A/N: I tried writing this before and it...Kinda failed. xD So after a long time thinking about it and leaving it alone, I've decided to take a whack at it again. Now, I know I have a few other stories going on, and if you read any of them I'm sorry. I just write what I feel like writing, okay? You have to keep patience with me. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy this! It's inspired by the song Sting sings.

Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts (II, CoM) Characters belong to Square Enix and Disney.

He did not clearly remember the day that his father was sent away to war.

It was all a blur to him; a hot day, his mother making breakfast, his father reading a book on his cushion, detailed with fine details made by the genius craftswoman of the village. He remembered the smell of spices; Mother had been making his very favourite, and he was starting to get fidgety with hunger. Suddenly, there was a call from the door. He remembered his father standing and going to the door. There were…voices, after that; soft, hurried voices, speaking of secret things. Finally, the voices stopped, and Father came back to Mother and him, staring at them with a look he didn't remember Father ever having on his face before.

Father said something to Mother; Mother started to cry, gathering him into her strong arms that smelled of spices and her soothing oils that she bathed in every day. He remembered watching with wide eyes as Father then turned and left the room, walking out of the house after collecting the sword he never used and the armour that still glowed with its first polishing job. He watched from the window as a cart came for Father hours later, Father having been standing there waiting, before he climbed in and turned his back on his home, wife and child. Mother was still crying, breakfast long since past and ruined. He didn't understand; why was his father going away?

It wasn't until days later that he realized why his father went away. That was the day that he remembered clearest. His mother was cleaning the house, her eyes red from crying again. He was sitting on Father's cushion, reading one of his books, trying to pronounce a word that he didn't quite understand when there was a sudden call from the door, just like the day Father had left them. His mother looked up, startled, before she told him to stay put and walked to the door. He, being an obedient child, stayed in his seat. That is, he did until he heard the men's voices at the door pick up.

'It's time for taxes, Missus,'

He remembered the voice being very crude.

'What taxes? I don't remember there being any taxes in this village.'

His mother's voice was as soft as flower petals, he remembered that too. He loved listening to her sing.

'Widower taxes, Missus. Seein' as you's be a widow and all, we thought we'd come an' collect like we're supposed ta.'

The man spoke very badly, he remember that too. His father would be horrified. The thought made him smile even now.

'Widower taxes?! I am not a widow! My husband, he's just—he's serving for our King!'

His mother's voice had risen very shrilly then, he remembered that. He had gotten up, walking towards the door quietly to see why she was getting upset.

'Sorry, Missus, but…Yer on our list.' The shuffle of paper, Mother's gasp, and the man's awkward coughing. 'So, if ya wouldn't mind…Widower's taxes.'

What were widower's taxes, anyway? He peeked around the corner, looking at his mother's back. She had long, beautiful blue/black hair. He played with it all the time and it felt like the finest silk that the Southern continent could make. It wasn't combed that day, tangled in knots.

'….No,' her voice was soft but strong. 'You're lying, my husband…He's still on this earth! Mother Faithful, our Lady Goddess, would never take him away from me until he and I were both ready!'

Mother Faithful was their family's patron god and the most powerful out of the 400 gods that there was. It was one of the first lessons he learned ever since he could learn. It was very important that he knew about Mother Faithful, for she would be whom he would pray to every night for the rest of his life.

'Missus,' the voice paused, the curtain shifted, and Mother's voice screamed. 'Widower's tax, please.'

'I have no children,'

Why would she say that?

'You have a son, 6 years old. Skinny, but he'll be good.'

'He…he died!'

He wasn't dead!

'We saw him the other day.'

'He got ran over by a cart. Horrible, I've been crying about it for days. My eyes are red, don't you see? How dare you come here, telling me my husband is gone, when my son has just left this earth of Mother Faithful's?'

'Missus, we see him.'

He remembered Mother whipping back to see him, her grey eyes wide and terrified as he stood there with wide, identical eyes. The man at the door was stooped and grey, gnarled like an old wooden staff Uncle used to use to walk before he lost his legs. The man hobbled in, grabbing him and yanking him to him. He cried out in pain, looking at his mother with wide eyes.

'Don't take him! DON'T TAKE HIM FROM ME!'

