very much his friend. “Lucre?” He paused, unable to see in the almost pure darkness and his eyes had yet to adjust. He did, however, feel the drop in temperature as if he’d walked from spring into winter. Rubbing his arms, he saw movement and turned toward it.
“Lucre, it’s me… Sébastien,” he hesitated. What would he find? How long had Lucre been kept like this?
A deeply rasped inhale and then Lucre coughed.
“Water? Do you have water?” Sébastien ordered, hardly caring that he had no authority on the mainland. Being his father’s son had to mean something in this place, at least water.
“Of course,” Otto obediently turned.
Regretting that he hadn’t sent Alex away, Sébastien amended, “I will speak to him in private.”
Alex chuckled, “As you wish, I won’t tell…”
“Go!”
“Is… ‘bastien,” Lucre murmured. Sébastien dropped to his knees and pulled the sitting figure into his arms. Like his surroundings, Lucre seemed excessively cold wherever Sébastien could feel him. The other man had lost weight. Sweat made his skin clammy and slick.
“You’re ill,” Sébastien said, feeling stupid and helpless. “But I found you.”
Lucre hacked and laughed. “See me once more before I’m killed.”
“I’m not going to let that happen,” promised Sébastien. “My father… or Nichol… I’ll make sure of it.”
“Nice try,” Lucre swiped his tongue over his lips. His face became more and more clear to Sébastien the longer they were together. “But Halyna’s claimed my life. Today… tonight.”
“What?”
“Alex told me… bastard came in to gloat…” Lucre weakly dropped away from Sébastien’s embrace to put his back against the wall. “Watch out for him. He likes… boys.”
“Ah, what?” Sébastien repeated, dumbly.
“I thought I had escaped from him, but… hell, I wish the poison had worked first.” With considerable effort, Lucre patted Sébastien’s cheek. “Don’t look so… shocked. So many people protecting you…”
“Poison?” Sébastien returned to the last question first. “You’re not ill?”
“I am very ill.” Lucre’s next cough lasted for several seconds. “But damned too healthy… so long to get to this point with it eating at me. Otto puts it in my food.”
“But, I’m going to help you escape,” Sébastien whispered. “I won’t let you die. I didn’t come here to watch you die!”
Lucre tugged Sébastien to bring his face closer. The boy could smell the foul breath on his neck. Then words were softly uttered into his ear. “He’s back…”
Pivoting on his knees, Sébastien saw the guard, Alex, leaning in the doorway. “I told you to leave,” Sébastien ordered.
“You're Barton’s aren’t you?” Alex said, confidently. “I didn’t recognize you at first, you’ll have to forgive me. A fellow can get forgetful when he’s stuck down here as long as I have been.”
“I’m the son of a Gundam knight,” Sébastien confirmed, warily. He had the ranking authority over a common soldier, that much he was certain.
Alex chuckled, “Listen to you. Kid, you don’t get anything you haven’t earned yourself. Take your old man’s bed warmer… what’s his name, Nichol? Now he earned a little respect when he tricked me a few years back. But in all that time what he never noticed… well, he’s sort of thick between those ears. He does like it so much better when your father is telling him to do this or to do that.”
“What are you talking about?” Sébastien spoke, incredulously. “I told you to leave.”
“Now on the other hand, take... me, for example. I’ve warmed a few beds, but it’s strategic. Kind of like how your mother…”
Repositioning his weight, Sébastien felt the shifting of the short knife in his boot. He’d forgotten it was concealed there when he’d laced his boots earlier, but during the urge to hurt that man by any means… Sébastien slipped it out. His limbs were still limber from his long, deep rest-loose and flexible like Milliardo Peacecraft had taught him.
“Sébastien?” Lucre noticed the naked blade first, but fortunately that brief cry of surprise didn’t alert Alex.
The strike was so over quickly that Sébastien almost regretted his speed at crossing the short distance between them. The skillful cutting of the knife had already destroyed both of the man’s arms. The point rested at Alex’s throat. Hesitating only a moment, Sébastien fought to speak through his clenched teeth. He shoved the taller man into the wall, pinning him with a forearm across the chest.
“Arrh…” Alex rasped.
“Say what you want about my mother, but… not…” Sébastien thrust the blade deeply into the skin. Part of him wondered how he had gotten to that place. The blood pouring from Alex’s body covered them both and stuck their shirts together. “Not… “ He shifted his slick fingers for a better grip on the blade and pulled it sideways. Alex’s eyes rolled upward. “Don’t talk about…”
He stepped away, taking the blade with him, and Alex dropped to the ground like a discarded scrap.
