17-Jan-2001

Disclaimer: I do not own the Gundam Wing characters, nor am I making any money from this. The ideas of a Confessor and a Mord-Sith are from Terry Goodkind's Sword of Truth novels. Many of the names of the monsters and locations are from the online game of EverQuest. All of this is done without permission.

Warnings: AU, Fantasy, Angst, Shounen-ai, Dark, and Violence Additional Warning: This part has graphic violence. Don't say you weren't warned!

Pairings: 1+2 3+4





Mord-Sith! by Annabell Part Nine



Sometimes I wanna kill

Sometimes I wanna die

Sometimes I wanna destroy

Sometimes I wanna cry



Sometimes I could get even

Sometimes I could give up

Sometimes I could give

Sometimes I never give a fuck

-Don't Damn Me by Guns and Roses



Palace of Light, Erudin

Meiran could feel her time running out. While she remained trapped in her rooms like the bird in a gilded cage, every passing second brought her closer to that time when the Emperor would send for her. The Faydwer princess vowed to escape before he was trapped in his merciless hands.

The young Healer knew her plan was more an act of desperation than an organized escape attempt. Changing into boots, trousers and a loose tunic, and braiding her black hair into a single plait, she had dressed much more practically for running than the long flowing skirts she usually wore. She was going to try to lure the guards in her room one at a time; she could use her power to put them to sleep and slip out, hopefully before anyone came along and sounded the alarm. Try being the operative word.

The black-eyed princess rubbed her sweaty palms on her pants, trying to calm her pounding heart. Steeling herself, she was just drawing a breath to call out to the guards when she heard a thump right outside her door, followed closely by another.

She hadn't even thought to move when the door burst open and a tall guard with strange bangs covering one eye entered, dragging in by their heels the bodies of the two guards who had been stationed outside her door. He unceremoniously deposited the limp guards off to one side and pushed the door shut. All the while, Meiran had stood there with her mouth open in surprise. He turned to her and she recognized the guard who had watched her heal the old servant in the dining hall the prior evening. With something akin to horror, she saw that the front of his uniform was stained dark with blood. But it didn't seem to be his own.

"I need your help," he said without preamble.

Meiran shut her mouth with a snap. Taking her surprise for hesitation, he went on, his voice was soft but firm. "If you help me, I will help you escape." She saw desperation barely hidden in the emerald depths of his expression, along with rage and maybe even fear. But his features remained neutral despite the storm of emotions roiling in his visible eye.

A part of her wanted to run to the guard and wrap her arms around him in hope, while another part of her wanted equally as badly to run and hide in terror from this blood-covered young man. But in the end, she was a princess, and acted accordingly. Besides, there was no real decision.

"Very well," she said, surprised at how calm she sounded. He nodded once and seized her wrist, dragging her to the door and peered out into the corridor. Satisfied that the passage was empty, he strode out into the hallway, pulling her along. She had to jog trot to keep up with his longer steps. He stopped at a corner and quickly checked for other Palace occupants, then turned and headed down another long hall. Luckily, it was dinnertime and most of the people inhabiting the premises were attending the Emperor. The two of them went on like this for a while, the grip on her wrist never loosening as they climbed various staircases, sometimes up or down on their way to wherever.

Finally, they came to a small side corridor and stopped at a door. By this time, Meiran was out of breath. Trying to keep her panting quiet, she watched as he looked first one way, then the other, before opening the door. Satisfied that they were unobserved, he dragged her into a tiny, bare room, really no bigger than a closet really.

A body was lying on the floor of the room. A cloak from a guard's uniform, saturated in blood, was covering it. The tall guard pushed her forward and closed the door behind them. A dim crack of light slipping under the door provided the only source of illumination. Meiran's Healing training took over as she crouched down next to the still figure on the cold floor.

"Can you heal him?" the unnamed guard asked quietly, crouching next to her.

Doubtful, she felt for a pulse and was surprised when she actually found one, weak and faltering. She couldn't believe that someone who had lost so much blood could still be alive.

