This is a songfic, I guess. Takes place some time after the end of
the Endless Waltz OVAs. It's kinda sad. Well, I couldn't help it;
the song is so pessimistic. But it's such a powerful song, I
couldn't help myself. Anyway, on with the fic.
A Gundam Wing songfic
O Fortuna
from Carl Orff's Carmina Burana
O FORTUNA, VELUT LUNA
STATU VARIABILIS
O Fortune, variable as the moon,
SEMPER CRESCIS AUT DECRESCIS
VITA DETESTABILIS
always dost thou wax and wane.
The streets were alive, bustling with all kinds of people. Couples
walked hand in hand, immersed in each other; young children darted
underfoot, their laughter free; men and women in suits dashed to make
it to some urgent appointment, or walked slowly, savouring the fresh
air, reluctant to return to their stuffy offices. People laughed and
chatted; by the side of the road, they haggled over treats and
trinkets, or sat and watched the world go by.
Through it all came one young man, self-assured, confident, walking
as if he owned the streets. His long braid swishing behind him, he
tossed a shiny, deep red apple into the air, watched it spin lazily,
caught it once again with a smile.
Slung over one arm was a bag full of apples. Passing the marketplace,
he hadn't been able to help himself. Years ago, he'd have simply
grabbed one of the crisp, delicious fruit, dashing off unseen with
his prize. But now he could afford to buy an even dozen, so he had.
He'd dreamed of living like this when he was just a kid. When he
used to be street trash, wild, grimy, hopeless and lost. *Ask me
then, I'd say the world hated me. But now....*
He grinned cockily, and continued on his way.
NUNC OBDURAT ET TUNC CURAT
LUDO MENTIS ACIEM
Detestable life, first dost thou mistreat us, and then, whimsically,
thou heedest our desires.
The smell of greasepaint hung thick in the air. He emerged from
beneath a flap of the heavy canvas tent, carrying a bucket full of
soapy water, a hard-bristled brush floating among the suds. Time to
clean out the cages once more.
It was a short trip to the animals' enclosure; when he arrived, he
was mildly surprised to see Catherine standing there. She was
watching the lion in its cage; it was watching her. Hearing someone
approach, she turned; he was puzzled to see tears in her eyes. But
she didn't look sad...?
He put down the bucket. "Are you alright?"
Her eyes filled with bright tears; they spilled out, tracing
glistening lines down her cheeks. "Oh, Trowa... *Triton*...." She
rushed forward, her arms folding around him. "I'm just so happy that
I've finally found you." Her arms held him tight; her embrace was
warm and comforting. It was strange; somehow, standing here like
this, he felt... safe. "My brother...."
Feeling the barest prickle of tears in his own half-closed eyes, he
hugged her back.
EGESTATEM, POTESTATEM
DISSOLVIT UT GLACIEM
As the sun melts the ice, so dost thou dissolve both poverty and
power.
Her back ached. It was the stiff-backed chair, she knew; she kept
intending to replace it, but never had the time. Or maybe it was the
way she spent hours sitting here, hunched over reports and memos,
doing research for her pet projects. Probably both, now that she
thought about it.
The desk wasn't especially cluttered, but if she turned her back on
it for a minute the work on it would grow exponentially. A weekend
spent away among the Colonies, talking to various governors or
explaining the latest government programs, always translated directly
into piles of papers that urgently needed her approval. She was
working over one such paper right now; a feasibility report, having
to do with seeding arctic lichens on Mars. She scratched a couple of
comments in the margin of the paper, crossed out a sentence, crossed
out a misspelled word. *This'll need to be rewritten before it can
be sent out.*
Pushing the paper away, she straightened up, briefly attempting to
stretch out her sore back muscles. There were still a dozen things
on her agenda today; a meeting with a newly elected minister,
schedules for the next week to juggle around, yet more reports to
review. *If everyone didn't keep telling me how important I was, I'd
think I was just a secretary or something.*
A foam cup sat forgotten among the papers on her desk. Picking it
up, she sat back in her uncomfortable chair and took a sip of the
coffee, now lukewarm. A half-smile played across her lips. *And to
think, I used to be the Queen of the World. Look at me now. Someone
up there's laughing at me, I just know it.*
SORS IMMANIS ET INANIS
ROTA TU VOLUBILIS
Monstrous and empty fate, thou, turning wheel, art mean,
STATUS MALUS, VANA SALUS
SEMPER DISSOLUBILIS
voiding good health at thy will.
