Chapter 2: A Pact of Trust
Although he was slightly bewildered, Quatre was happy to see Trowa again
after their short time apart. He hurried outside to greet the flustered
prince and usher him inside to the parlor.
"My father is so stubborn," Trowa explained in an agitated tone, "and my luck makes him clever in is stubborn ways."
"What did he do?"
"He sent us on another quest," Trowa sighed, "so now we must bring him a sword that is as light as a feather, but still terribly deadly."
"You do not deserve such trickery," Quatre frowned, "you rightfully earned that throne." Trowa's features softened.
"I only succeeded because of your brilliant gift, Quatre." He smiled. Quatre was blushing under his fine white coat, but the red did not show through. He smiled humbly at Trowa and nodded.
"I helped you because I know you are deserving," he replied, "and I shall help you in your quest again. For now, let us relax and enjoy ourselves." With that, a little calico maid, one of Quatre's sisters, opened the parlor door and announced that dinner was ready. The cats created a banquet in honor of Trowa's return, and after they were finished, there was a fireworks show in the courtyard. Trowa had never felt so welcomed, and he completely forgot about his crusade for the throne.
Quatre never seemed to run out of ideas for daily activities. Trowa barely had time to think of anything but himself and Quatre. One day, they called a hunt, and the entire party went out on dog back, while Trowa rode on the wooden horse. Another day, there was a staged battle between the cats and some local wild rabbits Quatre also had them attend several lovely plays in the castle's theatre. There they viewed comedies, tragedies, and romances. With so many things to do, they year went by in the blink of an eye. Trowa realized that he only had one day to find the sword and then return to his father.
"What am I to do?" Trowa paced in his room, "I do not even have enough time to return to the castle!" Quatre opened the door at that exact moment.
"Fret not, Prince," he smiled, beckoning in two other toms who carried a large, old sword, "I have what you need." The two toms gave the sword to Trowa, who was immediately disheartened by how heavy and plain it was. He began to unsheathe it, but Quatre stopped him.
"You must not draw it yet, trust me in this."
"How am I going to get home?" Trowa put the sword back and clipped it to his side, "The wooden horse will not be fast enough."
"I know he will not," Quatre smiled and led Trowa to the courtyard where four white horses were waiting to pull a fine chariot, "these horses shall get you to your destination in only eight hours." Trowa looked quite relieved, and took Quatre's paw.
"I cannot thank you enough." He smiled.
"N-no thanks is necessary," Quatre felt himself blushing again, "just have a safe trip home." Trowa nodded and leapt into the chariot, then with a fond look back and a wave, he started his trip back. Quatre left immediately to his chambers, distraught in his belief that he would never see Trowa again.
Trowa made it back to the castle in eight hours flat. His brothers were inside awaiting him so that they could start the banquet for their return. Trowa's court kept asking him why he kept leaving on his own. He could not come up with a good answer, especially when they were inspecting his horses and chariot. King Howard took the throne a couple of hours later and called each of his sons up equally. Treize, being the eldest, was first.
"This sword," said he, drawing and placing the hilt in his father's waiting hand, "is the very finest work of the eastern smiths. Light, ornate, and deadly." Heero took his up next.
"This sword is in the traditional style," he handed it to his father, "the metal used is lighter though, much easier to use."
"Bring yours forth too, Trowa." Said the King. For a moment, Trowa doubted the gift that he had received, but as he unsheathed it, the sword transformed into an ultra-light and very strong long sword.
"I will let it speak for itself." He smiled, completely relieved, and gave it to his father. The King, after marveling at it for a few moments, convened with his guards for an hour while the Princes waited. He was scared again that he could not deny a winner. Trowa's sword was like nothing he had ever seen or used. He devised yet another plan in his head, and returned to the three Princes.
