Rating: T

Pairings: 2x1x2, 3x1 (one sided), 3x4, Rx1 (one-sided)

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or Disney's 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame' (which is based off of the book, which I don't own either)

Thanks are given to: EquineAngel for reading through this chapter and betaing it for me:Bows: Danke schone!

Dedication:…EquineAngel (or EquA! HA! I have a nickname for you now! Buahahah!)

Author's note: Like Inuyasha and HP? My sis's got a new story up ('cause she won't work on a new cowritten with me that we're in the making of! buahahah!) so check it out if you want.

Reason for Writing this: Entertain yourself with this little fic as I work on updates for my other stories. Don't worry everyone, this is my way of saying 'Hello Fanfiction! I'm not dead yet!' Also as a sort of repent to readers for my absense. Updates will be slow since my mother is starting chemo on Monday.

Enjoy the story! Thanks go, once again, to EquA for betaing this!

in Liebe, Red Tail

Shunned from Heaven's Light
by: Lost-Remembrance (Red Tail)
Chapter One: The Beginning

Paris—a beautiful city full of emotions built into the very foundation of each and every building and monument. The choirs of the church bells filled the air, as much a part of people's lives as food and water were. Each of the town peasants went around, doing their chores and daily beginnings to a new day to the sounds of the great bells of Notre Dame. There wasn't a single bird to let loose a caw and announce the crack of dawn—the sun simply slipped up over the distant horizon, bringing a new chance to forget the day before.

High, higher than the tallest home or the Castle of Justice, in one of the bell towers, a lone figure resided, watching the breath-taking sunset. Below, the gypsies began to come out of whatever their night's dwelling was and danced for coins, bringing entertainment and color to the streets. The baker brought out the freshly baked bread for breakfast and shoppers—making the teen wonder just what fresh bread tasted like.

Closing his eyes, he turned away. He didn't belong in a place like that—it wasn't his world. 'This, he touched the stones gently as he let his thoughts wash over him in a trance, 'is my sanctuary.'

…

The night was dark, casting deeper shadows onto the columns and stones of the bridge. The water was icy, swift and deadly. Breaks of ice floated on the surface, racing past the boat. The driver held a pole, gently easing them as well as he could to safety. Their destination was looming closer—the docks near Notre Dame.

Four fearful gypsies—the driver, a wife, her child and her husband fled onto the safety of the boat to bring them to the docks of Notre Dame. Their culture was dying—their people being hunted down like animals… and there was nothing they could do about it.

A church had burned down, out of all the people killed only one survived. The woman looked down at the baby in her arms, soothing him as best as she could. Gently cradling him in her arms, her thoughts began to wander to how she had been blessed with such a being.

A dying nun had given the violet-eyed infant to her, praying for her to take care of the boy. So she did, raising it like her own. The child had already named himself—a name which rung a certain chord in her. Duo. She smiled; Duo was his name indeed. The little one, only about three, cried in her arms.

"Shut it up!" The driver hissed, breath puffing out into a frozen white cloud.

"We'll be spotted!" Her husband whispered in her ear, one arm wrapped protectively around her shoulder.

"Hush, little one." She urged, holding the child tightly and wrapping the blanket around the child more tightly. The boat jerked, having bumped against the docks quietly.

Leaving the boat, the driver outstretched his hands, "Payment for your safe passage—" An arrow went flying, hitting the man's wooden pole dead center. As if the wood burned, the man dropped the stick, letting it sink into the snow.

Men in armor came almost as if out of thin air and surrounded them, swords and spears drawn. Shackles were brought forth, the man standing in front of his wife to protect her from the jagged edges of the weapons. The metal irons came down, entrapping the man's wrists.

A giant steed, black and almost furious stomped in, eyes a fiery red color like a demon. The gypsy held the precious bundle closer to her chest, begging God Duo wouldn't make a sound.

Her husband gasped when the cloaked figure came into the candle-lit streetlights. The cold aquamarine eyes and honey blonde hair spilling from the cloak's hood didn't hide the young teen's distinguished features. "Minister Relena Darlain!"

"What are you hiding there, gypsy woman!" A guard shouted, grabbing and gripping the woman by both of her arm.

