Fortune Caster
Warnings: shounen ai, 3+4, angst, helps to read Willing Slave and maybe Sorcerer before this. No lemon, hardly any lime.
Setting: Part of the Willing Slave timeline, after the Lagrange/Corazon war but before WS. Quatre's earlier days with Trowa.
Disclaimers: Gundam Wing characters belong to Mixx Entertainment, Koichi Tokita, the SOTSU Agency, Sunrise, Kodansha and anyone I may have forgotten, not to me. I make no money off of this.
Quatre barely withheld his gasp as he was tugged into the royal bedchambers. His sister had obviously taken what had been of value in the room and sold it to raise war funds. Scars of bared mortar along the walls told of tiles torn away, and bed posts meant to hold up curtains were similarly empty, the sheets plain. The hard floor held no carpet. What scant furniture remained was both functional and ordinary.
But the room, in his eyes, was huge. The window extended from the high ceiling to the floor and opened onto a balcony, bringing in enough moonlight to see the entire room. He could extend his arms and not touch the walls...he lowered his head. There was no way he could extend his arms, bound as they were.
In front of him, Trowa still held the silk ribbon around his slave's wrists, and he tied his end to one of the bedposts while he inspected the room. Quatre stifled his sigh. He'd have held still if merely asked.
"At least the window locks," the new monarch grumbled. He walked back to his slave and began undressing him, pulling off the old vest that tore away easily. When his blonde winced, he paused and put his hand on the slightly sunken cheek, sliding his fingers down to Quatre's throat and shoulder. "Did that hurt?"
"A little."
Surprised at how bony his slave's shoulder felt, Trowa undid the bone clasps on Quatre's shirt and tore the sleeves out from under the silk ties, letting the cloth fall gently to the floor and pool over the blonde's feet. Soft skin, pale from years without the sun, disappeared into his pants, and Trowa knelt in front of him, untying the frazzled drawstring. As his pants slipped off his hips, Quatre blushed bright pink and closed his eyes. Gliding down his sides and thighs, Trowa's hands coursed down his legs, squeezing the thin muscles in his calves before settling back on his rear end.
"How far along is your education?" Trowa asked. "Did you receive any tutoring in your cell?"
"Wahea allowed me faerie tales and romances each week. Later Wufei let me read some political and military works and taught me a little of his language."
"Math? Theology? History?" Trowa asked. "Music?"
Quatre shook his head.
Heaving a sigh, Trowa stood back up and stared into his slave's eyes. He put his fingers on Quatre's jaw and coaxed his mouth open, examining him for signs of disease. "I'll hire a seamstress tomorrow. You'll need a full outfit and a heavy veil." He let Quatre close his mouth and ran his thumb over his lips, feeling how soft they were.
"Is anyone left from before?" Quatre whispered, afraid to move his mouth too much. "Any servants?"
"Some. Not many. Those too old to run, too weak, or too scared. Your sorcerer friend didn't leave your people much of a chance to get out." He shook his head as he finished examining his slave, turning to the window. "How long were you held prisoner?"
Quatre lowered his eyes. Of course the sight of him would disturb Trowa. "Five years in one cell, one year in the tower. But at least there I could see the city."
After closing the window, Trowa helped him onto the bed, leaving him tied while he undressed and slipped in behind him. To his delight, Quatre fit remarkably well against his body, his head just under the master's chin while the small feet brushed at his ankles. A hint of a smile breezed over his face for just a second while he lay his arm around the blonde, holding him close.
Quatre had to force himself not to fidget. Trowa's body felt smothering and hot. He let go a little sigh and closed his eyes when he heard Trowa's breathing turn deep and steady. Despite the pressure of the silk on his arms pulling them towards the bedpost, he managed to drift to sleep.
*
Quatre sat down cross-legged, forgetting that he hadn't done that since he was five. There was little space to sit in such a manner on his narrow bed, but here in the empty space, there was more than enough room. He put his hand out in the air and jerked his fingers up once, leaving a lit candle behind them.
A deck of cards appeared in front of him, face down, and he tapped it once.
The top card flew up into the air, revealing a picture of Trowa, a knife in one hand and a loop of silk in the other. Quatre pulled the next card and placed it above the first card.
"Tell me what he is," he whispered.
The Emperor card.
Quatre nodded, not knowing how he understood or even thinking to question it. "Of course, he's a leader, and obviously self-controlled." He pulled another card.
Death.
"But..." Quatre tilted his head, "that's for disaster and...no, wait, it's not reversed. This means...the end of an old way, and the start of new beginnings. Well, that certainly applies."
He rubbed his forearms absent-mindedly. For some reason, they felt sore. "But what's he like?"
Temperance.
"That's good to know. I suppose." He ran his fingers through his hair. "At least he's even tempered. But is he nice?"
Strength.
"You're not going to tell me, are you? Strength...strength...um, force of character, love over hate. Spirit over the material. Okay, he's fair and just. Will he treat me well?"
The Empress.
"Needs fulfilled. I guess so. Is he a good ruler?"
The Sun.
When he saw the fiery pattern, Quatre beamed. "Future success, regardless of what's going on now."
The World.
"Success down any path," he sighed. "I wonder if he's skillful or just lucky."
Something tugged hard on his arms suddenly, making him wince. The cards evaporated into smoke and the candle guttered. His shoulders drooping, he closed his eyes and flopped backwards into empty space.
*
Trowa hissed in sympathy when he saw his slave's arms still bound to the bed, the skin mottled with bruises and red where the silk had rubbed and burned. He reached out and untied the long ribbon, pulling it away and tossing it on the floor. Quatre mumbled in his sleep and turned on his side, bringing his arms in close. The new monarch frowned. Was Quatre so dead to the world that he no longer felt pain?
"Or maybe he's so used to it," he whispered. He stood up and quietly dressed in in a dark blue shirt that covered most of his arms and throat. Tight leggings made of a more durable nature followed, finished by brown boots. He walked around the bed, heading to the door.
Gently opening it so it wouldn't creak, he looked out and spotted two of his soldiers standing near. They immediately turned to him.
"Go and bring a doctor here," he said.
"We can't, your majesty," one said, shaking his head. "Their sorcerer was their only healer, and Captain Khushrenada already has him out of the city."
Trowa sighed. "Then bring me a basin of water and clean sheets. And see if you can't find someone who can get clothes for my slave."
