To be King

by Dentelle-noir

AU. 3x4. The Barton tribe was exiled from there home, forced to live in the bowels of the jungle by the usurping Winner Tribe. But they will get their revenge. The successor of their tribe will grow strong and hard, and he will take back their homeland.

1. Part 1

To be a King
Part 1
by: Dentellenoir
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Shonen-ai, Revenge, Tribal-war
Fandom: G-wing
Pairings: 3x4, 1x2
Genre: AU, Adventure.

Summery: The Barton tribe was exiled from their home, forced to live in the bowels of the jungle by the usurping Winner Tribe. But they will get their revenge. The successor of their tribe will grow strong and hard, and he will take back their homeland.

Leia Barton softly pet the crown of the youngest Barton. Her tribe may have been exiled, persecuted; sent to live in the bowels of the jungle after her beloved husband's death at the hands of Amar Winner, but she had her weapon now.

Hand picked by Dekim as successor, Trowa was the last to be born under his rule and she would be sure he grew to be the avenger of their people. She would take it upon herself to raise him to be the strongest warrior of them all, and he would take back their lands Dekim had stolen for them. The battle would be bloody, but that worked for her. He would be a King.

XxX

Trowa swung, hand over hand, into the decrepit ancient tree to stand overlooking the jungle, then let out a savage roar. Buzzards and Red Hawks took off with a scream, fleeing the young Barton tribe warrior.

With a smirk, Trowa dropped back down to the jungle floor, kicking up dust as his small legs and arms impacted with grace. His mother would be proud when his war cry would echo off the walls of the jungle. But for now, he had to train. Today he would run, straining his legs as far as he could, and then run back to the Barton keep. His older siblings had to be out hunting; how he wished he could go with them more often, but when he had asked, Leia had threw him to the ground in her rage. He had to train. He must be the strongest, hardest warrior. He would be a king.

The trees flew past him as he pumped his legs against the dirt floor, and he vaulted the stream with one motion. He knew he would have to turn soon--Winner territory was coming up, and if mother found out he was near enough...

Trowa smirked. So what if he did go in? What mother didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

Trowa never slowed, dropping into the valley and hurtling over rocks until he clambered up the other side. A thrill rolling up and down his spine at the knowledge that he was in forbidden territory. Almost instantly, though, Trowa was awestruck. Here, the trees dropped their fruit onto the jungle floor, untouched and free for picking. There was no one fighting for each morsel, and, without a second thought, with the cunning and force cultivated inside him since birth, Trowa dove into the trees, moving over the lushly covered branches and wrenching fruit from their branches and tearing into their soft flesh with savage intensity.

The grasping Winner clan left fruit to rot in the trees at the edges of their territory while his people were forced to go hungry night after night until just enough scraps to keep them living came to their lips. They were a tribe of the strong because of it; you had to kill to eat, and kill they did. Sometimes turning on each other just to get the hunting spoils. All of it was the fault of Amar winner and his tribe. Trowa vowed again that he would grow, and he would crush them.

Trowa saw a mouse scurry beside his natural presence in the tree, and he smashed his little fist into it, grazing it enough to make the mouse fall to the ground with a twitch. Yes, he would make his mother so happy when he grew and slit the throat of Amar Winner himself, and let his mother watch the usurper's dying body twitch, just like the mouse.

A light tinkling giggle made him whip his head around to spot an obviously blond head of hair crawling through the grasses. A Winner--all of their tribe except a few warriors had hair as golden as the sun. He was told that they were all fierce warriors, bloodthirsty traitors, who betrayed Dekim. Leia would attack one on sight, if they wandered near enough for her to strike. Trowa knew that he should too... but he was in their territory, there could be more lying in wait for the trespasser to strike.

This child seemed no older than 8, (One whole year younger than Trowa himself), and as such was very little threat to him, a great warrior of the Barton tribe. The little boy had no adults following him that Trowa could see, and the boy himself was thin and looked so much like a girl that Trowa second guessed his first impression. Perhaps it was a female, whom were more cunning and traitorous than men, as Trowa had seen daily. The Barton tribe was almost completely females; all the outcast wives of Dekim and his followers. Most of the warriors loyal to Dekim died in the battle leaving only the women and young children. Trowa himself was the youngest. Alex and Muller, the two oldest boys in the tribe, hated him the most for it, since he was honored as Dekim's heir, instead of them. Thanks to those two, his skills in cunning, fighting, and speed had been sharpened--they were almost 6 years older than him and twice the size as Trowa had ever been, but neither of them had any sort of intelligence. Trowa had learned to use it to his advantage. Leia had taught him much.