"I'll try, but he's pretty far gone," she whispered back, even as she called her Healing power forth and sent powerful waves of energy from her fingertips to the dying young man. For long minutes, she poured everything she had into him, augmenting his depleted life force as she tried frantically to coax close the wounds, so he wouldn't keep losing so much precious blood.

The princess was concentrating so hard on Healing the wounded warrior that she nearly lost consciousness as her own body began to run low on energy. Meiran looked up when she felt the guard's steadying hand on her shoulder.

"Are you alright?" he asked, concerned.

"Yes," she whispered, shaking her head and willing the world to stop spinning. Checking for the pulse again, she found it a bit stronger and more rhythmic than before, a very good sign. "But we have to go somewhere else. We have to get these bloody clothes off him and clean his wounds. Somewhere safe where we won't be in danger of being discovered, because this will take a very long time. Plus, I will need food in order for my body to maintain its energy so I can continue Healing him."

The young man thought a moment, and then he nodded. "Very well." Without another word, he reached down, scooped up the blood-covered body and stood up. Meiran followed suit, swaying as a rush of dizziness washed over her.

"Can you walk?" the guard asked. She figured he was only concerned that if anything should happen to her, his friend would die; but she didn't care. He had promised to help her escape. She nodded, and the emerald-eyed guard turned to the door. She stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Who is he?" she asked.

"An enemy of Odin Lowe's," was the grim reply. Then he opened the door and carried the limp form into the hall, leaving her to follow as best she could. As Meiran trailed after the tall guard, to keep her mind focused on something besides the possibility of being caught, she contemplated the old adage her father had quoted to her once, right before he had decided to ask Trieze for an alliance: Is the enemy of my enemy my friend?

Soon, Meiran was thoroughly lost. The Palace was immense, much bigger than the castle in which she grown up. Fortunately, the guard seemed to know exactly where he was going. Still, they had to stop to rest several times before they reached their destination. While they rested, Meiran would pour more Healing energy into the fallen warrior. It was during one of these stops that she learned the names of the guard and the injured young man she was trying to save.

Why one of Odin's guards was trying to save the Emperor's enemy was beyond her, but the tall man named Trowa didn't seem interested in answering her questions. So, she kept her mouth shut and concentrated on keeping up with Trowa's long strides.

Finally, they reached their destination; it was a set of rooms in the west wing. The setting sun filtered through what looked to be a willow tree and poured through the windows, splashing hues of orange and red on the walls. The sound of birds and insects in the gardens outside filled the quiet room. She looked around the spacious rooms as Trowa carefully laid Wufei on the unmade bed. She wondered who these rooms belonged to, but then her focus returned to her patient. Carefully divesting the injured young man of his ruined shirt, she called up her Healing power once more, concentrating this time on the seeping wounds puncturing the muscular chest. She ran her hands over the torn skin, soothing the screaming nerve endings under her fingers.

As she worked, Meiran glanced at the face of the young man she was trying to save. He was very pale from blood loss, but his skin seemed golden. Absently, she brushed back the corn silk fine black hair that had worked its way out of its tie and was partially hiding Wufei's slack features. Thick black lashes lay against his cheekbones. His lips were parted as he slowly drew a labored breath. She found herself wondering what it felt like to kiss those lips; then she flushed with anger and embarrassment at her behavior.

`Stop ogling the patient, girl!' she scolded herself. While she forced most of her concentration back on her Healing, still part of her mind returned to her father's question.

`Is the enemy of my enemy my friend?'

Trowa paced around the bedroom, nearly at his wit's end. After he and the other archers had shot Wufei, the Emperor had simply ordered them to clean up the mess and left. Dorothy and Quatre had gone in another direction, presumably to some place where she would continue to torture the young mage for more information. The sun was almost down by now and Trowa glanced over to where the Faydwer princess was working to save the fallen blademaster.

