Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing and this is, quite sadly, not going to pay the rent. Much of this scene is from Ayn Rand?s The Fountainhead, yet another property I don?t own, including most notably, ?Peter Keating? Weridge and Dorothy ?Dominique? Catalonia.
A/N- Intermittently, you may read a word and find that there's a number beside it. That refers to a footnote at the end of the chapter explaining a word.
Valhalla will consist of three arcs, consistent with the ?prelude? to Ragnar?k (?fate of the gods?): the battle at the end of the world. In Norse mythology, there are three events that lead to Ragnar?k. The first is the birth of three beings, J?rmungandr, the sea serpent; Fenrir, the wolf; and Hel, ruler of Helheim (Hell); and the gods? subsequent attempts to confine them.
This first arc of Valhalla consists of seven chapters and is entitled: Birth and Binding.
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Birth and Binding I:
The Duchess
by Terra
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People turned to look at Dorothy Catalonia as she passed. Some remained staring after her with sudden resentment. They could give no reason for it. It was simply an instinct her presence awakened in most people. Dorothy Catalonia saw no one. For her, the galleries were empty. She could have walked there naked without concern. The first person she spoke to was her cousin.
Mariemaia Khushrenada stood with her back naked to the other patrons of the Brueghel1 exhibit. She wore a backless cocktail dress, because she was not afraid of them. She was looking at Landscape with the Fall of Icarus and she was alone. The painting disturbed observers, because it was simply done without one exorbitant brushstroke. Brueghel had painted a farmer, a sheepherder and fisherman proceeding about their day without pause while a man flailed in the sea, drowning. That man was Icarus, the archetypal literary figure of hubris punished, who had dared to fly too close to the sun on wax-welded wings. The sun melted those artificial wings, forsaking him and hurtling him into deadly icy waters. She wanted to touch the canvas, feel the unevenness of the oil paint and trace the cracks time had gifted the landscape.
?And that, dear cousin, is precisely why the museum is holomorphing all these paintings.?
Mariemaia?s hand froze, mere inches from the canvas?s undulated surface. She looked at her fingers curiously; she had not been aware of actually reaching out to touch the painting. ?I don?t care,? she dropped her arm. ?It?s wrong.?
?Yes, but only look at how happy all these vultures are,? Dorothy swept her arm across the length of the gallery. ?So eager to horde their little treasures to rot forever in obscure Swiss safe boxes.?
The Mus?es Royaux des Beaux-Arts2 had declared that all paintings made before the 18th century were in danger of suffering irreparable damage if they continued to exhibit them under harsh lights and open air. They planned to introduce a new type of exhibit: the holomorphed painting, a hologram projecting the exact likeness of a painting as it had likely been when it was first completed, deleting forever cracks and discoloration. Hundreds of art connoisseurs were waiting anxiously for the bidding to begin on the real paintings the museum no longer needed nor wanted to keep and secure.
Mariemaia turned to face her cousin, and asked: ?Well, isn?t that why you?re here??
?Me?? Her cousin laughed with a hint of humor. ?I?m here for a purpose even less noble than that.?
?Oh??
?I?m here to steal what I can from the scavengers.?
Mariemaia looked at her in surprise. ?So you do want to buy a painting, then??
?What do you think of this one?? Dorothy asked, inclining her head towards the Brueghel piece.
?I think it?s painful to look at: man?s indifference to suffering. It?s not the kind of painting you?d want to hang in your dining room.?
?Do you think anyone else will buy it??
?Oh, I?m sure someone will,? said Mariemaia, tartly. ?If for no other reason than to boast about owning a Brueghel."
?I think I want it, then. You?re right about the dining room. It?d frighten the guests. I?ll hang it in my bedroom,? said Dorothy, amused. Glancing at her diamond-studded wristwatch, she interrupted, ?Come, the bidding?s about to begin.?