The little Winner child kept coming closer and closer to the tree Trowa was in, crawling on his hands and knees, as if trying not to be seen, but completely failing, since his bright blond head was obvious through the sparse upper grass. He needed to learn to get closer to the ground...and to crawl lightly and soundlessly... the child could be heard coming from miles away. But there was no one except Trowa around to hear him.

Curiosity and that same spark of the forbidden called Trowa to slowly creep down the tree, moving as silent as a snake, until his feet had touched the ground. If the Winner tried anything, he had a height advantage. But the boy didn't even notice. It was obvious this boy had not yet began warrior training, or he was horrible at it. If Trowa wished, he could have killed him 5 times over by now.

The boy entered the clear area around the roots of the tree and sat, resting his head against the trunk and looking up to the sky with a happy smile. Trowa was mere feet away, a knife at his belt, and obviously bigger, stronger, and more aware than the other. He should kill the boy and get home; his mother would be overjoyed at one less Winner. But the boy turned his head, and spotted Trowa with a start. Instead of calling for help, or grabbing for a weapon, the boy did something Trowa would never forget.

He smiled. Bright and eager, "Hi! I'm Quatre!" he said, a voice as happy and lifting as the little giggle he heard earlier. "I was playing hide and seek with Duo, and I seem to have won, because even I can't find myself!"

Trowa stared and loosened his grip on his knife.

"Do you want to play with me?" The little Winner asked. He began to look around for something, Trowa did not know. Trowa had always known 'playing' as fighting or wrestling, he never pretended or played games like some of the girls of the tribe sometimes did. Leia never let him.

When the blond came upon the mouse Trowa had hit in the tree, he stopped his futile search to tenderly take up the mouse, "Oh, look! The poor thing is hurt! See if we can help it! The poor thing was probably only trying to get some dinner and attacked by something twice its size. Isn't that horrible?" The boy, Quatre, said to Trowa. He picked up the squirming little mouse into his little hands and pet it until it calmed down and let Quatre look at the wound that produced the blood matting its dirty grey fur.

Trowa had never seen anything so gentle; the boy calmed the animal easily, like Trowa did with the leopard clans that roamed around his home. Trowa took a few steps forward and, when Quatre made no move to attack him, he knelt down on the dirt with the boy to see what he was doing to the mouse. For the first time he could remember, Trowa felt bad about hurting something. It was making the blonde boy look so sad.

Quatre couldn't do anything for the thing, of course, he was only 8 and his sister the healer had yet to teach him anything. All he could do was calm and hold the poor thing until it stopped moving all together. With teary eyes, Quatre moved over to the grasses and dug a little pit to lay the mouse in, the curious boy watching him the whole time without a word. Quatre sent up a little prayer, and wiped his tears away.

"It was just a mouse. Why would you cry?" The other boy broke his silence with such a curious question.

"Isn't it sad, just a little? To see something so harmless die? A mouse doesn't kill other animals or anything, it's harmless. Isn't it sad to see it suffer?" Quatre asked back.

The other boy did not answer, seeming to take such a simple question to heart.

Quatre huffed, "Won't you at least tell me your name?" he asked, moving in closer to the boy with a disarming smile.

"Trowa" the other boy whispered, as if it were hard to give out such information.

Quatre moved closer still until their knees were almost touching, then with a wicked smile, Quatre lashed out to pat Trowa's arm and scrambled back with glee, "Tag, you're it!"

Trowa watched the boy dance around with glee, completely confused. And why would he hit him to weakly? If he was going to try and attack, the boy should have made it worth his effort.

"What are you doing?" Trowa asked blandly, watching the boy hop in place like a frantic jackrabbit.

"I tagged. You're it. I run, you chase, and you try to tag me back. Then I chase you!" Quatre answered, not fazed by having to explain such a simple game to another child. Trowa lifted an eyebrow blankly.

"Why."

Quatre stopped hopping and stared back, "Because it's fun. I guess we can play something else if you'd rather. How about this one," Quatre said, shaking his hand three times to throw out a flat hand. Trowa stared on blankly.

"How about a race to the top of the tree, then?" Quatre suggested again. This time, Trowa nodded and got up.

Delighted, Quatre called out the ready, set, go, and then grappled to get onto the first branch. After a few moments, Quatre felt two strong arms grabbing him around the hips and pulling him straight up into the foliage. Trowa was already high in the tree, his legs wrapped around a sturdy branch like a bat so he hung down enough to pull Quatre up. Quatre admired his strength as, effortless, Trowa brought him up to sit on his perch, not inches away from each other, knees brushing against one another's when Trowa righted himself gracefully.

