"Ellion"

Written By: Vega-Lume

Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing. This series and all characters original to it are licensed by Sunrise and Madman Entertainment. I claim no ownership, nor do I profit in any way from this fan work

Rating: R

Warnings: A/U, Angst, non-graphic NCS (under aged – early teens), Yaoi, MPREG, death (no major characters), smidge of citrus (non-graphic). Maybe squik, depending on how you look at it (non-graphic descriptions of child birth and genitalia).

Pairings: 1x2x1, 13xUne

Summary: Set in a world where one mad man tries to rule all and destroy the last traces of magic, one young man must overcome a life filled with war and death in order to save those he holds dear.

Notes: Lack of grammatical contractions is intentional.

"Ellion - Book 1"

Chapter 6

No questions were asked by the townsfolk about the father of the child for it was not the first time a single woman in the family way had found her way to Galia. They all understood what happened in Oz camps so no one was going to persecute Heero for being unwed.

Even so, he did not venture outside often, preferring to stay where no Ozlainian solider had the chance of recognizing him, also in the privacy of Jerusha’s home he could be himself and not have to pretend to be a girl.

But as time passed he did not feel so suspicious of those around him and was able to venture out on his own, running errands for Jerusha. It did not take long for Heero to become just as accepted as every other citizen of Galia and over time he felt almost as at home as he had been in Hartou.

~*~*~*~*~

Pushing the door closed with his hip, Heero kicked off his soiled yard shoes and placed the heavy pail of milk on the bench before kissing Jaylin’s cheek. The nearly one year old child giggled from her place in the highchair, before planting her hand firmly in her bowl of cooling porridge.

“I need to change my apron, I will be down to sort out the milk in a moment,” he said to Jerusha who was tending the coals in the stove so she could prepare their eggs.

“Hurry back when you are done dear, and get something hot in you. It is right nippy today.” The older woman then turned and pulled a damp rag from the bench and started cleaning up the child.

“I will,” he replied and took the stairs two at a time, careful not to slip in his bare feet and went into his bedroom to change the apron, that due to its close proximity to a wet cow now smelled distinctly bovine, not an aroma one would like to smell while breaking their fast.

Stripping off the apron he found a brown stain on the dress underneath and stripped that off as well. Standing before a small mirror dressed in nothing but a boy’s undershirt and knee length winter underpants he washed his face, neck and arms in the wash basin before pulling on a shift and a clean dress. He did not often wear a shift as it seemed too feminine even for someone who wore dresses regularly, but today was quite cold and the extra layer helped ward off the chill. Sitting on his bed he pulled on a pair of heavy black woolen stockings, tucking the tops into the leg openings of his underpants to help hold them up, then put on a clean apron. He was just tying the strings when he heard a crash and a faint shout. He rushed to his bedroom door but it crashed open just as he reached for it.

Three men in Ozlainian uniforms stood before him and from the looks on their faces they had not expected to find him there. In a blink of an eye they rushed him, going for his arms, he fought and thrashed. Did everything he could to keep them from getting a firm hold, but the three men were much larger than he and soon took him down and held him to the floor.

Heero fought them as they held him down and a surge of panic rushed through him as a hand slipped under his skirt and slid up his leg. Fingers toyed for a moment when they found the hem of his winter underpants, brushing teasingly over the flesh just above his knee, then stopped abruptly when one of the other men snapped out a warning. The fingers slipped under the hem and hooked the top of the woolen stocking and pulled it down. The action was repeated with the other leg, and just as it was pulled from his foot, heavy iron shackles were locked tightly around his ankles.

Then the men moved off of him quickly and backed out of the room. Each man bore his mark in some way, the tall one’s cheek was still bleeding sluggishly where Heero’s nails had scratched him, the eldest looking one gingerly cupped his groin where Heero’s heel had found its mark, and the third’s eye was already beginning to swell due to the hit of a wildly swung fist.

The soldiers eyed the girl with a kind of respect as she had managed to hold her own against three grown men, and though she had lost in the end she had come though relatively unscathed.

The one with the bleeding cheek pulled the key from where it rested in the inside lock of the door and closed it behind him after he stepped in the hall. Heero could hear the click as it was locked from the other side and could see the shadow of boots as a man stood guard.

He had no chance of escape; there was a sheer drop from his window to the paved walk outside, to jump would certainly result in a broken bone and there was nothing to cling to, even if his feet were free, no window ledge or clinging vine, not even a tree branch to aid his descent.

He worried for his daughter and worried for Jerusha but feared that if he were to cause a problem the soldiers might punish them in his stead.

Dejected, he sat on his bed and watched the play of sunlight and shadows as they moved across the floor. It was nearing the midday meal when he heard Jaylin crying, the sound was muffled as if she were far away. Hobbling to the door he banged it with his fists, demanding to see his child. His shouts and pleas were ignored and soon the crying stopped and he moved to sit upon the bed again terrified that they had killed his child to stop her from crying.

Throughout the day crashes and cries could be heard from his window as the town was ravaged and the room was darkening as dusk approached when the door opened again.