"Yes, your majesty," came the reply, and one soldier disappeared down the hall.
Trowa closed the door again and looked back at Quatre. The small blonde moaned again and half opened his eyes.
"Wufei...? Issat you?"
"No, it's me, Trowa." He narrowed his eyes. "Wufei's gone, remember?"
"Oh...I forgot." He yawned and tried to sit up, but winced when he put pressure on his arms. "Ow..."
"Why did you think I was Wufei?" Trowa asked.
"What?"
He stepped closer until he stood over Quatre, throwing a long shadow over his pale body. "When you were waking up, you called me Wufei. Why?"
"Sometimes, when I'd wake up, he'd be at the window watching the city. I guess my room had the best view. If we needed rain, he'd bring it down from there." Quatre wondered if he'd upset his master, and he quietly watched Trowa move to the window and stare out at his new kingdom.
Nothing else was said until five minutes later, when someone knocked on the door. "Enter."
A young girl walked in carrying a large bowl of water in both hands, a rag hanging off one edge, with bandages slung over her shoulder and a bag hanging from her arm. With no difficulty she set the bowl on the small table and left the bandages on the bed. "Your majesty," she curtsied, "we listened to the guard's description of your slave, but all that might fit him are these." She opened the bag and showed him several colorful gauzy outfits. "They're what was left in Wahea's harem."
"Good enough," he said. "You're dismissed."
She curtsied again and hurried out.
Ignoring the bag for the moment, Trowa stepped to the foot of the bed and kicked a long metal chain from beneath the mattress, bringing up a heavy manacle on the end. He pulled the covers off of Quatre, who blushed bright pink again, and locked the chain around his ankle. As his master came closer, Quatre couldn't help an experimental tug on the chain. He couldn't even lift the lock.
"Put your arms out," Trowa said as he helped him sit up.
Quatre obeyed, and his master set the pillow under his hands. Trowa dabbed at the bruises and abrasions with the soaked cloth.
"You can feel these, can't you?"
The blonde nodded.
Trowa finished cleaning the burns and picked up the bandages, wrapping his slave's arms from wrist to elbow. "You didn't wake up, even though you felt the pain. Why not?"
"I didn't get to feel very much in my cell." Quatre stared at the floor. "Even pain is a luxury."
"So whipping you wouldn't be a punishment," Trowa said. "I'll have to find different ways to discipline you."
A shudder ran through Quatre's body.
"Relax," Trowa said. "You haven't done anything wrong. As long as you obey me, you'll never need to be punished."
"You've whipped slaves before?"
"Yes."
While Trowa finished bandaging his arms, Quatre lowered his eyes and held his breath. After a moment the king realized the room had gone quiet and looked up at Quatre. He put his hand under Quatre's chin and tilted his head back up. "Calm down. I'm not angry at you. And with the way you act, I'll probably never be angry with you. You're so submissive..." He lay his other hand on Quatre's cheek and gently forced his mouth open enough for an unchaste kiss. His slave froze and made little noises that made Trowa press a bit harder and force Quatre's mouth open wider. When he pulled back again, he ran his fingers through Quatre's hair.
"I've never owned a slave that gave in as much as you do." He stood up and went to the bag of harem clothes, pulling out different outfits. "I've never had one as beautiful as you, either. You're going to be gorgeous when you fill out a little. Good thing your sister kept a few slaves of her own, or I might not have had clothes for you." He chose one and lay it on the bed. Quatre stared at the blue costume but with his left ankle chained to the corner post, he couldn't reach it.
The new monarch reached for a string around his neck, bringing out a silver key which he used to unlock Quatre's chain. "Sit up. Will you need help getting dressed?"
"I...think so." Quatre picked up the harem outfit and looked it over. "I don't know how this is supposed to go."
After a moment of looking back and forth between Quatre and the suit, Trowa pushed his slave back against the bed and brought his bare legs up, helping him into the pants first and binding up the four drawstrings. Quatre breathed in when he saw how diaphanous the material was and sighed in relief when his blue tunic dropped to mid-thigh, making the outfit a bit more modest.
"Do you really think I'd let you go out half-covered?" Trowa brushed his fingertips along the ever-deepening blush. "No. You're mine. No one else's."
Smiling, Quatre brought one hand up to touch Trowa's. Instead the king caught his slave's wrist in a tight grip. Quatre's smile vanished, replaced by a look of pained fear.
Dismayed by his own reflexes, Trowa released Quatre's hand and felt only more disappointed as the blonde dropped his hand back into his lap and lowered his eyes.
"Finish dressing," he said, standing up. "You have permission to roam the gardens, but do not attempt to leave. Guards have been posted at every gate."
"Yes, master," Quatre whispered, never raising his eyes.
Without another word, Trowa left the room and slammed the door.
Half an hour later, Quatre still struggled to hold back tears and sniffled while he lingered along the flowers. His slippers gave no protection from the various pebbles and stones on the smooth tile path, and he kept his eyes lowered out of necessity. The last rock he'd hit had made him cry out, and he'd limped to the nearest bench for a long rest.
Still wiping his eyes with the back of his hand, he stared at his thin body and pale skin. Five years of atrophy had worn him down to nearly nothing, despite the year of sunlight Wufei had given him. Even then he'd been locked up, only in a brighter cage. And now a simple walk left him breathless.
Feeling a strange wisp on his arm, he turned and found a dark green bush filled with bright red flowers. He smiled despite himself and lay his fingertips on the petals, stroking them lightly. They felt like wet silk, and he leaned down for the sweet scent. With his face so close, he could see the thorns set in the stems, winding down every branch straight down to the base of the plant itself. The dark leaves only made his skin appear even more white.
With a sigh he stared up at the sky. Vivid blue with hardly any clouds, he had to look away when the light became too much for his weakened eyes. Accustomed for years to darkness broken by a single candle or a murky attic room, bright colors now hurt. If he tried, he could vaguely remember days he'd spent in the garden, walking beside one of his tutors. Lucky he'd learned to read in that time. By the age of ten he'd been shut away.
Rising again, he continued down the flat trail, studying the pattern made by the blue and green swirls and blocks in the tile. Apparently Wahea had not been so strapped for funds, or else she'd have pulled them out and sold them. Or maybe she'd just forgotten about them. She'd never struck him as someone who'd waste time in a garden.