Sébastien swallowed. Giving the blade a futile cleaning swipe along his trousers, he returned it to the hidden boot sheath. Then while turned toward Lucre, he stated “I killed him because he hurt you.”
“As you say,” Lucre replied. “So now what?” His face seemed in conflict between surprise, concern or dismay.
Sébastien thought he understood, but his own blast of emotions were collapsing as an unexpected calmness began to form around his heart. The last of his adrenaline helped him lift his friend.
“That poison will not kill you. Neither will Halyna,” Sébastien explained in simple terms as if Lucre might miss what he was being told. “I will.”
Lucre smiled, “I see. Well, go ahead then.” He tilted his head to the side, exposing his throat.
Finding his own smile, Sébastien shook his head. “Not today. But your life is mine all the same. Now stand up, since you suddenly seem more lively.”
“Got lively watching you fight...” Lucre pushed himself from the wall and balanced a moment on his feet while finding that he could stand and take steps. “I could feel your adrenaline. Where did you learn to do that? When did you?... because you certainly hadn’t…”
“Milliardo Peacecraft taught me,” Sébastien explained. “Come on. Both our fathers are making mistakes that we have to put right.”
Fandom: Gundam Wing
Characters/Pairings: Sébastien, Nichol, Trowa, Otto, Iria Winner, Lucre, Alex
Word Count: 3200
Summary: Reunited with his father, Sébastien learns not everything on the mainland is as it seems at first glance.
A/N: aquatinted. Once again, only got through half my notes... I meant for this to be longer.
Part Fifteen of Negotiation of Lineage, sequel to A Thread That's Bound To Drop.
***
In the same way that the city appeared similar, but also nothing the same-Sébastien listened to the sound of Tomas Nichol’s voice more than the words. Certainly, he could repeat the stories of his childhood abduction if asked, but both Nichol and his father had pointedly refrained from asking about the past years of his absence.
Perhaps they didn’t want to know.
Perhaps they knew that Sébastien often had wanted to return to being the child they remembered as well. But nothing could undo the time Sébastien spent on the Peacemillion held hostage by his own mother. He only could move forward. He tightened his fingers into the material of his trousers.
Nichol had neglected to cut the hair from his cheeks, but it made his smiles seem more genuine and nothing could disguise their warmth. Nichol had moved both father and son to a separate place where they could sit at a table overlooking the gardens and a servant girl brought them all sweet wine. Sébastien tasted his with immediate relish, but for all that he wanted permission to drink it the flavor wasn’t to his liking.
Filling his cup again, Nichol stopped long enough to take a drink and only the shrill sound of a songbird in the garden interrupted the more obvious silence. Sunlight made everything colorful green highlighted by the softer white petals of the blossoming trees. Sébastien cautiously sought out the similarly green eyes of his father. Aside from his lean body, that color was the most similar feature he had inherited from Trowa Barton.
“What brought you back, my boy?” Trowa asked. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. A breeze blew between them as did Nichol’s concerned murmur.
“Do we need to discuss that now?” Nichol asked, but set his mouth closed soon after. Apparently he saw something in Sébastien’s father indicating the question remained.
“It’s Lucre,” Sébastien started, testing their reactions. Nichol’s brown eyes widened in surprise, but Trowa seemed to have expected exactly that response. “I was… I am afraid something bad will happen to him. And he’s my friend.”
“No other purpose but that?”
“Trowa,” Nichol tried to interrupt again.
“Can I trust you?” Sébastien retorted, feeling the ache of his long journey and the suffocating pressure of the palace. Even when he was a hostage, his life had been more carefree knowing that Sylvia Noventa loved him and wouldn’t let him come to harm. Had he misjudged his father?
“Yes,” Nichol said, swinging around in his seat and reaching out to take Sébastien’s hand. “Of course, you can trust us...”
Trowa might have smiled slightly, but it was immediately lost in a long exhale. “You’d be wiser not to trust anyone here. I suspect you’ve noticed as much. Dorothy said she met you in Otto’s company?”
“Yes,” Sébastien acknowledged. “Dorothy knows everything that happened to me since I arrived.”
“How did you escape?” Nichol kept Sébastien’s hand under his, but only briefly. The boy didn’t mind so much for the moment.
“Easily,” Sébastien shrugged. “Sally helped me. And yes, she’s still with mother.” He answered the coming question.
“All this way… for Lucre?” Trowa returned to the original purpose of his questions.