"I guess you won." Quatre said with a smile, happy to be so high up. Duo and he hardly ever made it to the middle before someone scolded them or they fell. Quatre liked Trowa. He was silent, and seemed cold, but Quatre could tell that he really was gentle by the way he lifted him into the tree as if he were the most fragile of items. Trowa would be a very strong warrior when he grew up, Quatre could tell.

When his father had warriors compete for him, he always gave them a prize. Quatre looked around, and all over himself, and spotted the perfect prize for his new friend. He deftly untied the brightly coloured threads from his weaved bracelet (one of his best so far in his young life) and presented it to Trowa. "For winning the contest, a prize for the worthy warrior!" Quatre declared, copying his fathers words, and then took Trowa's wrist into his lap and tied the bracelet onto him.

Trowa looked at the little weaved treasure and felt something warm and happy well up inside him. He had never had a real friend before, one who would give him something without wanting anything back. But, knowing that nothing was expected, made him want to give him something, a surprise all his own. Trowa knew he didn't have anything pretty like Quatre did, but he did have some bone armor. Little pieces of knuckle tied together to form bead-like strands with the strength of bone. Trowa slid off one link from around his neck and handed it to Quatre, "For the mouse rescuer." He said simply, and handed the gift to a pleasantly surprised Quatre.

Trowa liked the boy very much, more so then anyone in his tribe. Just being around Quatre made him want to smile.

Not knowing what else to do now, Trowa gave Quatre a warning smirk, "I'll beat you to the bottom" and dropped out of the tree like a rock, landing crouched on all fours like a panther ready to strike. Quatre followed a few moments later, much less gracefully, but smiling brighter than the sun, and laughing merrily.

"You need to show me how you do that so well!" the blonde chimed.

Trowa blushed, the praise somehow meaning more coming from Quatre than it ever had from his mother.

A rustling in the grasses nearby had Trowa alert, but he calmed when the familiar slinking black coat of a panther surfaced over the grasses. Quatre hadn't even noticed. This time, instead of smirking at his luck, Trowa frowned at the thought of the blonde being out alone and so unawares.

The panther stalked nearer to the two until Trowa knew she was circling the little clearing under the tree, still unnoticed by Quatre.

Then, Quatre, tired of watching a silent Trowa, pushed him in play. The panther let out a war cry and shot out the grasses to pounce atop Quatre and hiss at the petrified Winner boy.

Trowa clicked his tongue loudly to stop her and set his hand atop the panthers head, petting the crown to ease her off the awestruck blonde. The panther slid to Trowa's side, rubbing her face and cheeks all against Trowa's legs and hands. "HeavyArms, this is Quatre." Trowa introduced, moving to crouch down to level with the still-prone blonde and allow the panther to smell him thoroughly and rub her scent all over him as well.

After getting over his fright at nearly being eaten by a cat as big as he was, Quatre tentatively touched the animal's soft fur and ran his fingers through the shiny black coat. The cat was absolutely beautiful, and Quatre was so close that when the light shone perfectly, he could see the black spots in her black fur, revealing her birth as a freak child of the leopards.

"Quatre, this is Arms," Trowa finished his introduction and gave what seemed to be HIS panther a pat on the head.

"You have a tamed Panther!" Quatre exclaimed, still petting every inch of the beast that he could.

Trowa narrowed his eyes at Quatre's naivety angrily, "of course not. She is not tamed in the least. She and I hunt together and train together. She is my partner, not my pet. She is just as wild as any other panther and would have easily eaten you, if she hadn't trusted my judgment." Trowa snapped.

Quatre's lip trembled at being scolded by a friend, but turned his face to the coat of the cat, running his fingers through her thick fur until he felt better. Trowa had a point, anyway. Quatre had never been cut out to be a fierce and powerful warrior of his tribe. He left that to Heero and Wufei, even though Duo wanted him to train with him. That was why Quatre practiced so hard on his weaving and pottery. It may have been a woman's trade, but he was far more talented at that then running or spotting trouble.

Quatre rubbed HeavyArms' crown, running his fingers across the long jagged shock of white crossing her forehead. Arms nuzzled Quatre's neck affectionately, almost pushing the blonde to the ground with her power.

Trowa felt guilty for upsetting the blonde, but would never apologize for it, so instead he joined Quatre in giving Arms an unsuitable amount of attention, "She'll never forget you, now. She never does." Trowa said truthfully, knowing Arms was memorizing Quatre's scent as they pet her, "You can always tell if a panther is Arms or hostile by her scar. No other panther in the region has any white on their head. I always know Arms from the other animals, even when I only get a glimpse of her." Trowa said, thinking that the small conversation would help cheer up the blonde.