He looked up briefly and spotted several armed men standing at one gate, while another handful stood at distant intervals along the walls. A long strip of gray stone showed underneath the white surface, revealing when those tiles had been ripped out and sold. Quatre walked away from the wall, back towards the garden and to the small pond at the side of the palace. Sitting at the edge, he kept one hand on the stones ringing the pond and leaned over. Climbing roses had made their way up the side of the palace and reflected on the surface of the pond, where they occasionally dropped a petal or two. Quatre silently watched the petals ripple the water.
A hand fell on his shoulder, startling him so that he pitched towards the pond and would have fallen in if the same hand hadn't pulled him back. He whirled, raising his knuckles to his mouth, and had to crane his neck back to look into his master's eyes.
"I'm sorry," Trowa said, sitting beside his slave. "I didn't mean to startle you."
"I-it's all right," Quatre said.
Trowa made no move to touch Quatre, keeping himself separated. Neither spoke for awhile, but that didn't unnerve the blonde. He'd become quite accustomed to silence.
Finally Trowa broke. "I apologize for my actions earlier. It was not my intention to hurt you. I acted without thinking, on reflex."
Quatre blinked. "No master, it was my fault. I won't touch you again."
The master inwardly winced, but his face betrayed no emotion. "I won't hurt you again," he said.
His slave blinked again and stared up into Trowa's emerald eyes. Nervous hope welled up in his heart, reflecting what Trowa felt until Quatre could experience it as well. He tilted his head and slowly brought his hand up towards Trowa's cheek.
Halfway there the monarch seized his wrist, about to tighten his grip until he saw Quatre close his eyes, bracing himself for the coming pain. He stared at his fingers, ready to press or even crack his slave's bones, and forced himself to relax his hold. As soon as Quatre felt the pressure disappear, he slid his arm, still held by his master, higher. When his fingers were only an inch away, Trowa's hand tightened again, halting his movement.
"I...I can't," Trowa whispered. "I can't let you..."
Even without his gift, Quatre could hear the soft desperation in his master's voice. "Shh," he murmured. "It's all right." He extended his fingers and lightly brushed the very surface of the young king's cheek. To his delight, Trowa didn't pull his arm down. He allowed the tiny sensation on his skin, and even smaller shivers, like ripples, moved along his body.
After a minute, Trowa pushed his arm back down and leaned away. "I brought something. You'll need to wear it from now on." He took out a folded wad of blue cloth and unfurled it.
"What is it?"
"Your veil." He stretched it over Quatre's face and tied the ends to the jeweled headpiece he set on his hair. Made of several layers of gauzy cloth sewed at the edges, it ruffled out every time he breathed. "No one can know you're really a prince."
"It feels strange," Quatre said as he touched the edges. "Heavy."
"The hem is weighted so it won't fly up." Trowa pushed his slave's fingers from the veil and smoothed it down. "You're not allowed to take it off, ever. Only I can do that. Even if you're in the bath or going to sleep, you'll leave it on unless I take it off."
"Bath?" The veil fluttered up at the sudden breath. "A real bath in a pool? With soap?"
"You haven't..." Trowa cut himself off. Of course he hasn't, he thought. "But you're not dirty."
A blush colored Quatre's cheeks. "Wufei brought me a large basin of water every week."
"And he watched?"
The blush went from pink to red. "Of course not! He always left right after." His voice lowered and he looked at Trowa's hand. "He wasn't there too often. Wahea always wanted him shielding the palace, or killing assassins, or trying to read the stars."
I can understand that, Trowa thought. A stargazer would be invaluable to any king.
"He couldn't tell the future though," Quatre said. "I had to tell him so he could tell Wahea. It's funny, how he could make it rain but he couldn't read the stars."
For a moment, neither of them said anything. Using the time to catch his breath, Quatre didn't notice how his master looked at him, his visible eye wide and unblinking.
"You can read the stars?" Trowa asked, leaning forward so he could see his slave's face.
"Mm-hmm. Well, Wufei said I could." Quatre opened his eyes again, but he jerked back when he saw how Trowa stared. "Trowa?"
"Could you do it tonight?" he asked.
Water splashed as Quatre put his hand in the pond, bracing himself as he leaned away. "I could, but I'll be very tired afterward. It takes a lot out of me."
"That's not saying much." Trowa opened his mouth to say something else, but heavy footsteps ran down the path ahead of them. They both looked up and saw a heavy set man in a brown Lagrange uniform coming towards them. "Kurtz? What's wrong?" Trowa asked, standing.
"Nothing, sire, but Lord Barton has arrived and demands an audience with your majesty." Kurtz bowed and waited. "He said if I didn't move as fast as I could, he'd have my hands."
"He would," Trowa mumbled. "Tell him I'll be there in a--no, that I'll meet him when I can, in the main hall. Give him my apologies, but with no forewarning, I will have to work around him. And give him minimal hospitality."
"Yes, your Majesty." After another bow, Kurtz walked back the same path and disappeared.
"Who's Lord Barton?" Quatre asked.
"A painful thorn in my side for the last few years now." He put his hand under Quatre's chin, forcing him to look up. "You don't like being alone, do you?"
"I haven't been with people enough to know."
"Do you want to go back to your tower?"
"No," Quatre whispered, one hand flying to his throat as if he were choking. "Please no. I can't do that again, I can't."
"Then you have to promise never to speak to anyone I don't give you permission to. You're mine, and that means you're going to hear things that you cannot repeat. Understand?"
Quatre nodded, blinking tears out of his blue eyes. Surprised, Trowa lay his fingertips on Quatre's cheek and wiped the moisture away, bringing the tears up to his lips and licking them. When he saw his slave's look, he glanced back at his hand.
"I don't see tears too often. They always catch me by surprise." Not giving Quatre a chance to ask anything else, he turned to one of the guards along the wall and waved at him.
Easily seven feet tall with wildly swept hair, the largest guard walked closer and knelt, almost as tall as Trowa even on bended knee.
Oh my God, he's huge, Quatre gasped and curled his legs up. He could crush me without trying.
"Rashid," Trowa said, "this is my slave...Shaay. He's weak, but he's light, so I don't think you'll have any problem. If you would."
"Yes, your majesty."
With his eyes screwed shut, Quatre felt Rashid scoop him up, carrying him like a child into the palace. Trembling enough to lose his breath, he began to breathe faster and faster until he heard his transport chuckle, the massive chest rumbling around him.
"Calm down, little one," Rashid said. "I'm not going to hurt you."
