AN: I hate typing!!!!!! And I'll have you know that I took down my other chapter fics just so I could concentrate on this one. So here it is the next chapter...let me know what you think...
Disclaimer: Cancers are red
Pisces are blue
I don't own Gundam Wing
So you can't sue (Picked that up from a site, cute ne? ^-^)
Warnings: Shonen ai and Yaoi later, language occasionally, weird situations
Italics: denotes thoughts
***** Denotes scene change
Spoils of War: Chapter 11
"Nice very nice. Duke Dermail has very good taste I see..." Quatre's father, a tall man with tawny hair and a mustache eyed Trowa and Heero calculatingly. Duo and Quatre stood off to the side. "You were soldiers of Nord, were you not?"
"Trowa and Heero glanced at their masters who nodded mutely.
"Yes," Trowa replied.
"So you're from Nord?" The king continued.
"No," Heero's deep voice and thick accent drew King Winner's attention.
"Then who were you fighting for?" the question was directed to Heero.
"Ourselves," the thick accent rolled again and Iman Winner1 listened carefully.
"How so?"
"We were mercenaries."
"You're from the Est." It was not a question.
"Yes," Heero nodded in affirmation.
"And you?" the ruler turned to Trowa who shook his head.
"My origin is unknown, even to myself."
The quiet confession shocked Quatre, but as he thought about the banged boy the more it made sense. Trowa did not look Estern, his hair too light and eyes and odd color. Heero didn't look Estern either for that matter, but his heavy rolling accent betrayed him. Trowa's light voice was a mixture of things. The soft smooth tones of Sudest, a subtle roll of the r's and a hiss of s's found in the Ouest, a slight fluctuation of volume and tone found in the Est, and finally a soft pattern of speech. A way of flowing his words in measures like music or poetry. Something that Quatre had never heard before but found Indescribably beautiful.
"I see," the monarch breathed. "Quatre."
"Yes, Father?" The blonde stepped forward and Trowa found himself wondering how these two, who looked, acted, and sounded completely different, could be related.
"Why did you wish to see me?" the king looked pointedly at his son.
"I need you to look over this with your notary." Qutare explained, approaching his father and handing him a copy of the original document. Iman Winner sighed after scanning the paper.
"Quatre what is it with you and slavery?"
"I can't stand to another person, a fellow human being in chains like an animal. No person should have to endure that. You cannot own another person's mind, but people try. Enslaving bodies and giving inhuman punishments for "crimes" such as speaking honestly, or defensively, or even speaking at all! I cannot and will not tolerate it. It's unfair and cruel. As soon as I am given the power I will permantely rid the country of such a sordid system." Quatre's cheeks were flushed and his eyes flashed defiantly. His father remained calm.
"And yet you accepted this slave," Iman motioned to Trowa, "As a gift?"
Quatre opened his mouth to argue but closed it before saying anything. Seeing the steel that was his father's eyes Quatre realized that he had lost the fight. The blonde glared silently at his father amoment before turning swiftly on his heel and stalking out the door. The minute Quatre and the others had left the room, they turned to find a most unwelcome sight.
"Ah, Prince Quatre, I've been looking for you." Duke Dermail's smile was as oily as his voice.
"Have you." Quatre replied curtly in no mood for a kiss ass session.
"Yes, I was speaking with my personal soldiers today and they told me something quite intriguing."
"Really." Quatre's voice was flat and obviously disinterested but Dermail continued on.
"They told me the only reason your slaves survived was because they couldn't be killed."
Quatre glanced at the two foreign boys then back to Dermail.
"I was also told one was a swords master," Dermail's gaze shifted briefly to Heero, "The other had mastered the art of archery." He then looked at Trowa knowingly.
"I wasn't aware killing was considered an art." Quatre deadpanned.
"And I was wondering," Dermail continued as if Quatre hadn't spoken, "if perhaps you wouldn't mind a little contest."
"We accept."
Quatre whipped around to stare at Duo who stood between Heero and Trowa. Duo winked at Quatre and nodded his head. With a sigh, Quatre turned back to Dermail.
"What kind of contests did you have in mind?" Quatre ground out with forced politeness.
"Just a contest against my best swordsman and archer." Dermail's smile was smug and his tone superior.
"All right, we accept."
"Good. We commence at noon." With that the haughty man turned heel and left.
"NOON!" Quatre cried.
"My what short notice." Duo sighed. "Ah well. We'll make due."
"Damn you and your competitive streak Duo!" Quatre groaned.
"It wasn't my idea!" Duo returned looking scandalized.
"Then who's was it?" Quatre smiled sardonically.
"Ours,"
Quatre stared at Heero like he'd grown a second head. "What did you say?"
"I said it was our idea." Heero motioned to himself and Trowa.
"What about equipment?"
"Dermail gave us back our weapons. They were strapped to Wing." Heero replied. "All we need is in the stable."
"All right." Quatre waved them ahead before falling into step with Duo. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" Quatre whispered to Duo.
"Don't tell me you're worried about them?" Duo muttered incredulously.
"No, I'm worried about what they're going to do to Dermail's men."
Heero and Trowa both turned to give Duo and Quatre odd looks as the prince and advisor's hysterical laughter rang down the hall.
1. Iman Winner is probably not Mr. Winner's real name but as I don't know the real one I decided to use this one because it's used in a lot of fics and has kinda grown on me.