"You are all clear winners!" he exclaimed to the baffled Princes, "I will make my decision about who shall gain my throne in due time. However, in the meantime, I remember your sweet mother. I know that she would only wish that you would gain the throne with a faithful woman by your side. Go now; find the loveliest princess to be your bride, and return in a year to discover your fate." With that he left, and all three brothers felt cheated now. Trowa left to his chariot in disgust, and raced back to Quatre's kingdom.
Quatre could hardly control the pacing prince as he explained his feelings about his father's actions. He eventually made Trowa sit down and drink a little wine to calm his nerves.
"It is obvious that you have won without a doubt," Quatre told him softly, "and you shall win the throne yet, I promise."
"I am more upset about not showing any results," Trowa sighed, "after all, you have won me my throne, dear Quatre." That made Quatre blush again, but the rosy color was hidden beneath his coat once more.
"Do not worry," Quatre said, "tell me what your father desires this time."
"He wishes for my brothers and I to find the lovely one we shall marry," he sighed, "as a supposed wish from our mother."
"Supposed?"
"Our mother died shortly after my first birthday," Trowa explained, "only Treize was very close to her." Quatre looked a little sullen, pondering this new development. Trowa sighed quietly as Quatre began to pace, a look of deep thought upon his face. Realizing that he may be worrying Trowa, Quatre stopped and put a smile on for him.
"Do not worry, we shall find a way to remedy this need. For now, let us relax here, as you seem quite weary." With that, Trowa thanked him and left to his quarters to sleep. Quatre sat in the parlor alone, wondering what to do about the new situation. He knew what had to happen, and it made him happy, but also terribly upset. Sleep did not come easily that night for him, but the next day he started the usual festivities everyone had been used to.
Six months went by in the blink of an eye; Trowa found himself becoming closer and closer to Quatre as time wore on. He started to get nervous about time though.
"Quatre," he said one night as they were lounging in the courtyard after a hunt, "you know I love being in your company, but shouldn't I be looking for a love? Finding the right sword or dog is one thing, but someone I shall spend my life with?" Quatre suddenly leapt onto the top of the lounge chair the prince was stretched out upon.
"I have a solution and a way to find that person," he said in a barely audible tone, "but you must trust me completely." Trowa looked at him with a blend of confusion and excitement on his features.
"Of course I trust you," he answered as he sat up to look at Quatre, "lead the way, my friend." Quatre gave him a half-hearted smile with doubt in his mind and then lead Trowa back into the familiar parlor. Quatre sat in his favorite chair and addressed Trowa.
"You see the sword on the mantle over the fireplace?" Quatre asked. Indeed, Trowa had seen the find blade many times, and now he lifted it from its plaque and inspected it.
"It's just like the one you gave me for my father." He smiled, and then stopped when he looked at Quatre's new stern expression. There was so much in that look, that it would be hard for anyone to try to understand what Quatre was thinking or feeling.
"Now listen to me, Trowa," he instructed the prince, "if I am to help you with your quest, you must do exactly as I say. Do you promise me that you will?"
"Yes, I promise," Trowa smiled, "I'll do whatever you ask of me."
"Then I shall hold you to your word," Quatre replied, a hint of a sigh on his wavering voice, "I want you to take that sword and cut off my head!" Trowa leapt to his feet, taken back completely but this terrible request.
"Cut off your head?!" he reeled, "How could I ever do such a thing? I cannot do this, Quatre, I simply cannot!"
"But you must," Quatre said in a smooth and sweet, yet stern voice, "please, do this for yourself, and do it now!" Trowa had a heavy look about him, his breath was catching in his throat and he seemed to have lost function for a moment. As he drew the sword up, it looked as if he struggled with the decision terribly. He opened his mouth once more to plead, but shut it again when he looked at Quatre who was patiently waiting. Tears stung his eyes, but he drew the blade up with a quick surge of power and cut off Quatre's head, afraid that if he did not do it at that moment, he never would have and Quatre's trust would have been betrayed. At once came a bright flash of light, and Trowa was knocked off of his feet, hitting his head on the way down. Quatre knelt beside the unconscious prince and smiled.