Lord Peter Weridge3, denied the title of ?Earl? due to his birth as the youngest son of Marquis Weridge, expressed his admiration for Coronation of the Virgin by Rubens. He stood before it for a correct number of minutes, sipping at his flute of champagne that tasted acrid and smelled too expensive. He counted down the seconds until he had to move on to the next archaic painting, mentally calculating the time when it would be permissible to leave. Then he stopped.
Beyond an obscure gated doorway, in a small atrium, with a younger red-haired girl, he saw Dorothy Catalonia. She stood leaning against a column, a cocktail glass in her hand. She wore a soft white, off-the-shoulder dress, cocooning herself within a fur wrap. Her platinum blonde hair hung loose to below her waist, decorated only by a pristine, white headband. She was as coldly, untouchably beautiful as a marble statue.
Peter tore forward and found his father in the crowd. The Marquis stood immersed within a group of elderly gentlemen, sparing the occasional interested glance at the auction taking place a few feet away. He was a tall man, swathed in a severely tailored suit, which accented his height and concealed the unseemly weight he had gained in recent years. His father?s crown of thinning white hair betrayed his age, but his posture remained ever stiff and official. Peter waited impatiently for his father to finish his conversation with an elderly woman he immediately identified as Lady Noventa.
Glancing around for something to occupy his time, his eyes found a Flemish landscape. Reading the placard, he saw that it was a painting by Pieter Brueghel. The Fall of Icarus. The thrashing figure in the water made him uncomfortable, only serving to heighten his anxiety. Finally, as he heard the polite pleasantries wind down, he cleared his throat loudly.
?Well, I?m surprised you?re still here,? said Marquis Weridge4, a slight catch in his voice belying his disapproval. ?I see you haven?t managed to make your escape yet.?
?Yes, well, it?s turned out to be slightly less boring than I thought it would be.? Peter casually steered his father away from his fellow aristocratic companions.
?I hope you haven?t been expressing these sentiments to the other patrons, Peter.? His father?s rumbling voice held a warning.
?Of course not,? Peter scoffed. ?I?ve been a perfect gentleman.?
?It?s about time you acted more?? said the Marquis, noticing that they had stopped in full view of the atrium and that his son?s eyes were fixed on the girl in white, inviting him to notice her.
Peter enjoyed having his father in a trap. The Marquis looked at his son, then at the atrium, then at his son again. ?Well,? said Marquis Weridge at last, ?don?t blame me afterward. You?ve asked for it. Come on.?
They entered the atrium together. Peter stopped an appropriate distance away, while his father approached with considerably less enthusiasm: ?Dorothy, my dear. May I present my youngest son, Lord Peter Keating Weridge. Peter, this is Lady Dorothy Dominique Catalonia, Duchess Dermail5.?
?How do you do,? said Peter, his voice suddenly soft, his earlier insistent tone gone.
Dorothy bowed gravely and stated emphatically: ?This will be interesting. You will want to be nice to me, of course, and yet that won?t be diplomatic.?
?What do you mean, Lady Catalonia??
?Your father would prefer you to be horrible with me. Your father and I don?t get along at all.? Dorothy?s eyes met Mariemaia?s bemused expression. ?Allow me to introduce my cousin, Lady Mariemaia Leia Khushrenada. Yes, she?s Treize?s daughter, if you didn?t know.?
?Oh,? Peter?s eyes met the cornflower blue gaze of the younger girl for the first time since he?d noticed Dorothy. ?It?s a pleasure to meet you.?
?Likewise,? Mariemaia bowed slightly, an understated echo of her cousin?s own gesture earlier. ?Marquis Weridge, I believe I saw a van Dyck6 earlier that would be a great addition to your extensive collection.?
The Marquis, looking relieved, held out his arm for her and said: ?Then, perhaps you would do me the great favor of showing me to it.?
?Think nothing of it,? said Mariemaia, dismissively. Taking his offered arm, she continued, ?Dorothy, I shall see you later, I?m sure.? Bowing politely to bid Dorothy farewell, the Marquis allowed himself to be led into the gallery.
