AN: My New Years' resolution is to try and type up a part as soon as it's written…but I warn you, I'm not known for keeping my New Years' resolutions
Disclaimer: I don't own em…just the twisted predicaments they find themselves in.
Warnings: …same as always…
Spoils of War: Ch. 10
"Nanashi? Shadow?!" Quatre and Heero repeated.
Trowa and Duo remained transfixed. Slowly kneeling down in front of Trowa, Duo reached out a hand to touch Trowa's cheek.
"Oh my God…" Duo choked, his eyes slightly shiny with tears. "Nanashi?"
Trowa nodded and was immediately clamped into the biggest hug he'd ever received. The air rushed out of his lungs as Duo squeezed tighter.
"You always were the emotional one Shadow." Trowa chuckled quietly.
"And you're still the smug bastard I remember!" Duo pulled away laughing and crying at the same time.
"Um…could someone please tell us what is going on?" Quatre asked sounding utterly confused.
"Sorry Quat." Duo panted wiping his eyes. "I hadn't realized it before, but I know Trowa. We kinda in a sense grew up together."
"Really?" Quatre looked from Duo to Trowa and back.
"Yes, until we were seven, I believe." Trowa nodded thoughtfully.
"You've really changed in ten years." Duo grinned at Trowa who allowed himself a small smile in return.
"So have you. But the Crown Prince's Royal Advisor? Reach for the stars much?"
"Hell yes! I'm just sorry to see you in chains again…" Duo's face fell momentarily.
"It's fine, don't worry about it. Trowa reassured Duo. The braided boy looked at him in confusion. "I'll explain later." Trowa promised.
Nodding Duo turned back to a mystified Quatre and Heero.
"Come on, we'd better get back to the banquet. The court's gonna want to know what happened to the crown prince."
Shrugging off his questions till later, Quatre called for the guards, wondering briefly why they hadn't already come, and followed Duo back to the dining hall after making sure the assassin was properly locked away. The dining room buzzed with whispers as Quatre and Duo reentered.
"Excuse me." Quatre called, immediately attracting everyone's' attention. "My Lords and Ladies, I apologize for the interruption. I think it would be best if we adjourn for the evening."
The company murmured their agreement and began to disperse.
"Come on Duo. We'd better find Princess Relena, I need to speak with her."
Duo nodded and followed Quatre as he laced through the crowd, searching for said monarch. Trowa and Heero followed silently.
"Princess Relena!" Quatre called spotting the Sanc Pacifist.
The princess turned, searching for her hailer. She was young, as young as the rest of them, Trowa could see. She had long wheat blonde hair that ran to the small of her back. A gold tiara crowned her head and she wore a white gown with a red sash, the Sanc kingdom emblem sewn onto the crimson fabric.
"Prince Quatre," she dropped into a small curtsy. Quatre hastily returned the favor with a small bow.
"Princess, I would like to speak with you, in private." Quatre spoke lowly; making sure no one else heard him.
"Certainly, where do you wish to meet?" Relena returned just as quietly.
"The library in my private halls. I'll have a servant take you there."
Relena nodded and Quatre called a small boy over.
"Could you please escort Princess Relena to my private library?" Quatre asked the boy.
"Certainly Your Majesty." He bowed to the blonde once and turned to Relena. "This way Highness." He bowed motioning toward the halls.
Nodding Relena turned and followed the boy out the door. Quatre turned back to the other three.
"Now that that's out of the way…Trowa! What happened?!?!"
Trowa threw a confused look at Quatre who sighed and turned his face to the right.
"This…" Quatre whispered, touching gentle fingers to the slash, the pale digits coming away stained bright red. Quatre shook his head and pulled a small white handkerchief from his sleeve. "Here." Quatre pressed the cloth to the wound. "Hold that there. I'll take care of it once we're back in our room."
Trowa took the cloth silently, applying pressure to cease the blood-flow and followed Quatre as he headed toward the library. Relena looked up as they entered and stood. The boy who escorted her stood just inside the door. Turning to him, Quatre whispered one last request before dismissing him. As soon as the boy had left, Quatre turned to his guest.