"But," Quatre said, peeking up at him, "you're so big."
"That's because my father put it in deep," he said, chuckling again.
"Enough." Trowa stopped and looked at him. "No bawdy jokes in front of him. He doesn't understand and it's distracting me."
"My apologies," Rashid said, bowing low and drawing a squeak out of his charge. "It was a good one though, yes?"
"Yes."
After a few minutes of walking, they came to the main room with one throne at the raised end of the long carpet. Strips along the walls showed where Wahea had torn out the best tiles and dug out the gold plate script. Posts once holding ivory statues now held a layer of dust, and holes in the ceiling hinted at fine curtains that once hung around the throne. Vastly different from his memory, Quatre buried his face in Rashid's shirt, too distracted to notice as the guard shifted him to one arm. Rashid gently rubbed the small back, smiling when Quatre's body relaxed a little.
"Lord Barton," Trowa said, barely inclining his head.
Startled from examining one of the stripped walls, a middle-aged man in a dark black suit turned and bowed. "Your majesty. Forgive my inattention. I was simply admiring the craftsmanship in the building."
Peeking out of the corner of his eye, Quatre watched Barton walk towards Trowa. Nausea welled up in his stomach and he closed his eyes, huddling against Rashid again.
"The masons built her to last," Trowa said. "Even without all her fine decorations."
"I suppose that is why you chose a simple attire," Barton said, hiding his rings under his velvet cloak. "Finery does seem out of place here, for the moment at least."
"For a long time to come," Trowa said. "Too many years of civil war has crushed Corazon. Many years will pass before I can return it to its former glory." He looked over Barton's leather boots and belt, clean linens and gold chains. "You seem to have weathered the destruction well."
"Wahea found my services to her liking and rewarded me for them. I believe rob a burning house is the expression." Barton motioned at Quatre, taking a step closer. "It seems you have robbed the house as well. I don't recall seeing this particular slave in Wahea's harem. None of them had gold hair."
"Indeed." Trowa walked towards his throne, followed by Rashid. "Harems are a distraction, but one slave should be all I desire. But I doubt you came here to compliment my little exotic." He sat down and motioned Rashid to stand behind him.
"True." Barton stood a few feet away, folding his arms as he stared at the young king. "I came to offer my loyalty and my services."
"I never doubted your loyalty," Trowa said. "I'm certain your loyalties will never waver."
"But your majesty did not make use of my troops," Barton said, "nor my own sorcery. Even Wahea's father put my skills to use. All of his children were magick constructions."
Shaking his head, Trowa hid behind a smile. "I am a soldier at heart. I will always prefer cold steel to magick. As for your troops, please do not be offended, but I wage war with troops whose strengths and weaknesses I already know."
"Of course, but now that you are left with a skeleton defense, surely you will require soldiers and guards already trained and outfitted." Barton smiled and held one hand out, the rings sparkling in the sunlight. "I'm sure my own soldiers will not disappoint."
"I know they wouldn't," Trowa said, giving him a smile that did not reach his eyes. "But the fall harvest will come in soon, and the taxes Wahea put in place will give me enough to take on soldiers from around the kingdom. I would prefer to help Corazon first."
"But for your own defense--"
"My defense is seen to. I have no reason to fear. Besides, I would hate to deprive you of your guards if you feel they are necessary."
His smile slipping, Barton nodded once. "Of course. Thank you, your majesty."
"If there is anything else?" Trowa asked. "Normally I would ask you to stay for dinner, but I won't be able to hold formal banquets for quite some time."
"Again, thank you, but that was my only business." Barton half-turned to leave. "If you do require my services at any time..."
"I will be certain to ask you first. Good day, Lord Barton."
"Good day, your Majesty." Barton walked out of the throne room and disappeared down the hall, flanked by two guards.
"What a little annoyance," Rashid muttered.
"That could turn into a very big annoyance," Trowa said as he stood. "Sooner or later I'll see him twitching at the end of my knife." He looked over his shoulder at Quatre, curled up in one of Rashid's arms. "Is he all right?"
"I don't think he likes Lord Barton," he said. "He's just a little nervous, that's all."
"Take him to the baths and stand guard. I'll be there shortly."
Looking up, Quatre watched Trowa leave the hall and then watched the walls pass by him as Rashid carried him down a different route. Soldiers passed by them, glancing once or twice at the blue butterfly in the giant's arms but mostly ignoring them, until Rashid took him down several steps into the subterranean level of the palace lit only by torches fixed in the walls. His footsteps echoed like cannon fire.
"Calm down, little one," Rashid said when Quatre tightened his grip on his shirt. "No monsters in here."
"What's down here?" he asked.
"The baths. I think your sorcerer friend left a spell on it since the water sparkles like an oasis." He set Quatre down on a carved stone bench and stood. "Now stay put and don't wander around. I'll be at the door at the top of the steps should the shadows scare you too much."
While Rashid left back up the stairs, Quatre looked around himself. Little had changed in the ten years he hadn't seen this room. Hewn into rock, the walls were chiseled stone while white tile covered the floor. Finely carved gold fixtures had been replaced with iron or not at all so that the towels lay folded on the floor, but the black torch holders, carved ornately into the stone, remained. All the seats in the room were benches carved in stone and held depictions of heaven and hell, and the polished surfaces gleamed.
He inhaled, smelling lavender and lilacs and bringing memories of relaxing in a pool of water, hidden from the noontime heat. The wall behind him seemed clean, so he leaned back and gently rubbed his cheek against the cold stone.
"You'll tear your veil if you're not careful," Trowa said.
"Aah!" Quatre fell sideways onto the floor and landed on the hard tile, his slippers sliding either way. He tried to sit up, but Trowa knelt beside him.
"Stay put," he said, splaying his hand on Quatre's chest. He saw his slave open his mouth, then close it again. "What is it?"
"How did you come in so quietly?" Quatre asked. "Rashid's footsteps echoed."
"Rashid echoes anywhere," Trowa said. He undid the clasp holding Quatre's veil and slid it off along with the jeweled headdress. "And I'm quiet everywhere."
"Oh." Quatre felt his face warm as Trowa undid the clasps on the sides of his tunic and slid the shirt over his head. His slippers came off next, and then his master untied the drawstrings on his pants. In a few seconds, Quatre lay naked before him.
"You're hungry, aren't you?" Trowa asked, lightly touching his gaunt face and side. "My apologies. I didn't think. I'll have something sent to you in the garden after this."