Dorothy nodded nonchalantly in response and returned her full attention towards the young man who had sought her out. ?I think it?s only fair to tell you at the beginning. You may want to redraw some conclusions. Your father has never liked Duke Dermail and, so, he has never liked me.?
Peter suddenly wanted his father beside him, but he had already vanished. ?I?m certain that can?t be true. Besides, my father?s disagreements with the Duke don?t affect how I feel about you.?
?Your father doesn?t do these things well at all. He?s too obvious. You asked him for the introduction, but he shouldn?t have let me notice that. However, it?s quite all right, since we both admit it. Sit down.?
She slipped onto a severely carved marble bench and he sat down obediently beside her. Peter thought with relief that there wasn?t anything frightening about her at all. Years ago, he had heard many disturbing rumors about her: her supposed involvement in the war and her purported defection to the White Fang. Looking at her now, at her pale, rosy skin, at her delicate countenance, at her exquisite beauty, he felt that there couldn?t be any less truth to those rumors.
He smiled broadly and with more confidence than he felt, declared: ?I?ve been looking forward to meeting you for years. I admit that it?s dastardly difficult to get an unstaged introduction.?
?It looks as if your efforts have finally come to?fruition,? said Dorothy, lingering on the last word. Setting down her cocktail glass, she peered at him under long pale eyelashes and asked: ?Satisfy my curiosity. Why the eagerness to meet me??
?Well, for one, people always seem to be talking about you. So I?ve wondered about you for quite a while,? said Peter, as warmly as he could manage. ?And there?s your column in Society7. I read it with great pleasure.?
?Don?t flatter me. You see, I?m most suspicious of yes-men.?
?Surely, you wouldn?t rather I criticize you?? Peter asked, incredulously.
?I suppose I did ask for it. Well, then, let?s speak of something else. Are you an art connoisseur or a dilettante??
?When you put it in those terms, a dilettante, most certainly.?
?I was thinking about bidding on a Brueghel. Have you seen his work??
Peter thought furiously until his mind provided him with an image of a drowning man surrounded by oblivious countrymen. He congratulated himself for bothering to read the painting?s placard. ?Oh, yes. Earlier, I was looking at The Fall of Icarus.?
?Is that so?? Dorothy looked momentarily pleased. ?I was thinking about bidding on that very painting. Did you like it??
?Very! I think it was awfully unexpected of him to incorporate such a tragic figure in an otherwise pleasing picture.? Peter paused, suddenly remembering that this woman disapproved of flattery. ?Although, I don?t know where you?d want to keep it. It?s too depressing to look at every day.?
There was a short, uncomfortable silence before Dorothy laughed gaily. ?Naturally, you?re right. I just wanted to own it.?
Suddenly, Peter felt an instinctive urge to flee, which he ruthlessly quelled. He did not like the sweet gaiety of her voice, but he forced himself to look into her mirth-filled eyes and at her dazzling smile. He said earnestly: ?I?m terribly envious of you, you know. Your column is read by millions every day. It must be thrilling to have so many people hanging onto your every word.?
Dorothy moved abruptly; she rose less than an inch from the bench before she was seated again. The entire motion may have lasted less than a second, less than the blink of an eye. Instead of running away, she moved closer and placed her hand lightly on Peter?s arm. She told him, ?I hadn?t noticed.?
If Peter had noticed his companion?s violent struggle to stay near him, he showed no outward indication. Instead, his thoughts focused exclusively on the hand, her hand touching him. Suddenly lightheaded, he fumbled for something to say, settling for: ?You?ve written just about every scandal. What?s your favorite??
?I don?t care for scandals.?
?Well, you know of course that I won?t believe that. Why do you write if you have nothing you want to say??
?To have something to do. Something more disgusting than many other things I could do. And more amusing.?
?Now, Lady Dorothy ? do you mind if I call you by your first name?? Dorothy silently assented with a nod. ?That?s not a good reason.?
?I never have any good reasons.?
?But you must be enjoying your work.?
