Valhalla: Birth and Binding [5/7, 4xD]

[Terra]

Disclaimer: I do not own one shred of Gundam Wing nor do I gain materially from adapting scenes in Ayn Rand?s The Fountainhead.

A/N- Mariemaia returns here (she will most assuredly be a recurring character) and we?re introduced to Trowa and Catherine. Also, Peter unexpectedly walked his way into this chapter.

And, yes, footnotes seem like they?ll be a permanent aspect of this story. While they aren?t indispensable, I feel like they add dimension to a story that would otherwise feel flatter and less realistic. Plus, one of my pet peeves is when characters take long sojourns to explain things that end up just disrupting the flow. The footnotes are somewhat my way out of that predicament.

So entitled, because Trowa is quite two-faced, in his ability to deceive, infiltrate and impersonate, but also in part, because he is ever in search of an identity he can call his own.

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Birth and Binding V:
The Man with Two Faces
by Terra
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Mariemaia Khushrenada woke abruptly to a shrill noise emanating from the nightstand. As she blurrily clutched for her cell phone, she cursed silently when she caught sight of the digital clock patiently displaying ? 4:27 AM. Answering the call, she snapped, ?What??

?It?s Dorothy. I?m en route to Majorca1. I want you to cancel whatever plans you may have and meet me for dinner.?

?For ? dinner? Just what time do you think it is??

There was an awkward pause as Dorothy mentally calculated the time difference. She sighed heavily, an uncharacteristically vulnerable motion. ?I?m sorry. I didn?t think.?

Mariemaia was suddenly alert. Her instincts screamed caution and she was certain that something had happened since the last time she saw her cousin. Her voice authoritative, demanding, she asked: ?Dorothy, what is it??

?It?s not even dawn yet. I?ll let you sleep a few more hours,? she said, dismissively. ?We?ll discuss this at dinner. I should arrive in twelve hours or so.?

As Mariemaia disconnected the call, she vaguely recalled her cousin leaving for L1 for an architecture convention. Glancing absently at her wristwatch, she realized that taking into account the time in transit, Dorothy had stayed on L1 for no longer than twenty-four hours. Her cousin had undoubtedly encountered some setback and had fled to Castell de Bellver, her favorite retreat, to escape. Mariemaia thought, amusingly, that she shared many of her fairer cousin?s traits. They both exhibited a similar temperament to those outside the family and when distressed, tended to seek the company of the other, a telling sign of their mutual trust and respect.

She had come to Majorca to unwind after a taxing semester at Harvard2. Although, she had inherited an extensive estate upon her father?s passing, she found Burg Eltz?s ancient and hallowed halls cold and uninviting in the winter compared to the friendlier and considerably less snowy island3. Recognizing that sleep would no longer be forthcoming, she resigned herself to wakefulness and slipping out from underneath her satin sheets, pulled a cord by her bedside connecting her to the kitchens and requested a strong cup of coffee.

When Dorothy arrived half a day later, they retired to a secluded terrace where a feast had already been prepared for them. Mariemaia noticed immediately her cousin?s exhausted and disheveled appearance. The constant traveling had taken its toll and she easily discovered through small talk that Dorothy?s attention was erratic and unfocused. She was beyond simply troubled. Mariemaia had been trained once upon a time by her grandfather to recognize and file away these little observations of weakness when dealing with people and it was a habit she was hard-pressed to break. After handing her cousin a cup of steaming tea, she inquired, carefully: ?Now, tell me what?s happened.?

?My grandfather is pulling the strings from beyond the grave again.?

?How so??

Dorothy smiled excruciatingly. ?He?s left me another present, only someone else has ripped it open before I could get to it.?

?Not another Vulkanus4!?

?No, it?s much more terrifying. He hid databanks within normal programs and code in the OZ database. When those were incorporated into the Preventer mainframe, his databanks were preserved, as he had planned for them to be, should anything happen to OZ.?

Mariemaia sat still, her attention riveted by her cousin?s muted distress. ?What was contained in those databanks??

?Many things: mobile suit schematics, dirt he had on his political allies and rivals, unscrupulous financial records,? Dorothy paused, significantly, ?but most importantly, he had saved every scrap of data he had on Operation Meteor and the Gundams in those data troves.?