~*~*~*~*~

“We have secured this home for you, Captain,” one of his subordinates said as the tall, broad-chested man stepped through the door.

Looking around the kitchen he frowned at the body of an old woman lying in a pool of milk, the pail lying just inches from her head. A tea towel had been thrown over her face but nothing more had been done for her.

“Her heart gave out sir,” another man said. “She fell against the table, knocking the pail over. She expired in just a few minutes.”

“How many people lived here?” He asked as he stepped over Jerusha’s body so he could inspect the rest of the house he had claimed for himself.

“Just three, including the old woman,” a voice replied. “There is a babe and an older girl; she is in one of the rooms upstairs. It took a bit of doing as she fought us, but we got some shackles on her. There are signs that another room had been used recently but there are no personal items so we believe the woman let it out to boarders.”

The Captain noted the scratches on the man’s face as he was passed the agitated but quiet toddler. The babe was a pretty child, obviously loved and well cared for. Her clothing was clean and new; her brown curls glossy and tied back from her face with a ribbon that matched her dress, revealing large, frightened brown eyes.

Passing the child to his wife, whom had been following him silently, he then ordered his men to take Jerusha’s body outside before he went upstairs to inspect the girl.

He found her in a small bedroom just past the stairs. She was dressed in a fine, pale blue dress and white apron. Her long brown hair had a few loose strands that fell about her face but the rest was neatly braided down her back to her waist. She was not huddled and crying like he expected her to be and her blue eyes were dry and sharp as she rose quickly from her bed and stood her ground when he stepped through the door.

One look at those beautiful, defiant eyes and the Captain felt his trousers grow tight.

“Come on my lovely, come on,” the large man said gently trying to coax Heero to him, “I mean you no harm.”

Heero however knew better and inched farther away from the stranger, knowing he would not be able to rush him and flee with his feet chained together. With a sudden burst of speed the man lurched forward grasping Heero’s wrist, pulling him close.

“Yes, that is it,” the man gasped pressing closer to the youth. “Yes, yes.” He nuzzled Heero’s hair, his breath hot and foul as he moved his lips across an ear then pressed down, urging Heero to kneel. One hand frantically began working on the laces of his trousers while the other hand was firmly on the youth’s shoulder. His concentration waivered for just a moment and Heero shoved with all his might causing the man to fall to his rear.

“I have been used before in the way you wish to use me now. I will not stand for it, if you try again, ever, I will bite it off, I swear to the Mother I will,” Heero snarled.

The man stared at Heero and could see in his eyes that he meant what he said.

“The babe, she belongs to you?”

“She is my daughter,” Heero admitted.

“Born to you through force?”

Heero answered with a small nod.

Taking a deep breath through his nose the man rose and tied his trouser laces. “I have given her to my wife as she cannot bear children of her own. You, I have decided will not warm my bed but I will keep to work my tavern. If you work well you will be fed and clothed and I may allow you to see the child from time to time. If you work poorly and I will beat you. You refuse to work or try to run away and I will kill you.”

Heero shivered. “You swear never to touch me or my child, or allow your patrons to?”

“Aye, I swear it,” the man promised, “Unless you earn yourself a beating.”

Heero hung his head, “I will work for you without complaint.”

The man smiled, he would spare her but his wife would not. She would work the girl hard, so hard that she would forget about her child, her family, her hope. Once broken the girl would come to his bed willingly.

Heero looked around the room that had been his for the past year and felt the same agony of loss that he had when he had been stolen away from his family and friends in Hartou.

“Come, now,” The man ordered and tugged the chain that he had fixed to Heero’s bound ankles and he hobbled after his master. He was walked in bare feet along the wet, cold path through the town, to what had once been the inn but now would be the Captain’s tavern. The sun was fully set now and light poured from the windows of the main dining room; it was filled with Ozlainian men who were already soused to the gills, celebrating their victory in overtaking a tiny village of farmers and fishermen.

“Here is where you will be staying for now,” the Captain said as he led Heero into the kitchen. There was a metal ring set into the stone of cooking hearth, it was meant to hold the cover for the fire in place, and it was there that the Captain fixed the end of the chain locking Heero’s restraints to the floor.

A tidy sleeping area was already arranged in an alcove just to the right of the large, cold fireplace, most likely once belonging to the kitchen girl that worked for the family who had owned the inn; a screen that separated it from the rest of room was folded and set aside. A chamber pot and wash stand were tucked into it. Just beyond the sleeping area was a heavy wood door that led out to the yard at the back of the inn where a garden and the wash lines could be found.

There were pots and pans, a larder, which was nearly empty, thanks to the drunken men out front. Most everything else needed to keep the guests fed and in clean linens could be found in the opposite side of the large stone room. He could tell due to the length of his chain that the larder would be out of reach, not that it mattered for there was a large lock handing from the open latch.

Eyeing the stove, the only thing that was currently heating the room and doing a poor job at it, Heero frowned, he did not know how to cook well, Jerusha had not taught him much beyond tea, toast, and porridge, learning anything beyond that had not been necessary before now.

“You need not worry about making the food,” the Captain said when he saw where her gaze had fallen. “My wife will be doing that. You will just be doing the cleaning.”

