Valhalla: Prologue [4xD / R (for series)]

[Terra]

Disclaimer: This story is not for profit. I don't own Gundam Wing, which is a registered trademark of Sotsu Agency Co., LTD. TM & Sunrise & under license by Bandai. Nor do I own the Centennial Edition of The Fountainhead published in 2005 by Plume, which was copyrighted by Ayn Rand in 1971. Some passages from the novel have been incorporated and adapted into this story.

Dorothy?s portrayal in this chapter is inspired by and mirrors passages in The Fountainhead, a fantastic book for anyone who understands what it means to say ?I.?

SUMMARY: For ten years, the world debated the identities of the Gundam pilots, who left total destruction in their wake and began a revolution. When their names are revealed, the ensuing public uproar condemns Quatre Winner to stand trial for crimes against humanity and war crimes. The verdict will decide the fate of the five young men who once saved the world.

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Prologue
by Terra
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He shook a few hands without enthusiasm, his clasp firm and impersonal. His stiff collar grazed uncomfortably against the skin of his neck, a constant reminder of why he detested galas. Resisting the urge to loosen his bowtie, he met the gaze of a colleague leaning against the doorway, who smiled genially in acknowledgement. He nodded politely at her, an efficient tilt of his head which spoke of dismissal and of a more immediate purpose. Striding past her into an alcove, his eyes at once traced the focus of its occupants? attention and conversation. They came to rest on a young socialite perched with artificial majesty on an ornate divan which readily sacrificed function for form.

The smooth black silk of her gown draped loosely over her body as if afraid that intimacy would wrinkle her. The fabric?s feeble struggle to absorb all the rays of light radiating towards it was an exercise in futility against the ostentatious sparkles encircling her hair, neck and wrists. If he only read her body language, he would have to conclude that she was inextricably fascinated by her companion?s words, but her muted lavender blue eyes stared without seeing.

?I admit I asked for the introduction,? her male companion confessed. ?I have waited to meet you for a long time, Lady Catalonia.?

?Viscount, don?t say that I?m beautiful and lovely and like no one you?ve ever met before and that you?re very afraid that you?ll fall in love with me,? said Dorothy Catalonia dismissively. ?You?ll say it eventually, but let?s postpone it.?

?W-well, I just wanted to say that I?m a consummate reader of your column and it?s so very?? he hesitated at her bored expression. In the pregnant silence that followed, the viscount realized with a sickeningly lurch that he shouldn?t have paused, should?ve said anything, continued with any descriptor rather than trail off into stunned muteness.

?So very??? she urged gently.

?Perceptive,? he finished in a rush of breath.

?Oh, yes,? her eyes swept over him with a hint of amusement. ?You?re the senator?s son. I?m sorry. You just happened to be the victim of one of my attacks of honesty. I don?t have them often. My column today is a testament to that.?

?What do you mean?? His features struggled vainly to appear less bewildered.

?Nothing that one should make a subject of discussion at a gala.? Dorothy laughed gaily. ?Now, I?ve made you uncomfortable. So I?ll make up for it. I?ll tell you what I think of you, because you?ll be worrying about that. I think you?re smart and safe and obvious and quite ambitious and you?ll get away with it. And I like you.?

The viscount fell silent and then asked hesitantly: ?May I tell you only one thing that I think about you??

?Certainly. Any number of them.?

?I think it would have been better if you hadn?t told me that you liked me. Then I would have had a better chance of its being true.?

Dorothy rose fluidly from her seat, sparing him an affectionate glance one usually reserved for a sycophant who had said something genuinely flattering. ?If you understand that, then we?ll get along beautifully. Then it might even be true.?

He noticed that Dorothy immediately walked towards him, deftly ignoring the crestfallen look on the dismissed suitor?s face. He addressed her curtly, ?Lady Catalonia.?

?Mr. Chang Wufei,? she answered him with cool delight. ?I?d noticed you lurking earlier, too polite to interrupt, but perfectly content to eavesdrop.?

?Why do you presume that it?s you I want an audience with?? asked Wufei flatly.

The corners of her indifferent mouth quirked slightly in appreciation. ?You do not consider that perhaps it is I who wish to speak with you.?

?What about?? His unwavering voice belied the slightest piquing of curiosity.

?It?s so unusual seeing you at a gala.? Dorothy gestured at the cleverly concealed earpiece in his right ear. ?Aren?t you usually reserved for special operations??

?Tonight, I?m part of the security detail.?

She cocked her head slightly, her look suggesting that she found his comment inane. ?In that case, I really can?t, in good conscience, allow you to waste any more of your time entertaining me. Good evening, Mr. Chang.?

His gaze followed the haughty swish of her curtain of white-gold strands of hair as she sauntered past him. ?I?m surprised you even know the meaning of the word.?

?You mean ?conscience??? Her eyes widened in mock indignation. ?You?re breaking my heart. And I assure you, I do have one.?

Wufei swallowed his next retort when he caught sight of a covert hand signal in his peripheral vision; it was time to switch principals, so that the constant presence of the same undercover bodyguard would not disrupt the otherwise relaxed, pleasant atmosphere.1 Turning towards the gesturer, he glanced back one last time at Dorothy Catalonia and noticed with a feeling of uneasiness that the gray-blue eyes staring at him registered nothing.

She smiled effortlessly and elegantly shrugged one silk-lathered shoulder. ?C?est la vie.?2 Watching her retreating back, he wondered why her parting words sounded like an unspoken concession of mutual suffering. Much later that night as he embraced the leaden weight of sleep, Wufei would reflect once more upon the enigmatic woman who had graced him with a smile so empty it was almost beautiful in its execution.

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1The person whom a bodyguard protects.

2French for ?Such is life.? Literally: ?It is the life.?

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A/N- Valhalla in Norse mythology means ?Hall of the Slain,? an enormous hall in Asgard, the realm where Odin presides. It is where heroes who fall in battle and are chosen by Valkyries, the ?choosers of the slain,? reside to await a call to battle at the end of days. Thank you for reading!

[Blondesimone]

This felt just like Ayn Rand's work: the flow, the feeling (and lack of), and the execution. Just perfect.

The fact that it's QxD is just icing on the cake. I hope you continue.