She was being held back by a stronger looking, younger male with blonde hair and cool blue eyes, though he seemed to hold pity towards the two.

'Sorry, Missus,' the man's voice hurt his ears when he was this close. 'Can't do that.'

Where was he being taken?

'Widower's tax.'

Zexion…

His mother's voice? He hadn't heard that voice in ages. Beautiful, just as he remembered. Pure, just as he remembered…Before everything happened, that is.

Zexion…

She was sounding kind of impatient. Why was that? Had he forgotten to do something again? He thought back. He washed his hands, brushed his hair, cleaned his teeth, put away all of his toys and Father's cushion…

ZEX-I-ON!

….She never yelled like that.

Opening his eyes slowly, grey irises staring up at the ceiling for a second, he tried to remember where he was. His body ached, his throat was dry, and his head was resting on the most uncomfortable pillow in all of existence. Sitting up, a sheet slipped down to pool at his waist, covering his naked body. He licking cracked lips slowly, tasting dried blood before he sighed. He pushed back hair that fell in front of his face, looking around tiredly before catching sight of a lean, feminine figure at the window. The sky was barely grey. It was dawn.

"Oh good, you're up," the voice spoke, very irritatingly so, before a redheaded girl leaned forward, eyes narrowed dangerously. "You, my good sir, are in a whole heap of trouble. You've slept in."

"What…?" Zexion shook his head gathering his bearings before suddenly remembering that he wasn't six, he wasn't in his home, he wasn't with his mother, and he was very far from his old life. He sighed. "Right…"

"Dreams again?" The redheaded girl asked, leaning back against the wall. He could see her clearly now: red hair that fell to her shoulder, wide blue eyes that held mischief, pale skin, simple pale dress. Zexion nodded mutely, standing and tying the sheet around his waist to create a long skirt, common among his rank. "About her?"

"Mm," Zexion sighed, looking at the girl. "Kairi, why did you wake me up? You have to serve breakfast to the Queen."

"You were running late. I was sent to fetch you." She grinned brightly, pushing off the wall and skipping over to him. He was taller than her by quite a few inches, yet he was around her weight and size. Kairi always complained he looked prettier than her, but he had been noticing lately that she was sneaking extra food onto his plate. He didn't say anything though, since she was trying to be sneaky about it and only he had realized what was going on. "But I can forgive you! You were dreaming. Dreams are very important."

"They also are fantasy," Zexion said quietly, walking over to his bowl of warm water. He knelt, dipping his hands into the water and splashing his face, using his skirt to dry his face off. Kairi pouted over his shoulder, watching him quietly. "You know that, though."

"Your mother wasn't fantasy."

"…" Zexion frowned, looking at his hands. "She feels like one." He sighed, standing up before turning to look at her. "Well? What are we waiting for? We're running late as it is."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Yours, since you let me dream."

"Exac—wait, what!?"

Zexion smiled secretly as he walked down the halls in large strides, Kairi jogging to keep up with him. They entered the kitchen quietly as an elderly man with blonde hair cropped short finished setting up the trays of breakfast. He glared up at the two, narrowing blue eyes. "Yer damn late!" He yelled, pointing at the trays. "Zexion, you're brining the trays to the princes! Kairi, to the Queen! GET MOVIN'!"

"Yes Cid," the two said, bowing lightly to him, hiding smiles at his behaviour. Zexion then straightened, grabbing the trays of food and walking out of the kitchen towards the Great Hall.

His bare feet slapped the marble ground, browns, gold, greens and pale blues woven together to create a beautiful mixture of colour, light and art. The make-shift skirt he wore, signifying his rank in the palace, shuffled along the smooth ground, his breathing echoing quietly back to his sensitive ears. The smells of spices, herbs and sweet hit his nose from the breakfast trays, and he knew Cid had made the princes' favourite. It had once been his favourite, too, but he hadn't touched it since he was but a child.

He entered the Great Hall, heading towards the staircase and walking them up quickly, fluently, and gracefully. He heard Kairi walking behind him a few paces back, muttering to herself as she kept her tray steady. He felt her jealous glares and hid another smile from her. She was too much fun to work with. Finally he came to the top of the stair and took the left instead of the right; Kairi took the right. He walked down the halls, lowering his eyes as he passed royal priests, royal guards and one or two courtiers that were up this early, dressed in their morning best. He paused in front of a long, heavy velvet curtain then, watching as the guard stared at him accusingly before nodding, opening the curtain for him. Zexion stepped inside.