"Thank you, master." He smiled and looked up, hoping to see Trowa smile back. Instead he gasped as his master slid off his shirt. "You're hurt!"
"No, I'm fine." Trowa stared at him, wondering what he meant.
"But...these lines," Quatre traced his fingers along the nearest dark pink line on Trowa, a raised slash over his chest. "Don't they hurt?"
"They did, once." Trowa gave him a half smile and extended his arm, allowing Quatre to touch the smaller marks. "They're scars."
"That's a scar?" Quatre examined them up to Trowa's shoulder and found many more disappearing on to his back. "That's not at all what I imagined."
"You've never bled?" Trowa asked.
"Once. Wahea hit me when she threw me into my cell." Quatre tilted his head and pointed to the skin next to his left eye. "I don't know if there's a scar or not. I don't feel anything."
"No," Trowa said, shaking his head. "Did she let you have a mirror? Did Wufei?"
"I never thought of that," Quatre said. "My cell was always dark. All I had was a candle. When Wufei took me to the tower, I only wanted to look at the sun and the city."
"Come here." Trowa held his hand and walked him to the nearest pool, kneeling so he could see into it. "Take a look."
As he leaned over the water, Quatre breathed in sharply. Blue eyes looked back at him. He stared at his reflection for several seconds, turning his face one way or another. He trailed his hand down his cheek and lips. "I look funny."
"You're not used to your reflection," Trowa said. He kicked off his boots and pants and slid into the chest-deep water, sighing as the daytime heat disappeared.
The water rippled and Quatre's image wavered and disappeared. "Is it cold?" he asked.
"Cool. You won't freeze." Trowa reached out and took his hands. "Come on."
Quatre swung his legs over the edge and let Trowa pull him in, throwing his arms around his master's neck. "I can't feel the bottom. It's not there."
"Yes it is," Trowa said. "You're just too short." He bent down, letting Quatre hold on as tight as he wanted until he felt his feet touch the floor. "See?"
Water lapped at his throat as he blinked and stepped back. "It feels weird. I haven't been in water like this in years."
Taking a few steps closer, Trowa took a bar of soap and turned Quatre around. "Hold still." He lathered up Quatre's hair, then dunked him backwards and rinsed the soap out before it could reach his eyes. "Quatre, earlier in the garden, you said you could read the stars. If I take you outside tonight, can you do it?"
"If I can see the whole sky." He kept speaking, trying to take his mind off of Trowa's hands now cleaning the rest of him off. "Wufei used to take me to the roof."
"Didn't anyone ever see you?"
"Not that high up." He wiped water from his forehead. "What do you want me to read for?"
"You have to have a question in mind?"
"In a way. If I don't focus on something, the reading'll go everywhere."
"How? The stars don't move that much during the night." Trowa turned him around and dipped his hand in the water, wiping off dust on Quatre's face and throat. "How can a reading change?"
"Star movement doesn't change anything," Quatre said.
"But every astrologer I've ever met said that stars and planets have to be in a certain spot."
"Then they're wrong. The way they move isn't important, it's the light in the darkness."
"What do you mean?" Trowa pulled his slave closer to the edge and showed him the bench built into the pool's wall. "Here, sit down. You'll be higher up."
Quatre felt the tile ledge behind his waist and sat, smiling when his shoulders and arms now came out of the water. "I'd forgotten all about these."
Beside him, Trowa sat down, leaned against the wall and stretched out his arms. "What did you mean, light in darkness?"
"The light's all that matters," Quatre said. "The way it twinkles and flickers is all. It's a little like watching a candle in a small, dark room."
"And they're accurate?"
"Mm-hmm."
I'll have to tell Heero about this, Trowa thought. And he'll probably chase away every fortuneteller that comes to the palace. His palace. He stared at his image in the water, examining his face as the surface stilled. He hadn't realized how tired he looked.
"--right?"
"What?" he asked, looking to his left.
"Are you all right?" Quatre bent forward, trying to see his face. "You felt tired for a moment."
"Do you always do that?" Trowa asked.
"Do what?"
"Pick up what I'm feeling."
"I just feel it. I can't stop feeling what others do."
"So you can't control it." Trowa nodded once. "What did you feel around Barton?"
"I don't like Barton," Quatre said. "I feel sick around him, like I'm going to throw up."
"You feel that from him? Do you feel things like that from everyone?"
"Not like that," Quatre said. "Rashid is all right. He just feels...overwhelming. Like he's going to bunch me into a little ball and eat me, even if I know he won't."
Trowa chuckled once. "And what about me? What do I make you feel?"
"Um..." he felt Trowa's hand lift his chin, and he obeyed despite the flush on his cheeks. "You're different. You feel confident and strong and..."
"And?"
"Sad." He looked up into his eyes. "You feel lonely. Like you want to be touched but you're afraid of it. You want to be in control all the time, because you're afraid of something."
The hand slid away and Trowa glanced at the far wall. Water echoed in the darkness. The room grew so quiet they could hear the torch flames rustling. Quatre wondered if he'd angered his master.
"Barton said your father created his children magickally," Trowa said. "Is that true?"
"Yes." Quatre let his shoulders droop and he skimmed his hand over the water. "The servant children called us homunculi and stayed away from us. They said he couldn't get any women pregnant so he hired a sorcerer."
"Mm." After a few seconds, Trowa climbed out of the pool and toweled off. "Get up. Rashid'll take you back to the garden."
By the time Quatre had dried himself, Trowa was gone. He finished dressing and wrung out his hair, then walked upstairs and leaned against Rashid before the big man could notice him.
"You all right?" he asked.
"I'm fine." Quatre said as he was scooped up. He sighed and closed his eyes. "I think I made Trowa mad."
"Oh, I'm sure it isn't too bad," Rashid said. "Who could possibly stay angry with you for long?"
"But he seemed angry."
"Trust me, little one. I've served his highness for years now. He will never show you his true emotions."
"That's probably why he was angry," Quatre whispered.
After being carried to the garden, he lay beside the pond and trailed his hand in the water. Lunch came in the form of grapes and sliced apples, with some kind of meat on the side.
"Remember, use the knife to cut it to pieces," Rashid said. "And don't eat the bones or the seeds."
Quatre looked up at him. "How did you know I haven't eaten like this before?"
"As little as you are, you must have been on a bread and water diet. Hm?"
