Hey-o, and welcome to my Lil' World of Weirdness!!

I state for the record that I don't own Gundam Wing, or the wonderful characters that will be gracing this story. . . I do however lay claim to Ensign Saratone *again*, and I use him here purely as a replacement for your average Nameless OZ Minion. Other Characters I lay claim to are Faye Bloom, the wizened old man, Chang Xiao Fao Lan, and the Angels.

Okay, okay . . . so . . . this has inflections from so many films . . . 'Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon' and 'Raise The Red Lantern' can be blamed for the Chinese elements of this story, and 'The Mummy/ Mummy Returns/ Scorpion King' for the Magi and the Arabian elements, 'The Fifth Element' for the main story, and repeated watching of Gundam Wing DVDs, and 'Endless Waltz' for the various little character quirks, and Cardcaptor Sakura/X-1999/Ayumi Hamasaki for influencing me in Magic . . . and admittedly one episode of Jackie Chan Adventures, from which all the Chi stuff comes from . . . I can't help it, for an ego trip, it's surprisingly funny . . . that and it's JACKIE CHAN!!! [Bows down before him]

Let's just say . . . when my writer's block breaks, it's like a dam breaking . . . [shakes head slowly and winces]

Parings: 1x2x1, 3x4x3, 5xM, 6x9, 13xUne. OdinxHelen But I don't believe in instant romances, and romance isn't the focus of this story, so please don't expect any sudden exclamations of life long devotion!!

Okay, that's the legal stuff out the way!!

Please ENJOY AND PLEASE R&R!!! THANK YOU!!

//Thinking//

"Speaking"

*Stress/Emphasis*

Writing/Dream sequence

~*~

For The Grace Of Knights And Angels

By Doctor Megalomania

Arch One: Bonds Made And Renewed

Prologue: Last Moments

What a pity.

It hurt.

It hurt that she would have to leave like this, not even able to hear his first words, see him take his first steps . . . but still . . . she smiled gently as the drugs took effect, and her new born son faded from her vision.

But still he was alive . . . he was healthy, with a powerful pair of lungs. The sounds of his crying surely echoing down the halls. A natural born leader's set of lungs, just like his father.

She felt a certain contentment, 'natural born'. He would be able to look to his sisters with his bright azure eyes and say, he was natural born, and that she had bore him with pride . . .

Even though it hurt so much to have to leave him . . .

A pang of sadness started to overshadow the pride as her husband's voice pierced the darkness behind her eyes, which was beginning to cloud her mind.

"Look closely Quatre . . . do you see her?"

//Do you see me. . .// her mind slipped away, taking comfort in the dark, //do you see me Quatre?//

"This woman is your . . ."

She opened her eyes to mud.

 Her husband lay nearby, his neck turned at an unnatural angle. Her heart called out for him, her body willing to give up and join him. Their cart and horses, everyone else who was riding with them, everything they had ever owned, scattered around the place like so many autumn leaves. The other circus carts were around, moving away quickly.

The fight, the mobile suits coming closer.

And her daughter, her precious daughter lay face down in the mud.

She reached out; she could see the arch of her precious daughter's back still moving with rapid breaths, she was still alive. She was still alive, and her mother would reach her and comfort her.

She pulled herself along the ground, determined more than ever to protect her daughter . . . if only to begin to make up for letting go of her son . . .

The surprise in his small jade green eyes as he flew out of her hands still etched into her vision. His small body hitting the muddy ground, and his attempt to get up, only to fall unconscious again.

She closed her eyes briefly, and gathered her strength. She would reach her daughter, and then find her son . . .

But her daughter seemed so far . . . away . . .

And her dark hair was spilling over her eyes . . . or was it blood . . .

No matter, she wasn't going to lose her . . .

Not going to lose . . .

. . . going to lose . . .

. . . to lose . . .

. . . lose . . .

Not even a tear.

He thought with some pride, not a trace of panic that would jeopardise the mission.

He had taught his boy well.

Those deep blue eyes weren't even glassy.

And his boy was going to finish this last mission, and then live a nice normal life . . . perhaps hand himself into some orphanage and be adopted. He snorted, the metallic taste of blood rising in his throat. And then attend years of therapy for all the assassin jobs he had taken his boy on with him. 

Still . . . not a tear, no pitiful begging for him to live an instance longer . . .

His boy would be able to survive no matter what.

He found it strange . . . this feeling, and if he could move he would have obeyed it as well . . .

This feeling, this urge to just reach out and touch his boy's cheek.