The room was large and extravagant, the smells of perfume hitting him in the face as soon as he walked in. It smelt floral yet spicy, and there was some smoke hanging to the air, clinging to him and everything within. There were multiple cushions of every colour and every pattern, tapestries hanging along the walls and across the ceiling. Candles were placed thoughtfully and were all lit, creating a warm glow. In the middle lay an extravagant bed, pillows covering it. It matched the room in rich blues, greens and purples, with gold and silver lining everything everywhere. Underneath the silken blue sheets was a moving lump, and Zexion had to smile at the sight. He walked towards the bed then, kneeling at the side and placing down a food tray, holding the other one up above his head as he bowed quietly before slowly sitting up. He watched for a moment, noting that the lump was no longer moving.

Suddenly, the sheets were pushed back by a graceful yet strong hand, and dark blue, tired eyes peered at him from within the darkness. He watched the eyes carefully, observing as slowly the lump started to sit up, showing a young man of 20 years old, two years his junior yet so much more important than him. Blonde hair fell in his eyes and spiked everywhere wildly, though when it was touched it was feather short and bendable. His skin was pale, translucent yet firm on his muscled body, his naked chest wide, shoulders sturdy and arms capable of protecting himself. He was strongly built yet angular, thin to the untrained eye. His face was angular as well to match him, soft and beautiful with sad blue eyes. Scratching the back of his head, the blue eyed prince looked at Zexion quietly, before smiling softly, his smile just as small as Zexion's own.

"Thank you, Zexion," he spoke then, turning and arranging his blankets around him so that he would not reveal any more skin. Zexion lowered his eyes, bowing deeply again and he heard the prince sigh softly. "Please don't do that."

"Forgive me, Highness," Zexion murmured quietly, raising slowly to his feet as the younger male took his breakfast, picking up a piece of sweet-tasting bread that had certain spices in it to make it taste even sweeter. The West called it 'cinnamon'.

"And don't call me 'Highness' either. We've known each other since we were small, and you're older than me. Call me Cloud."

Zexion smiled a little, as this was common between the two of them. He could see Cloud smiling a little too, yet his eyes looked hopeful. They always looked hopeful.

"Forgive me, Highness. I cannot," he replied as he usually did, bowing his head before turning. "I wish you a good morning."

"…You as well," Cloud murmured, watching Zexion as he walked out, the curtain being held open for him by a guard. Zexion heard the boy sigh before he walked down the hall again.

Once again he paused in front of a heavy curtain just a few feet down from Cloud's room. Once again a guard examined the food that he held in his hands. Once again a heavy velvet curtain opened and he was allowed entrance into the room.

This room was not as bejewelled as Cloud's room. It had more candles, some tall and new, others down to the last bit of wax, yet all of them burning to create the same warm glow. Pillows covered the floor as did hundreds of books, some opened, others closed, and a few being rebound. Tapestries, clothes and a few blankets were strewn about everywhere, covering the walls and ceiling and floors. In the middle was the same large extravagant bed, coloured in blues, purples and yellows to match his room. Yet instead of a breathing lump, a young male sat up in his bed, clutching a book and reading intently.

The boy was identical to Cloud, blonde spiky hair and blue eyes, though his weren't as sad as the other prince. He had his blankets covering him as Cloud did, though there was a blanket over his shoulders too, shrouding him from view. He was thinner than Cloud, not as strong as him, with gentle, slim shoulders and a lithe waist and chest. He was a littler darker than Cloud, spending a lot of time in the sun so that he could read whatever held his interest at that moment. Zexion smiled at the sight as the boy leaned closer to the book, totally enraptured and unaware that the older servant boy was there. He seemed to be 17 years, making him younger than Zexion by 5 years, yet he was much more important than him much like Cloud. He came to the bed, kneeling beside it and placing the tray on the floor, bowing deeply until his nose touched the cloth covered marble ground.

Slowly as he sat up after a few moments, he saw the boy twitch, slowly realizing he wasn't alone. Eye flicked over to him than back to his page before they widened. The book was suddenly tossed to the side and the boy was flying at him, wrapping his arms around Zexion and hugging him, grinning widely.

