Warnings: Angst, violence, language, adventure, lemons, AU, fantasy, angst again.
A/N: I promise this was inspired by Tangled/Rapunzel…seriously, if you squint really, really hard you'll see what I mean. No, this isn't happy or filled with song. Or happy. But it was going to be…until I started to write it. There are also blatant references to Lord of the Rings and a few other fantasy-genre staples.
A/N #2: So, this is me, which means that Trowa and Duo are going to be involved. There will be more pairings, but I'd really rather let them develop than paste them all over this.
A/N #3: The POV will switch between characters – likely mostly between Heero, Duo, and Trowa.
Lost Dreams
Chapter One
Trowa didn't believe in omens, but when the hot, cloudless morning turned into a dark, churning storm only two hours after the caravan set out he had a bad feeling.
These forests were no man's lands – the roads that cut through the ancient trees were plagued with bandits and murders. Yet they were the quickest route for merchants to bring their goods from the kingdom of Thera to her neighboring, enemy kingdom of Mysia.
It had been nearly a century since the two lands had had peace between them, and in that time the unclaimed forests had become a haven for outlaws from both kingdoms. So dangerous were the roads that most merchant caravans hired armed escorts and counted themselves lucky to have half their merchandise arrive safely.
The Sentinels, however, were anything but mere armed escorts. They knew these lands like a favorite memory, and made their life's work protecting those who traveled through the unprotected forest.
The band that Trowa led were experienced men, all older than him, and all just as irritated as he to be reduced to nurse-maiding fat merchants as they trundled along in their overflowing wagons.
The rain cut across the road in a diagonal wall of gray, making it impossible to see more than a few feet ahead. It was ridiculous to think that a few hours ago it had been hot, without a cloud in the sky and no breeze to speak of. Now it felt as though the world were ending in a maelstrom of thunder, lightning, and freezing rain.
"Should've stopped when this shit started," Ralph shouted over the rain.
Trowa nodded in agreement. He hadn't been surprised when the fat merchants had wanted to keep going – of course they would choose the most idiotic plan of action – but he was disappointed.
"Why even hire us if they don't listen?" Ralph continued, voicing Trowa's own thoughts.
"They like the illusion of our protection more than our actual protection," Trowa informed him. "And they like to pass along the price hike."
Ralph sneered.
"Man only needs a horse, his weapons, and a blanket to sleep on. All these luxury goods – makes you soft."
Trowa spared him an amused look, though it was doubtful Ralph could see his expression with the shadow cast by his hood.
"I imagine you'd need some food and clothes as well," he pointed out.
Ralph looked momentarily embarrassed, but then he laughed.
"Food – of course, but clothes? Bah! We should go about as the gods intended and bare our flesh for all the world!"
Trowa chuckled, but his amusement was cut short when he saw movement to their left.
He whistled the high, sharp whistle of the lake sparrow – it was a signal to all the Sentinels to beware.
Ralph allowed Trowa's horse to pull away and take point, and Trowa tried to see into the shadowed forest to the sides of the road. He was positive that –
There was a flash of muddy green moving amongst the dark brown of the trees and underbrush.
He whistled again, and without even looking he knew that the others had discreetly drawn their weapons and moved to circle the merchants wagons.
Trowa drew his bow and sent an arrow whizzing towards the tree he had last spotted the green beside. No sooner had the arrow buried itself in the tall oak then a cry of anger arose from the woods. It was echoed by at least a dozen voices, and a moment later a flood of men rushed from the trees.
He managed to fell two of them before the first of the men reached his horse, and then he drew his sword to keep them away. He hacked at the unorganized swarm, trying to injure rather than kill. He didn't have much value for the lives of highwaymen, but he did value information.
Eventually, as the grunts and cries of men in battle started to move past him, he dismounted and tried to sandwhich the remaining attackers between himself and the other Sentinels.
He saw Ralph, still astride his horse, shooting arrow after arrow into the attackers, his motions smooth and unhurried, his aim deadly.
Just as Ralph notched his next arrow Trowa saw one of the attackers draw back his arm.