Sébastien nodded, “He’s Lucre. He’s important to me.”
“This seems familiar somehow,” Nichol sat back to elbow Sébastien’s father in the side. “Friendship over all else? Trowa, he’s your son without a doubt.”
***
When the shadows grew long and the sun had disappeared behind the trees, they were left with the comfortable silence of shadows. His father seemed able to enjoy the stillness as much as Sébastien, which was remarkable to the boy. Nichol moved around, coming in and out to shake his head at seeing the unmoved father and son. Eventually, Nichol settling down to read a book until the light became too dim.
“It’s about that time,” Trowa said, turning to look at Nichol as if waiting for something unpleasant. Sébastien felt the rising tension, but couldn’t discern what instigated the change.
“Just me, this time or do you want me to take your son as well?” Nichol said with a cascading pace of resignation and brief frustration.
“You don’t mind going with Uncle Tomas, do you?” Trowa stood and waited for Sébastien’s reply.
Nodding in acquiescence, Sébastien followed both men inside the manor rooms. The servants had been busy. A new fire crackled in the hearth and a dining table had been set for two. The herbs from the meal awakened Sébastien’s own taste buds.
“Don’t worry,” Nichol said as if able to read Sébastien’s thoughts. “I’ll make sure we get something as well. Perhaps even visit Dorothy and that lovely daughter of hers.” He said the last loudly enough that Trowa knew he was included.
Nichol pulled open the door to leave the main chamber just as a woman outside had lifted her hand to knock. She had hair that was a yellow as a dandelion, but Sébastien could tell from her appearance that something enhanced that brilliance. Her age was the same as his mother or Sally.
“Ma’am,” Nichol murmured, stepping aside to let her enter first. Sébastien moved as well. Her eyes cut to him only the one time and then pointedly ignored him.
“Trowa,” she said, with delight. “I heard from Quatre that you had returned early. And I’m glad to see that I was expected.”
“As always, Iria,” Sébastien’s father greeted her with an embrace and a broad smile unlike any he’d spared for Nichol or Sébastien all day.
“Come along,” Nichol said softly, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“What? What was that? Who is she?” Sébastien asked as soon as they were out of the building and moving leisurely from their rooms in the palace district toward the main streets of the city. “Uncle,” Sébastien tried again, finding himself relaxed and more comfortable to speak his mind when it was only Nichol.
“That,” Nichol started with a huff. Then re-evaluating the harshness of his tone, Nichol said more quietly, “She is Quatre Winner’s sister, Iria. She does work with your father.”
“That didn’t look like work,” Sébastien objected. He remembered the way Lucre had doted on his former wife.
“She is of the right social class and standing to be friends with… ah, hell, kid,” Nichol scratched along the back of his neck and abruptly stopped walking. “I don’t much care for it either. But whatever makes him happy…”
“And they’re always alone?” asked Sébastien. Around them a night-bird sang between the rhythmic chanting of the insects. Lights flickered on in the windows of the building at the bottom of the hill and across the twinkling-black river.
“I’m not allowed to stay,” Nichol said, looking away as if to make certain they were not overheard. “Your father doesn’t talk about her with me-not that he should,” Nichol admitted hastily. “But I don’t think you have to worry about her getting on with any half-siblings for you to worry about. She’s far too old for…”
“Perhaps it isn’t like that at all,” Sébastien pondered aloud. “She is a Winner, yes?”
“What are you saying?” Nichol replied in a way that made Sébastien suddenly happy. He asked as if he cared to hear and consider what the boy thought.
“Mother said that he forgot to be careful of scheming women. That he fancied her so much that he was easy to fool because she was a girl,” Sébastien confided.
“Your father loved Sylvia…” Nichol defended.
“I know,” interrupted Sébastien. “I know he truly did. And that’s why my mother’s plan worked.”
Nichol’s uneasy smile was brilliant in the near-dark. “My boy, you’ve changed.”
“I am fourteen years old now,” Sébastien agreed, returning the smile warmly. “I’ve been around the world. I know so much more than the child you remember.”
Nichol considered for a moment, then he solemnly answered, “I’ve traveled the world, and the older I get--the more I realize I don’t know.
“Now tell me what you couldn’t before… how is Sally?”
***
At some point, Sébastien had found a drink that he both could stomach and enjoyed. Nichol had been so delighted that he’d bought a round for the entire tavern and it must have been those gracious souls who escorted them safely back to the palace. He somewhat remembered Nichol putting a sloppy kiss on his forehead after Sébastien was folded under his bedding.