?Including their identities,? Mariemaia whispered, alarmed at this revelation. She deduced, ?And someone?s found them.?

?Not just someone, but an expert hacker. I contacted a friend in the bureau on my way here and he verified the breach. He told me the details about what my grandfather had horded away.?

?And the Preventers haven?t caught the perpetrator??

?No. It?s been a few days now. The trail?s gone cold.?

A heavy contemplative silence fell between the two. Mariemaia had long since lost her appetite. She asked, ?What will you do??

?Me?? Her cousin laughed, in ill-disguised anguish. ?What can I do??

The younger girl frowned at this disheartening reaction. ?The Earth Sphere Economic Forum is in a few weeks. Everyone expects Relena to announce that she?s running for president then. Doesn?t that strike you as the perfect time to drop a bombshell like this??

?That did occur to me. The fallout would be horrific, but I?m powerless to prevent it.?

?Dorothy ?? Mariemaia?s even tone took on an entreating quality. ?You?re rarely this upset. What else happened on L1??

?I ran into Quatre Raberba Winner there. And he?s wrong. Every one of them is mistaken and this mess has proven that this world is every bit as disgusting as I?ve always suspected.?

?What do you mean??

?Winner acts as if none of this can affect him. He doesn?t care that the public could very well tear him apart.?

?Dorothy, I don?t think he?s ignorant of that fact. He?s the kind who would never run away from something like this.?

?That?s precisely what I?m saying. He knows, but refuses to acknowledge that other people can hurt him.?

Mariemaia?s eyes softened. ?You almost sound envious.?


Catherine Bloom had never seen the Earth before. Of course, she?d watched holofilms and vidscreen shows depicting the Earth. After all, who hadn?t? But to be standing on a beach overlooking an endless horizon of roiling cyan under a crimson sky was surreal. The Earth could not merely be seen; it had to be experienced to be believed. In that moment, she felt a deep, inexplicable envy for Earth-dwellers. To live in such a world could be not less than a religious experience. How could anyone make war when surrounded by such beauty? Having lived in a domed world all of her life, it had been required of her to visit a psychoanalyst who needed to clear her for gaeaphobia before she could obtain a visa from Immigration5.

The complete immersion simulation of the Earth she had had to sit through for three hours didn?t remotely compare to the rough unpredictable nature of the real place. The colonies were carefully cultivated ecosystems in which even rain was rationed, a sharp contrast to their blue mother planet. She was a worrier by nature but a risk taker through experience. Years of tightrope walking and gravity-defying acrobatics had evolved Catherine from someone who feared heights to a bona fide thrill seeker. Although she had been initially terrified by the sheer openness of the Earth, her evaluator had concluded that her fears did not warrant agoraphobia status.

Catherine breathed in the salty air and turned to face her adoptive brother6, allowing the torrential winds to hurl her red hair around her face. She exclaimed, ?It?s even more beautiful than I imagined!?

Trowa Barton sat on the lone flat rock burgeoning out of the yellow sea of sand. He tilted his head back to enjoy the caress of the wind fluttering his unbuttoned dress shirt and tearing against his dense bangs. He replied, eyes closed, unguardedly, ?I?ve always loved the ocean.?

?I never thought I?d say this, but I?m jealous of the people here on Majorca or well ? I guess just here in general.? She stared into the setting sun and opened her arm to embrace the empty air, indicating their surroundings. ?They have all of this and have no idea how to appreciate it.?

Nodding towards the last of the straggling sunbathers and swimmers on the beach, he said, wryly, ?They seem to appreciate it just fine.?

?Oh! You know what I mean, Trowa. I?ll never understand how they could pollute until they nearly killed the planet. Not that I begrudge them for creating the colonies, of course, even if they were a last-ditch ploy to save themselves in case Earth became unlivable. But, thank god, they came to their senses before it was too late.?

?Pollution wasn?t their biggest fear at the time, Cathy. It was nuclear fallout from another world war before nuclear reactors were uniformly banned.?

?War!? She snorted. ?It always comes down to fools who think war is a game. It?s like they?ve never noticed that there are real lives at stake.?