He fervently hoped that the princess could heal Wufei. But for now there was nothing more he could do on that end. He tried to plan his next move, and kept drawing a blank. Absently he rubbed his arms, suddenly cold despite the heat.

His thoughts returned to Quatre and he clenched his hands into fists. The thought of his love in the hands of the Mord-Sith filled him with such a helpless feeling that it was all he could do not to scream. He desperately wanted to charge straight into Dorothy's rooms and run her through with his sword. But he knew that he couldn't get within three levels of her chambers without running into several dozen guards. And to top it all off, he had learned that Heero was now a prisoner in the dungeon as well. Could things get worse?

"And just what are you doing in here?" a glacial voice asked.

Trowa spun around, caught off guard for the first time in his life, despite his keyed senses. Mantled in shadows, Duo was leaning against the wall next to the window with his arms folded across his chest. His chin was lowered, not quite touching his chest, but the violet eyes peering through the long bangs were fixed on Trowa like a plains cat on its prey.

Of any being that Trowa had ever met, it was Duo that had the most expressive eyes. They were not only an unusual color, their vibrancy drew the gaze of an observer. The sparkle of humor, the flames of rage, whatever emotion the Confessor was feeling at the time was showcased in his eyes. But now…

Now, those eyes showed absolutely no light, no clue to what he was thinking. They were neither warm nor cold; granite was more expressive than Duo's eyes.

Trowa swallowed hard, and forced himself to answer the question, mentally wincing at the irony of his words. "Wufei, Quatre and Heero need your help."

Duo raised an eyebrow, but didn't answer. Trowa was wondering what sort of reaction he was going to get from his statement when the Confessor pushed himself away from the wall and dropped his hands to his sides. Flicking a glance at Meiran who was sitting absolutely still on the bed with her hands gently touching Wufei's torn chest, he asked, "They are Midlanders; why do you want to help them?" Meiran perked up her ears, she was curious about that fact too.

"I'm from the Midlands," Trowa admitted. Meiran still looked puzzled, but Duo caught on immediately.

"You're a spy for Trieze," Duo said flatly, many pieces of a puzzle falling into place now. "So, what happened?" he asked, but not as if he actually cared. In fact, Duo almost seemed bored.

"I shot him," Trowa answered. That statement turned two sets of eyes on him. Meiran, who was trying hard not to be noticed by Duo, and Duo himself both stared at him.

Then the Confessor glanced back at Wufei. "Just what is it about you Midlanders that makes you try to kill your allies?" Duo asked, clearly not expecting an answer. He stalked over to the bed, ignoring Meiran completely as he leaned over to examine the blademaster, the long braid slipping over his shoulder. The Faydwer princess scooted away, surreptitiously reaching down for the dagger hidden in her boot.

"Draw the dagger and I'll kill you," the Confessor warned, without even looking in her direction. The matter-of-factness in his voice told her with rock-solid certainty that he was not bluffing.

Meiran quickly jerked her hand away, and cast a stunned look at Trowa, who also seemed to be at a loss. He glanced at her, warning her not to do anything, and she acquiesced. But her heart was hammering in her throat, the nearness of the Confessor scaring her as not even the Emperor could. It was because of this creature that Odin Lowe ruled her kingdom. And after all was said and done, it was this Confessor that had destroyed her father. She assumed Trowa had thought that Duo would help them, but now the archer didn't look so sure. She was beginning to think she might have been safer taking her chances with the Emperor.

"Why did you shoot your own countryman?" Meiran said when she found her voice. It seemed safer to talk to Trowa than Duo.

Trowa flushed. "I had no choice."

Duo smirked, but his eyes remained flat. "Color-coded arrows?" he asked, straightening up and turning around to face Trowa once more. Absently, he tossed the chestnut braid back over his shoulder.

Trowa nodded. Meiran looked from the archer back to the Confessor, lost. As if sensing her confusion, Trowa clarified. "The Emperor color codes his archers' arrows. If an arrow misses, the color of the arrow identifies the archer, and then the archer is, well, gutted."