"And a few leaves of some plant," he said. "Thank you."
Full and warm in the shade, he felt physically tired for the first time in years and lay down to watch the shadows slide across the ground. Soft grass pressed against his cheek, and he wondered how they brought enough water here to let it grow. Jasmine wafted through the air, a few petals landing on his body. He closed his eyes and stretched before relaxing on the grass.
A burst of light made him open his eyes, and he found a white star no bigger than his hand bouncing along the path towards him. He sat up and stared at it. Its edges seemed to be cut out of paper, folding and curling in on itself, until it stopped in front of his face and spun faster and faster. The wind produced pushed his hair back, and the star's edges blurred until they solidified into a glowing white ball.
Covered with cratered shadows, the miniature moon sparkled as it rotated, and Quatre reached out to touch it. The moment his fingers tapped the surface the moon's light flared until it filled the whole garden. Unable to stand the light, he turned aside until the white flash faded to a sunny glow. When he looked up again, he found that the moon had transformed into a golden ball like he had read in a story of a princess and a frog.
"Quatre," it whispered.
Chills ran down his spine. He gasped and backed against the wall, wincing when it floated closer.
"Quatre."
Well, it hasn't burned me yet, he thought. Swallowing once, he put his hand out again.
Another hand grasped his and the sun disappeared, revealing his master's face.
"Wake up," Trowa said. "I've been looking for you."
"Huh?" He rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Was I dreaming?"
As Trowa picked him up, Quatre looked around the garden. Stars filled the sky but the moon lay hidden behind a patch of thick clouds. "How long have I been asleep?"
"I don't know. Hours, probably." He carried his slave into the palace and up a flight of stairs. "I sent the Maganacs to find you, but none of them did. For awhile I thought you'd found a way through the gates."
"Why would I go outside?" Quatre asked. "No one knows me. I'd just be another street orphan." His look turned thoughtful. "Although that's the kind that tend to have adventures with genies and witches and dragons."
"I hate to spoil your worldview, but your faerie tale books aren't reality," Trowa said. "The only witches I've met are breast-worshiping fakes, and genies are not to be trifled with."
"What about dragons? Wufei had one who helped him cast spells."
"That may be the only reason it didn't attack you."
"Mm, she was pretty unfriendly to everyone else but us." Quatre lay his head on Trowa's shoulder. "Even less reason to try to escape, then."
Telling the forgotten prince that hundreds of people still hoped for his return would be less than prudent, so Trowa said nothing. After three more hallways and staircases, they came out onto the roof. Trowa set Quatre down and sat beside him, just out of arm's reach.
"Can you see all the stars from here?" he asked.
"This is good. What do you want me to read for?"
"Rebellion. I need to know if we really are in danger or if my uncle's trying to scare me."
Quatre nodded and looked up at the sky. To Trowa, the stars twinkled in the rising desert heat, but Quatre saw patterns of light against the void, stars flaring and dimming, spinning and speaking.
"Peace," he whispered, squinting his eyes at the light. "It's grudging...people don't like you...no, they don't like you what you did. But..."
Trowa leaned closer, trying to hear him. "But what?"
"They hated Wahea. They hated my sisters." He titled his head. "Some of them want another king, one from this land, but they can't find one."
"Oh?"
"They...they're tired. I think they want to wait and see."
"See what?"
"I..." Quatre shook his head and looked up again. "I...don't know. It's not clear. They think something's going to happen. One way or the other, something's going to happen. They want to see what it is before they act."
"And my uncle?"
"Um...he..." He narrowed his eyes. "Are you sure you have an uncle? It's fuzzy."
"Yes," Trowa said. "Just tell me what you can."
"But all I'm seeing is Lord Barton--"
"I trust you." Trowa lay his hand on Quatre's shoulder. "Keep reading."
"Um, okay." He took a deep breath and turned to face another part of the sky. "He...is not good. He has...two faces? What does that mean?"
"I'll explain it later. Keep going."
"He doesn't like you. He wants to be where you are." A cold chill ran down his body, but he continued, fighting the trembling in his muscles. "And he's gone into the city...saying he wants a king who's been here his whole life, but it's a trick."
Damn, he might suspect, Trowa thought, looking at his slave. Quatre would be an ideal puppet. But his sisters didn't have blond hair. Iria came the closest, and she wasn't too fair.
"And something to do with Lagrange," Quatre said, unaware of his master's look. "But I can't see what. Something about one of his youngest relatives, but it's too fuzzy."
A waver in Quatre's voice made Trowa closer look at his slave. The blonde's eyes held a faraway stare and his breathing had quickened, but he shivered so much that Trowa wondered how he'd missed it. He touched Quatre's forehead and winced.
"You have a fever," he said as he stood. He picked Quatre back up and carried him into the palace.
Quatre didn't say anything, only drowsed until he felt himself set on a bed.
"You must be real," Trowa said. "Barton is my uncle."
"But I thought you came from Lagrange."
"I'll explain it to you sometime." Trowa said, sliding his fingers under Quatre's veil and along his cheek. "What luck. My slave is a real prophet. And completely submissive."
"I'm no prophet," Quatre sighed, too tired to help undress himself. "Sometimes I think reading the stars only tells us what we already know."
"Then why would we want to hear it again?"
"Maybe...because we don't want to know what we know?" He waited as Trowa took off his veil. "Because we want things to be different. Wufei used to say that all the magick in the world won't change anything if we don't do it ourselves."
"Strange words for a sorcerer." Trowa undid the clasps on Quatre's tunic and pulled it over his head. "Raise your hips a little."
A flush that had nothing to do with his fever crept onto his cheeks as he obeyed. "I don't think he likes being a sorcerer much. He said people with magick never want it, and people who want it don't know what real magick is." His pants slid away, and a moment later Trowa lay down.
"It's all right, don't be scared." Trowa stretched out beside his slave and put his arm around him, his hand stroking the bared stomach for a few stomachs. "Nothing tonight. We're both too tired."
"Yes, master," Quatre whispered.
Trowa raised his head. "You've never lain with anyone, have you? Of course not, how could you?" He smoothed Quatre's hair from his face and pulled him closer. "Don't worry. I won't hurt you."
"I know," he whispered back. "I can feel it."
*
The next morning, Quatre woke up alone. A dark green outfit, much like yesterday's gauzy suit, lay beside him, complete with a new green veil. He sat up and looked around the room, then pulled the suit closer and dressed. He reached for the veil and headdress with it. Something jangled when he moved them, and when he leaned closer, he found a pile of silver bracelets and anklets, each open with an obvious catch on the end.
