Part four—Herald the Day
Back in the main palace, Trowa tumbled into bed next to the still-sleeping Day-Prince and pulled the silken coverlet tight about them both. There was so little time for them to spend together. His limbs felt leaden, but he knew he wouldn't be able to get any proper sleep till well after noon. The two brothers had shared a bed as long as they could remember. It had, at first, been a defense against nightmares. Now, they had such different schedules the night prince valued any time he could spend with his brother. Trowa sighed. Heero shifted, feeling the disturbance in the bed beside him.
"You alright?" the sleepy prince mumbled.
"Yes, I—" Trowa began, but the sentence was twisted off in a strangled gasp. Pain, white hot blossomed behind his luminous green eyes and his chest burned as he tried to catch his breath.
Feeling his brother flail about on the bed and knowing what had happened, Heero leaned up on his elbow and forced the other boy to meet his gaze. "Don't waste your words, brother mine. You know it triggers the curse. Forget about speaking just breathe--In and out--slow." He directed in a characteristically cool and dispassionate voice. Heero was a rock, steadfast…untouched by emotions tide but strong just the same.
Trowa focused on following his brother's direction to the exclusion of all else and once the panic diminished his breathing did come easier. He sat up unsteadily; still holding onto Heero's hand as if it were a lifeline. Then he rubbed his chest, willing the pain to abate. It did, slowly. He bit his lower lip and tried to persuade himself he was too old to cry. Unbidden, the sound came out, an animalistic whimper that rose to something like a woeful keening. Those sorts of sounds didn't hurt the way words did but they were hardly fitting for a prince.
"Enough of that," Heero murmured tonelessly. The Day-Prince was incapable of actually experiencing fear or distress. Compassion and empathy were concepts he had learned to emulate mostly from books. He had convinced himself that regardless of the emptiness in his chest, he cared for his brother more than any other, and it was his duty to give what little comfort he could. His coolly calculating mind argued it was woefully insufficient, but he persisted nonetheless. "Play for me," he said finally.
Trowa's shudders eased as he got control of himself enough to nod. Heero couldn't leave the Palace. To attempt it would call down the curse with even greater intensity than Trowa experienced, stripping him of reason and control, leaving the stalwart prince-ling little more than a beast. Sure, he wondered about the world beyond the walls of his prison, sending his brother out into the night almost as often as the king did. Trowa was free to come and go as he pleased, but in all his years in the palace the cursed brothers had discovered only one way for the silent youth to express what he had seen beyond the walls.
Trowa carefully removed the silver flute from its case and poured every bit of his experience into the music…hoping that perhaps, for once…his brother might just be able to feel it.
Heero tried, closing his eyes to concentrate on the liquid cascade of notes crafted with a master's care, resplendent with trills and flourishes. Melancholy? Heero guessed the music built slowly increasing in tempo and pitch…the word hopeful came to mind...but that wasn't exactly a concept he was particularly familiar with. The emptiness in his breast felt…poignant, but that was really all he could say about it.
Heero wanted to be angry that the curse kept his brother from communicating what was in his heart, and kept him from experiencing such things for himself. Heero was well aware his brother longed to be free of the curse and grieved for him as well, trapped within these walls. But Heero could not imagine what it would be like to feel such things himself. It was as if his soul were colorblind; he didn't even dream in color. It was impossible—just as it always had been. He'd come close to understanding once, though.
Several years ago, delegates from a distant kingdom presented him with a pegasi colt and a gryphon cub for his birthday. He and Trowa had spent almost an entire spring and summer training them. Wing proved to be a fine specimen of equine grace, responsive to his every command…and Trowa and Nanashi were practically inseparable.
The trouble started when they grew large enough to fly. Under different circumstances, either would have made perfect riding-beasts for any prince. But they belonged to him. Some of the guards decided they should have their wings clipped. The rationale was that since the first prince was confined within the walls of the castle, his pets should be as well. Heero had overheard the plan and had not let the men's proximity to the main gate stop him from acting to prevent it.