"Keeps the archers' aim accurate," the Confessor observed dryly. "Why did you come to me?"

Trowa licked his lips and tried to calm his racing heart. This was not the Duo he knew. Something had happened to the Confessor to change him, make him cold. It was this cold that Trowa was sure he had felt earlier. It permeated the room, but it wasn't really a physical cold. It was a more of a spiritual cold, like lost faith where only emptiness had filled the void.

Aware that Duo was waiting for an answer, Trowa searched for some words that would make Duo see how much they needed him. "Because Quatre, Wufei and Heero don't have a chance without your help."

Duo was shaking his head, his long braid swished back and forth across his back. "I can't help Quatre."

Trowa felt his heart sink. "Why not?" he whispered.

Duo shrugged and paced back across the room. "Dorothy has hold of his power. If I were to use my power against her, it would reflect back against Quatre as well. I don't think you want that, do you?" He sat down in a chair against the far wall and leaned back.

Trowa shook his head. He recalled what had happened in the gorge three years ago, when Duo and Quatre had combined their power. Trowa remembered the agony he had felt before the blond mage had awakened and assured them he was all right. "Is there any other way?"

"The only way Dorothy will release Quatre is on a direct order from the Emperor. So perhaps you should take it up with Odin." Duo crossed his arms and placed an ankle over his knee. "As for Wufei, well, the princess over there seems to be handling that one."

Trowa resisted the urge to grab Duo and shake him until the Confessor ceased displaying this cold, uncaring attitude and returned the warm, friendly person that he used to be. "What about Heero?" he asked, veering away from the painful subject of Quatre and Wufei. As he watched Duo, he saw the tiniest flicker of `something' pass through the Confessor's violet eyes. It may have been his imagination, but Trowa was willing to seize on any shred of hope in reaching Duo.

"What about him?" Duo asked, disinterest filling his voice.

"Can you help Heero?" Trowa pressed.

"Why would I want to?" Duo asked, still looking straight at the archer. Trowa gritted his teeth. He would make Duo see the light if it was the last thing he did.

"Because Heero loves you," Trowa stated simply, watching Duo's reaction closely.

Duo went absolutely still, and then he started to laugh. Trowa tried to suppress his shudder at the harsh, bitter sound. "Of course Heero loves me," the Confessor snorted. "That's why he came all this way to kill me."

Trowa stared at Duo, understanding everything now. "You know," he whispered hoarsely.

Duo stopped laughing, "Of course I know! Did you think that Odin would pass up the opportunity to rub my face in the fact that the people I went to for help were actually here to kill me?" He stood up abruptly, making Trowa back up a step out of reflex. Duo walked over to the window and leaned out, staring at the last remnants of the sunset. Overhead, a falling star streaked across the sky, its light fading into nothing. The sound of the night insects filled the gardens outside. Then Duo spoke again.

"But you know what else? That isn't the most interesting thing I've found out today, though. Oh no. I found out something that could top even that. It isn't everyday that you find out that you are personally responsible for the deaths of over seventy five thousand people. Yep, its definitely a red-letter day in my diary." Duo paused, then went on in that same disinterested manner as if he were discussing something as inconsequential as the weather. "In one fell swoop, I have killed more people than all the monsters in the Empire in the past thousand years. So does that make me worse than any of the monsters?" he mused. "Probably," he answered his own question.

Both Trowa and Meiran listened in horror at the Confessor's monologue. Meiran had heard the reports of Bitterroot and how everyone assumed that it was Trieze who had come up with some new weapon. `My god,' she thought, `the Emperor has had it in his hands the whole time.'

Duo abruptly turned around and fixed those stone-set eyes on Trowa once more. "Tell me, could Heero love a monster?" A nightbird joined the insects' concert outside, the purity of its innocent trilling providing counterpoint to the torn and stained soul in the Confessor's room.

