Notes and disclaimer in the Prologue.
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Sure ThingChapter Six
~ Five Years Later ~
"Treize, stop the carriage!"
The tall man with wavy ginger hair looked curiously at the young woman seated across from him. "What is it, your Majesty?"
"Just stop the carriage!" The woman leaned out of the window eagerly and Treize sighed, leaning out as well to tell the driver to stop. "What do you think of that?" She asked, pointing at a lone man working in a field next to the road. Treize rolled his eyes slightly and followed her finger. The man was stooped over, pulling at some stubborn weeds, his golden hair blowing slightly in the wind, his straw hat lying forgotten on the ground nearby.
"I think that he is a peasant, Majesty." Treize said simply. It was the woman's turn to roll her eyes, though she did so directly at him.
"I don't care. He's perfect." She said in a haughty voice. Treize looked at the man again who was quickly losing the battle against the weeds. It was true, he was perfect. The man looked as if he'd never really done work in the fields before. "Call him over." She commanded.
"Excuse me, good sir," Treize called out. The blonde man had just grabbed up a hoe and was hacking madly at the offending plants. He stopped in mid swing at the sound of the voice and looked up, noticing for the first time the carriage stopped in the road. Treize saw his eyes trail to the Royal Crest on the door and he took an uncertain step back. "Could you come over here, we would have a word with you." The man paused for a fraction of a second before walking slowly up to the carriage.
"Milord?" Came a soft tenor, his face studiously blank.
"We were driving here, when my companion spotted you working in the field. Tell me, do you own that field?" Treize asked.
"Aye, Milord. I do."
"Are you planning on selling it any time soon?"
"Milord?"
"Answer the question yes or no." Came a sharp female voice from the other side of the carriage and the man turned his gaze to see a young woman peering at him with severe blue eyes under strange forked eyebrows.
He seemed to hesitate with a slight sense of rebellion before caving in. "No, Milord. This field has been a part of the Winner property for countless years."
"So you are Quatre Winner, then?"
"Aye, I am, Milord."
"It's a pleasure to meet you. My companion here is the heiress to the throne, Princess Dorothy Catalonia. And I am Duke Treize Kushrenada." Treize said in his most pleasant tone, and watched as Quatre's face lost all expression, his aquamarine eyes empty.
"It is very nice to meet both of you. However, I have need to return to my fields. Next year's crop won't plant itself. If I may, Your Majesty, Milord." Quatre said in a dull voice, bowing to both of them before turning to walk away.
"Treize, stop him!" Dorothy cried plaintively.
"Hold there, young man. You are well aware of the etiquette in this land. Never turn your back on those in a higher social status," Treize called out in his still pleasant tone.
Quatre halted a few feet away, his head hanging a bit as he considered his next course of action. He made a decision and turned back to the carriage, his head now held high with the little pride he could still muster. "Of course, Milord. Please do forgive my inattentiveness. It's not every day I have the privilege of speaking with royalty."
"It may become a more frequent event, Mr. Winner." Dorothy smirked knowingly at him, "We have a proposition for you…well, it's more of a proposal, really."
"Really, Your Majesty?" Quatre sounded politely interested, which was not enough for the princess, who narrowed her eyes at the young man standing before them.
"Yes, really. As you know, I am allowed to choose any man I wish to for my husband. That includes peasants like you, and I have decided that my husband is to be a peasant. I have also already decided who that man is to be." Dorothy said, proudly straightening her back.
"Then I believe congratulations are in store for your Highness. May I ask who the lucky groom to be is?" Quatre said softly, with a sinking feeling he knew exactly who the unlucky bugger was.
"You, of course." Dorothy announced, a dangerous glint in her eye warning him not to object. Which he chose to ignore.
"And I have no say in this?" He asked, a slightly frown creasing his forehead.
"Her Majesty's word is law in this matter." Treize said, smiling at the young woman.
"But what of my farm? My family's worked it for generations and there is no one I can leave it to." Quatre protested.
Dorothy sighed, rolling her eyes. "You are going to own an entire country in a few months, and you're worried about a few acres of barely fertile land that scrapes out a few hundred pounds of crops each year."