"Zexion you're finally here! I woke up and you weren't here so I was worried something bad had happened to you!" The boy laughed after he spoke, squeezing Zexion tightly. Zexion coughed, laughing and patting the boy's back, trying to get him off. It was very strange to have a naked prince hugging you, after all.

"Sire, please,"

"Oh, right!" The boy lurched back, running a hand through his hair before grinning. "And dang it all, Zexion! Call me Roxas!"

Zexion sighed, smiling at the boy as he stood up, shaking his head and rearranging his skirt. "Sire you know I can't do that," he said quietly, looking at Roxas as he stared up at him in interest. "…Eat your breakfast now, Sire. I will see you at lunch today."

"I'll come find you after I eat, and we'll spend the day together. I'll help, too!"

"No, Sire," Zexion said firmly, frowning. "A prince cannot do a slave's work." Roxas frowned, looking down at his legs and Zexion sighed, shaking his head. "I wish you a good morning, Sire."

"You as well," came the customary reply. Zexion smiled as Roxas leaned over and grabbed his tray, eating the candy-glazed carrots. He then turned, walking out as the guard held the curtain for him and he turned to go back downstairs. He met Kairi at the stairs, and she was frowning.

"What's the matter?"

"I'm scarred for life."

"Why's that?"

Kairi gagged, looking up at Zexion with wide eyes. "It's so disgusting walking in on the Queen when she's at it with the Royal Guard's commander!"

Oh.

….

Ew.

He remembered very clearly the day he was put into the cage.

It had been the most frightening experience in all of his life. He had been stripped of his clothes, whipped into silence, scrubbed until his skin was sore red and then thrown into the dustiest, dirtiest cage with 20 other boys in the scorching heat of the South. He sat there, eyes wide as he watched the other boys, all naked and dirty, playing with each other, looking longingly out the bars, or beating each other senseless. He pushed himself away from a fight, he was sure of it, pressing his back against the hard, hot metal bars. He remembered the cage burning his skin, but he didn't make a sound. He didn't want to be seen.

Each day was the same after that. He would stick to the walls of the cage, finding shade whenever he could so that he could cool down. The other boys would look at him, find him boring, and go back to what they were doing. One or two talked to him. He remembered a big boy sitting with him for a while, making sure others didn't bother him with a forced glare from his quiet blue eyes. His red hair made him stand out amongst the others, marking him as a boy from the East. He didn't smile, he didn't talk, but he felt like he was his best friend.

He disappeared after that.

Boys would be dragged out every day, sporadic numbers at a time. They would be gone for what seemed like hours, and then sometimes they would come back. Sometimes they wouldn't. He didn't understand at first, not knowing what was going on. Why couldn't he go back to Mother? Where was his friend? Where was Father?

He remembered the first day he was dragged out.

The gnarled man came hobbling into the cage, the other boys pressing their backs against the wall away from him. Zexion watched him with wide eyes full of terror as he was forcefully dragged up and shoved out of the cage. He stumbled to his knees, panting and holding back tears when he felt eyes on him. Looking up, he saw cold green eyes looking at him. Eyes of a rich man from the North stared at him, his hair bright silver and his stance proud and tall. A military man it seemed, maybe even a general. He looked down quickly when those green eyes caught him staring.

'A little thin for this, don't you think?'

His voice was regal and powerful, demanding respect.

'He'll turn to be a good bed warmer, sir, I'm sure of it. He's feminine, real pretty. Almost has the face of a girl.'

The gnarled man's voice made his ears ache and he winced as he heard him.

'Mm, yes he does, doesn't he? Yet…Too young. Too thin. Perhaps another day. Could you keep him?'

The voice sounded thoughtful, and he wanted to know what they were talking about.

'For as long as I can. A higher bidder comes though and he's gone, sir.'

The man's voice sounded entirely too pleased.

'If it is the Queen, I'm sure she wouldn't mind my visit. After all, we're very close. She would lend him to me, I know that much.'

'The Queen, sir? He really that worth it?'

'Can you not see it? He's beautiful. Perfect in every way. She would be a fool not to want him. She is, after all, the greediest thing you'll ever meet.'

The two shared a laugh, mixture of harsh and smooth. He was so confused. What was going on?