Trowa knew in a flash of insight that there was only one person who had of chance of reaching past the shell of ice under which Duo had buried himself. If he could get Heero and Duo together to talk, maybe the dark-haired soldier could bring Duo back. It was so fragile a hope that a single breath could shatter it, but it was a hope.

"Ask him," Trowa said.

"Ask him what?" Duo returned, keeping his violet gaze fixed on the archer. Through the window behind him the shades of violet and cobalt in the sky behind him continued to fade to black.

"Ask Heero what he feels. I don't think he came because of his orders." Trowa was guessing now, but he felt confidant in his theory. Heero had never disobeyed orders in the past, but even though he had several opportunities to complete this mission, the dark-haired soldier had opted not to do it.

Duo didn't move for what seemed to be a long time. Trowa was unconsciously holding his breath when Duo nodded and a grin spread its way across his heart-shaped face but didn't reach his eyes. "Very well, I'll go ask Heero what his intentions were." The Confessor started toward the door.

"Wait," Trowa held out a hand, but didn't touch the braided boy. Duo stopped and looked at Trowa with an eyebrow raised in inquiry. "I'll go with you."

Duo seemed to be on the verge of refusing, and then he shrugged. "Fine. I have a stop to make first." He turned and exited the room with Trowa at his heels, leaving Meiran staring after them. As she watched the door swing shut, she once again asked herself `Is the enemy of my enemy my friend?' Then she returned all her energy to healing Wufei.





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Mariemeia snarled to herself as she finished brushing her long red hair; her Agiel swung from her wrist by its chain. She was furious it was Dorothy got to question the mage from the Midlands instead of her. It was so unfair! Dorothy didn't obey orders and she was rewarded. The redhead hurriedly jerked her leather outfit on. She was going to be late reporting to the Emperor if she didn't hurry.

The only warnings she got were a sudden chill that struck her and a soft noise directly behind her. She spun around, coming face to face with a pair of stone's set violet eyes. Years of training had her reacting before she even thought. Mariemeia brought her Agiel up to drive into the Confessor's ribs. She grunted with surprise when he reached out, faster than she could believe possible, and caught it in his fist.

"Hello Mariemeia," he greeted her softly, with a grin that didn't reach his eyes.

Behind him, she could see a tall guard closing the door. The guard's uniform was covered in blood. She quickly looked back at Duo, who was still holding the Agiel in an iron grip. With her weapon ineffective, she changed her attack strategy. She brought her knee up sharply between his legs, only to find that he had moved faster and had hooked an ankle around hers, sending her crashing to the floor. Letting go of the Agiel, the chain breaking as she rolled, she kicked out with her legs, trying to trip the Confessor; but he neatly evaded her and countered with a vicious kick to her ribs that drove all the breath out of her body.

Planting a foot firmly on the young Mord-Sith's chest, Duo pressed his weight down until she cried out in pain as her sternum and ribs began to crack, and still he kept his foot slowly driving down. She went completely still, trying to draw a breath past the crushing force on her chest. Then he leaned down, applying still more weight, his long braid dangling a few inches from her face.

"I was wondering if I could borrow something," he asked pleasantly. Still trying to breathe, she glared at him in defiance. She reached up to grab at the long chestnut braid, but he tossed it over his shoulder, effectively putting it out of reach. He waited patiently as she slowly smothered; finally, nearly unconscious, she nodded. "Good, I'll return it when I'm done, don't worry." He removed his weight from her chest and stepped away, starting to take off his tunic.

"What are you doing?" the guard asked as Mariemeia lay on the floor and tried to draw a breath past her damaged chest.

"Do you think that they will just let us walk in there? The only person allowed in is the interrogator, so…" Duo trailed off as he stripped off the rest of his clothes. Time passed as Mariemeia slowly gathered her will and her strength and climbed to her feet, just in time to see Duo finish getting dressed and picking up her Agiel. With rising rage, she leaped at him, the guard's warning coming too late.