Trowa allowed his eyes to wander the bleeding sky, and said, placidly, ?We?ve been doing pretty well for the last ten years.?

?Well, I suppose that?s true. You know I?d like to have faith in people, but sometimes, even now, I dream about my parents and then I?m forced to remember why I ?? she sighed, ?why we grew up as orphans. I?ve been thinking about them recently, especially now that the manager?s retired and he?s sold it all to us. I mean, my parents were part of the circus when it was just a caravan and now that it?s fallen into our hands, it?s like I?m being forced to move on, to forget about them ? to forget about Triton.?

?Cathy,? he said, gently. ?They would?ve wanted you to have the circus.?

?Do you really think so??

?Your happiness would be foremost on their minds and if the circus makes you happy, I?m certain you have their blessing.?

?Oh, Trowa, you always know exactly the right things to say.?

?I can?t help that you?re easy to please.?

?Trowa!? Catherine laughed, retaliating by showering her brother with sand.


Dorothy Catalonia always lived alone, rarely tolerating anyone?s presence outside of her cousin?s, when she came to Majorca. She received no visitors. When Mariemaia was not residing at Castell de Bellver, servants were the only human beings Dorothy saw, not too often and merely out of necessity during meals. The meals were served with the gracious severity the servants had learned in the days when Dorothy?s mother lived and presided over the guests in the great dining room. At night, Dorothy found her solitary place at the table laid out as for a formal banquet: the candles lighted, the floral centerpiece sprightly arranged, her favorite wine chilling in ice. The silent footmen served the meal in unobtrusive silence, and always disappeared immediately afterwards, fading like phantoms into the woodwork.

When Dorothy walked up the stairs to her bedroom, she found the fragile lace folds of her nightgown laid out on the bed. In the morning, she entered her bathroom and found water in the sunken bathtub, heated to leave steamy residues on her mirrors, just the temperature she preferred. Her huge fluffy towels were always laid out on the chilly tiles when she finished ? yet she heard no steps and felt no living presence in the house. The servants? treatment of Dorothy had the same reverent caution with which they handled the pieces of Venusian glass in the drawing-room cabinets. As a child, she had been fascinated with the kaleidoscopic molten glass extracted from the volcanic regions of Venus. The glass was hopelessly rare and expensive ? two qualities the young girl she had been was taught to admire and, one day, embody.

For many years since then, when she entered the drawing room, she no longer admired them. She was as indifferent to their splendor and luxury as she was to the poverty of the housing projects. Dorothy had spent so many summers and winters, surrounding herself with people in order to feel alone, that the experiment of actual solitude was an enchantment to her and a betrayal into a weakness she had never allowed herself: the weakness of enjoying it. Sometimes, she started on foot from the house and walked for miles, setting herself no goal and no hour of return. No natives were surprised to see her, and when they passed her, always bowed to the ?Lady of the Bellver;? she was considered the chatelaine of the countryside7, as her mother had been long ago. The only people who regarded her with ill-disguised curiosity were the tourists who flocked to the island to escape the bitter winters at home.

She was on one of these walks a few days after she had fled from L1, alone and deep in thought when she heard: ?Trowa!?

Dorothy was drawn abruptly out of her reverie. Casting a wayward glance in the direction of the scream, a sudden movement captured her attention: a woman in a bathing suit and a wraparound skirt pivoted lightly on her feet, compacting sand in her fist before hurling it like a snowball at her companion. The young man was sitting atop her favorite rocky pew. It was impossible that this man in the distance could be Trowa Barton, a former Gundam pilot, a man she had met transiently in the most absurd of circumstances, but who had made an indelible impression. This woman could not have shouted his name into the wind. And yet, as she approached the couple, the copper brown tinge of his hair glistened familiarly in the embers of the drifting sun and upon closer inspection, she immediately recognized his features ? older, yet gentler; more rugged, but undeniably cast in the same features, as if to mock her inability to forget his face.