"I haven't agreed to marrying you," Quatre said stubbornly, the two other people looked at each other, sensing the word 'yet' hanging in the air. Treize leaned forward, smiling amiably.
"Well, Mr. Winner," his voice was warm and calming, but Quatre could see his smile not even enter the vicinity of his bright blue eyes, "you have two choices here. The first is, marry Princess Dorothy and become king of a nearly five hundred year old country, sovereign to all those around you. The second is, refuse our offer, return to your little fragment of land and continue your existence as a poverty stricken peasant."
"You certainly do know how to sell something, Milord, if you do not mind me saying so," Quatre said unsmilingly, "but I'm afraid my answer will have to be no. I do not think I would be suitable for the princess, or any other woman."
"What could possibly make you think that?" Dorothy broke into the conversation. Quatre gazed at her levelly.
"I would think that, because I could not love you."
Treize and Dorothy were silent for a moment before breaking out into gales of laughter. "Love?" She sputtered out after catching her breath. "Who said anything about love? I'm asking you to marry me, Mr. Winner, not to love me. I just wish to be able to rule a kingdom when my father dies, and the only way I can do that is to marry a man. I care not a whit if that man loves me or not."
Quatre stared at her, his expression slightly stunned. "Why should I find your proposal of obligated matrimony more appealing than creating my own life out of this earth?"
It was Dorothy's turn to bemusedly stare at him. "Why? There's so much more to be gained from living the life of royalty, Mr. Winner. Power, wealth, more food in one sitting than what you could produce on this farm in one year. Fine clothing, sporting, a life of leisure."
"What if I still refuse?" Quatre asked quietly. It was Treize who answered him.
"Tell me, Mr. Winner, do you have any family?"
"Aye, I do, Milord. My sister, who is married and lives on a different farm near here."
"And tell me, Mr. Winner, would you be terribly upset if anything were to happen to your sister?"
Quatre gaped at the older man, dread washing over him like a tidal wave of monstrous proportions. "Are you telling me if I do not agree to marry Princess Dorothy, that you will…"
"I am not saying anything. I am just making it clear that a rejection would not be taken lightly by our young princess, would it, Your Highness?" Treize interrupted smoothly. Dorothy shook her head affirmatively.
"Indeed, it would not."
Quatre remained silent, his face pensive. After several moments he sighed and nodded his head. "Very well, Your Highness, I accept your proposal. I just ask that I be given a few days to see my farm is taken care of."
"Of course." Dorothy said, her eyes flashing victoriously, "We shall return for you by the end of this week. I hope by then all your affairs will be settled."
Quatre nodded, his expression carefully devoid of any emotion. "Aye, they will be, Your Highness." Without another word Treize hit the side of the carriage, signaling the driver to move on, and soon it was merely a distant silhouette on the dusty road, Quatre watching after it.
"You did what?" Hilde stared completely shocked at the blonde man as he sat at the writing desk, formulating how and who to leave the farm to.
"I have agreed to marry Princess Dorothy." He said simply, shifting through papers of ownership. Hilde sat abruptly on the edge of the bed.
"You cannot be serious. How did this happen?"
Quatre shrugged. "I'm not really certain at the moment. I was going to refuse…"
"And what made you change your mind?" Hilde's voice was hesitant and stunned.
"They had very persuasive arguments…"
"Like what? Money? Power?" Hilde began to sound angry, and Quatre flinched from the accusing words.
"Yes. All those. And something else." Quatre squinted hard at the papers in front of him, trying to concentrate.
Hilde felt her ire rising. "Oh, really. Well, Quatre Raberba Winner, I thought those things didn't matter to you. At least not to the Quatre I knew and Trowa loved." She instantly knew she'd gone too far when she saw his shoulders shaking. He was crying. "Oh, Quatre," she rose and wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a tight hug, "I'm sorry. I know those had nothing to do with your decision. As does Trowa."
"I don't understand how this happened." Quatre's voice was small and lost, and that's what Hilde knew he felt. Even after all of these years, it seemed as if Trowa had just died. Quatre was still lost without his love, he would always be until death or some miraculous reunion. "It wasn't meant to happen. I was meant to stay here on this farm. Just working the land. Farmer Quatre Winner. That's all. Nothing special."