?I am. Don?t you see that I am?? Dorothy asked, as she relinquished her grip on his arm. She slipped her hand into his, instead. ?Look, let me help you. Everything you?ve said so far; it?s all what I?d expect you to say and I don?t like to hear what I expect. It would be much more interesting if you said that my column was a contemptible dump heap of yellow journalism.?
He looked stricken. ?Is that what you really think of your column??
?Not at all. But I don?t like people who try to say only what they think I think.?
Peter looked amazed, his head pounding as blood rushed to his face. He tightened his grip on her hand, and after a long pause, said, ?Well, then, you?ve left me with nothing to say. I?ve only the greatest admiration for you.?
Dorothy no longer looked at him. She gazed back towards the gallery where people could be seen walking around, rotating among the groups, moving from person to person saying the same things, making the same gestures and laughing at the same jokes. ?We should talk about people we know. What we?ve seen them do, buy, wear. For instance, you?ll have noticed, of course, my cousin?s rather daring cocktail dress at such a formal event.?
?Daring, but still tasteful.? Peter declared, suddenly desperate to recapture her attention. ?Earlier, I saw the elder Lady Noventa. It seems that she was negotiating with my father. I know not what, though.?
?Are you acquainted with the Lady Sylvia??
?She and I are great friends,? he said, enthusiastically, leaning closer to Dorothy as if confiding a great secret. ?I absolutely adore her. Do you know her??
?Of course, I know her. She?s wonderful. She?s a woman I always enjoy talking to.? Dorothy laughed, lightly. ?She?s such a perfect sinner.?
?Why, Lady Dorothy! You?re the first person who?s ever??
?I?m not trying to shock you. I meant all of it. I admire her. She?s so complete. You don?t meet perfection often in this world one way or the other, do you? And she?s just that. Sheer perfection in her own way. Everyone else is so unfinished, broken up into so many different pieces that don?t fit together.? Dorothy smiled softly at him. ?But not Sylvia. Sometimes, when I feel bitter against the world, I find consolation in thinking that it?s all right, that I?ll be avenged, that the world will get what?s coming to it, because there?s Sylvia Noventa.?
Peter had tried following her words, but not understanding anything of what she meant, blurted out bewilderingly: ?What do you want to be avenged for??
She looked at him then, her eyelids lifted for a moment, so that her eyes did not cut like crystal, but enveloped him like water, soft and clear. ?That was very clever of you,? she said. ?That was the first clever thing you?ve said.?
?Why?? Peter asked, dumbstruck.
?Because you knew what to pick out of all the rubbish I uttered. So I?ll have to answer you,? said Dorothy, her tone equally wry and mocking. ?I?d like to be avenged for the fact that I have nothing to be avenged for. Now let?s go on about Sylvia Noventa.?
Peter briefly wondered if anyone would qualify her response as an answer. Struggling to sound informed, he couldn?t stop himself from murmuring reverently: ?Well, I?ve always thought of her as a sort of idealist, a saint, really, pure and incorruptible and so different from other politicians.?
?That?s quite true. A virus would be much safer. It makes no effort to disguise its lethal intent. But Sylvia is like a canary in a coal mine. You can learn about people by the way they react to her.?
?Why? What do you actually mean??
Abruptly, the sound of a bell rang out. She loosened her hand from his, and stretching her arms down to her knees, entwined the fingers of her two hands. And then, she was staring with too great an interest across the atrium towards the commencement of the next auction. Dorothy asked sweetly: ?What was it we were talking about, Lord Weridge??
?Why,? said Peter, hastily, ?we were??
?Oh, I do believe that the auction for the Brueghels is beginning. I must bid on my painting.? And then, Dorothy had stood up, moving across the atrium, her body leaning back fluidly as she walked, not fast enough to be insulting, but not slowly enough for Peter to reach her before she was through the doorway.