"Thank you, Trowa," Quatre said, touching Trowa's face with a new hand, "you shall awaken to become a king."
"My father is so stubborn," Trowa explained in an agitated tone, "and my luck makes him clever in is stubborn ways."
"What did he do?"
"He sent us on another quest," Trowa sighed, "so now we must bring him a sword that is as light as a feather, but still terribly deadly."
"You do not deserve such trickery," Quatre frowned, "you rightfully earned that throne." Trowa's features softened.
"I only succeeded because of your brilliant gift, Quatre." He smiled. Quatre was blushing under his fine white coat, but the red did not show through. He smiled humbly at Trowa and nodded.
"I helped you because I know you are deserving," he replied, "and I shall help you in your quest again. For now, let us relax and enjoy ourselves." With that, a little calico maid, one of Quatre's sisters, opened the parlor door and announced that dinner was ready. The cats created a banquet in honor of Trowa's return, and after they were finished, there was a fireworks show in the courtyard. Trowa had never felt so welcomed, and he completely forgot about his crusade for the throne.
Quatre never seemed to run out of ideas for daily activities. Trowa barely had time to think of anything but himself and Quatre. One day, they called a hunt, and the entire party went out on dog back, while Trowa rode on the wooden horse. Another day, there was a staged battle between the cats and some local wild rabbits Quatre also had them attend several lovely plays in the castle's theatre. There they viewed comedies, tragedies, and romances. With so many things to do, they year went by in the blink of an eye. Trowa realized that he only had one day to find the sword and then return to his father.
"What am I to do?" Trowa paced in his room, "I do not even have enough time to return to the castle!" Quatre opened the door at that exact moment.
"Fret not, Prince," he smiled, beckoning in two other toms who carried a large, old sword, "I have what you need." The two toms gave the sword to Trowa, who was immediately disheartened by how heavy and plain it was. He began to unsheathe it, but Quatre stopped him.
"You must not draw it yet, trust me in this."
"How am I going to get home?" Trowa put the sword back and clipped it to his side, "The wooden horse will not be fast enough."
"I know he will not," Quatre smiled and led Trowa to the courtyard where four white horses were waiting to pull a fine chariot, "these horses shall get you to your destination in only eight hours." Trowa looked quite relieved, and took Quatre's paw.
"I cannot thank you enough." He smiled.
"N-no thanks is necessary," Quatre felt himself blushing again, "just have a safe trip home." Trowa nodded and leapt into the chariot, then with a fond look back and a wave, he started his trip back. Quatre left immediately to his chambers, distraught in his belief that he would never see Trowa again.
Trowa made it back to the castle in eight hours flat. His brothers were inside awaiting him so that they could start the banquet for their return. Trowa's court kept asking him why he kept leaving on his own. He could not come up with a good answer, especially when they were inspecting his horses and chariot. King Howard took the throne a couple of hours later and called each of his sons up equally. Treize, being the eldest, was first.
"This sword," said he, drawing and placing the hilt in his father's waiting hand, "is the very finest work of the eastern smiths. Light, ornate, and deadly." Heero took his up next.
"This sword is in the traditional style," he handed it to his father, "the metal used is lighter though, much easier to use."
"Bring yours forth too, Trowa." Said the King. For a moment, Trowa doubted the gift that he had received, but as he unsheathed it, the sword transformed into an ultra-light and very strong long sword.
"I will let it speak for itself." He smiled, completely relieved, and gave it to his father. The King, after marveling at it for a few moments, convened with his guards for an hour while the Princes waited. He was scared again that he could not deny a winner. Trowa's sword was like nothing he had ever seen or used. He devised yet another plan in his head, and returned to the three Princes.
"You are all clear winners!" he exclaimed to the baffled Princes, "I will make my decision about who shall gain my throne in due time. However, in the meantime, I remember your sweet mother. I know that she would only wish that you would gain the throne with a faithful woman by your side. Go now; find the loveliest princess to be your bride, and return in a year to discover your fate." With that he left, and all three brothers felt cheated now. Trowa left to his chariot in disgust, and raced back to Quatre's kingdom.