Hilde tightened her grip. "You are special, Quatre, in everything you do. There is no one like you. And who knows? Perhaps this is a step working towards some wonderful scheme on the grand scale."
He sniffled slightly. "Thanks, Hil." He turned to look up at her. "Come with me? Help me get through this?"
"As if you could keep me away. Are you sure that's what you want?" She smiled down at him.
"Yes. You and Iria are the only ones that matter anything to me anymore. Iria has a family of her own and a life to deal with without me being a burden on her."
Hilde smiled, brushing his bangs out of his face, "You are not a burden, Quatre. You never were, and you never will be. You'll just continue being the wonderful, caring person you are."
Quatre smiled back, a ghost of his old mischievous personality sparking in his eyes. "Are you developing feelings for me, Hilde? Goodness, I don't know how that would work out. Her Majesty might become jealous."
Hilde laughed, flicking him on the tip of his nose with her finger. "Just you keep thinking that, Mr. Winner. Well, I suppose I'd better start packing my things." She turned to leave, but Quatre captured her wrist quickly. "Hilde…thank you. For everything."
"Sure thing." She smiled at him before leaving him alone with his thoughts.
~ Three Months Later ~
The village square was packed as it had never been before by people from all over the kingdom. They filled it to bursting, their noise and general jubilation nearly deafening. The main focus of their attention was a stone balcony seated high above them in the wall of the castle that formed one side to the square, and every eye kept glancing up at it for any sign of movement. After what seemed ages, there was a slight movement as a lone boy walked out and lifted a long trumpet decked in a scarlet hanging to his lips. He blew a few blasts, requesting the attention and silence of the people, who complied with an almost eerie suddenness. The boy lowered the trumpet to his side before announcing in a thin voice that carried remarkably well, "Their Majesties, the King, the Queen, and the Princess and His Excellency, Duke Kushrenada." The boy stepped back, allowing space for the four people to make their grand entrance. Both the king and queen were quite elderly, which was surprising considering how young their only child was, and the king appeared to be nothing short of doddering, his head nodding forward as if barely able to support the weight of the massive crown atop it. Dorothy was dressed spectacularly, as was her habit, her philosophy in life being 'If you can buy it, wear it." Treize looked as cool as he usually did, a rich blue cloak thrown casually over one shoulder revealing his broad chest.
He looked at the old king who nodded at him and stepped forward to the edge of the balcony. "Dear citizens," he called out, his rich baritone easily filling the quiet square, "As you are well aware, this kingdom shall be celebrating its five hundredth anniversary in a month's time. This is cause for celebration enough as it is. However, I do believe I have an announcement that will cause for double the rejoicing. As you know, Princess Dorothy has been given, as her birthright, the ability to select who is to be her husband and your future king. It is my great privilege to reveal that she has chosen a man like yourselves, a commoner. A commoner who shall become your ruler. Would you care to meet him?" The crowd answered in a resounding "Aye!" and Treize smiled. "Very well, may I present to you: Prince Quatre." The gaze of the people was drawn to a balcony lower on the wall, onto which emerged a slight man dressed in a light blue brocade tunic that blended perfectly with his eyes. The sun kissed the top of his golden head, creating an almost halo look, far more effective than any circlet he might have worn. He walked to the edge of the balcony, resting his hands on top of the stone railing, and bowed slightly to the people below him. There was another moment of silence before an unspoken command caused the people to sink to their knees in front of him.
Quatre felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight of the mass of people bowing before him. He never expected them to do this. Better get used to it. This is going to happen a lot more often, especially when you are king. He frowned slightly. No matter what that little voice told him, he knew he wouldn't ever become accustomed to this. It just wasn't who he was meant to be, despite all of Hilde's reassurances. Quatre looked up to where he could see Dorothy smiling possessively down at him. He didn't smile in return, in fact his smiles were rare and far between, only drawn out by Hilde or a random memory of Trowa. Trowa. He touched his chest at the collarbone, feeling the lump of the stone beneath his tunic. What would you do if you knew this had happened to me, Trowa? Quatre sighed, having a slight daydream of Trowa storming the walls of the fortress and whisking him away in his arms to a far off land. It isn't going to happen. He cannot do anything to save you now, Quatre. He hasn't been able to for over five years, he's dead, and you know it.