"Zexion?"

The slave blinked, looking over at Roxas as he walked beside him. He was a fair few inches shorter than him, looking up at him with wide, curious eyes. Zexion sighed, looking up and shifting the large, round bowl he carried on his hip for water. "Yes, Sire?"

"You looked thoughtful for a second. What were you thinking about?" Roxas sounded curious, and genuinely interested. Zexion wondered, not for the first time, it the blonde haired youth truly saw him as a friend.

"A fantasy, Sire, nothing important at all." He glanced at the boy, who frowned suspiciously before he nodded, hopping as he walked. "You seem to be in high spirits, Sire."

"I am! The festival is happening next week! Seven days straight of pure entertainment, all because Mother is aging another year!"

"It is very important. The Queen's birthday is a high celebration. The king usually celebrates it much like this every year."

"He can't this year though, can he? Because he's at war with the North." Roxas pouted, making Zexion smile in pity for the boy. He was so important and mature, yet childish and sweet as well. How did he live such a life with his attitude?

They stopped by the well, a dark stone hollow circle with water filling it deep under ground, up until it reached the rim. Zexion dipped his bowl into it, his skin jumping at the feel of ice cold water, before he lifted the bowl with strong arms. He situated the bowl on his hip, glancing at Roxas as he watched him with interest. "Yes Sire, that is correct. Yet I'm sure he's celebrating it on the battlefield. And I'm sure he thinks of you and your brother and mother very much."

"Of course he does! 'Cause he loved us." Roxas smiled, before looking at Zexion. "Aren't you excited about the festival? I hear we've got this special troupe coming into the city just for it."

"I am, yet I shall be with your Queen mother, serving her wine for the evenings."

"What?!" Roxas' eyes were wide and incredulous. His mouth hung open like a fish out of water, and he seemed so surprised at this news that he completely forgot about walking. "That's…That's not right!"

"It's how it works, Sire. I am a slave, bought by your Queen mother. To have a day's rest would be foolish."

Roxas frowned, shaking his head. "It still isn't right. I mean, you work so hard every day. You do all the things no one else wants to do; you muck out the stalls, you take out the trash, you burn any of the dead animals and flowers, and you serve my mother each and every day. That's got to be a handful."

"It's life, Sire," Zexion said softly, walking into the palace towards the kitchen. "I rather enjoy my life."

"Even though you aren't properly treated?

"And how, Sire, should a slave be treated?" Zexion asked softly, putting the bowl of water on the counter for Cid. Cid grumbled his gruff thanks, getting to work on lunch. "With respect? With dignity? Shall I look you in the eye and speak to you as I would an equal?" He smiled, shaking his head. "No Sire, that isn't how you treat a slave. I get the treatment my rank is meant to have. Just as you get the treatment your rank is meant to have…" He paused, looking at Roxas' arm as he thought. "Which means…You should be in lessons, correct Sire?"

Roxas grinned sheepishly, Zexion seeing it in the corner of his eye. "How'd you guess?"

"I know your schedule; I've forced myself to memorize it so that I can send you on your way. Music lessons with my Lady Aerith. Don't keep her waiting, Sire."

"Oh fine, fine." Roxas sighed, smiling. "Can I see you later?"

"Of course; I'm here to serve you, I come at your word." Zexion bowed, and he heard Roxas sigh, before glancing up to see Roxas jogging towards his lessons. Zexion smiled, standing up and glancing over at Cid to see him staring at him quietly. "Yes Cid?"

"A message fer ya," Cid muttered, jerking towards a piece of paper. "Y'know how ta read, don'tcha?"

"Yes…" Zexion frowned, walking over to the note and picking it up. He looked at it curiously, before opening it, grey eyes scanning the words. His shoulders dropped as his eyes dulled, and he sighed, pushing back blue/grey hair from his face. The letter dropped to the ground. "Of course. Thank you, Cid."

"Kid, you don't have ta do anything, ya know."

"What are you talking about Cid? Did you not just hear me explain to Prince Roxas?" Zexion glancing at him, a thin, tired smile on his face. "I am not treated like a person. I am just an object to be used by others. Now excuse me. I must not keep General Sephiroth waiting. He will get impatient."

Zexion then turned, walking out of the room before Cid could say anything else.