He pushed his hair back from his face and wiped that spot. As much fun as he could have with Nichol, the man still saw the infant he helped recover and raise with Trowa Barton.
Sitting upright, Sébastien looked around the room. He’d been given a different place to sleep. The simple but expensive furniture suggested a room Halyna might give to a visiting lord. The single window was covered by a gently blowing curtain, which allowed slivers of daylight in like rippling currents.
Had Nichol gone back to his father’s rooms or was he in a similar chamber?
The drink from the night before left Sébastien somewhat unsteady, but he pulled back the curtain and the brisk air steadily revived his better senses. Sally had commented on the Noventa tolerance and he thought he understood better what she meant.
Thinking of his mother pulled Sébastien into the puzzle of his father’s new mistress. He didn’t have enough details to rationally explain why a Winner would pursue Trowa Barton. The Queen’s husband was from the fifth colony after all. But the way she completely shut Nichol out, certainly that wasn’t his father’s original intent?, gave Sébastien enough cause to suspect more devious intent.
I should talk to Dorothy, Sébastien decided as he laced his boots. He didn’t know how to make that happen or if Halyna would allow him to go about the city unescorted. He thought he might convince Nichol, when a knocking at the door interrupted his progress.
“Yes?” Sébastien waited, then once finished he went to open the door himself. Looking up into the earnest expression of Otto, Sébastien inquired, “What is it?”
“I have a message for you from Miss Relena,” Otto said, simply. The man’s gaze dropped to the floor. Sébastien wondered if he had been transformed into a prince as this Otto seemed to show incredibly more respect than he had during their traveling together.
Holding out his hand did nothing, so Sébastien said, “What is it?”
“She says you must ask to see Lucre now, by note. I will take you to the young lord…” Otto winced at his phrasing. “Then deliver your request in a delayed fashion to allow you some time.”
“What is it?” Sébastien barely could control his voice. “Has he come to some harm?”
“Hurry,” Otto stammered.
***
Unlike the main floors, the basement of the castle was ill kept. Familiar with the guards, Otto gained them both access to the lowest levels. The place smelled dank and torchlight revealed a thick mold along every stone. Otto sneezed.
They went past several unused cells, the doors open. Some of them were solid frames while others were bars that might allow an arm to push through to the shoulder. Sébastien held his own torch and swung it around to better see whichever direction he wanted to look.
Shackles were along the wall. In one place, Sébastien lifted them to test their weight. As the metal clanked back into place, he studied the large dark stain at about skull-height. He turned away and walked faster to keep up with Otto.
“Alex,” Otto said to the last guard.
The only guard? Sébastien observed.
“The keys please,” Otto requested. “How is he?”
“Yeah, yeah, old man,” Alex flipped the keys around his finger. “I’ve got it.” He winked at Sébastien as if they were sharing a joke, and at Otto’s expense. Sébastien frowned, but the other man had already turned his back to pull out the key to the only closed door. It was of the sort Sébastien had observed earlier, solid with only a slot with which to view the inside.
“You’ve got company,” with a sing-song lilt, Alex called into the unlocked room.
Sébastien heard a low whimpering of the words, “Leave me alone.”
“Lucre,” he shouted, immediately pushing away both men to get to his friend. He knew that voice, so weak sounding, but very much his friend. “Lucre?” He paused, unable to see in the almost pure darkness and his eyes had yet to adjust. He did, however, feel the drop in temperature as if he’d walked from spring into winter. Rubbing his arms, he saw movement and turned toward it.
“Lucre, it’s me… Sébastien,” he hesitated. What would he find? How long had Lucre been kept like this?
A deeply rasped inhale and then Lucre coughed.
“Water? Do you have water?” Sébastien ordered, hardly caring that he had no authority on the mainland. Being his father’s son had to mean something in this place, at least water.
“Of course,” Otto obediently turned.
Regretting that he hadn’t sent Alex away, Sébastien amended, “I will speak to him in private.”
Alex chuckled, “As you wish, I won’t tell…”
“Go!”
“Is… ‘bastien,” Lucre murmured. Sébastien dropped to his knees and pulled the sitting figure into his arms. Like his surroundings, Lucre seemed excessively cold wherever Sébastien could feel him. The other man had lost weight. Sweat made his skin clammy and slick.
“You’re ill,” Sébastien said, feeling stupid and helpless. “But I found you.”
Lucre hacked and laughed. “See me once more before I’m killed.”
“I’m not going to let that happen,” promised Sébastien. “My father… or Nichol… I’ll make sure of it.”
