I came across the song "Blackheart," by Two Steps from Hell, which inspired me to write this. Separately, for those who don't watch DB Super, which I do, Cabba is Prince Vegeta's protege from Planet Sadala. If you don't watch anything else, check out the episodes with these two together. I'm a sucker for watching master-student relationships.
"Even during times of peace, a warrior must be prepared." – Prince Vegeta
Trunks sat by the river crossed-legged and meditating. The past month had felt like a year, and he spent the morning doing katas his father taught him as a child. He looked down and smiled. Vegeta had been a relentless teacher, and by the age of eight Trunks had ascended to Super Saiyan. Even though the feat shocked the hell out of his father, and made him somewhat jealous, he knew the prince felt tremendous pride. Having his son achieve what it took a third of his life to accomplish was, in a word, sublime.
Throughout his life, Vegeta always seemed to have convenient aphorisms ready to lecture him with too. Trunks could've written a book full of these interesting "life lessons." Some were comical, but he always weighed his father's overall mood before reacting. Vegeta's cocked eyebrow signaled his permission for Trunks to bend over laughing hysterically until he could barely breathe. His father would merely grunt "Hn," and stroll away – and occasionally fired an energy beam at him from behind his back.
"For god's sake, boy!" he would bellow, knowing that his son had easily deflected the token shot. "How many times must we do this until you learn proper blocking?! And if you touch that roasted pig your mother made only for me tonight, you are a dead man walking."
Other lessons Vegeta spoke of were born from the brutal harshness he had experienced early in life. Trunks knew as much as his father was willing to share. His mother, Bulma, would shake her head, silently telling him not to push the prince too far. Their grueling physical training together expressed Vegeta's hopes, fears, and pride for his only son—and for their world. The prince had seen and experienced the vilest, painful, and wretched acts that mortals could inflict on each other. Indeed, he had engaged in countless deeds that would unquestionably fit that definition as well. His sins were legion, and yet the gods had offered another chance to redress them – and that's what he did. His once-selfish pride had transformed to rectitude – of virtue – partially inspired by his lifetime rivalry with his fellow Saiyan, Son Goku. He could still be an angry little bastard, but he hoped his legacy would be the spark for others to protect their brethren, work hard, and take pride in themselves.
Trunks had been thinking about the musical score he composed two years before. It was a sweeping, vocally harmonic piece. Villagers could have danced together in circles triumphantly from the melody, or soldiers could have marched to it before battle. He envisioned his father being born from fire and brimstone as he played the acoustic piano, with a sound wall of drums and the violin strings and brass horns enveloping him on stage. As crescendo built, Trunks stood up smiling and panting and sweating from the intoxicating energy. He bore down on the piano keys, waving the orchestra and vocalists to follow the augmentation. He visualized each level of his father's Super Saiyan ascendance, and the fights the prince waged to conquer others… and himself. Trunks felt tears welling, but he held them back to get through the performance.
Delighted and awestruck, his mother and sister stood, stomped, and hollered with others in the audience at West City concert hall. They shouted for encore. Showing no visible emotion, Vegeta remained seated through the performance with his arms crossed. Trunks finally returned from behind the curtain, bowing modestly while people threw white and red roses on stage. His father had left by then. He expected it.
He returned to the piano, softly playing the opening of the score. "I am so glad you all enjoyed this piece. It's called 'I Believe,' and I dedicate it my father, Vegeta, a warrior who has never stopped believing." He nodded at other musicians, who tapped on their instruments with mirth, and they played again. The entire room swayed and shed tears with him. It was his magnum opus.
"It's a beautiful view, isn't it?"
Trunks didn't look behind him as he tied his hair. "It is, sire."
"Son, we are here alone," King Ren said. "You are allowed to be informal."
"My father would probably say otherwise – and quite loudly, perhaps kicking my legs from beneath me to make the point."
Amused by the thought, Ren shook his head. "I am sure Prince Vegeta would. He was…"
"He was many things."
Ren grabbed Trunks' shoulder reassuringly and smiled. "That was the wisest and most nuanced comment I've heard about that man ever. How long will you and your family stay on Sadala? Eternity is fine by me."
Trunks laughed until his face returned to seriousness. "I am a simple musician fulfilling his father's dying request. Full-blooded Saiyans live to fight, no matter where they're from. Your universe is no different."
