Dear Readers:

This fic is a trial to try my hand at romance.  This story is written in my favorite style of romantic writing, historical romance.  The wording may sound a bit awkward but it is done to create the feel of time and place—at least that's what I hope to achieve.

In this an epic tale the characters are desperate to find love in a world where your station in life dictates who you can love.  Wufei is portrayed as the antagonist, however make no mistake, I like every Gundam pilot their good attributes as well as their bad.

This story was rated PG-13 yet after writing further chapters I have raised the rating to R.  I am sorry if this inconveniences anyone.  Truly there isn't that much sexual content but I want to be on the safe side.  As before I caution readers for yaoi content and sexual references.

As always please let me know if you like what you read or even if you don't like it, and why.  Such feed back encourages and helps future projects.

Sincerely,

Ani

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing and never will however I do enjoy writing fan fics although I don't make a penny off of them (truly).  Gundam Wing is own by Bandia and others.

Desperate Hearts

Part 6

Quatre kept trying to go back to sleep but could not something kept pulling at his attention.  He opened his eyes and noticed that full light flooded the tent.  The brightness of it shocked him.  Then the difference of what was troubling him came to his attention.

The whole camp was unusually quiet.  His fighter always did his best to restrain the men from making too much a racket in their morning preparations attempting to serve his indolent prince.  However, this morn he had succeeded beyond his usual measure.  There was only a faint snicker from the horses, gone were the low talk and dragging sounds of packing and loading.

Quatre stretched and smiled in thought of his fighter.  He scorned him, this courteous and brave man, scorned him and desired him.  This was new to Quatre.  He was not accustomed to distain, especially from one that wanted him.

Pulling the furs about him he stood up.  There was still no sound from outside, nor was there any scent of food being prepared.  The strangeness struck him.  Quatre knelt by the tent's entrance and slowly peered out.  A horse nickered and there next to the animal sat his fighter.  Quatre felt a wave of relief.  He had imaged some gory tragedy had taken place.  He had half expected to see dead bodies all around.

As Quatre stepped from the tent he realized that they were alone.  Had Trowa sent the men ahead so that he may scold him in private?  No, that was too absurd.  Trowa would not do such a thing.

Quatre walked up to Trowa.  Trowa glanced at him as he approached.  He did not raise and greet him formally.  That sent a bolt of chagrin though him.  Never in his life had anyone ever sat in his presence without asking permission.

"They had fled," Trowa said simply.  They looked at each other for a moment and Trowa realized that he was sitting.  He suddenly got up and bowed.  "My prince—I beg your forgiveness."

"Fled?" Quatre interrupted him.  "All of them?"

He stared around the barren camp.  The only horses were Trowa's and a pack horse.  The camp was ransacked bags and bundles were open and scattered about.  They were truly alone.

"Duo?" he asked breathlessly.

Trowa's eyes darkened in anger.  "He is gone, my prince."

"Gone," Quatre echoed a hand clenched upon his breast.  "All gone.  How long do you suppose?"

"I know not.  Two hours, no more," Trowa surmised.  "The tracks—they scattered apart from one another.  Your personal guard and his men also.  This talk of plague—it inflamed a terror."

He was alone.  He was free.  He had done it.  He met the eyes of his fighter and saw what he thought of him.  He didn't care.  Let him think what he wants.  Those restraints place upon him by Wufei were gone or maybe not?

"Where went he?' Quatre asked.  "Where did they go?"

"I cannot say.  We can wait here.  Mayhap he will return.  They will return."

Quatre glazed at the sky and the empty grounds around him.

"I would seek him for you, my prince," he said, "but I dare not leave you alone."

"No do not leave me!" he said sharply.

Quatre looked about him again.  It was so strange—never had he been alone—never had he been without attendants.  Even when he was married his attendants slept on pallets within the large chamber—his personal guards were always within shouting distance.

"Nay, my prince, I will not leave you," Trowa answered.  "By haps they may return."

"I like not that idea," Quatre shivered.

"Nor I but were it not for your lo—" He had almost said "lover," but the word curdled on his tongue.  "—your courtier who unnerved them with his talk of plague."  Trowa left the rest unsaid.  He also didn't add that were it not for the prince's spiteful games this may not have happened at all.  "I believe that once they had moment to come to their senses they may return."

"We should not wait!" Quatre exclaimed.  But when he looked at him, it was a confused look, with no command in it.  "I never thought—I never meant for them all to go."

Trowa didn't say anything.  He was no more reasonable than his courier had been last night.  Like a wicked spoilt child he had taunted his playmates till they all ran away from him and now stood dumbfounded as to why they left.

"Will you break fast here, my prince?" Trowa asked.  He drew the prince aside and sat him down on a saddle.  He handed the prince a cup of ale and some bread.  Quatre drank a few sips and nibbled on the bread.

Trowa went about breaking down the camp.  He glanced towards the prince and realized he was not where he last left him.  He found the prince pulling out the stakes that held his tent.

"No, my lord," Trowa said in astonishment.  "I shall do the labor.  It's unseemly."