There were two things in Quatre's life he could point at as actually fulfilling at the moment. The first was the time he spent with Hilde, whether talking pleasantly, walking, or just sitting together in companionable silence as each lost themselves in his or her thoughts. The second was his daily ride out in the countryside. It allowed him a brief respite from everyone's presence, even Hilde's, in order to think without worry of being interrupted. Most of the time, these rides were filled with thoughts of Trowa. Dorothy had once asked him why he was always such a gloomy personality. He'd said, "I had someone special to my heart who was taken from me suddenly."
Dorothy sniffed pretentiously. "Huh, you'd better let it go then. This kingdom needs someone who doesn't dwell on what he doesn't have, Quatre. We need someone who'll be ambitious and look to the future and what he can get."
Though he'd been tempted to tell her to find that ambitious persona instead of marrying him, Quatre merely sighed and let the conversation drop. He knew her words did have a spark of reason to them. Nearly six years had passed since Trowa had been declared deceased by the Royal Navy, and most would consider that to be enough time to allow the recession of that person's memory to the back of the mind, where they would not be forgotten, but wouldn't be the first thought of every waking day. But Quatre couldn't bring himself to do it. Whether Trowa was dead or not didn't matter. He still loved him as blindly as he did the day Trowa showed up on their doorstep.
Quatre hummed a soft tune in time with the beat of his horse's hooves on the hard ground. It was a beautiful day, nary a cloud to blemish the robin egg hue of the sky, and he was taking full advantage of it by going out for a long ride. He looked over his shoulder, watching the castle recede into the distance. Sometimes he wished he could simply continue riding without returning to that dismal place, yet he could not bring himself to abandon Hilde there. She'd been too good a friend to him all of these years for him to do something like that to her.
So, he found himself turning the horse around every day to go back to the place that had become the bane of his existence. But today, he decided to ride a little bit further than he usually did. There was a promising forest ahead, the foliage turning in the onset of autumn, and the trees arched over the road creating a living tunnel of red and gold. Quatre spurred his horse forward, breaking into a gallop. The blur of trees and rush of cool wind around him was exhilarating, and he bent over his mount's neck, urging the animal to go faster.
With a sudden shout, his eyes widening in shock, he reined the horse in almost violently, narrowly missing running over three figures standing in the middle of the roadway. He leapt from the horse's back and nearly ran up to them, his legs shaking. "I am so sorry, I nearly hit you!" He cried out. One of the figures, another young man of about the same age as Quatre stepped forward, tossing a strange long braid of chestnut hair over his shoulder, his nearly violet eyes sparkling merrily.
"Not your fault, sir. We were the ones standing in the road, weren't we, Heero?" He said in a tone that was nearly as bright as his eyes, turning to the man on his right who merely gave a grunted "Hn." eyeing Quatre with intense cobalt eyes, nearly covered by shaggy brown hair falling into them. Quatre was still pale and shaking.
"Still, it was my fault. I shouldn't have been riding so fast on a public road, I know better than that. None of you were hurt, were you?" He said desperately, regret shining clearly in his tourmaline eyes.
"One would have to be really weak to be injured by a few scattering leaves and pebbles." Came a curt voice on the braided man's left. The voice belonged to a young man with strangely slanted black eyes and coal black hair pulled back into a severe ponytail.
"Are you sure you'll be fine?" Quatre asked, still apparently worried.
The braided man nodded affirmatively, a broad smile on his face. "Actually, we need to ask you for some directions. Is there a town nearby where we could stay for the evening? We've been traveling for a long time and need some rest and a good meal."
Quatre shook his head. "No, I'm sorry, there's not a town for miles around here. But, let me get my horse, and I'll take you to the nearest one, if that's all right with you."
The braided one grin widened even further, if that were possible. "That would be very kind of you, good sir." As Quatre turned to pick up his reins, he never noticed the quick wink the braided man gave Heero. Just before he was about to turn around he felt a sharp pinch on the side of his neck before descending into a swirling blackness.
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A/N: Not much to note here, except that from here on out I think I'll be following a little more closely to the Princess Bride plotline, changing a few things here and there. As to who Duo, Heero, and Wufei represent of the famous kidnapping trio from the movie you must read on to discover. ^_~