Quatre could hardly control the pacing prince as he explained his feelings about his father's actions. He eventually made Trowa sit down and drink a little wine to calm his nerves.
"It is obvious that you have won without a doubt," Quatre told him softly, "and you shall win the throne yet, I promise."
"I am more upset about not showing any results," Trowa sighed, "after all, you have won me my throne, dear Quatre." That made Quatre blush again, but the rosy color was hidden beneath his coat once more.
"Do not worry," Quatre said, "tell me what your father desires this time."
"He wishes for my brothers and I to find the lovely one we shall marry," he sighed, "as a supposed wish from our mother."
"Supposed?"
"Our mother died shortly after my first birthday," Trowa explained, "only Treize was very close to her." Quatre looked a little sullen, pondering this new development. Trowa sighed quietly as Quatre began to pace, a look of deep thought upon his face. Realizing that he may be worrying Trowa, Quatre stopped and put a smile on for him.
"Do not worry, we shall find a way to remedy this need. For now, let us relax here, as you seem quite weary." With that, Trowa thanked him and left to his quarters to sleep. Quatre sat in the parlor alone, wondering what to do about the new situation. He knew what had to happen, and it made him happy, but also terribly upset. Sleep did not come easily that night for him, but the next day he started the usual festivities everyone had been used to.
Six months went by in the blink of an eye; Trowa found himself becoming closer and closer to Quatre as time wore on. He started to get nervous about time though.
"Quatre," he said one night as they were lounging in the courtyard after a hunt, "you know I love being in your company, but shouldn't I be looking for a love? Finding the right sword or dog is one thing, but someone I shall spend my life with?" Quatre suddenly leapt onto the top of the lounge chair the prince was stretched out upon.
"I have a solution and a way to find that person," he said in a barely audible tone, "but you must trust me completely." Trowa looked at him with a blend of confusion and excitement on his features.
"Of course I trust you," he answered as he sat up to look at Quatre, "lead the way, my friend." Quatre gave him a half-hearted smile with doubt in his mind and then lead Trowa back into the familiar parlor. Quatre sat in his favorite chair and addressed Trowa.
"You see the sword on the mantle over the fireplace?" Quatre asked. Indeed, Trowa had seen the find blade many times, and now he lifted it from its plaque and inspected it.
"It's just like the one you gave me for my father." He smiled, and then stopped when he looked at Quatre's new stern expression. There was so much in that look, that it would be hard for anyone to try to understand what Quatre was thinking or feeling.
"Now listen to me, Trowa," he instructed the prince, "if I am to help you with your quest, you must do exactly as I say. Do you promise me that you will?"
"Yes, I promise," Trowa smiled, "I'll do whatever you ask of me."
"Then I shall hold you to your word," Quatre replied, a hint of a sigh on his wavering voice, "I want you to take that sword and cut off my head!" Trowa leapt to his feet, taken back completely but this terrible request.
"Cut off your head?!" he reeled, "How could I ever do such a thing? I cannot do this, Quatre, I simply cannot!"
"But you must," Quatre said in a smooth and sweet, yet stern voice, "please, do this for yourself, and do it now!" Trowa had a heavy look about him, his breath was catching in his throat and he seemed to have lost function for a moment. As he drew the sword up, it looked as if he struggled with the decision terribly. He opened his mouth once more to plead, but shut it again when he looked at Quatre who was patiently waiting. Tears stung his eyes, but he drew the blade up with a quick surge of power and cut off Quatre's head, afraid that if he did not do it at that moment, he never would have and Quatre's trust would have been betrayed. At once came a bright flash of light, and Trowa was knocked off of his feet, hitting his head on the way down. Quatre knelt beside the unconscious prince and smiled.
"Thank you, Trowa," Quatre said, touching Trowa's face with a new hand, "you shall awaken to become a king."