Chapter Text
A fire still burned in the north quarter of the ravaged capital of the kingdom of Sanq. It had been burning for three days now, and no one, not the worn-out soldiers, the ragged and beaten citizens, the exhausted mages or the decimated guards cared to do anything about it. The only people who might have cared, who had lived in that pleasant neighborhood in the sheltered arm of the river, had all been killed by the magical blast that had turned the block into an inferno. Any survivors had fled the capital in despair.
That despair was gnawing at the guts of the man staring out the palace window at the blaze he was unable to stop.
So many dead. So many fires.
The man had been crowned Milliardo Peacecraft, King of Sanq at the age of twelve. He had tried to reign in peace with his neighbors, including the small kingdom to the north, in mountainous and magical terrain, full of secrets and powerful sorcerers. The kingdom of Lin was ruled by a house that was brother to the house of Sanq. Several marriages had been arranged in the past to try to strengthen those bonds. They had only opened the door to claims to the throne of Sanq by their new leader, Treize.
Treize had come down on the peaceful neighboring kingdom like an avalanche, capturing half of it in a fell swoop and chasing the young king before him. The next decade was one of war. Lin had little manpower but strong sorcerers, the best among them being Treize himself. They conjured fiends of hell as their guards, and used powerful mage blasts to level fortifications. The kingdom of Sanq had always frowned on black magic. White magic defended the Sanq troops but helped only a little against the violent forces arrayed against them.
Many had died.
The man known as Milliardo had rallied. He'd drowned his peaceful nature in the blood of battlefields. He'd taken a new name to lead his soldiers. Milliardo was the name of a kind king who'd lost his throne, his capital, most of his country. Zechs Marquise was the name of the war leader who'd fought back.
He'd won back his country. Three days ago, Treize and his cronies, driven back to their own mountainous frontiers, caught between troops and a deep gorge, had unleashed one last burst of magic that had finally consumed them, and Zechs was now the victor by default, and once more ruler of his land. Alone.
Odin Lowe, the stoic war-master who'd led his troops to final victory, stood slightly back from his king, leaving him in peace for one of his rare moments of depression. He knew that in a few moments Zechs would once more be a king, a commander, an assured leader. But right now, in this palace that Treize had occupied for years, in which he'd held and murdered Zech's queen, Odin allowed his friend a moment of solitude to mourn.
A moment that was brutally interrupted by the door slamming back. Both men turned in surprise to see the usually calm and genial Father Maxwell panting in the threshold. Maxwell was a priest but also the strongest white mage of the kingdom of Sanq, Zechs' old teacher, and his only other friend beside Odin.
"Zechs... " the older man caught his breath, and looked with growing wonder at his king. "Milliardo... we've found him!"
The convent was intact, a few hours distance from the walls of the city. Its courtyard had been used as an infirmary by both sides of the conflict and left unharmed by tacit agreement. It was still full of wounded soldiers, those that were too weak to move to the city. Broken bodies lay on pallets and beds, sisters, brothers and a few priests attended them. Only one place had been left untouched by the press of war; a small elegant house in the middle of a tree-shrouded garden in the center of the grounds. The home of the resident noble and head of the convent, known simply as her Ladyship.
Zechs strode through the courtyard as quickly as he could, cloaked and cowled. Normally he would mingle with the men and women who had fought and been wounded for him, but not today. Today, only today, he would allow himself to be selfish. His heart was hammering so loudly he could barely hear the groans and sighs of those around him. His vision blurred over the courtyard, the wards, the garden, the house, the dark room, the stern face of her Ladyship waiting for him in a carved high-back chair in her study. His heart gave a jarring thump as he saw her face, her expression.
This wouldn't be easy.
"Where is my son?!"
It came out in a rush. He stared at the woman who had raised his beloved Lucrezia as if she were her own daughter, and had accompanied her charge as chaperone from their distant land across the sea. The woman had seen Lucrezia murdered because of his war, his and Treize's. She'd lost two 'daughters' to their conflict, he remembered as he faced the searing desolation in those eyes. Treize's consort, Lucrezia's half-sister, Une, had died as well. Lucrezia had been captive at the time, and had only survived because of Une's intervention on Treize. Lucrezia had not survived Une by more than a day. She had been executed -murdered- a few hours after giving birth to Zechs', son.