With almost preternatural speed, Duo twisted to the side, avoiding her swinging fist. As her momentum carried her past him, he brought his knee up into her midsection, driving all the breath from her body. She landed on her hands and knees, trying to unlock her clenched stomach muscles. She was finally able to draw a great whooping gasp of air when he reached down and grabbed her flame- colored hair and pulled her head up. Leaning down, he whispered into her ear.

"I know about your habit of running to Odin and telling tales, so please don't take this the wrong way." Without the slightest bit of hesitation he drove the tip of the Agiel into her throat.

Mariemeia's eyes bulged in their sockets as she coughed out a great gout of blood. She clutched at her throat and tried to breathe as she gagged on her own blood. Duo let go of her hair as she collapsed to the floor. "Don't pass out; you'll choke to death," he advised.

Duo stood up and turned to Trowa, who was standing at the door staring at him in shock. The Confessor raised an eyebrow in inquiry. Trowa declined the invitation to comment. The archer felt his pulse hammering in his chest as Duo smiled a slow, deliberate smile at him, but the humor never reached those violet eyes. Then the Confessor spoke.

"Oh, yes, there is one more thing." Duo began to walk toward him and the archer felt his mouth go dry.

Duo stalked down the dark corridor, Trowa following in his wake. The intermittent flickering torches did little to illuminate their way as they strode purposefully toward the dungeon holding the prisoner. Their boots rapped the marble floor like mallets. So far none of the guards had challenged them. Generally, they took one look at Duo and immediately averted their eyes.

However, just before they reached their goal, they ran into someone who wasn't so easily intimidated by the mere presence of the Confessor.

"Duo?" the Captain of the Guard asked. "Is that you?"

Duo stopped some feet away from the Captain, Trowa still right behind him. The Confessor was standing just beyond the ring of light that illuminated the door so his face was hidden by the shadows. "Yes, it's me," he confirmed; his voice was hollow.

"What are you doing here, Duo?" the Captain asked, stepping forward, trying to see the Confessor's face.

"I want to talk to the prisoner," Duo replied easily, not appearing unduly disturbed by the Captain's presence.

The Captain shook his head. "Sorry Duo, I have orders that no one is allowed to see him."

Duo didn't move for a few seconds, and then he shrugged and resumed walking to the barred door; Trowa scrambled to keep at his heels. Surprised, the Captain stared at the Confessor before catching himself and stepped in front of Duo, blocking his way. He put a hand on the pommel of his sword but didn't draw it.

"Stop, Duo," he said, a slight tinge of uncertainty flickering in the Captain's eyes. He didn't want to confront the Confessor but his orders had been clear.

Duo stopped again, to the Captain's relief. Then the Captain, whose whole attention had been fixed on Duo, seemed to notice Trowa there for the first time.

"Trowa, isn't it?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"

Trowa looked at Duo, who said in bored tones, "Go ahead Trowa, answer him."

"My master wishes me to be here," the tall archer said as he turned a worshipful emerald gaze on the Confessor.

The Captain felt the floor drop slightly under his feet. "You didn't!" he rasped at the Confessor in horror.

Duo yawned, "He was in my way." The Confessor smirked and ran a hand through the long bangs of his slave, like he was petting a dog. "Actually, considering how quiet he is, he's extremely talented with his tongue, aren't you?" he asked Trowa, who smiled at the praise. "I might keep him around because of it."

The Captain watched Trowa shiver in delight at the Confessor's touch. He unconsciously mimicked it, but in horror.

Duo let his hand drop. Turning to the Captain, the smile fell away. Stalking towards the Captain, who started backing away until his back was pressed against the wall next to the door of the cell that Heero was occupying, the Confessor stopped within a foot of the terrified man.

"Now, Captain," Duo began as he reached out and toyed with the buttons on the Captain's uniform jacket. "I am going to talk to the prisoner and you are going to stay out of my way."

The Captain started to protest. "Duo," he began.

