The young boy sat on his knees in the middle of the bed, watching his mother with bright, curious dark eyes. She stood humming in front of the wide vanity mirror, gently pulling her straight, almost hip-length black hair to the nape of her neck and entwining the strands together. He cocked his head slightly, studying her as she turned her head to the side, pulling the braid over her shoulder.
He'd heard other people say his mother was beautiful. But that didn't seem to fit her. She wasn't beautiful like the other women that he saw. There was something innately elegant about her. She was petite, not just slender, but she carried herself in a way that made other people step aside for her. Even children who didn't know who she was always grew silent and stood still, watching in wonder as she passed by. Even her eyes, not the full black like everyone else's were, but instead a deep charcoal grey, were different. They didn't carry the roguish glint that some women had, the ones sent on missions catered to their love of battle and destruction, or even the harder, empty gaze of the few female soldiers who grew so adept at killing that they were no longer affected by it. Her eyes were deep. She always looked as if she were thinking about something profound, mysterious. Beyond what everyone else could understand.
But she wasn't beautiful, exactly.
Beauty meant effort, he decided. And she needed none.
"Now, my little daemon child" she began, looking up at his reflection in the mirror, "what do you have planned for today?"
"I'm not planning anything." He said simply, making sure to look unabashed into her eyes, just as she'd taught him. Always look someone in the eyes when you lie, she'd said. Never look down or away. And don't hesitate with your words.
She glanced once over her shoulder, not relying on her reflection to convey the sudden sternness of her gaze. "Don't presume to deceive me, child. I know you too well."
He frowned and sighed slightly, once again disappointed that she could still see through him so easily. He'd managed so far to fool his father several times, but never once could anything slip past her. He didn't have any real desire to lie to his mother, but he knew that he hadn't truly mastered the skill until he could.
"I wanted to fly over to the North Sector, if I could." He suggested hopefully. It was only recently that he'd been deemed old enough to wander on his own for short periods of time. Being the royal heir, he naturally attracted attention, although sometimes of the wrong sort. Technically speaking, the North Sector wasn't too far from the palace, but it was stretching his boundaries a bit.
She cocked her head, seeming to study the newly finished braid as she considered his request. "I don't see a problem with that."
He perked up, pleasantly surprised by this unexpected gift. "Really?"
"Of course." She said, smiling slightly. "As long as Nappa goes with you."
His face fell instantly. Her eyes lit up with silent laughter as she approached the bed, kneeling down and tilting his chin up with one delicate finger.
"You know it's only for a few more years, don't you? Just until you gain a bit more..discretion."
"What does that mean?"
"You have a habit of getting yourself into difficult situations, child."
He frowned and tightly closed his mouth, brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what she meant.
"You mean I fight a lot?"
She smiled again and silently nodded her head.
"But what if I need to fight someone? What if they make me mad? What if-what if they say something about you?" he asked hurriedly, grasping eagerly onto this last argument. Defending family honor was an action highly prized in the Saiyan community. Though his mother was not one to be easily incensed by such thoughts.
"Then that means they're trying to make you mad. Then you're doing exactly what they want, aren't you?"
"I can't help if I get mad, Madska*." He muttered, a small part of him ashamed at his inability to control his temper, something his mother had always stressed to him.
"I know that, child. Don't let them see you're mad. That means you're not a very good liar, and I know you are."
"You talk about lying a lot."
"You have no idea how important it is, child. When Freeza comes and has audiences with your father, do you think he enjoys bowing down to him as he does?"
The boy looked down once more, thinking even though he already knew the answer. His mother often reminded him not to answer without thinking out his words. He'd already caused enough scuffles with low-class urchins by shooting off angry retorts without a second's hesitation. The last thing he wanted was to show her he had failed to master that skill, particularly now that they'd come close to the topic.
"I know he doesn't like it." He concluded finally. "Father hates Freeza."
"Exactly. Yet if he were to object in any way to Freeza's orders, this planet would cease to exist. You should always remember, Vegeta:
A good lie can save your life."
How many times had he proved that throughout his life? All those years working under Freeza, relying solely on a feral excitement in the missions he was sent on to mask the sometimes overwhelming desire to lunge forward and seize the tyrant by the neck, how many times had he lied? Taking the insults, the never-ending contempt that seemed to permeate the very air the monster breathed, had many times been too much for his Saiyan companions to bear silently. How many times had he had to call Nappa back from a futile assault, remind Raditz not to let his fury show so clearly on his face?
"Patience." He'd said. "Not yet. Stay down."
And in the end, what had happened? They'd all died. After all that time, nothing she'd taught him had done any good. He'd still been beaten. But he didn't hold it against her. He was certain that, if she had been there, she could have told him very simply what he'd done wrong. He'd been too hasty, perhaps. He'd revealed too much of his true power to Freeza, revealed it to a point where the tyrant would be hard-pressed to let him survive.
There were many times, even years after he had begun as a common mercenary in Freeza's army, when he would have done anything to have her there. When he would have killed to have that childish sense of security, to rely on someone who always knew everything. He grew out of that feeling, of course. There was no use living in memories when real enemies surrounded him every day. As such he grew very adept at ensuring his survival.
He'd discovered there were more ways than lying to save his life.
*Mother - a word I had in my head a long time ago, though I honestly can't say whether I heard it somewhere or made it up
I originally intended for this to be a series of 3 flashbacks, but they weren't fitting together like I hoped. So it's just one. At least I posted something! I'm the first to admit I'm being far too negligent of my readers.
Reviews always welcome. Understand with OOC comments that he would have been different as a child, though you are free to imagine him however you wish.