Quatre rewarded his efforts with a glorious smile, taking his hands off of Arms to abruptly launch himself at Trowa, pulling the stunned warrior into his first real hug. Trowa didn't know what to do, didn't know how to respond, or even if he should. But Quatre didn't seem to mind, only moving back to seat himself on his haunches, their knees a few inches closer then even in the tree. For some reason, Quatre's smiles meant everything to Trowa. Trowa easily forgot that Quatre was part of the vicious Winner tribe as he allowed Quatre to teach him games and play with him until the sun was high in the sky.

But when Arms abruptly stood and looked off into the distance, spotting a figure stalking towards them from the Barton Tribe's side of the river, Trowa quickly remembered that Quatre would be killed rather than looked at by a member of his tribe.

Sensing Trowa's fear, Quatre began to look around for the danger as well, but couldn't spot anything until the wind brought over a growling voice, "TROWA!" it called with a snarl. Quatre wanted to hide his friend from whomever was coming. They could not have meant good with a call like that.

Trowa quickly glanced at Quatre and grabbed him, hoisting him up into the tree and demanding he climb as fast as he could. Soon the voice was even closer, and Quatre desperately wanted Trowa to hide with him up in the tree! But he stood at the bottom, waiting.

"Trowa, hurry! Hide with me!" Quatre begged.

Trowa looked up at him from the corner of his eyes, never moving his face to show he was looking upwards, "My mother has come! You have to stay hidden! Do not make a move or a noise until we are gone. She will kill you if she sees you! You are just another Winner to her!" Trowa hissed through a clenched jaw, begging Quatre to head him.

The voice was so close now that Quatre could make out every sound. Trowa moved out from the shade of the tree to meet her away from Quatre's hiding spot.

The fierce slap she gave him echoed through the jungle, shuddering.

Leia looked down at her son in a rage, Trowa's dead eyes staring back up at her non-pulsed. "How DARE you come into the Winner territory to slack off from your training!" She snarled.

Trowa growled from his place on the ground, the sound echoed by Arms, who was crouched by him. Quatre crossed his fingers and wished the panther would jump at the woman, just to save Trowa from her. But Trowa got up swiftly and squared off, "I was running and got here." Was all he said in explanation.

Leia only snarled and hit him again, the force not enough to move Trowa this time. "Don't come here again... I couldn't bear to lose you, beloved" She then cooed. The words sounding twisted to Quatre's ears, sending chills up and down his spine.

The two Bartons moved away, hopping down into the valley, vaulting over the river, and then back up the other side with grace and skill that Quatre awed. He waited in the tree until Trowa's silhouette was long gone from the horizon. Quatre morosely dragged himself out of the tee after that, disappointed that his friend had never even looked back.

The bone armor clacked lightly as the wind blew past. Quatre gripped it tightly, moving his eyes from the gift to the horizon. Trowa would've looked back... if he could have.

XxXxX

"Mother" Trowa asked a few nights later, too scared to bring up the topic any earlier, "Don't you think we should stop raiding the Winner village and killing any we set our eyes on."

Alex and Muller, sitting around the fire that night as well, yelled in outrage, turning on his effortlessly, "You want us to stop avenging our countless losses. They took over Dekim's land, Our Father's rights, Our Father's territory and shunted us survivors out into the wastelands to die!" Alex growled, rounding on Trowa with teeth bared.

Trowa bared his teeth back, squaring his shoulders for the imminent attack from his older brother.

"Trowa is right." Leia declared after a moment, shocking everyone present.

She looked at her son's bank face, and broke out into a sinister grin, "Good thinking, Trowa. You truly have the mind of Dekim. We should let them forget about us, become soft, and then attack when they least expect us. We can not get anywhere near their keep as is... You're right Trowa... we need to strike out the head and then annihilate the rest." Leia's face turned giddy with joy at her own plans forming in her head. She looked down at Trowa, pinning him with a critical eye, then broke into such a smile that Trowa felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight out.

"Your training will start tomorrow" Leia promised quietly, the light from the fire dancing off her cold expression.

XxXxXxX

Amar would die by his hands.

Muller tightened the bone armor around Trowa's chest; the strung bones running from built shoulder across a broad warrior's chest and back. At 16, Trowa's hands could crush the skull of an ape, his speed could evade a leopard, and the very jungle trembled at his war cry. Trowa had trained for this moment since the age of 9.

He would infiltrate the Winner keep just long enough to get near Amar, and kill him when no one could see. When the Winners were weak, in grief and without a leader, they would strike and take Dekim's revenge. And take the lands as their own.

Trowa bent down to tighten Arms' bone necklaces himself, no other member of the tribe able to get within three feet of the war cat safely, a fact that made Trowa secretly proud. The repetitive task helped Trowa focus his energies into his mission.

The entire tribe's revenge rested on him. And he would not fail.