It was only when she felt the coarse grains of sand pooling around her sandaled feet that she realized with a start that she had been walking towards them. Before she could slip away unnoticed, the man she felt certain was Trowa turned and saw her. Staring defiantly into his surprised evergreen eyes, she silently asserted her right to stand there. She said, as if greeting an old friend: ?It?s been years, hasn?t it??

While his red-haired companion looked appraisingly at her, as if trying to recall when, if ever, she had met this newcomer, Trowa assessed her calmly, with mechanical thoroughness. Then, he turned slightly away, satisfied with his inspection, but there was a shift in his posture, a change that now included her. He replied, in the same familiar tone: ?Ten to be exact.?

?Trowa Barton,? she pronounced, slowly. She glanced absently at his ring-less hand. ?Where are your manners? Aren?t you going to introduce me to your lady friend??

?Cathy, this is Dorothy Catalonia. We met briefly during the war. Miss Catalonia, my sister, Catherine Bloom.?

Dorothy inclined her head politely. ?I?m pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Bloom.?

?Oh! Yours, too.? The other woman looked slightly alarmed at the formality of Dorothy?s manner and at the realization that she was from her brother?s bloody past. ?So ? how do you know Trowa??

?We met on the Libra. I was part of the White Fang.?

Catherine quickly glanced at Trowa, her expression forming a silent question. He addressed her, ?Cathy, if you don?t hurry, the shops will close. I know how much you wanted a souvenir. If you don?t mind, I?ll join you later.?

?Well ?? she hesitated. She looked at Dorothy again for a long moment before turning away, having judged from her appearance that she didn?t seem dangerous. ?All right, but don?t stay outside too long. You?ll catch a cold.? Slowly, she turned and hesitantly walked away from them, her retreating figure soon lost within the crowd of departing beachgoers.

Her words were so maternal that Dorothy couldn?t help but laugh. When Trowa glanced at her curiously, she said, ?You?re very lucky to know a woman like her.?

?I know.? Then, after a pause that almost physically dissipated the tense atmosphere, he asked, genuinely interested, ?Are you on vacation here??

?In a manner of speaking.? Dorothy gestured indifferently to the looming castle in the distance. ?I live there during the winter months. And you??

?Cathy fancies herself a wine connoisseur, after her father. She wanted to visit some vineyards in Spain, so she chose Majorca as the first destination.?

She fell lightly against the abrasive ridge of the rock alongside Trowa. ?Her father??

?We?re not related. She more or less adopted me during the war.?

She said, amused: ?Like a stray??

?Something like that. I was lost and she found me.?

?How generous of her.?

?Her parents and younger brother had died when she was a child. She wanted a real family. And I needed a home.?

?And she didn?t have anyone else??

?Her parents had lived with a caravan and the circus manager raised her after their death. She?s spent her entire life with the traveling circus.?

?And do you stay with her at this circus??

?Yes,? he smiled, wryly. ?I?m a clown.?

?Well, I suppose your particular talents are useful for that kind of thing.? Dorothy laughed, freely. ?What will you do once you become too old for it??

?I won?t. Cathy and I are co-managers of the circus.?

?You?re a businessman as well? You?re certainly full of surprises.?

?The manager retired and Cathy felt it was time that we succeeded him.?

?And this circus has been your home since the war ended??

?Yes,? Trowa inclined his head in agreement. ?I haven?t been lost for a long time.?

?Oh? I suppose we were all lost once, orphaned by the war.? Dorothy smiled, her tone consciously clean of accusation. ?But I don?t believe you. You?re no less lost than I am.?

He looked at her. His voice was casual: ?What makes you so sure??

?I haven?t yet learned how to cry8. And you haven?t learned how to live.?

?How do you mean??

?Take your sister, for example. You?ve managed to neatly integrate yourself into her life without disturbing any part of it ? traveling with the circus, because that?s where she is; purchasing the circus, because that?s what she wanted; coming to Majorca, because she desired to visit vineyards. You haven?t even been Trowa Barton, an identity you stole. You?ve been too busy impersonating her deceased brother.?

Under the loose dress shirt, his shoulders made a sagging movement forward; it was surprise ? and helplessness. He stared at her, quite simply. After a while, he said: ?You presume a lot from the little I?ve told you.?

?I presume nothing.?