Rumors of his son's survival had haunted him for all these years. He'd never truly believed i. How likely was Treize to allow the survival of a rival to the throne? But Zechs had let himself fall for the rumor again and again to avoid going mad at the thought of having lost everything he ever held dear. When the tide of war had turned against the sorcerer-king and he'd taken control of town after town, Zechs had started to search for the child. A boy, he'd been told, with blue eyes and his mother's dark hair. His heart had ached for that small evanescent hope, that little life. And now, unbelievably, it might be within his reach. He just had to face down the woman who had saved the child and kept him hidden for five years, the woman who'd lost everything to his conflict.
He'd meant to be a bit more diplomatic about it...
"I apologize, your ladyship." He breathed, trying to calm down. He could feel Odin behind him scowl, but Father Maxwell had taken a step nearer, his steady presence soothing. "You understand-" of course she did, who wouldn't. "Please, tell me. Is my son- is he really here?"
The stern-faced woman stared at him as she slowly stood. She had the coloring of her distant nation, dark eyes and hair now streaked with gray, curled under a veil. Her simple black dress hung from her wiry frame. The stiff skirts were trembling ever so slightly, amplifying the tension that seemed to emanate from her in visible waves.
"Yes, your son is here. I've already called the nurse. They should be here shortly."
Zechs said nothing. Because it was obvious from the way her eyes were gleaming that there was an almighty catch here somewhere.
He knew the woman hated him. Right or wrong was beside the point. Because of him, Lucrezia was dead. She'd been sent from her distant land with her half-sister in attendance to see if she and Zechs were compatible for a marriage alliance, and they'd fallen in love despite of the war raging all around them. Une...had chosen a different path, one that led to the one who appeared to be the stronger ruler, to Treize. Lucrezia had been hurt at the absence of her half-sister and companion, but he had promised that he would always be with her, that she would never be alone.
Then she was gone, captured during a raid. He would have killed the world for her, but he had failed her and she had died. Nothing would ever change that. And the old woman staring at him so hatefully knew that.
But he couldn't see what she was planning. He knew his son was alive and in these walls. Even if she decided at this last minute to try to hide him, he would tear the place apart -he would rip open the world!- to find him. So why was she waiting with bated breath, staring at him almost in hunger? Why was she handing him the only thing he still desired as if she expected it to cause him the worst of pain?
A small door opened (Zechs heard Odin's hand shift to his sword hilt instinctively) and a round plump nun came in, hands out and dragging-
"What- who is- which-?"
"Why are there two of them?" Father Maxwell asked calmly and quietly, to give his king time to compose himself and stop stuttering.
Her ladyship turned slowly, casting her eyes over the nun, smiling and bobbing -she was obviously simple. Then she looked down at the two small boys clutching at the nun’s skirts. She looked at them with a blank expression, no love or tenderness, nothing beyond a slight pain.
"One of them is your son," she murmured. She made a sharp gesture with her bony hand. The small boys stumbled forward, obviously used to obeying those hard hands.
Zechs and his men stared in complete bewilderment. The presence of two boys was confusing enough. But seeing them stand side by side... they were identical. Both had light brown hair, blue eyes -deeper than Zech's icy color, they were Lucrezia's beautiful speck of night sky. Round childish faces, the same nose, the same chin...
Zechs had personally spoken to the woman who had helped his wife through childbirth in her chamber/prison in the palace, who had bathed his infant son, handed him to a kind but unknown nun in a desperate attempt to save his life. The midwife had stayed with Lucrezia until the men from Treize had come to drag her away to her final resting place, cutting her throat near the grave they had dug next to the one made ready for their Lord's consort. The woman had miraculously survived, and had been able to tell him about his wife's end, his son's beginning, and his disappearance. She would have told him if Lucrezia had had twins. So who...
"Which is my son?"
"And who is the other one?" asked Odin sharply.
"The other one is the son of Une."
The words fell like a gravestone into the shocked silence, then-
"What?" Odin's hand tensed on his sword as he glowered at the boys. "Une? That means Treize's son? Which one is he?!"
"Which one is his highness?" Father Maxwell gasped.
Her ladyship paused, staring at Zechs, her nostrils flaring as if scenting blood, and something like a smile passed her lips as she whispered:
"I don't know."