"I'm going in." He spoke softly into the comm; just loud enough for
Sally, on the other end, to hear him. The time for waiting, for
cautious reconnaissance, was past; now it was time for action.
Barely waiting for her acknowledgment, he shoved the tiny
communications unit into a pouch on his belt and moved out.
All sorts of revolutionaries were crawling out of the woodwork these
days; luckily, they weren't as well organized as they could have
been. It had been easy to sneak an operative in; easy to learn all
kinds of secrets that would spell the downfall of this little pocket
of armed resistance. Just another day's work for the Preventers.
The building was heavily guarded. Even so, he flowed through its
halls like water, putting an end to groups of guards despite their
shining, brand-new, and very illegal rifles. He'd break up their
little conference before they even knew they were being attacked.
Soon he reached the specified room, taking only seconds to eliminate
the half-dozen men on alert beside the door. On the small keypad
nearby, he tapped in the codes the informant had risked his life to
learn. The door hissed open; he dashed into the room, weapon in
hand, ready for anything.
The room, however, was empty. Except for.... His eyes grew wide as
he realized he'd been lured into a trap.
But by then, it was too late.
OBUMBRATA ET VELATA
MICHI QUOQUE NITERIS
Veiled in obscurity, thou dost attack me also.
He leaned against the alley's wall, unseen in the shadows. From his
self-appointed post, he watched the girl walk past, only a few metres
away. She carried a sheaf of official-looking papers tucked under
one arm; her long straight hair was ruffled by the breeze as she took
a short trip across the calm, pleasant street.
A short trip... but long enough, for a sniper. His ever-alert eyes
caught a damning glint of metal from a high window. "Relena!" he
shouted, dashing towards her. "Get down!"
He flung himself at her, knocking her down. Just in time. Searing
agony slammed into his arm. Ignoring the pain, making sure his body
covered hers, he twisted around, gun already in hand. It was
probably useless at this range, but you never know. There might be
accomplices. Beneath him she lay stretched out, arms covering her
head, trembling.
Her papers were strewn across the street, a couple of documents
fluttering away with the wind. Alerted by the commotion, uniformed
men and women began to arrive in a panicked hurry. Officers were
dispatched towards the building, the area cordoned off; the
responsible party might be caught, might not.
No more shots were fired; the sniper had been scared away. *She's
safe,* he thought, relieved. He lowered his gun and sat back on his
heels, letting her up.
She sat up slowly, still shaken from the unexpected scare. Then she
turned, catching sight of her saviour. Her face lit up. "Oh, Heero!"
Catching sight of his wounded arm, she gasped and reached out as if
to heal it with her touch alone, then stopped herself. "You're hurt!
How did you... Why did you...."
"I promised I would protect you." In the face of her brilliant
smile, he found himself able to smile back, even if just a little.
NUNC PER LUDUM DORSUM NUDUM
FERO TUI SCELERIS
To thy cruel pleasure I bare my back.
*He disappeared so quickly....* She smiled even so, wistfully
thinking of her vanished Heero as she gazed out the window of the
plane.
The ocean below was so calm and peaceful; at this altitude, she could
barely see any hint of disturbance on its emerald surface. She
didn't want to think about the meeting she'd be attending once the
plane landed; another round of barely civil exchanges, not even
coming close to masking the greed and power-grabbing that raged just
beneath the surface of all politics. Instead, she filled her head
with her fondest memories, memories of the cobalt-eyed boy who never
gave her a single kind word, yet who was always there to rescue
her....
"Malfunction in engine three. Malfunc--"
The airplane, a silver arrow streaking across the sky, began
coughing, spitting out smoke and flame. There was no time for her to
do anything other than scream. "HEERO--"
Blazing destruction rained down and was swallowed up by the sea.
SORS SALUTIS ET VIRTUTIS
MICHI NUNC CONTRARIA
Thou dost withdraw my health and virtue,
EST AFFECTUS ET DEFECTUS
SEMPER IN ANGARIA
thou dost threaten my emotion and weakness with torture.
