Disclaimer: GundamW isn’t mine. If you take it upon yourself to sue me, all you’re gonna get is some tic-tacs and glow in the dark stars.

~ Rhyianna

By Rhyianna Merquise

A frantic whisper "Wake up!" came to Trowa Barton, piercing the deep fog of sleep.

"Trowa – The NKVD! They’re outside!"

The NKVD – the Russian Secret Police!

Instantly awake, heart pounding and cold sweat starting to form on his forehead, Trowa sat up and swung his legs to the ground, dark brown bangs tumbling over his forehead.

"Are you sure," he asked in a soft voice, trying to hide the note of panic. His seven-year-old brother, Quatre, was just a shadow beside him in the gloom, his teeth chattering slightly from fear.

"Yes! I saw them!" Quatre replied.

The big black dog, curled up on the floor, began to growl deep in his throat.

"Shut up, Kit." Trowa commanded. "This is no time to be making noise."

Trowa inched over to the window and peered out through the thick, lace curtains. In the haze of a June night in Latvia, three shadows were visible, poking and prodding about in the yard. They lifted up a load of hay in a wagon, but upon finding nothing, they moved toward the barn.

Trowa shivered slightly. Far into the night, his family had been celebrating the coming marriage of his sister, Relena. His father and a few other male guests had gone to the barn to sleep off their drunken stupor. They would never hear the men that stopped by the door.

"Will they light it on fire," came Quatre’s timid question.

Trowa didn’t answer – he couldn’t. He was remembering the Walkers. Just two months ago Trowa and his mother had been going over for a visit when they spotted the NKVD through the woods. They had watched in silence as the men herded the entire family, including the tiny baby, in to the barn and then set it ablaze. The crackle of flames had drowned out the dying cries, but Trowa could still hear them. Mamina hadn’t said a word; just sat there glassy eyed on her horse. It had taken her days to recover from it, and even now, her purple eyes still mirrored the horror of it.

Suddenly the men turned and walked away, leaving Quatre staring after them and Trowa shaking his head in disbelief. There was never any explanation for Russian behavior. Soon he heard a car start up and speed down their lane.

"Go back to bed, Quatre. Everything’s all right now," Trowa assured his brother and hugged him. Quatre swallowed nosily, fighting back a sob, then nodded and crawled into bed, pulling the sheets up to his chin, as if in order to protect himself.

Trowa crawled into his own bed, keeping one hand on the dog’s head. Kit was kept inside at night now, because if he bit a Russian, or even barked at them, he would be shot. Trowa lay awake for a while longer, staring at the night sky, before calming down and falling asleep.

Sometime later, he was abruptly wakened again, this time by loud thumping. By the time he had fallen out of bed, he had realized that it wasn’t the threat of the Russians, but rather the steady beat if a drum. He sprinted from the bedroom into the hall and peered out the window to the front door. Standing in the yard were five men, playing their instruments as loud as they could.

"Hey, Quatre! Look! A band!" Trowa exclaimed, coming back to shake his brother. "A real live band! Come see!"

Groggy with sleep and rubbing his knuckles to his eyes, Quatre came to the hall window. After a minute or so, Quatre pointed to the arbor of boughs laced through with flowers that arched over their lane. "Trowa, what’s that? What’s it for?"

"It’s an honor gate," Trowa said haughtily. "For Duo and Relena. Don’t you know anything about traditions?"

Surprise registered on Quatre’s face. "An honor gate?" he asked in wonder.

Instantly, Trowa was sorry he’d spoken so harshly. After all, to Quatre, life was nothing more than ugly threats and Russians. A bride’s band and an honor gate were both old Latvian customs, and it had been a long time since a bride in these parts had been given such a thing.

Suddenly the big farmhouse was alight with excitement, as they all got dressed to go outside. Duo Maxwell – the twenty two-year-old bridegroom – was waiting for Relena. He was studying to be a schoolteacher, but Russian invaders had but him to work repairing the airport near Jelgava.

"Good Morning, Duo and Relena," everyone teased. "Today is your wedding day." There was lots of smiling, jokes and laughter. Despite the happiness and teasing, there was a very false note to the festivities, as if they were trying extra hard to create a sense of lightheartedness and joy that none of them felt. Just one week before, over fifteen thousand men, women, and children – even tiny babies – had been deported in one night, destined for Siberia. Would they be next? There was never any warning.

After a while, the smell of breakfast drifted out from the Big House and the group drifted off to the large tables, loaded with food.

By noon, everyone had loaded themselves into the wagons and headed to the little white chapel in Gluda, the nearest town.

After the festival, everyone lulled around the farm, sampling the deserts the women made, making jokes, and constantly toasting Duo and Relena. Some of the guests were getting drunk, especially Trieze Khushrenada. Normally, Trieze never drank, but only ten days before, he’d broken his arm, and a week before that, he’d come to the house, body beat and bloodied, and had sheepishly admitted that he’d gotten drunk and gotten into a fight. A quiet, secretive sort of man, Trieze had been a friend of the family ever since Trowa could remember. He had never been married and Trowa new why – He was still in love with Mamina! He had dated her before Papas came along, but he had settled for being a friend to the whole family and godfather to Trowa, to whom he often referred to as "The son I never had."

"A toast! A toast!" Trieze said thickly. "To another lovely couple – the beautiful Lucrezia, and to Zechs, who’s not so beautiful."

Everyone laughed and poked fun at Papus while they’re glasses clinked. It was true – Mamina was still slender and pretty, with raven black hair and shining purple eyes. Papus, on the other had, was still very slender, though rather square jawed, with long platinum hair and a white scar that cut across his temple. It was the result of a shrapnel during the war in 1917. To Trowa, Papus was strong. It would take an awful lot to break his spirit.

By dusk, all the food had been cleared off the tables and the family was gathered in the living room, talking of more weddings and happier days. There was a radio playing softly in the background.

Suddenly there was loud knock on the door. Then another – followed by another. Everyone was suddenly very silent. No one was very casual about that kind of knock.

Fear flooded Trowa’s system and his mind flashed back to this morning and the three men snooping around in the yard. All he could think of now was NKVD!

~ Please don’t kill me people. Onegai? There is a reason why I put all the characters where I did. Really! I promise there is!

So, shall I continue? R&R, if you would.