"Ralph!"
Instinctively the other man reacted to Trowa's voice and threw himself from his horse. A moment later a throwing knife embedded itself in the neck of the tall animal, and Trowa looked for the man who had thrown it.
It was that same flash of muddy green, and Trowa sighted along his own bow and loosed an arrow on the bastard as he ran down the line of wagons. The arrow caught him squarely in the back, and Trowa felt a distant satisfaction. The man was worth nothing compared to the loss of Ralph's horse, but at least he had retribution.
"He's getting away!" Came the sudden shout.
Trowa looked beyond the men he and Ralph were fighting to see that one of the wagons was careening towards him, the horses driven at a furious pace by a man dressed in solid black.
He barely managed to avoid being run over by the wagon, but it took him only a moment to remount Heavyarms and charge after the wagon.
As he urged the horse on he marveled at the sheer idiotic courage of whoever had hijacked the wagon. The lumbering vehicles certainly didn't move fast – although at present he had to revise that opinion. He had never seen a merchant's wagon move so fast, and Heavyarms was struggling to catch up with the team of four horses drawing the wagon.
Trowa managed to pull close enough to the wagon that he was able to leap from Heavyarms back and into the rear of the wagon, crashing through the canvas and landing awkwardly on the goods within in.
He was immediately struck with the fragrant smell of the wagon – that of honey and lavender – and he realized that the goods were all medicinal. Including the ceramic jars of ointment he had broken when he landed, shards of which were currently embedded into his left shoulder and back.
It looked as though the driver hadn't noticed the shift in weight from Trowa's boarding. From the breakneck pace he was setting and the muddy road, Trowa doubted he would have been able to detect it if an army had boarded.
Still, he was cautious as he drew his dagger and made him way to the wagon tongue. He climbed up to the box and was about to stab the driver when the man sent the wagon careening off the road and Trowa was thrown from his feet back into the wagon.
The driver looked back, and Trowa's eyes met the determined, hard violet stare of the man. So he had noticed him boarding.
Trowa had to dive to the side to avoid the throwing dagger immediately sent his way. It still came close enough to nick his cheek, and he narrowed his eyes in determination.
This man was clearly no idiot, and had no intentions of dying easily.
He was impressed that the driver was keeping one eye on the road while still looking back at Trowa, and even more impressed when he dodged the jar of ointment thrown at his head.
His admiration quickly gave way to irritation when his next few attempts were also dodged. Deciding that this was getting him nowhere, Trowa used the forward momentum of the wagon to leap forward until he was even with the driver once again.
The move seemed to shock the other man, and Trowa was able to land a solid punch to his face before he could react.
He drew his sword again even as the driver drew a wicked looking curved dagger.
Trowa had his sword at the man's neck first, however, and pressed hard enough for the blade to sink into the alabaster flesh.
"Stop the wagon!" Trowa shouted to him over the roar of the rain and pounding of the horses' hooves.
"Go to hell!" Was the response and the driver twisted away. Trowa's knife cut into his neck deeper than he had intended it to, but the driver still rolled away and off the box.
Trowa grabbed the reins before they could fall and tried to lead the team to a halt while looking over his shoulder to see where the bandit had landed, and if he still lived.
Unbelievably, he saw the man stagger to his feet.
Heavyarms had been following behind the wagon, well trained and loathe to abandon Trowa, but she slowed as she approached the man on the ground.
Trowa managed to bring the team of horses to a halt just as the man swung up into Heavyarms saddle and started to turn her towards the forest.
He whistled sharply, and the horse instantly obeyed his command, dashing forward at such a pace that the bandit was forced to hang on for dear life.
She came to a stop beside the wagon, and Trowa jumped down and approached them.
"I've no desire to kill you, but my patience isn't infinite," Trowa assured the bandit.
He might as well have remained silent. The man slid off Heavyarms back and took off for the trees, making it only a few feet before Trowa tackled him.
"Get off me!"
There was a flash of silver and Trowa barely managed to fend off the blow from the man's curved dagger.
Trowa managed to knock the dagger out of his grip, but was momentarily stunned when the man picked up a rock and slammed it against the side of his face.