?Don?t be so sure that we?re alike.? He was silent for a moment. Lifting his head, he saw the hint of amusement in her eyes. Then he said, his voice reluctant, as if he were holding back some telling sign of his true thoughts: ?You said it just to trap me into that kind of a statement??

?Yes, I think so,? she answered, pleasantly.

He looked at her silently, allowing no hint of personal reaction in his face. She leaned against the rock looking up at him, faintly astonished by his scrutiny, as if her words had deserved no special attention. ?You?re an interesting woman.?

?I don?t mean to be.?

?That?s your third mistake.?

?Third??

?The first was admitting that you haven?t learned to cry. If I haven?t learned to live, because I?m too accommodating then you?re no different for refusing to allow the world to change any part of you, denying your place in it through your inaction.?

?But I expect you to notice that I haven?t chosen to live. That would disqualify any pretence to the contrary.?

?I intended to say that to you.?

Dorothy said, gratified. ?But this way is more entertaining.?

?You expected to be entertained??

?I am.?

?Your second error was in your analysis of me. You?ve revealed your definition of nonexistence by accusing me of impersonation. Yet, you hide by keeping yourself in the public eye: in the tabloids and society pages. I?ve read some of what you?ve written over the years and you?ve chosen to rebel against the world by mocking it, by impersonating a bored socialite.?

There was an undertone of surprise ? and satisfaction in her voice. ?You?ve perceived more than I expected. Very well, and the third??

?Telling me that you don?t mean to be an interesting woman.?

?And how is that a miscalculation??

?Most people go to very great lengths in order to convince themselves of their self-respect.?

?Yes.?

?You should know that a quest for self-respect is proof of its lack.?

?Yes, I do.?

?Do you see the meaning of a quest for self-contempt??

?That I lack it??

Trowa said, with finality: ?And that you?ll never achieve it.?

The thin line of her mouth moved faintly, as if her lips had caught the first hint of a suspicion confirmed. She spoke, mildly discomfited: ?I didn?t expect you to understand that either.?

There was no triumph in his face, only awareness. ?Shall I tell you the difference between you and your fa?ade??

?If you wish.?

?Everything about you is the theme of exaltation. It?s so inherent to your character that no one can be completely fooled in spite of your best efforts. But your chosen theme is suffering.?

?Suffering? I?m not conscious of having shown that.?

?You haven?t. That?s what I meant. No happy person can be so impervious to pain.?

Dorothy laughed with pleasure. ?You may enjoy my admitting it, but I think we?ll get along very well together.?


Peter Weridge knew that the mistress of Castell de Bellver never received guests when she stayed on Majorca. He did not think that she would make an exception for him. But he came anyway, because she had ? in her cool, derisive manner ? asked him to accompany her to the Society banquet. It was held annually to honor the publication?s employees, advertisers and most influential readers. As such, the reception was to take place on the island of Sicily in large part due to Lady Sylvia Noventa?s esteemed readership and gracious hospitality9. She had volunteered to host the festivities in her ancestral home on the island as a favor for her old friend, Society editor-in-chief Andr? Seward. Peter wanted to play the part of thoughtful escort and so sought to impress Dorothy with his determination to make his affections known.

When he was admitted into the foyer of the castle, the butler told him firmly, but politely that the mistress had departed a short while earlier for a walk and was not expected for a few hours. Frustrated with the noncommittal manner of the servants who had all steadfastly professed ignorance of Dorothy?s whereabouts, Peter departed in his car towards town, hoping to run into her. It was by chance that his eye caught a flash of silky blonde hair and pulling over to the side of the road, discovered that the woman deep in conversation with a startlingly handsome brown-haired man was, indeed, Dorothy Catalonia. She was perched comfortably against a slanting rock, speaking animatedly with the mysterious stranger. He could not force on himself, though he was seeking it fiercely, any other impression of her face than one of intimate ease, so unlike the coldly beautiful expressions she had always shown him.

He felt an inexplicable smoldering anger and a sharp thrust of envy directed at her companion. He shouted, ?Dorothy! I?ve been looking for you.?

She turned to face him. Her voice coolly modulated, she asked: ?Peter, what are you doing here??