The world sounded tinny and faraway. His head was stuffy, full of
cotton; his thoughts annoyingly slow. Finally he opened his eyes,
just a crack; everything was fuzzy and far too bright.
It took long minutes for the bright, painful glow to resolve itself
into the familiar trappings of a hospital room. A faintly green
curtain was drawn half-closed around his bed. The smell of
antiseptics tickled the back of his throat. On the table to his side
stood a pitcher of water, a half-full glass. Beside them, someone
had placed a couple of cards. Odd pastel-coloured creatures danced
across the stiff paper, and proclaimed "Get well soon!" in cheerful
block letters.
On his other side sat a familiar face, slumped in a sturdy-looking,
utilitarian chair. He recognized her only after a couple of seconds
of thought. *Sally.* For some reason she looked haggard, as if she
hadn't slept in days.
Finally noticing the slight movement of his head, the twitch of his
eyes, she sat up. "You're awake!" Her voice seemed far too loud; his
head began to ache.
She moved forward, sitting on the edge of her chair, leaning over him
with gladness in her eyes. Her hand reached over to clasp his as it
lay motionless on the crisp white sheets. He tried to grip her hand
in return, to provide some reassurance to allay the alarming emotion
in her eyes. He tried, but....
"Why..." he rasped, his voice rusted from lack of use. "Why can't I
feel my arms?"
Her eyes quivered as if she were attempting to hold back tears. "I'm
so sorry. The doctors did all they could...."
His eyes grew wild with pain and shock; his voice trembled with
barely restrained hysteria. "Why can't I feel my legs?"
HAC IN HORA SINE MORA
CORDE PULSUM TANGITE
At this hour, therefore, let us pluck the strings without delay.
The music was too loud, too bright. He could easily walk over and
turn off the radio, shutting it off at the source. Instead he stood
by the window, staring outside, unmoving.
"C'mon, Heero. Let's go." Duo's voice couldn't conceal a
tinge of concern. Flicking his long braid to one side and adjusting
the stiff, unfamiliar dress shirt once more, he walked up to the
window, resting one hand on the shoulder of the boy standing there.
"C'mon, the funeral starts in half an hour."
Duo's music continued to blare through the tiny rented apartment.
Ignoring it, ignoring Duo, the boy continued looking out the window.
At the sky, so calm. At the ocean, so peaceful, so still.
QUOD PER SORTEM STERNIT FORTEM
MECUM OMNES PLANGITE
Let us mourn together, for fate crushes the brave.
---
Ah, right, disclaimers. Gundam Wing (c) Sotsu Agency, Sunrise, and
TV Asahi, and probably by several other big powerful companies whose
names I don't know. "O Fortuna" is a song from Carmina Burana, an
opera, music written by Carl Orff, based on poems written in the 13th
century by rowdy students and defrocked monks ^_^;; This particular
English translation of the text is (c) 1953 by Schott's Sohne, Mainz.
All rights reserved. I don't own either GW or Carmina Burana, more's
the pity, but any attempts to sue me most likely won't net anything
more profitable than a jar of pennies that I've been saving for a few
years. *Canadian* pennies, no less. So it's hardly worth it ^_^;;
A couple of mornings ago, I got the phrase "for fate crushes the brave"
stuck in my head, and it wouldn't go away till I wrote the fic. Hence
the piece of fiction you just read.
I would greatly appreciate C&C on this. Public is fine ^_^ Go ahead,
tear the fic apart. Any character seem blatantly OOC? Anything I've
gotten obviously wrong according to GW canon? Was anyone overly
confused about which character each little story segment was focusing
on? Any grammar/spelling/et caetera mistakes? Anything seem too
contrived/obvious? Any (horror of horrors) cliches? This is the first
GW fic I've completed, so any help would be wonderful.
What's up next? I was thinking "Fortune plango vulnera" would make a
pretty good songfic too, and I know just the scenes to use... won't
be anywhere near as dark as this one. ...NO, I am NOT planning to
make a giant GW songfic out of the entire Carmina Burana, that'd be
nuts. ^_^;; Plus it would have a lot of lemon scenes, now that I
think about it... *^^*
Megan Jones kunitori@licensedtokill.com
A Midsummer Night's WebSite: http://i.am/midsummer
Alas poor Yorick, I think you're dead.
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