Disheartened, not knowing if he had succeeded or failed miserably with her, Peter reluctantly allowed the groups of people to swallow him and include him in their myriad gossip and small talk. Long after the auction had concluded and Lady Dorothy had acquired her painting for an outrageous amount of money, she stayed to mingle with friends and acquaintances. He kept staring furtively at her, hoping to catch her eye, but she steadfastly forgot his presence, not even sparing him an accidental glance.
He managed to make it to the entrance of the museum just as she was leaving. She stopped and smiled at him enchantingly: ?No,? she said, before he had uttered a word. ?You can?t take me home. I have a car waiting for me. Thank you just the same.?
Then she was gone; her cousin, who he had just noticed for the first time, gave him a sympathetic look, before following Lady Dorothy out of the door, and it seemed, out of his life permanently. Peter felt a soft hand on his shoulder and turned to find his father beside him.
?Going, Peter? I?ve already called for my car.?
?Oh, I?ve forgotten to call for a ride,? said Peter, stupidly. ?Thanks.?
Neither spoke until they were both seated comfortably in the roomy limousine with drinks in hand. There was a peculiar expression of purpose on Marquis Weridge?s face as he grudgingly admitted: ?Peter, I was surprised. I watched you, and you spoke with her for quite a long time. I fully expected her to chase you away with some poisonous comment.?
Peter looked at his father with tired bemusement. ?Then, why did you introduce me to her??
?I thought that meeting her would be the best way to cure you of your fascination with her.? Marquis Weridge sighed heavily. ?She?s Duke Dermail?s granddaughter and she?s always been utterly unpredictable. I believe he used her as a spy during the Eve War and she was only fifteen at the time.?
?You?re exaggerating,? Peter interrupted, impatiently. ?What kind of a spy would a little girl make??
?After he died, she disappeared, presumably to outer space, for months.? His father continued, unheeded. ?When she reappeared, no one knew where she?d gone or what she?d done.?
?You?re not saying that there?s any truth to those rumors about her defecting?? Peter asked, suddenly less certain than he had been before of her innocence.
?I wouldn?t underestimate her,? said the Marquis said, defeated, ?and I?ve long given up telling you what to do, Peter. I can only hope you?ll be cautious.?
Peter remembered the feel of her slender hand in his, about how right it had felt to hold her. ?You?ve let her frighten you, and really, there?s nothing to be afraid of,? he pronounced, emphatically. Then, he leaned back against the cushions, as if he were tired, as if he had heard nothing of importance, and he remained silent for the rest of the drive.
1Pieter Brueghel was arguably the most famous Flemish Renaissance artist in the 16th century. He is most known for his landscapes and genre scenes.
2Mus?es Royaux des Beaux-Arts de Belgique or Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium is in Brussels, Belgium. Brussels is also the location of the headquarters of the ESUN government.
3The courtesy title of a Marquis?s younger son is his father?s subsidiary title. In this case, Marquis Weridge?s oldest son would be an ?earl,? while Peter, his youngest, is merely a ?lord.?
4For those readers who don?t remember who Marquis Weridge is, recall the episode with Relena Darlian when she tried to assassinate Lady Une. He?s the old gentleman who defends her then and later lends her his support in the Romefeller Foundation.
5The duchy is an inherited title. However, Dorothy, who is unmarried, wouldn?t ordinarily be a ?duchess.? Since she is the last remaining member of the Dermail bloodline and has quite the reputation for ignoring suitors, other peers often refer to her as a ?duchess,? although that is not her legal title.
6Anthony van Dyck was a Flemish artist famous in the 17th century for portraits of royalty.
7Society is a woman?s magazine published primarily on Earth, but does have a small readership in Outer Space. Dorothy?s column, in particular, is quite popular.
A/N- Fear not, this story will be ?Dorothy and Quatre?-centric.
Tthe next chapter will feature none other than our favorite blonde billionaire, his lover, along with a cameo from Wufei. It will be entitled: Gestalt.
Valhalla will update weekly on Tuesdays.
Valhalla: Birth and Binding [1/7, 4xD]
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