Dazed, his grip loosened just enough that the man was able to roll away, regain his feet, and run for the forest.
Trowa shook himself and staggered to his feet. He gave chase and caught up quickly with the other man – who was clearly injured and near the end of his stamina.
He slammed him against an oak tree, taking fierce pleasure in the hiss of pain he released when his skull cracked against the solid bark.
For good measure he slammed him against it twice more, until the other man started to slump over.
Suspecting it for a trick, Trowa eased his grip just enough to test the weight of the other man's body. Sure enough, the moment he did so the man tried to bolt.
Trowa threw him to the ground and straddled his back.
"Stay still!" He ordered when the man started to struggle. His frustration must have been clear, because the other man instantly stopped moving.
Trowa dug a length of rope from his waist pouch and used it to bind the man's hands together, tightening the knot enough that the rope cut into his wrists.
Satisfied that he wouldn't be going anywhere fast or fighting back, Trowa eased off of him and rolled him onto his back.
He pulled away the man's hood, the those angry violet eyes again met his gaze. They were framed by long brown bangs, plastered against the pale skin of the man's face from the rain. Cuts decorated the man's face and a bruise was already starting to form from where Trowa had first tackled him to the ground and his face had hit the hard earth.
He didn't look older than sixteen, and Trowa was amazed that such a young boy had given him such a fight.
"What's your name?"
The boy's response was to spit in Trowa's face. He wiped it off and jerked the boy to his feet.
"Just kill me already!" The boy shouted when Trowa started to push him back towards the road.
Trowa snorted.
"If I was going to kill you, I would have done it BEFORE rolling around in the mud with you. Now it's not worth the effort."
"Hell of a lot more effort to keep me alive and get me to a judge," the boy muttered.
"Who said anything about taking you to a judge? Your band injured some of my men and killed at least one horse. There's justice to be served here before we take you before any civilian."
"I didn't kill anyone – and I sure as hell didn't hurt any of your horses," the boy protested.
"We'll see," Trowa responded.
When they made it back to the road Heavyarms was waiting patiently for them. Trowa threw the boy over the saddle and used another length of rope to tie him to it, smirking at the rash of protests and curses from him.
Confident that he wouldn't be able to escape again, Trowa climbed back aboard the wagon and turned it around to rejoin the caravan. He kept his pace slow, and Heavyarms fell into step beside him.
"Most of the wagons were carrying valuable merchandise," Trowa called out to the boy.
"This wagon looked good to me," the boy argued.
"This wagon was in the middle of the caravan, right behind the one filled with jewelry – the most heavily guarded wagon in the caravan."
The boy was silent.
"Either you got the wrong wagon, or you need medicine, " Trowa continued.
"Maybe we wanted to sell the damn bandages," the boy said.
Before Trowa could respond to that blatant lie they reached the rest of the caravan. The fighting was clearly over, but he caught sight of several Sentinels arguing with the merchants, several bandits kneeling between them.
Trowa abandoned the wagon.
"What's going on?" He demanded as he approached.
Ralph looked up at him with relief, but the leader of the merchants, the fattest one by Trowa's reckoning, glared at him.
"These men should be executed!" He cried and pointed a fat finger at the half dozen bloody and bruised prisoners.
Trowa looked at Ralph. The Sentinel shrugged.
"We let most of them go, but these were the ones who tried to loot the food wagon."
Trowa scowled. Bandits who only tried to steal food and medicine? Clearly they weren't the typical highwaymen who plagued these roads.
"Release them," he instructed.
His men moved to cut the bonds of the prisoners.
"Stop! No!"
To their credit, his men ignored the merchant and continued to free the bandits.
"We're paying you to protect us!" The merchant shouted.
"And so we have. All of your wagons and goods are intact." He mentally subtracted the damage done to the ointment jars in the wagon he had returned.
"But these bandits –"
"Did no real damage. We aren't butchers."
"Argh!" With a cry of rage the merchant charged forward and before anyone could react he plunged a gold dagger into the throat of one of the bandits.