“Nice try,” Lucre swiped his tongue over his lips. His face became more and more clear to Sébastien the longer they were together. “But Halyna’s claimed my life. Today… tonight.”
“What?”
“Alex told me… bastard came in to gloat…” Lucre weakly dropped away from Sébastien’s embrace to put his back against the wall. “Watch out for him. He likes… boys.”
“Ah, what?” Sébastien repeated, dumbly.
“I thought I had escaped from him, but… hell, I wish the poison had worked first.” With considerable effort, Lucre patted Sébastien’s cheek. “Don’t look so… shocked. So many people protecting you…”
“Poison?” Sébastien returned to the last question first. “You’re not ill?”
“I am very ill.” Lucre’s next cough lasted for several seconds. “But damned too healthy… so long to get to this point with it eating at me. Otto puts it in my food.”
“But, I’m going to help you escape,” Sébastien whispered. “I won’t let you die. I didn’t come here to watch you die!”
Lucre tugged Sébastien to bring his face closer. The boy could smell the foul breath on his neck. Then words were softly uttered into his ear. “He’s back…”
Pivoting on his knees, Sébastien saw the guard, Alex, leaning in the doorway. “I told you to leave,” Sébastien ordered.
“You're Barton’s aren’t you?” Alex said, confidently. “I didn’t recognize you at first, you’ll have to forgive me. A fellow can get forgetful when he’s stuck down here as long as I have been.”
“I’m the son of a Gundam knight,” Sébastien confirmed, warily. He had the ranking authority over a common soldier, that much he was certain.
Alex chuckled, “Listen to you. Kid, you don’t get anything you haven’t earned yourself. Take your old man’s bed warmer… what’s his name, Nichol? Now he earned a little respect when he tricked me a few years back. But in all that time what he never noticed… well, he’s sort of thick between those ears. He does like it so much better when your father is telling him to do this or to do that.”
“What are you talking about?” Sébastien spoke, incredulously. “I told you to leave.”
“Now on the other hand, take... me, for example. I’ve warmed a few beds, but it’s strategic. Kind of like how your mother…”
Repositioning his weight, Sébastien felt the shifting of the short knife in his boot. He’d forgotten it was concealed there when he’d laced his boots earlier, but during the urge to hurt that man by any means… Sébastien slipped it out. His limbs were still limber from his long, deep rest-loose and flexible like Milliardo Peacecraft had taught him.
“Sébastien?” Lucre noticed the naked blade first, but fortunately that brief cry of surprise didn’t alert Alex.
The strike was so over quickly that Sébastien almost regretted his speed at crossing the short distance between them. The skillful cutting of the knife had already destroyed both of the man’s arms. The point rested at Alex’s throat. Hesitating only a moment, Sébastien fought to speak through his clenched teeth. He shoved the taller man into the wall, pinning him with a forearm across the chest.
“Arrh…” Alex rasped.
“Say what you want about my mother, but… not…” Sébastien thrust the blade deeply into the skin. Part of him wondered how he had gotten to that place. The blood pouring from Alex’s body covered them both and stuck their shirts together. “Not… “ He shifted his slick fingers for a better grip on the blade and pulled it sideways. Alex’s eyes rolled upward. “Don’t talk about…”
He stepped away, taking the blade with him, and Alex dropped to the ground like a discarded scrap.
Sébastien swallowed. Giving the blade a futile cleaning swipe along his trousers, he returned it to the hidden boot sheath. Then while turned toward Lucre, he stated “I killed him because he hurt you.”
“As you say,” Lucre replied. “So now what?” His face seemed in conflict between surprise, concern or dismay.
Sébastien thought he understood, but his own blast of emotions were collapsing as an unexpected calmness began to form around his heart. The last of his adrenaline helped him lift his friend.
“That poison will not kill you. Neither will Halyna,” Sébastien explained in simple terms as if Lucre might miss what he was being told. “I will.”
Lucre smiled, “I see. Well, go ahead then.” He tilted his head to the side, exposing his throat.
Finding his own smile, Sébastien shook his head. “Not today. But your life is mine all the same. Now stand up, since you suddenly seem more lively.”
“Got lively watching you fight...” Lucre pushed himself from the wall and balanced a moment on his feet while finding that he could stand and take steps. “I could feel your adrenaline. Where did you learn to do that? When did you?... because you certainly hadn’t…”
“Milliardo Peacecraft taught me,” Sébastien explained. “Come on. Both our fathers are making mistakes that we have to put right.”