One by one he placed the bracelets on his arm, locking each clasp. After the fifth bracelet he realized he couldn't remove them if he tried. When he tugged on them, he only bruised his wrist. The anklets twisted around each other so that the three of them only clasped around one ankle, but the noise would warn anyone that he was coming.
Someone knocked on the door, and he slid off the bed. Jangling like a handful of bells, Quatre crossed the room and opened the door, looking out. "Rashid?"
"Hello little one." Rashid bent and offered one arm. "Ready to go to the garden?"
"I...yes." The pair walked down the halls, passing more soldiers than the day before. Some of them wore the same red and black outfit Rashid did. "Who are they?"
"Hm, who?" He followed Quatre's look at the soldiers ahead of them. "Ah, I see. They're Maganacs, same as I am."
"What's a Manganac?"
"Maganac. We're Trowa's inner guard, but he's given us a new assignment."
"What's that?"
"You." They entered the garden and walked down the path. Rashid kept his steps small so Quatre didn't have to keep up. After a moment, they stopped at a bench surrounded by thorn bushes and Quatre sat down, his light green outfit framed by the darker leaves.
"How many Maganacs are there?"
"Forty."
Staring with wide eyes, Quatre looked up at his guard. "So many? Are they all as big as you?"
His head slowly tilting backward, Rashid laughed and knelt so they could see eye to eye. "We wear the same uniform, but we look nothing alike. Would you like to meet a few of us?"
"Could I? Would Trowa let me?"
"Of course, he ordered me to. The guards should know who they're protecting," Rashid said. "As long as you keep that veil on, we'll be fine." He stood straight, towering over the plants, and waved a couple guards over. "Abdul, Ali, come introduce yourselves to our young charge."
Quatre's eyes lit over his veil as the two men approached, their hat tassels jostling about. "Oh, they're not giants after all."
"Perhaps you will find them a little less intimidating," Rashid said. "Men, this is our little charge Shaay, Trowa's consort."
"An honor to meet you," the first said. "I see lazy Rashid here does not intend to introduce us." He continued speaking over the taller man's protest. "I am Abdul ibn Nerun ibn Rashid ibn Haroun ibn Fa--"
"Enough," the second said. "We'll be here for hours if you keep that up. Just ignore him, young one, he's full of himself. My name is Ahmed, his smarter brother."
"You're all brothers," Rashid said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "If only Master Trowa would let me hit you once in awhile..."
"Then our corps would be down by a man," Abdul said. "Mind his hands, Shaay. He's killed lesser men with love taps."
"Yes," Ahmed said. "Many, many love taps."
"Cease your insinuations!" Rashid said as he tried to smack him, missing by a few inches. "Forgive them, little one, but they're younger than most of the others, and you know what they say about copies of copies."
"Copies?" Quatre asked.
"Legrange's previous sorcerer made us to be loyal guards, but later on we were assigned to Master Trowa's guard." Ahmed grinned at Rashid. "And I think he improved on the original."
While the brothers bickered, Quatre slowly smiled behind his veil. They were just like him, magickal constructions, only..."You aren't anything alike."
All three of them blinked and looked at him for a moment, then broke into laughter.
"Don't tell me you believe that old woman's tale?" Ahmed said. "That we're just animated dolls who think alike--"
"--and finish each other's sentences?" Abdul said.
Seeing Quatre's wide eyes, Rashid shook his head and lay his hand on his charge's shoulder. "They're just teasing you. They do it to everyone. But no, magickal constructs are not like homunculi. Do you know how we're made?"
Quatre shook his head hard enough to dislodge his veil. He drew it down before it rose too high.
"A small bit of blood and soul is taken from the father and put into the chosen female. Sometimes a large container is used when there is no female. Otherwise we come to being like every other child, with our own souls and personalities." He smiled and stretched his arms, easily twice his brother's length. "Obviously we're not copies. Several twins, maybe."
"But the servant children always said that we...I mean, that constructs are crimes against God."
"They also say that bleeding will cure any illness." He ruffled Quatre's headdress while Ahmed and Abdul sat down beside them. "Don't listen too hard to uneducated fools, little one. No one living could ever be a soulless copy unless they allow themselves to be."
*
In his bedchambers, Trowa sat at his table reading through a thick bound volume when he heard a knock on the door. "Who is it?"
"Master Trowa," Rashid said softly, "I've brought Shaay as you requested."
Curious about his guard's unusually restrained voice, Trowa looked up from his book. "Enter."
The handle turned a few times before the latch fell back. Rashid eased into the room, Quatre nestled in his arms and fast asleep.
"Put him to bed," Trowa said. "What tired him so much? It's barely dusk."
"Introductions to forty Maganacs," Rashid said, easing Quatre so that his head and shoulders lay on a pillow. "My lord, may I ask a question?"
"Of course."
"Is he a construct like us? He seemed to slip when he saw Abdul and Ahmed."
Trowa breathed deep and closed his book. "No. But he thinks he is. He's led a very strange life. He only knows what he's been told, and that's usually hearsay."
"I see." Rashid stood and walked back to the door, waiting for his dismissal.
"Rashid." Still seated, Trowa tapped his fingers on the volume beside him for a moment. "Your brothers are all well educated, yes?"
"Of course. All my brothers are experts in some field or another." He watched Trowa nod his head, as if making up his mind. "Your majesty?"
"I swear you call me that to annoy me," Trowa said. "Shaay will require an education, and I would rather use people I trust, not tutors I'd have to hire from here. Can your brothers do it without neglecting palace security?"
"Yes, your majesty, only...my siblings have a rather raunchy sense of humor."
"No, really?" Trowa said with a smirk. "Where on earth did they get that from?"
Turning slightly red, Rashid went on. "My point is that your angel may get more of an education than you want."
"I'm sure he'll be fine. Tell your brothers to try a bit of decorum, they may like the change of pace." He picked up his book and walked towards the bed, closing the window on the way. "Thank you for bringing him in, Rashid."
Recognizing his dismissal, the large man bowed and left, securing the door behind himself. Trowa closed the new curtains and stripped off his clothes, leaving them in a pile at the foot of the bed. Still asleep, Quatre mumbled in his sleep and turned slightly when Trowa began to undress him.