"Son, we may fight and protect others, but we enjoy our lives here too. Not all end up warriors like your father and Cabba and me. Everyone has a role to play to make our great society what it is – much like on Earth, yes? And trust me, you are a true Saiyan down to your core. Vegeta knew this. It would dishonor his memory to believe otherwise. Would you mind walking with me?"
Trunks nodded. "Sure."
Ren was dressed in a traditional moleskin jacket, along with and boots, shirt and tie. A giant leather sheath covered his right arm. "I am waiting for my bird to return. Have you ever tried falconry?"
"Um, no, sir. Falconry never came up in the endless lessons mother and father subjected me to."
"We have used them for battles," Ren replied. "They are incredibly smart and loyal."
"With all due respect, sire, why have you sought me out? Aren't Cabba and the others departing soon on their mission?"
"Vegeta asked me for a favor." Ren paused and sighed. "He died far too early, especially for our race. Those of us who met and fought with him mourn deeply. Cabba, particularly. The prince was one the of smartest and most masterful teachers I have ever witnessed. He reminded me of my own father."
A stunning white-and-brown gyrfalcon reappeared, landing on Ren's extended his arm. Trunks noticed that the Saiyan royal coat-of-arms on the king's chest resembled the bird, with its outstretched wingspan engraved in gold fabric, carrying a three-pronged spear – a trident. His father's crest bore a blood-red trident pointing up, with no other decoration. Trunks had it tattooed on his shoulder. Vegeta, who couldn't speak from illness, smirked when he saw it and reached for his son's hand before he died.
Ren looked at the crest. "Tell me."
Trunks stopped. "Sire?"
"Why did you permanently mark yourself with his crest? The Saiyan planet he came from was… much different from mine. There was great brutality from which your father originated."
The question annoyed Trunks. He knew the king wasn't trying to offend him, but he gave him an icy stare anyway. "As I said, my father was many things. I'm not explaining more."
"I understand," Ren said, bowing. "Pardon me if I upset you. I am honored that the prince chose my planet to have his remaining funeral ashes scattered. Have you considered why?"
Trunks stared across the brown-and-green field facing them. "Of course I have, Ren. In Sadala, he saw a home that could have been – a much better one for a young prince. My mother, sister, and I understand that fully."
"Vegeta was fortunate to have such a loving family - and he damn well knew it, Trunks. Why, then, do you believe that you were not enough?"
Trunks sighed, closing his eyes. "You assume too much, Ren, and I would appreciate it if you stopped."
"Open it," Ren said, handing him a backpack. "Remove the container and take a glass." His falcon shifted comfortably in her cage, watching them with curious interest.
Trunks looked down with a slender grin. "Now you're trying to get me drunk to speak more freely?"
Ren poured from the flask, sniffing the contents. "Yes, I am, but not too much."
"I have to admit, your devilment reminds me of my father sometimes."
"And you remind me of my late son," Ren said. His eyes fell slightly, revealing a touch of sadness. "I suppose that's why I'm here being a nuisance."
Trunks sipped and rolled the glass through his hand. "I saw the pride my father had while training Cabba on Earth and here. The man idolized him, and now look at what he's accomplished."
"The general has made all of us proud, yes," Ren said, glancing at his watch. "You could have followed in Cabba's footsteps, but you chose differently. Vegeta had to step back as you grew older. You would have resented it had he continued pushing. Cabba was hungry and Vegeta offered to nourish him. Your father reached a place in life where he had to teach as many as he could broadly. That was his destiny… his calling. As his progeny, you are a searcher of honesty and truth. He told me that. In the end, considering his past, he won the greatest battle of his life by raising you to be the man you are."
Trunks recalled when he found out Vegeta had a form of ALS. The diagnosis shocked everyone, friends and family alike. The prince promptly growled orders them to pull themselves together – to help him through it. Bulma mobilized the best medical team she could find, but her husband's physiology had a mutation that was unresponsive to the genetic therapy they tried. They had even tried using Goku's DNA to guide their research. It would've taken more time than Vegeta had to live to find a treatment. Within two years the prince had lost his ability to speak or eat on his own, as paralysis overtook large sections of his once powerful body. Bulma made every tool available for him to communicate through it all, and he remained as crabby as ever – although not because he was ill. He wouldn't change a damn thing. However devastating the situation was for him, everyone would know that once again he went down fighting like the stubborn motherfucker that he was. Much laughter commenced at his memorial over that. He told Bulma that he did what he came there to do, and that she shouldn't cry long. She had been the queen who helped with that triumph against all odds, he said. He thanked her for not completely turning her back on him, even when they both knew he deserved it.