He ushered the prince away surprised that he had managed to pull the stakes out.  He was stronger than he looked.  Prince Quatre did not resist him and sat back down with his half empty cup of ale.

"When can we leave?"

"Early in the morn," he told him.  "I think a night in the woods may bring them back to their senses."

Trowa said no more for the rest of the day.  He finished packing and sat the prince down to eat.  He would eat later while the prince slept.  He laid out some cheese, fruit and more of the dry flat bread he had given him earlier.  From the prince's stores he pulled out a handful of sugared figs and candied nuts.

While the prince ate Trowa rested.  He had bedded down near enough to be of help if he should have need of him but far enough away that he was not in his private space.  As his prince ate Trowa found himself stealing looks at the other.  Never before had he been able to openly look at him—always the prince had hidden himself away so that Trowa found this new liberty heady.  When the prince wasn't looking he stared.  Quatre was truly beautiful, even with his hair ruffled and his face pink with cold.  He had this surreal look to him.

That night Quatre bedded down under the open night sky.  He slept alone distant from the camp Trowa had setup.  He envied Trowa his easy comfort.  He was still wound tight with the newness of his situation.  Trowa was up somewhere nearby keeping watch on the camp in hopes that their men may return.  For safety Trowa had forbade him from sleeping close to camp.

It was dark and Quatre couldn't see him.  No sooner that he had managed to sleep he was awakened by an urgent voice.  "My prince we must make haste," Trowa whispered harshly.

Quatre sat up slowly still muddled from sleep.  With a hiss of impatience Trowa slipped arms around him lifting him bedding and all.  Quatre's moaned of complaint was cut off when Trowa's arms tightened around him to silence him.

He tossed the prince onto the pack horse.  Finally Quatre awoke, he realized they were in danger.  There were voices coming from somewhere in the night.  He wrapped the furs tighter about him self and grabbed onto the saddle just in time as Trowa urged both horses into a fast trot.

Trowa had his hands full holding onto both the prince's reins and his own as he still had to maneuver both horses.  At times they galloped wildly through the forest twisting and turning along a nearly invisible path.

The sky had taken on the gray twilight of dawn as Quatre felt the horses slowing down.  "Last night?" He said.  It was the first time he had gotten to speak since they fled.

"The men had indeed returned to camp, my prince," Trowa answered solemnly.  "At knife point to the white fang bandits that haunt this area."  Trowa didn't say anything more than that he was upset that he couldn't save any of his men.  He didn't want to think about what those bandits would do to the prince's pretty courier.  The prince was his sole priority and right now his prince was in danger.  It wouldn't take much for the bandits to realize whose camp they found.  Trowa wanted as much distance as possible between them.

The prince asked no more on the subject.  He seemed lost in thought, as if he did not comprehend the truth of their situation even yet.  They came to a river with a ferry crossing.  The place was abandon.  As they drew closer Trowa noted the black flag tied to the burn out shell of a boathouse.  It seemed the plague did in truth reach here.

Neither of them said anything about the plague.  Trowa blinded the horses and led them onto the raft.  The prince stood silently watching him.  "Come my lord," Trowa said giving the prince his arm.

Trowa settled him down in the center of the raft between the two horses.  Trowa took up the pole steering them into open water.

Trowa took a landing several hours before dark.  He tried to maneuver the raft as close to the shore as possible but still had to wade though about two feet of water before pulling the raft close.

The prince had not move from his place between the horses.  He sat twisting his rings and staring into space.  Trowa assisted the prince onto dry ground and like before he stood there blankly waiting as Trowa unloaded the horses.

"The boatsman, he died from the plague," Quatre asked quietly.

"Yes, my prince," Trowa said gently.  The desertion, the sudden peril, the quick transition from rich comfort to sudden vulnerability was enough to make any succumb to distress.

He sat down hard on the sandy bank.  "It's all my fault.  I brought it down upon us."

Trowa froze at the words.  All his suspicions rose to the fore.  His immoral behavior, his seductive nature, he was a fiend.

"I teased Duo so," he said biting his lips one hand clenched over his heart.  "Now he's dead or worst pestilence comes.  I am being punished.  I brought it upon us."

Trowa's suspicions disappeared into exasperation.  "My lord I don't think that all mankind is too suffer the plague as punishment for your silly wickedness."

"Oh, be it that my sins are so trifling?  May hap I should be blamed for the excess of lice this winter."

"Certainly you can be blamed for our current situation," Trowa muttered.  "My liege lord."

Quatre looked surprised at his boldness.  "You are a saucy knave, hid behind a courteous façade.  May hap you would like to take me to task?"

Trowa's mouth tightened at the taunt.  He knew better than to goad with such a debauched creature.  Nevertheless the taunt did nothing to repel him.

Quatre no longer looked like a prince.  He held his furs awkwardly about his shoulders.  His fingers were pale against the rich aqua gems.  The cold had made his cheeks pink and lack of sleep had place dark shadows under his eyes.

He seemed more human.  It made him more reachable.  Trowa felt his body respond at his words.  With a sudden move he turned his face away from him and gathered the horses reins.