He drew himself up to his full height and smiled brilliantly, as if in homecoming. ?I thought I?d accompany you to Sicily. Rumor had it that you were on Majorca.?

?And you decided to follow me here??

His overly joyous smile faltered. ?I rather thought of my coming as a pleasant surprise.?

?Don?t fret, Peter. I?m only teasing.? Dorothy laughed gaily. Pivoting towards her companion, she said, nonchalantly: ?I suppose it?s my turn to make introductions. Peter, this is Trowa Barton, an old friend of mine. Mr. Barton, Lord Peter Keating Weridge.?

?How do you do.? Peter bowed, shallowly, his jealousy battering against his eagerness to impress. He noticed that the other man did not extend him the same courtesy. Instead, this stranger?s forest green eyes pierced his own for only a moment before sweeping away disinterested, as if he had seen nothing, having come to a mute judgment. His curt nod blankly acknowledged Peter?s greeting.

She touched the other man?s arm lightly. ?Mr. Barton, it has been a pleasure catching up with you. Please give my regards to your sister.?

He replied, simply: ?I will.?

Watching Dorothy walk rigidly, as if making an effort to stay beside him, to his car, Peter cast one last glance behind at Trowa Barton. He wondered why the two seemed not like old friends, but like comrades.




1Majorca is a popular tourist location and the largest of the three Balearic Islands, an archipelago in the western Mediterranean Sea off the coast of Spain. The Catalonia family, native to Spain, owns an estate on the island ? a fortress known as Castell de Bellver: ?Bellver? means ?lovely view? in ancient Catalan (the language of Dorothy?s ancestors).

2At age 15, Mariemaia is in her third year at Harvard University in Cambridge, Massachusetts, United States. A child prodigy, she enrolled in fall of AC 202 and double-majors in Political Science and Art History, with a pending minor in Sociology.

3Burg Eltz ? translated ?Eltz Castle? ? is located in Moselkern, a village in southwestern Germany. This has long been the main Khushrenada estate, having been passed down generation after generation by the descendents of the royal House of Eltz.

4In the manga Battlefield of Pacifists, Vulkanus was an abandoned and forgotten mobile doll factory sought after by two forces: former OZ General Broden and the Perfect Peace People. Duke Dermail authorized the development of Vulkanus and Chief Engineer Tsuberov commissioned its creation, but was killed before he could mobilize its new mobile doll types. Ultimately, the Gundam pilots destroyed the plant and eliminated this newest threat to peace before the events of Endless Waltz.

5Gaeaphobia ? a fear of the vast, open and unpredictable nature of the Earth ? officially became a subset of categorical agoraphobia in AC 10 after the first generation of mankind sent to the stars returned home from constructing the colonies found themselves unable to readjust. Agoraphobia had long been classified as a debilitating phobia ? the abnormal fear of being helpless in a situation from which escape is difficult or embarrassing, often characterized at first by panic or anxiety and finally by avoidance of open or public places.

6While Episode Zero hints strongly at Trowa?s being Catherine?s long-lost brother, Triton, and the Endless Waltz novelization confirms their siblinghood, neither of the pair is aware of it.

7Chatelaine means the mistress of the chateau or country house. Dorothy?s mother ? Duchess V?ronique Christelle Dermail ? had often resided on Majorca during the winter, hosting large banquets, soirees and parties. Those who lived on the island greatly admired the ?Lady of the Bellver,? as she was commonly known.

8Dorothy dueled with Quatre onboard the Libra in the final episodes of the series, and when she stabs him with a fencing foil, she realizes that his views of war and humanity may not be wrong. Then, Trowa appears in the mobile doll control room and dismantles the system, deactivating all of the White Fang?s troops. As he and Quatre leave, he tells her, ?That?s so sad ? a woman who can?t cry.?

9In the episode introducing Sylvia Noventa, it is revealed that her grandmother resides on the island of Sicily.


A/N- In the next update, almost everyone runs into everyone else at the Society banquet. Quatre travels with Layla to Sicily and encounters Dorothy and Peter there, with a cameo from Sylvia. The next chapter will be entitled: Synergy.

Valhalla will update next Tuesday, March 6th.