Trunks and the king trooped casually through the grass, disturbing all kinds of insects and animals from their resting places. Trunks was surprised to find a humble carriage on the road, with two patient horses strapped to it. Ren laughed at the confused look on the young man's face.
"I disguise myself sometimes when I come out. I just need to be completely alone occasionally."
"And you don't feel unsafe?"
Ren slapped dust from his seat. "How would your father respond if you asked him something like that?"
Trunks peered at the sky, which had filled with gray clouds. "Point taken."
"I want you join me at Army Row later on. I want to speak with our men and women, but first we should change our clothing."
Trunks bowed halfway. "Yes, sire."
Within two hours Trunks met the king in the estate's main courtyard, wearing a dress uniform Ren's attendants provided. Bulma and his sister Bulla entered from the side court in evening gowns.
"Um, what the hell is going on?" he whispered to Bulla.
"Beats the hell out of me, big brother. The queen provided these gowns but wouldn't tell us why. I must say you look dashing, though." They pinched each other's shoulders, laughing as quietly possible.
Dressed in his formal uniform, King Ren entered holding hands with his wife, Queen Hyacinth, followed by high-level members of the Royal Army. "Follow us," she said, smiling. Trunks noticed that her eyes remained focused on him. Like the king, they revealed a glimmer of sadness.
All dressed formally and standing at attention, soldiers flanked the royals from all sides as they approached the front of Army Row. Each one bowed as the king and queen proceeded on golden cloth laid out for them. A shot fired from the back, prompting all to salute as Trunks and his family walked past. They then entered a carriage, traveling to estate's grand hall, which was miles away. The endless company of soldiers slowly followed behind. Cabba extended his hands to Bulma and Bulla to lead them inside the auditorium, while another soldier motioned for Trunks to follow him down a hallway. Others soldiers had circled into the side entrances, seating themselves quietly and solemnly.
Trunks stopped his escort, touching his shoulder. "May I ask what is going on? Why have I been separated from my family?"
"The king is waiting, sir," the man said, lifting his chin proudly. "Although I was instructed not to speak much, I must say that your father inspired us all, even those of us who weren't fortunate enough to train directly with him. General Cabba and the other officers won't ever let us forget, either. "
Laughing, Trunks shook his hand. "That's one characteristic Cabba and my father share." They walked up a short flight of stairs to a stage. The entrance was open. A theater curtain had been partially pulled aside, which the king stood behind. He moved aside to reveal a black Bosendorfer grand piano – the same one Trunks played for concerts.
Still at the entrance, Trunks looked bewildered. "Where did you get this? Did my mother do this?"
Ren reached for his arm. "Your father did, Trunks. He had one packed in a capsule, which Cabba returned here with before Vegeta died. He wanted you to play it. Our instruments are somewhat different from yours on Earth, but our musicians have practiced the song Vegeta wanted, using a recording. Come now. Everyone is waiting."
"I didn't think he had a favorite. He didn't attend many of my concerts. I understood, though."
"He wanted you to play 'I Believe,'" Ren whispered. "Will you come now?"
Trunks looked up. "He chose that one?"
"Why wouldn't he? Cabba said watching your father cry almost broke him down, too. Vegeta couldn't let you see him like that on that day. He had been tough all the way through, but recalling the music you composed solely for him flooded him with memories – both of joy and heartache."
The soldiers in the audience stood when Trunks entered, saluting him. Bulma and Bulla sat in balcony seats next to the queen. Both immediately figured out what would happen once they entered the hall with Cabba, and they were already crying. His mother blew a kiss at him.
The king hammered his golden trident staff on the stage, ordering everyone to take their seats. The orchestra and vocalists tried to look serious but they still stared eagerly. Resembling his father, Trunks' mouth moved into a slender, crooked smirk as he approached the piano. He could almost hear Vegeta badgering him about his careful entrance.
"What in the hell are you waiting for, boy? We don't have all damn day."
The bass strings first glided smoothly in the background as Trunks followed along. He nodded at the musician, appreciating how beautifully they played together. His hand shot up, calling on the other players to follow along. Soon the entire orchestra rocked in unison as emotion swept over them.
Trunks' fingers danced across the piano keys. Cabba threw his cape down, holding up his fist with glee. Other soldiers followed, shouting their own expressions of gratitude. They knew this performance – this flawless war battaglia – was just as much for them as it was for the deceased, proud Saiyan prince.
END - Thank you for reading.