Relena's already cold and pious eyes glared at the woman. "Probably stolen goods from a poor vender." Her words were like ice, stinging and freezing at the same time. She raised her hand, pointing at the gypsy woman. With narrowed eyes, it looked to the gypsy woman as if she were trying to hide a smirk. She shivered. It were the words though which sent the shiver down her spine—"Take them from her."

The words were damning—but even if it cost her own life, Meridia would never let that woman kill her innocent Duo.

She ran as if the devils of Hell were on her heels.

Clutching the precious bundle in her arms close to her chest, she sent out a whispered thank you to whoever was listening to her thoughts during her plight. It was in her favor that Duo was small and light-weighted for his age.

The snow bit at her feet and her face, but she didn't stop once. The harsh breathing of the demon-like horse that Minister Darlain rode told her how close her foe was. She knew the city well enough—

She jumped over a rail, forcing the now seething Relena to have to find another way to catch to her.

—She ran up the steps, the horse and rider not far behind her. She pounded on the heavy wooden doors of the church. "Sanctuary!" She continued to hope that someone would save her child's life if not hers, "Please give us sanctuary!"

Silence was her only answer besides her pounding heart, blood racing swiftly through her veins with adrenaline.

She turned, seeing Darlain and her heated glare not far behind her. She ran, gasping when a hand grabbed onto her precious cargo. Relena pulled and snarled, very unlady-like for one of her status. She raised her foot, stirrup still with it, and hit the woman in her chest with a rough snap of her ankle.

There wasn't a sound as the woman fell to her death, head cracking against the stone steps of Notre Dame.

There was a cry of sorrow, making Relena gasp and look down at the bundle in her arms. "—A baby?" She opened the cloth, gasping when she saw reddish purple eyes staring at her with hatred. Relena gasped and pulled away, throwing the cloth over the boy's face and eyes. "No! Ah—A demon!" Looking around while clutching the bundle very tightly, her eyes stopped for a moment.

A well.

The wind swirled around it, as if calling to Relena. Snow danced as it was lifted off the ground and dragged to a new location. The bucket swung haphazardly on the ice-coated rope attaching it to a bar suspending it. Relena urged her horse forward, over to the mouth of the well. She raised her arms, baby in tote.

"To hell with you, demon-child." Her grip loosened a little bit, the cloth under her fingers not clenched so tightly in her fists anymore. There was another cry from the baby. Relena ignored it.

She was doing a favor to the people and of God. An unholy creature such as this one would not be needed on Earth.

"Stop!" Relena turned herself in the saddle, now staring at the archdeacon of the church. He was settled beside the stiff body of the gypsy woman. He looked up, eyes old and wise, "Look what you have done, Minister Darlain." Relena continued to stare at him, as if waiting for a good excuse to not let the child die.

"What are you doing?" the archdeacon questioned with unforgiving eyes.

"I am sending this unholy child to Hell hence it belongs." She raised her head, looking down her nose at the holy figure of the church.

"Here lies an innocent body, blood spilt now on the steps of Notre Dame." The archdeacon started, the wind calming down a bit as his baritone voice carried itself over to Relena.

Relena interjected, "She ran and I followed in pursuit. I have no need to feel conscience."

"You can lie to your followers and soldiers, you can run and lie to yourself. Never, though, will you be able to run from the eyes of Notre Dame." His hand raised, pointing to the statues, staring at Darlain with cold and unforgiving eyes.

Fearing for herself as well as her soul, Relena stared at the statue of Jesus and the other holiest figures carved into the walls of the church. Swallowing harshly, she question, "What must I do to atone for this…?" She was going to say sin, but no sin would it be considered to kill a gypsy.

The archdeacon didn't say anything for a moment, simply lifting the woman's dead and cold body into his arms. He would bury it somewhere along with the other dead bodies. She deserved some kindness in death. "Care for the child." And added as a precaution, "Raise it as your own."

Relena drew back, appalled. "What?" she snarled in disgust. "Care for this—" she stopped herself, contemplating.

"Well?" the archdeacon questioned, lifting a large white eyebrow.

"Fine." She calmly stated, "But let him live with you."

The archdeacon blinked for a moment, turning around to stare at Relena with confused and shocked eyes. "What? Where?"

"Somewhere." Her eyes raised, looking up at the bell tower, "The bell tower—somewhere where he will not be seen by others."

"All right." The archdeacon left with those words.