AN: Yes trills, chills, and romance to come!!!!!!!!!!!!
Disclaimer: Cancers are red
Pisces are blue
I don't own Gundam Wing
So you can't sue (Picked that up from a site, cute ne? ^-^)
Warnings: Shonen ai and Yaoi later, language occasionally, weird situations
Italics: denotes thoughts
***** Denotes scene change
Spoils of War: Chapter 11
"Nice very nice. Duke Dermail has very good taste I see..." Quatre's father, a tall man with tawny hair and a mustache eyed Trowa and Heero calculatingly. Duo and Quatre stood off to the side. "You were soldiers of Nord, were you not?"
"Trowa and Heero glanced at their masters who nodded mutely.
"Yes," Trowa replied.
"So you're from Nord?" The king continued.
"No," Heero's deep voice and thick accent drew King Winner's attention.
"Then who were you fighting for?" the question was directed to Heero.
"Ourselves," the thick accent rolled again and Iman Winner1 listened carefully.
"How so?"
"We were mercenaries."
"You're from the Est." It was not a question.
"Yes," Heero nodded in affirmation.
"And you?" the ruler turned to Trowa who shook his head.
"My origin is unknown, even to myself."
The quiet confession shocked Quatre, but as he thought about the banged boy the more it made sense. Trowa did not look Estern, his hair too light and eyes and odd color. Heero didn't look Estern either for that matter, but his heavy rolling accent betrayed him. Trowa's light voice was a mixture of things. The soft smooth tones of Sudest, a subtle roll of the r's and a hiss of s's found in the Ouest, a slight fluctuation of volume and tone found in the Est, and finally a soft pattern of speech. A way of flowing his words in measures like music or poetry. Something that Quatre had never heard before but found Indescribably beautiful.
"I see," the monarch breathed. "Quatre."
"Yes, Father?" The blonde stepped forward and Trowa found himself wondering how these two, who looked, acted, and sounded completely different, could be related.
"Why did you wish to see me?" the king looked pointedly at his son.
"I need you to look over this with your notary." Qutare explained, approaching his father and handing him a copy of the original document. Iman Winner sighed after scanning the paper.
"Quatre what is it with you and slavery?"
"I can't stand to another person, a fellow human being in chains like an animal. No person should have to endure that. You cannot own another person's mind, but people try. Enslaving bodies and giving inhuman punishments for "crimes" such as speaking honestly, or defensively, or even speaking at all! I cannot and will not tolerate it. It's unfair and cruel. As soon as I am given the power I will permantely rid the country of such a sordid system." Quatre's cheeks were flushed and his eyes flashed defiantly. His father remained calm.
"And yet you accepted this slave," Iman motioned to Trowa, "As a gift?"
Quatre opened his mouth to argue but closed it before saying anything. Seeing the steel that was his father's eyes Quatre realized that he had lost the fight. The blonde glared silently at his father amoment before turning swiftly on his heel and stalking out the door. The minute Quatre and the others had left the room, they turned to find a most unwelcome sight.
"Ah, Prince Quatre, I've been looking for you." Duke Dermail's smile was as oily as his voice.
"Have you." Quatre replied curtly in no mood for a kiss ass session.
"Yes, I was speaking with my personal soldiers today and they told me something quite intriguing."
"Really." Quatre's voice was flat and obviously disinterested but Dermail continued on.
"They told me the only reason your slaves survived was because they couldn't be killed."
Quatre glanced at the two foreign boys then back to Dermail.
"I was also told one was a swords master," Dermail's gaze shifted briefly to Heero, "The other had mastered the art of archery." He then looked at Trowa knowingly.
"I wasn't aware killing was considered an art." Quatre deadpanned.
"And I was wondering," Dermail continued as if Quatre hadn't spoken, "if perhaps you wouldn't mind a little contest."
"We accept."
Quatre whipped around to stare at Duo who stood between Heero and Trowa. Duo winked at Quatre and nodded his head. With a sigh, Quatre turned back to Dermail.
"What kind of contests did you have in mind?" Quatre ground out with forced politeness.
"Just a contest against my best swordsman and archer." Dermail's smile was smug and his tone superior.
"All right, we accept."
"Good. We commence at noon." With that the haughty man turned heel and left.
"NOON!" Quatre cried.
"My what short notice." Duo sighed. "Ah well. We'll make due."
"Damn you and your competitive streak Duo!" Quatre groaned.
"It wasn't my idea!" Duo returned looking scandalized.
"Then who's was it?" Quatre smiled sardonically.
"Ours,"
Quatre stared at Heero like he'd grown a second head. "What did you say?"
"I said it was our idea." Heero motioned to himself and Trowa.
"What about equipment?"
"Dermail gave us back our weapons. They were strapped to Wing." Heero replied. "All we need is in the stable."
"All right." Quatre waved them ahead before falling into step with Duo. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" Quatre whispered to Duo.
"Don't tell me you're worried about them?" Duo muttered incredulously.
"No, I'm worried about what they're going to do to Dermail's men."
Heero and Trowa both turned to give Duo and Quatre odd looks as the prince and advisor's hysterical laughter rang down the hall.
1. Iman Winner is probably not Mr. Winner's real name but as I don't know the real one I decided to use this one because it's used in a lot of fics and has kinda grown on me.
AN: Yes trills, chills, and romance to come!!!!!!!!!!!!