He frowned slightly, as he watched his boy. He should have been a better father figure, he guessed. While it was reassuring to a soldier that his boy would be able to cope with the rest of the mission, he wasn't quite sure his boy would cope with a non-military situation.

He felt a sigh build and swallowed it.

Too late for regrets, he guessed.

Too late for regrets . . . and besides . . . he smiled again, he had told his boy to always live by his . . .

She stared at the 'sky'.

Not even the real sky. The colony's fake idea of clouds rolled by, as the grey ash fell silently all around. She could feel the stained glass digging into her back, into her neck . . . the smell of burning filling the air. Where was he?

Where was her child?

He may not of been hers by blood, but the good Lord had blessed her with a child to care for. And now where was he? Was he lying, alone somewhere?

She closed her eyes against the grey ash and the white clouds.

//Please, no.//

Anything but that, anything but that for the poor child. Had he not been through enough?

She prayed, praying for him. There was no-body else she could pray for, not for herself, or the Father.

Just the child.

//Let him be safe . . .// she prayed, //let him find salvation and let him live.//

A crunch of glass, and stone, a whimper opened her eyes again. Her child, her sweet child and his long braided hair, stood alone in the rumble.

She whispered his name, too exhausted by the effort of staying here, to call any louder.

His large violet eyes were wide as he leant over her, pulling her head as gently as he could into his lap. Such a considerate child, so sweet and considerate.

She murmured words, of her thoughts and the father's, how they'd worried for his well-being. He asked if it was his fault.

The idea of his guilt would have been laughable if she could draw enough breath; she ignored the tightness in her chest and continued to assure him that they were to miss him.

She would, she would miss her child . . .

She'd always wanted to be a mother, but she had given an oath.

Reaching out, she could almost touch him, touch his soft cheek one time before . . .

For the first time in her life . . .

As her hand fell away before it could touch his trembling face.

. . . she cursed the Lord for calling her away from her child.

Dreams as light as a feather.

Skipping through the park again, and meeting the boy with the strange blue eyes. She liked blue. Her favourite ribbon was always blue. And Mary loved to chase it so . . .

Loud noises from outside, but she could ignore them . . . they lived near to something mommy called an hellish excuse for protection . . . whatever that meant . . .

She frowned as Mary began to bark furiously.

Yawning tiredly, she sat up, and called Mary back from the window. A deep orange glow from outside filled her room. That was strange . . .

But not as strange as the explosion that rocked the room again.

Not as scary as the massive metal head of a robot crashin—

Staring out, she wondered when every colour had become so beautiful.

When had the flowers become such a display of purity, and magnificence?

The ground so soft?

Never. Every day of her life, she had stood near this meadow and never had it been so beautiful. It felt like a bit of an injustice that now she was leaving, that the meadow put on it's best display.

She smiled, and when had he become so handsome?

His sleek black hair tickled her nose as she pressed herself against his shoulder. His voice, it's condescending tone lost, gentle as he spoke his admiration for her. The all-knowing geek disappeared, and in turn left such a quiet young man . . .

As loud and rowdy she had been; she found she wanted nothing more to stay and be beside him as he read. She lowered her eyes to his lap, one of her hands held between both of his. She almost wished he had one of his damned books right now.

His voice trailed off, and she wished he would turn and look at her, with his dark, dark almost black eyes . . . she didn't have enough breath to say it.

Silly man.

She closed her eyes. Still she would miss him.

His hands shook her, and she wished that she could open her eyes, and pretend that she was joking . . .

It would have been nice . . .

He was yelling, but he sounded as quiet as a whisper.

. . . just to stay with him a while longer. . .

So, this was it.

This was death. Perhaps not the one he would have wanted, one that was befitting of his station in life.

His only regrets?

That it had taken so much waste of life to get to this point. That he would be able to be there as humanity stepped into it's new dawn. The children, his adversary included, were the future, and they had no need for the old generation to guide them. These children, from the pilots, to the Romafellor girl, from his dear friend and his sweet little sister . . . yes they, they were the future.

His sweet Colonel, and his beautiful lady. They could find peace without him to confuse her anymore.

Ah, but to be there when the final fusion took place. When she would step out as a new leader.

These were his only regrets, that he was the cause of much death, a bloodied cloth that cleaned the slate. And that he would not be there to reap the fruits of the seeds he had help to sow.

Crackles of energy wrapped around the machinery eagerly, as the new suit was preparing itself to die. It surrounded and bathed him in light, space taking on a new glow as humanity shed the last vestiges of war.

Ah . . . he closed his eyes and wished . . .

Wished he could see the future that the children would—

For The Grace Of Knights And Angels . . .