There was a shout of rage from behind Trowa, no doubt from the boy still tied to Heavyarms.
Trowa felt his own rage grow when he noticed how young the bandit was – even younger than the one Trowa had captured – and his blue eyes were wide and filled with fear as his life drained out of him.
Ralph disarmed the merchant and shoved him away from the other bandits, who were all frozen in fear and anger.
"Gather the men," Trowa quietly instructed Ralph.
"What? We're paying you to escort us to Mysia!"
"Keep your money," Trowa spat at him, "and take your chances. We'll have no one say we protected the likes of you." He looked past the merchant to Ralph again. "Take enough horses to replace those we lost. Get the wounded ready to move. We leave in half an hour."
Ralph and most of the Sentinels moved to start unhitching one or two horses from each wagon team, and Trowa freed the rest of the prisoners.
"Take him," he told them when they hesitated over the body of the boy.
They lifted him and carried him towards the forest with the kind of reverence that no common thug would have. Clearly these people had been driven to desperation to have attacked this caravan in the first place.
"What about me?" Trowa's captive demanded.
"You've got a judge to meet, remember?" Trowa answered without looking at him. He cornered the merchant.
"Tell whoever you want that we abandoned you on the road – but make sure to tell them that you slaughtered a child as well. We protect those who travel these roads because it's our duty, but we won't protect those who are worthless." He glared until the merchant swallowed hard and looked away.
Trowa sneered and turned to find his men. He whistled and Heavyarms trotted to his side.
"You can't do this to me!" The boy on her saddle whined.
Trowa rolled his eyes.
"I can do whatever I want to you," he muttered, no longer in any mood to be amused by his stubbornness.
"This is bullshit!" The boy said, but a swift glare from Trowa made him silent.
He was relieved to see that only three men had sustained serious injuries, and none of them were serious enough to keep the men from mounting a horse and riding out of here.
"If anyone feels we should stay, speak up," Trowa told them.
Every man was silent, their stony expressions telling Trowa all that he needed to know.
"We're returning to Kos," he informed them. He took in the looks of relief and exhaustion on some of their faces. "We'll make camp at nightfall and then ride on in the morning."
"Take point," he instructed Ralph.
His lieutenant nodded, but looked over Trowa's shoulder to the boy.
"What about him?"
Trowa rubbed at his cheek where the boy had cut him.
"Closest I've come to dying in a while," Trowa said, "and I want to know what the hell just happened."
Ralph nodded, accepting the explanation, but there was a speculative look in his eyes.
"We aren't keeping him," Trowa hastened to add.
Ralph frowned.
"He broke the law – by rights –"
"They tried to steal food and medicine! Do you really want to enslave a child because he was sick and hungry?" Trowa hissed.
"No," came Ralph's instant, angry response. "Of course not! But you said yourself that he nearly killed you!"
"Still not worth it," he insisted.
"But you –"
"Ralph. Leave it."
The other man shook his head, but turned and stormed off to mount one of the merchants' horses and rode to the front of the assembled Sentinels.
Trowa shook his head.
"I'm causing too much trouble," the boy said when Trowa returned to him. "You should just cut me loose."
Trowa actually laughed at that. He untied the boy from the saddle and then cut the ropes on his wrists.
"You aren't going anywhere until you tell me who you are and why you tried to steal the medicine," Trowa promised him.
He retied the boy's wrists in front of him and then shoved him back on Heavyarms so that he was sitting astride the horse. Trowa climbed up behind him and then set the horse off at a steady trot.
"I'm not telling you anything."
"Fine. I'll let Ralph give you to the women when we return to Kos."
"The women?"
"They're in charge of the slaves," Trowa explained.
"But you just said –"
"Tell me what I want to know."
But the boy was stubbornly silent.
When night fell they were only a day and a half's ride from Kos and the rain had ceased. Trowa was happy with the pace they had set.
He allowed Ralph to see to Heavyarms and the boy while he walked among the men and checked the injured.
No one had liked the merchants, and spirits seemed to be high among the men as they made plans for their return home.