"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."
"Not at all." Relena smiled. "Now what did you wish to discuss with me?"
"I wanted to ask if slave trade still existed in Sanc."
"No, I put a stop to it as soon as possible."
"But people still own slaves, right?"
"Yes," Relena sighed. "That isn't as easy. I knew I'd get an open revolt if I tried to free them. So I decided that they can keep their current slaves until their death or the slaves are released."
"I see…"Quatre conceded.
"But people keep buying and selling slaves out of Sanc territory. With no way to tell if the slaves were new or not I had no choice but to let people keep their new "additions"."
"You have no way of knowing whether a slave is new?" Quatre looked up at the visiting princess, who shook her head. Snatching up a sheet of paper Quatre sat at the desk. He picked up a brush and ink well. Dipping the fine bristles into the black liquid he shook out the excess and began to write on the blank parchment. The faint patter of the brush on the paper filled the quiet room. After a few minutes, Quatre replaced the brush and carried the still drying paper to Duo. Taking the offered document, Duo studied the glistening marks, whistling lowly at the complicated calligraphy.
"Give me a minute to translate. My arabe1 is a little rusty." As Duo slowly filtered through the complex designs painted on the parchment his eyes widened. "You…you can't be serious!" Duo demanded after he'd finished the paper.
"I am." Quatre replied, "I'll take it to my father and his notary as soon as I can."
With these final words, Quatre left the room, motioning for Trowa to follow, the green-eyed boy tailed the blonde warily. Quatre was so unpredictable when agitated. Once in the room, Quatre ordered Trowa to sit on the bed next to a tray someone had brought in. Quatre stripped away the cloak he wore and hung it on a nearby peg. Pushing his sleeves back, Quatre turned Trowa's head and gently removed the handkerchief. He winced at the damage. It hadn't been a particularly deep cut, but it was longer than he thought and had bleed quite a bit.
Reaching for the tray, Quatre smiled when he saw the servant had remembered everything. Picking up a cloth, Quatre dipped the fabric into a small bowl of water and wrung out the excess. Pressing gentle fingers to Trowa's neck, Quatre tilted the other's head. Rubbing at the caked blood and stains the blonde worked diligently until there were no marks on Trowa's caramel colored skin. Placing the cloth aside, Quatre gently probed the cut.
"How in the world did you get this?"
"The assassin-"
"cut you…"Quatre finished for him. "Why didn't you say something before?"
"It wasn't important."
Trowa heard Quatre sigh heavily and saw the prince's pale fingers dip into a small jar on the tray. Quatre pulled his hand from the earthenware pot. The tips of his fingers were coated in a green, translucent gel.
"Yes it is important Trowa." Quatre contradicted directly, applying the ointment to the cut. "Well at least it stopped bleeding."
Trowa made a small noncommittal noise in reply. With another sigh Quatre withdrew, wiping the surfeit salve off on another cloth.
"We'd better get to sleep. We have a long day ahead of us."
"We do?" Trowa looked at Quatre expectantly.
"I have to meet with my Father. And if I know him, he'll want to meet you."
"Because I am your slave."
"No, because you and Heero are the only surviving Nordern soldiers." Quatre corrected stripping down and pulling on his sleeping clothes in record time. Trowa cleared the tray away as Quatre crawled into bed.
"Thanks," Quatre yawned as he curled into a familiar sleeping position. "Good night."
Trowa nodded and waited as he did every night for Quatre to fall asleep. As soon as the prince's breathing evened out, Trowa retreated to his small alcove. While changing to go to bed, Trowa wondered what the King was like. As he slipped into bed the brunette decided if he were anything like Quatre there wouldn't be a problem.
1. Most of the "foreign" words I've used are actually just French. Nord is North, Sudest, South East, and Est is quite obviously East. Arabe is just the French word for Arabian but bear with me and at least pretend like it's inventive. I know very well I'm a cheese ball.