“Where is my grandmother?” Heero asked after visually inspecting his new home.

The Captain frowned, “the old woman is dead. Her heart gave out.”

He had been afraid to ask the question because had known, somehow, deep down he had already known the answer, like he had felt the tiny thread that connected them together snap and disappear. Heero nodded in understanding while a little more of the gentle child he had once been faded away inside. “I would like to see my daughter.”

“Tomorrow, maybe,” he replied evasively, “If you do well with your chores throughout the day. My wife will be here in the morning, she will be in charge of you, do everything she tells you.” With that the large Captain left, firmly closing the heavy wood door behind him.

Trembling and alone in the dark, cold stone prison he crawled into bed and wished the world away.

He was harshly awoken the next morning when a bucket of filthy water was dumped on him. It was still dark out, the moon shining through the tiny window near the back door.

“Get up,” a woman snapped at him before throwing a sopping cloth in his face. He climbed out of the narrow cot as quickly as he could with his ankles bound and stood before the massive woman. She was taller than he was by nearly a foot and outweighed him by at least a hundred pounds. Her dark hair was streaked with grey and pulled back away from her pale, spotted face in a tight bun.

She sniffed at his appearance, dressed in the same clothing he had been wearing the day before. He had not been allowed to take anything from his room, nor had he been given any other clothing, and with so many others around he had not dared to undress, even to just his underclothes.

The look of anger and disgust on the woman’s face sparked something in his mind and he realized that he was looking at the Captain’s wife, the woman who his daughter had been given to. The crop in her hand held the promise that he would feel the lash from her this day.

She did not say anything more to him but turned away to release the chain from the hearth with a key pulled from between her breasts. Yanking the chain harshly she nearly caused Heero to lose his footing and pulled him from the room.

The main room where guests of the inn dined and socialized was in near ruins, the floor covered in spilled ale, vomit, chewed tobacco and probably urine if the smell was any indication. Most of the tables and chairs had been over turned and some were broken.

“Clean it up,” the woman ordered, pulling Heero closer and wrapping the length of chain around his waist, it circled around him three times before the lock was snapped in place. Between the heavy chain that weighed him down and the shackles that still bound his feet, there was no way he could run.

The woman watched him for some time as he methodically moved around the room, righting tables and collecting trash. By the time he was ready to scrub the floor he was alone but did not dare stop in his work for he knew she was nearby and had the crop waiting.

As the woman planned to do all the cooking Heero was to be kept from the kitchen until all the food was served or locked up, so there would be no helping himself from the larder.

The woman worked him throughout the day and he did all that was asked of him, never once giving the woman a valid reason to beat him. The Captain visited near the evening meal and allowed him to witness Jerusha’s burial, there were no familiar faces at her graveside, no one there to plead on his behalf, just the Captain and a sheet covered body lying in the earth. No words were said for her other than Heero’s whispered ‘goodbye’ as a soldier started shoveling dirt into the grave, then he was quickly returned to the inn and the seemingly never ending ale cups and piles of sheets. By the time he was allowed to go back to his bed the sun had long since set and he was exhausted, his fingers were spilt and bloody from all the scrubbing and laundry, and he had not been given any food.

He slept fitfully and rose from his bed before dawn, reeking of sweat and filth. The pitcher in his wash basin was full and icy and he hissed in pain as his raw fingers touched the cold water as tried to clean up the best he could, while longing for something clean to wear and a proper bath.

The woman seemed annoyed when she arrived some time later to find him already up and ready to start the day.

She whipped his legs and back, for no reason other than she wanted too then set him to work again. It was apparent that the woman intended to leave him alone at times during the day when Heero was working in the dining or sleeping areas, for she had more rings set into the stone floors to lock his chain to and he was now leashed throughout the house and yard.

The days bled into each other so Heero could no longer remember how long he had been there. Occasionally through his exhaustion he became sloppy in his task and he received a lash from the woman. She was merciless and drew blood every chance she got. He was rarely fed, usually only getting something when the item had spoiled and often when the woman’s back was turned a morsel found on the floor or a table found its way into Heero’s mouth. He was never given fresh clothing or the opportunity to see his child.

Three months passed and winter was truly set in, the yard was covered in frost as Heero stood barefoot, hanging wet sheets with trembling hands. The chain was fixed to the building while his keeper was occupied inside as she prepared the midday meal. Heero was often left alone for long periods of time now, which was a relief in a way. The woman could not beat him if she was not there.

The once cornflower blue dress Jerusha had made for him was stained and in tatters, despite his effort to care for it and it hung on his frame loosely due to the weight he lost. His hair hung in a tangled braid down his back; it had not been brushed since his forced servitude, he had not been given a brush and his fingers were too sore to run through his hair and pick out the tangles. His face was burned by the sun and cold wind, his lips chapped and sore. His knees were bruised from hours kneeling as he scrubbed stone floors, his legs, back and arms were littered with welts and cuts from the lash, his ankles so raw from the shackles that they never healed. The cold dry air triggered coughing fits that wracked his body for several long minutes, and then with gasping breaths he turned back to the sheets.

TBC

Chapter 7

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