Trowa wasn't thrilled that they had abandoned the caravan, but he refused to associate himself with such cruelty, and he knew that the other Sentinels felt the same.
After an hour spent among the others he returned to the spot where he had left Ralph and the boy.
Ralph had started a fire and seemed to be in the middle of a fight with the boy.
"It's ointment. It'll help your cuts heal," Ralph was saying as Trowa approached. His voice sounded strained.
"Probably poisoned," the boy muttered and kicked the small jar away.
Ralph opened his mouth, no doubt to berate the boy, but caught sight of Trowa. He arched an eyebrow, as if to ask why Trowa was even bothering.
"Thanks," Trowa said and jerked his head, signaling Ralph to go and prepare his own camp.
"I'd watch out for a knife in your gut tonight if I was you," Ralph cautioned him as he walked past.
Trowa stood and looked down at the boy for a moment. He looked completely miserable. In dim glow of the fire his face looked gaunt and his defiance seemed to be quickly evaporating.
With a sigh Trowa leaned down and picked up the ointment. He scooped some out onto his fingers and grabbed the boy's chin between his fingers, forcing him to look forward as he applied it to the cuts.
As soon as he was done he allowed the boy to jerk his head free.
"Raise your arms," Trowa instructed. He reached for the hem of the boy's tunic.
"Go to hell," the boy insisted and clenched his elbows to his sides.
"I know you've at least got bruises on your side," Trowa pointed out.
"I'll live," the boy sneered.
Trowa debated the merits of forcing the boy to cooperate and then shrugged. Instead he removed the boy's hood, unwrapping the wide black scarf he had wrapped around his head so that he could get a better view of his neck and the damage he had done. As he did so a long rope of hair fell forward.
Trowa fingered the end of the braid, amazed at the length and the silky quality of the hair.
The boy flinched away from Trowa's touch again, but Trowa merely glared until he subsided. He gently applied more ointment to the cut across his throat. It wasn't as deep as Trowa had feared, but it no doubt hurt whenever the boy spoke.
His ministrations complete, Trowa moved away from the boy and stripped off his own shirt. His shoulders protested at the movement, and he winced as he felt the fragments of the jars still buried in his side and shoulder. He sat down across from the boy and tried to clean them out.
"What's your name?" He asked the boy again.
"What's yours?"
"Trowa Barton."
"Who are you people?"
"We're Sentinels."
The boy's eyes widened.
"And you're in charge? A little young, aren't you?"
"Older than you," Trowa pointed out. "What are you – sixteen?"
"I'm nineteen!" The boy insisted angrily.
Trowa gave a dismissive shrug.
"I am."
"I don't really care," Trowa told him wearily.
He decided he had cleaned his wounds as much as possible and lathered on some of the ointment.
"Why won't you let me go?"
"Obviously I enjoy your company too much," Trowa muttered.
"I'm not going to tell you anything," the boy insisted again.
"Hungry?" Trowa dug into Heavyarms saddlebags for a few pieces of jerky and a loaf of bread.
The wide eyed expression on the boy's face was answer enough for Trowa, and when it was clear the boy wouldn't actually ask for anything, Trowa gave him two pieces of jerky and half the loaf.
He watched as the boy practically inhaled the food.
"The Mysian's don't take kindly to bandits," Trowa said as he ate his own meal at a much more sedate pace.
"'M not in Mysia," the boy said around a mouthful.
"I could take you there," Trowa pointed out.
The boy momentarily froze, and the look of panic on his face told Trowa that he had already been to that harsh kingdom and was not keen to return.
"You said you were going back to Kos – that's in the opposite direction."
Trowa arched an eyebrow.
"You know a lot for an idiotic bandit."
"I'm not an idiot."
"You tried to hijack a Sentinel protected caravan."
"I didn't know you were Sentinels, now did I?" The boy grumbled. "And it wasn't my idea anyway. We needed the –" he seemed to realize what he was saying and abruptly snapped his mouth closed.
"You needed the medicine why?"
"To sell," the boy said with a shrug. "That's what bandits do, right?"