Suddenly the wandering hand was securely around the Captain's throat. Duo leaned close and the Captain shuddered at the violet eyes that were as hard as raw granite. "If you get in my way, I can find out just how talented your tongue is as well, only you will be using yours to clean the floor of the stables. And I promise that you will beg me to let you do it."

The Captain went completely pale. The Confessor stared into his eyes as the seconds dragged by, then Duo stepped back, releasing the Captain.

"Trowa will stay here," Duo informed the Captain. "Trowa, I want you to make sure that he doesn't leave. See that we are not disturbed. I will let you know when I'm done."

Trowa nodded. "Yes master," he said and drew his sword, pointing it down. His emerald eyes never left the man who had been his commanding officer.

Duo stepped to the door and started to unlock it, pausing to give one last set of instructions. "Oh, yes. Trowa, if you do well here, I will let you pleasure me again." Then he opened the door and walked in, closing it behind him with a clang.

Trowa's emerald eyes lit up, filled with worship and love. The Captain wanted to vomit, but he didn't dare, not with Trowa's eyes scrutinizing his every move. `How can something so beautiful be so evil?' the Captain wondered.





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Heero looked up at the clanking of the door being unlocked. The guards that had brought him down to the dungeon were professional and had done nothing to abuse him after Heero had indicated that he would go with them peacefully. But after he had heard the door close and lock behind him, he began to worry in earnest. What had happened to the others?

Pacing back and forth in the cell for what seemed like hours, he pondered what Middie had told him. He was Odin Lowe's son and Heir to the Golgathan Throne. He remembered that Middie had said the Throne protected Odin Lowe. From what did it protect him? Heero wondered. Physical attacks? Magical ones?

Heero was the recognized Heir. Thinking back on the last few years, about how he had never quite been able to get killed on any his missions, he knew now with a sneaking suspicion that he had been protected by the Throne. But Odin could just starve him to death down here, unless the Throne provided food as well. The thought of being left in the dungeon, alone in the dark until he died, was not a pleasant one.

Gritting his teeth, he turned his thoughts to the invading monsters that threatened the whole world and the breach in the Barrier. Even while he was imprisoned down here, more monsters could be making their way across the breach. He hoped that no named monsters would appear. He didn't relish the idea of facing their powerful Wild magic.

Wild magic. Duo.

Now there was yet another troubling subject. Something was wrong with the Confessor; that much was obvious. Heero knew the wrongness was tied to Bitterroot, somehow, but he wasn't sure exactly how. Trying to think dispassionately, he bit his lip.

The whole mess revolved around the disaster at the fortress. Duo had unknowingly unleashed a tremendous amount of magic, both High and Wild at Bitterroot. According to Middie, such an explosion of magics could break the Barrier.

If the Barrier had been broken by the events at Bitterroot, then why hadn't the Throne awakened? It must have to do with Duo. Heero felt it in his guts that the Confessor was the key. Duo had said that there was something wrong with him. Could whatever was wrong with Duo be connected to the undetectable break in the Barrier?

Heero knew he was close to the answer; he just needed a little more time to think. Then he heard the door open, and realized that his time was up.

The dark-haired soldier mentally braced himself to be interrogated. From what he had heard about the Emperor's bodyguards, the next few hours were going to be extremely painful. But Heero had no intention of telling them anything.

A slender figure encased in skin tight red leather entered the cell. A slim, leather-wrapped rod dangled from a chain that hung from the wrist of an armored glove. Heero raised his eyes to see the face of his interrogator.

It was Duo.

The dark-haired major did his best to keep the surprise off his face. The sight of the Confessor disturbed him on some fundamental level. Maybe it was because of the way Duo was dressed. The red outfit clung to every curve, showing every muscle. It looked like he had been hung up by his braid and dipped in blood.

A smile that didn't quite reach his eyes played over his lips. Heero felt his skin prickle when he looked into the stone-set of those violet eyes.

"Hello Heero Yuy. I'm here to take your confession." And Heero knew he was looking into the eyes of A Confessor.







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TBC

Annabell