The curse fell on him hard and the guards did not survive encounter. His actions seemed to indicate Heero felt something for the nearly sentient beasts, but he couldn't say exactly what. That night, he had sent Trowa out on his behalf to set them free. Parting from the no-name gryphon had hurt his brother, but he'd done it anyway, without hesitation which baffled Heero all the more.
Trowa's music changed. Quick notes in succession usually meant action of some sort, a fight perhaps. His brother didn't seem injured, so it was unlikely one of the street gangs had tried to jump him again. One would think they would learn their lesson, but the night prince's curse worked in unpredictable ways sometimes. Shadows clung to him, often concealing his presence from those who didn't know him and once he was gone, the memory faded from people's minds. Even so, what the prince did during his nightly forays wasn't as easily dismissed. Even trapped in the palace, Heero heard rumors about a dangerous 'phantom' stalking the night.
"Sounds like you've been busy." Heero reflected aloud. "I hope Jae didn't have you doing anything too dangerous."
Trowa gave a trill denoting a negative. No, it hadn't been too difficult, but the notes ended in a dissonant twist.
"Distasteful," Heero nodded in understanding. They did come close to communicating in this way but he could see the signs of a headache creasing his brother's brow. "Let it go Trowa. Play me the dawn."
Green eyes shifted to the window. Heero was correct; the sky was turning pink. A new day was beginning and the curse could not prevent him from heralding with everything he had. The night prince bowed his head and promptly lost himself to the music.
When he finally ran out of breath he nestled back into the coverlets to doze for an hour or so before they were summoned for breakfast. It wouldn't do to keep King Jae waiting. The king was not noted for being a patient man, especially not when it came to educating his heirs. Trowa stretched cat like and got out of bed. He smiled slightly and tugged his brother after him.
Heero growled but within moments both boys readied themselves for the day. The first Prince dressed in a deep blue tunic trimmed in silver. His leggings were grey, his boots black. The dagger that hung from his black leather belt was more utilitarian than one would expect from a prince, silver with a sapphire at the crosspiece, it was the only weapon he had in open sight, supposedly a last resort in those few instances when magic failed.
As night prince, Trowa dressed head-to-toe in black with the tiniest accents gold. Somber perhaps, but it suited him. His cape was flung over one shoulder and fastened under the opposite arm with a silken chord. The heavy leather bracers he always wore concealed an array of stiletto flechettes and poisoned darts, close at hand in case the king should need to call upon his assassin's services.
The two princes slipped from the tower room down the narrow winding stair to the hall. Servants made slight obeisance as they passed. Heero took no notice and Trowa was incapable of returning the greeting with more than a raised hand, so he was content to match his brother's purposeful stride.
"First Prince," The Chamberlain greeted Heero, guiding him to his place at the high table beside the king. Heero's attitude made people treat him with formality; Trowa's often evoked the reverse. The man made eye-contact with the second prince only briefly before his gaze drifted away.
Despite his curse, there were some in the palace who had learned to see the second prince. Unfortunately, all but a few servants assumed that because he couldn't speak, he couldn't think. They couldn't be more wrong…but Trowa knew he should be accustomed to such things by now. He ignored the slight and casually took his seat beside his brother.
King Jae sat at the head of the high table, his plate piled high with sausage and eggs, fried tomatoes, bread with honey and candied fruit. The princes ate more Spartan fair, thin gruel and bitter tea. Jae insisted they maintain the restricted diet while in training. Both were so accustomed to it by now they were not even tempted by the myriad other dishes set within easy reach.
Heero never had much appetite but he dawdled over his breakfast so his brother wouldn't feel rushed. When Trowa pushed away his mostly empty plate the first prince mirrored the gesture and minutes later they were padding down the lush carpeted halls to the more private areas of the palace.