Trowa passed the boy his canteen and was amused by the suspicious sniff he gave it before drinking deeply. As he arched his head back Trowa caught sight of a dark shape on the back of the boy's neck.
He reached out and brushed his hair aside, ignoring the boy's instant flinch from his touch.
Trowa frowned as he recognized the tattoo on the back of his neck.
"You're an acolyte."
"I was. Or do you know any temples that go around stealing from merchants?" The boy sneered.
Trowa rubbed his thumb over the black eagle on the boy's neck. The boy shivered and leaned into the touch before abruptly jerking away.
"You didn't take orders," Trowa mused, glancing again at that long braid of hair.
"No shit," the boy muttered.
"What temple?"
Instead of answering the boy glared. Trowa sighed.
"Three of my men were injured today, and we lost an important job because you decided to rob the wrong caravan. At least eight of your men are dead, you are my captive, and you had to watch a boy die needlessly today. I suggest that you start answering my questions before I lose all patience with you?"
"Or what? You'll slit my throat?" The boy presented his neck. "You've already done half the work – and look, my hands are already tied. Should be a piece of cake, huh?"
Trowa scowled in disgust. He was angry over the boy's stubbornness, but he was also plagued with guilt after allowing the merchant to kill the young bandit earlier in the day.
"He shouldn't have died," Trowa muttered, more to himself than the boy.
"He was nothing to you."
"He was a child." Trowa's fists clenched in anger as he remembered other children who had been murdered by men as cold and cruel as the fat merchant.
The boy was silent for a long while.
"It was…decent of you to release them."
Trowa arched an eyebrow.
"I didn't release you," he pointed out.
"Yeah, well, you're a lonely bastard and clearly need someone to talk to," the boy shrugged.
It seemed that the food had restored some of his energy and his attitude, while still caustic, at least revealed a sense of humor.
"There've been reports that the Mysians have driven most of the free workers out of the kingdom."
"Oh yeah?" The boy asked with a sneer.
Trowa nodded, ignoring the sarcasm.
"The Mysian slave trade is stronger than ever, and they're eliminating the need for workers who are paid. Of course, those free workers own land…"
"Owned," the boy bitterly corrected.
"Right, so the Mysian armies are driving them off their land and into the forests."
"We'll fight back," the boy assured him, his voice filled with anger and conviction.
Trowa nodded.
"Just as soon as you have the medicine to heal your sick and the food to feed the weak, right?"
The boy nodded.
Trowa sighed.
"The Mysians don't deal kindly with rebels."
"The Mysians don't deal kindly with anyone," the boy argued.
"Your little band was no match for my men. How do you think you'll fare against the Mysian armies?"
"Your men are Sentinels. Aren't you supposed to be these invincible warriors guided by the gods?"
"No one believes that the gods guide us," Trowa said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. "And if we were invincible why were you able to injure any of us?"
"Didn't kill you, did we?"
Trowa was about to argue the point further, but the low hoot of an owl echoed through the camp.
Activity stilled.
"What?" The boy asked.
"Someone's approaching our camp," Trowa explained the sentry call.
He pulled his shirt back on and picked up his sword.
"Someone who's going to attack?"
"Don't worry, you're surrounded by an invincible army guided by the gods," Trowa said drolly.
The boy glared.
The clamor of armor and the sound of voices at the south end of the camp drew Trowa's attention. It seemed that a Mysian contingent had decided to venture into the forests.
After a few moments of discussion between his sentries and the Mysians Trowa saw Ralph move away from the group and approach him.
"What do they want?" Trowa asked when the other man reached his fire.
Ralph glanced at the boy.
"Looking for someone who killed their Inquisitor," Ralph said to Trowa, his eyes still on the boy.
"Someone killed the Mysian Inquisitor?" Trowa was as shocked as he was impressed. The Mysians were fanatically anti-religious and had created an Inquisition to try and condemn any found guilty of worshipping the gods. The Inquisitor was the chief judge and known as one of the cruelest and most sadistic of all Mysians.
"About a month ago," Ralph continued. "Apparently he's been hiding among the rebels in the woods ever since."