"Perhaps, Relena said with a twisted smile on her face, "You will be of use to me one day…"

Snow continued to fall at a gentler pace.

…

Duo had learned to listen to Relena. When he had hated her (though he still did, only with a lesser passion), the woman had sent him to an orphanage. Duo, believing it to be because of him, was left in grief when the orphanage burned down. He was the only survivor.

Flashes of memories—a nun braiding his long hair, had come back to him. It told him that it had happened once before.

He knew Relena hated him, only treated and tolerated with him for some reason he didn't know of. However, he was kept in a cage without a lock and key. He was the master of his own cell. He shivered every time he thought of causing more trouble and death. All he brought was suffering.

The Maxwell demon.

Relena had learned that he had been the sole survivor of the incident. When the dirty and haggard child had come to her doorstep, she simply sneered with displeasure at the sight. Her nose upturned and her eyes narrowed. It was almost as if she wanted him to have perished in the accident. He was forever scarred emotionally from that day. His eyes were duller—without life and happiness almost. Relena saw—she knew the ties he held with the dead and the names he screamed in the fit of a nightmare—she used it against him many a'times. Slowly, Duo began to feel and know he was an unholy demon destined for Hell.

He sighed, 'If only things didn't have to be that way.' He walked over to an opening, looking down at the bustling town, 'What would it be like if it wasn't like this?'

He walked out onto the bridge that connected to the other tower and smiled, seeing his friends—gargoyles—hop over to him with smiles on their stone faces.

Hilde, the woman of the three, smiled and patted him gently on the back, "Isn't the festival beautiful so far?"

Duo smiled, though it was along the lines of a sad one. "Yes, it is." He turned away, shoulders hunched forward, and began to walk back inside to his dwelling.

"What's wrong with him?" G, a crazy old gargoyle, questioned.

J, a friend of G and another crazy one of the three, interjected with, "Maybe he's sick?" G stared at him, nodding his head. Duo could always be sick at any time since he was human, not stone like them…

Hilde snorted, "If he honestly doesn't get sick from listening to you two, I don't understand why he would suddenly fall ill." She hopped after Duo.

She, with G and J trailing behind her, found Duo sitting on his table filled with the city below. She smiled—over the years Duo had become wonderful at wood carving and painting. It was one of the few things that helped ease away the emotional pain lurking in his soul. There were people still in the making though—like the baker and the fisherman.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong, Duo?" Hilde questioned, placing an arm onto his shoulder.

Duo didn't look at her in the eyes when he said, "Nothing's wrong. I just don't feel like watching the festival today."

"Well, did you ever feel like going there?" Duo froze for a moment, his shoulder and muscles tensing. Hilde looked worried for a minute, but she hid it well.

"Yes." He said, almost so quietly that Hilde didn't hear him.

"Well—"

"Then why don't you go!" Hilde glared at J for interrupting her.

"What?" Duo turned around to stare at G and J. "I can't do that!"

"Why not?"

Duo then slumped over, stared at the wooden floor for a moment and then picked up a wooden figure that he had hidden in his toy set of the city. "Miss Relena."

"Oh." The mood darkened and died for a moment at the mention of that name.

"But…" Duo looked up at G, who had a crazy gleam in his stone-eyes. "Who's to say she has to know?" He lifted his lips into that wild and crazy smirk he had when in a conniving mood.

"I can't."

"You sneak out—" G grabbed a cloak and wrapped it around him in disguise, "and sneak back in."

Duo knew it would be simple—so simple to just climb down the walls and be apart of the festival.

"What Relena never knows, can't hurt her…"

Duo jumped from his chair. "You're right!" He smiled and walked forward, head held high. "I'll go down the steps, march through the doors and then I'll be in the—"

"Hello, Duo." Duo stumbled back a bit, looking at Relena, who scrutinized at him closing with her sharp, cold, and ever-calculating eyes.

Duo lowered his head, "H-hello Miss Relena."

Peering at him for a little while longer, she then nodded sharply at him. "I've brought lunch." Duo scurried off to get the plate and cups for her and him.

He all but sighed to himself, placing Relena's fine silverware first and then his own cheap wood plate and smaller wine glass. He kept his eyes cast down at his feet.

'Just one day,' he begged of God, 'Just one day to be down there in the town like a normal person…' His wish never left his mind. God would never answer a prayer to a demon from Hell.

TBC