"Mm...pretty...sparkly." His eyes opened as Trowa reached his pants. "Master?"
"Relax. What were you dreaming about?" He watched Quatre's face tinge pink and realized that his slave would probably blush at such contact forever.
"Same dream I had this morning." He yawned, pressing his hand over his mouth, and closed his eyes. "A pretty white star that turns into a moon and then a sun."
"Does it mean anything?"
"Mm-hmm." He turned on his side and smiled as Trowa slid in with him. "It's good. The star means spiritual inspiration, lots of love. The moon means I'm getting stronger, which is good because I may need it."
The cynical part of Trowa's mind wondered if that was so good. "And the sun?"
"Um...the future's gonna be good no matter how things are now. And...um, a good marriage."
"That's good." He listened to his slave's breathing come slower until it evened out, sparing one more glance at the book he'd found earlier, Quatre's father's journal. Once he finished reading it, the book would make a perfect gift for his slave, at least until he came to his mother's death. But then he'll know for certain that he won't turn out like his sisters, Trowa thought. He pressed a kiss to his concubine's cheek and put his arm around Quatre's waist, sliding it down to his slave's thigh. Comfortable in that position, he fell asleep.
~*~*~*~
Two months later, Quatre woke up with a headache and a sore bottom. He groaned and turned over, pressing his face into the pillow and blocking out the sunlight. Someone gently shook his shoulder and he mumbled something unintelligible.
"You have to wake up sometime," Trowa said, sitting beside him. "Even if you have a break from your lessons today."
"Mmf. More like a break from Abdul and Rashid's awful jokes." He forced his eyes open and looked at his master. "Just a few more hours? You exhausted me last night."
"I'm glad you liked it." Trowa pulled the blankets back and patted Quatre's rear end. "Anyway, I have something for you."
"Hm?" Quatre pushed himself up on one arm and looked at the bundle of cloth in his hands. "What is it?"
"A gift and a letter from your friend Wufei."
Wide awake and his headache gone, Quatre watched his master set the bundle down and remove the cloth around it, revealing a rolled paper closed with Treize Khushrenada's seal on red wax and a box that rattled. Quatre broke the seal while Trowa examined the box.
"It doesn't have any hinges or lids," he said.
"It's a puzzle box," Quatre said. "Wufei said they had them in his clan, and they're fun to solve. There's probably a smaller puzzle inside." He unfurled the letter and sat straight, not surprised when Trowa looked over his shoulder. "What the...?"
The page in his hands was blank and he wondered if Wufei had sent the wrong paper. A moment later, dark swirls appeared on the page, blurred at first, then more distinct, until they could read the words.
My Friend,
I don't know how this will reach you, or even if it will, so only your touch will unlock my spell. I don't know if the caravan bringing this will arrive safely, or if your master will allow you to read it. My master assures me that Trowa will be fair and just, but I will not be certain of that until I receive a reply. I hope you are well.
Lagrange is vastly different from Corazon. People crowd the streets even after dusk, the market is always full, and the palace is grander than anything I have ever seen. I have never seen so many people crammed into once place. Lagrange Palace can also be more dangerous, even without a war. Last night an assassin found his way into the prince's chambers. Of course the prince killed him, but I think I may be required to add a defensive shield to this place.
I feel guilty admitting this, but while I would prefer otherwise, being owned by Treize is not unpleasant. He protects me and allows me a large berth, allowing me to roam the palace if I desire. He listens to me more than anyone else. He made certain I placed a geis on myself to obey his commands, but he has never resorted to using it. When my spells take too much of my strength, he is kind and gentle, helping me with the most basic things. Sometimes I think he enjoys taking care of me. We have bathed together. We sleep in the same bed.
And I think I have fallen in love with him.
Maybe it isn't so surprising when I think about it. The ride to Lagrange wore everyone down, but he took care of me and let me ride the whole way. He trusts me as if I was a round eyes. He touches me as if I were a flower and holds me close at night. No, we haven't done anything. Not that. I know he wants me that way and he's willing to wait for me, but it scares me. I know, I am never afraid, but I've never felt this before. I feel awful making him wait and I know I'm lucky to have him for a master, but if I give in to this, he will own me more completely than he does now, and it frightens me.
Amazing, just a few weeks now and already I'm in love with the enemy. I don't know which of us is more ridiculous for it. I hope you are having better luck than I am, or at least know your place. I'm sorry, I didn't mean for that to sound cruel, but here I don't know my place. Treize treats me like an equal, most of the time anyway, the king intends to use me as a kind of assistant for his own spells, even the other officers here are kind, but I still wear this damn slave pin with the geis on it.
Please write, if your master will allow it. Despite my duties, I have far too much free time. I remembered your proclivity for puzzles, and I hope the ones I sent make it to you. I hope to hear from you. I always value your judgment, especially regarding round eyes.
Stay strong,
Wufei
Trailing his fingers over the page once more, Quatre looked up at Trowa. "May I write him back? I promise I won't say anything you don't want me to."
"Of course." He put his fingers under Quatre's chin and tilted his head back, stealing a kiss before he fastened the veil, white today. "He's your friend. I have some paper and ink here you can use. Try not to spill it."
Before he could finish dressing, Trowa had left his ink and paper on the table, along with a red quill pen. "Since I don't think you have a conceal spell handy, I'll look over your letter when you're done. It's your first one, so don't feel bad when I have to take some things out of it. "
"It's okay," Quatre said, sitting down. "I'm not sure what's a secret and what isn't."
"For starters, sign yourself Q or Shaay, and try to speak in vague terms." He stood behind Quatre and lay his hands on his shoulders, squeezing once. Quatre smiled and set one hand on Trowa's.
For a moment, Trowa tensed, tightening his grip so that his slave winced. Then his breathing slowed and he relaxed his hands, allowing Quatre to stroke his fingers. He sighed and ran his free hand through his slave's hair before stepping back.
"Don't open that box without me. I want to see how it works."
Smiling, Quatre shook his head. "I won't. Will you teach me more fighting after dinner?"
"Not tonight, I have other things I want to teach you...in bed." He walked to the door and glanced over his shoulder at Quatre. "You don't like blindfolds, but there are other things I'll teach you about. That won't make you even more sore," he said when he saw his slave's wide eyes. "I'll see you at dinner."
Once his master locked the door after himself, Quatre kicked off his slippers and leaned over Wufei's letter, reading it once again before he started to write.
End