Ralph was still looking at the boy, and Trowa turned to look at him as well. The boy looked back at them with a blank expression.
"Did they describe the killer?" Trowa asked.
"Yeah – some kid, they said. Pale, skinny, with strange eyes and long hair in a braid. Said his name was Duo Maxwell."
The boy swallowed hard, but his violet gaze was steady as he looked up at them.
"Duo Maxwell?" Trowa repeated, testing out the name. The boy flinched.
"They want to search the camp," Ralph continued.
The boy's neutral expression was replaced by one of complete fear. His gaze flickered over to the Mysians and when he looked back at Trowa it was clear he thought he was facing his death.
Trowa sighed.
"Enemy of my enemy?" Ralph suggested.
Trowa nodded.
"Didn't we see someone of that description with that caravan of fat merchants?" Trowa asked even as he knelt in front of the boy.
"Yeah, I think we did." Ralph shrugged. "Those Mysian bastards will still want to check us out though."
"Can't blame them. We are known as sneaky bastards," Trowa agreed.
Ralph walked back towards the sentries and Trowa started to cut the boy free.
"What are you doing?" The boy demanded.
"What's your name?" Trowa repeated his question one last time.
The boy rubbed at his sore wrists.
"Duo Maxwell. He just told you."
"You don't have any chance of defeating the Mysians," Trowa told him.
"That's no reason to let them kill innocent people," the boy argued.
"No," Trowa agreed. "We agree on that."
Trowa looked into Duo's eyes.
"Try to follow the South star – walk towards it and in a few miles you'll come across the Severn river. Follow that downstream and you'll eventually reach a bridge. Go east and it'll take you towards the plains. Go west and – "
"And it's back towards Mysia. Yeah."
Duo looked at Trowa a moment longer, then shook his head.
"Had fun in the wagon this afternoon," he said and then, with a grin and a flash of determination in his eyes he sprinted into the woods and quickly melted into the darkness.
Trowa found himself smirking after the boy.
It was several minutes later when Ralph led the Mysians over to him.
"…our captain, he'll tell you the same thing I did and the others did," Ralph said as they approached.
Trowa stood and did his best to look mildly impressed by the armed men.
"Yes?"
"We're looking for the rebel Duo Maxwell. He's been reported to be living in these woods. He killed the Inquisitor."
"I'm not familiar with the name," Trowa said. "What does he look like?"
"Short, skinny kid. Pale, with violet eyes and -"
"Does he have long hair?" Trowa interrupted. "Wears it in a braid?"
The leader of Mysians nodded.
Trowa turned to Ralph.
"Didn't we see someone like that with the merchants we passed on the road today?"
"Yeah – that's what I told them. Troy remembered the kid too." Ralph jerked his thumb towards another fire and a cluster of men gathered around it.
Trowa turned back to the Mysians.
"They were headed for YOUR kingdom," he said. "I hope the merchants aren't just a cover for some attack."
The Mysian leader looked alarmed.
"Must have been nearly twenty wagons in that caravan," Trowa continued. "That's enough to hide quite a large rebel army."
Ralph nodded.
"Not to mention equipment to sabotage Mysian defenses. Did I ever tell you about the fellow who claimed he knew a way into their sewage tunnels that would take you straight to the palace? I'll bet with the right amount of –"
"Thank you for your help," the Mysian leader interrupted Ralph's rambling. As one the Mysians turned and retreated from their camp.
"Damn strange day," Ralph said after they had gone and the camp settled again.
Trowa nodded in agreement.
Ralph clapped him on his left shoulder, and Trowa winced in pain.
"Well, at least you made a new friend."
As Ralph wandered off to rejoin some of the others, Trowa sat back down in front of his fire. The boy's headscarf was still on the ground, and he picked it up.
The rough wool scratched against his fingers.
Duo Maxwell, Trowa mused, was more than a simple rebel. There was no way that a simple if brash young boy – a failed acolyte – was responsible for the death of the Mysian Inquisitor. There had to be more to him.
Up next: the pace picks up a bit and we meet the Captain of the Royal Theran Guard, Heero Yuy.