AN: I do not own Gundam Wing or any of its characters

{-}

Heero snapped out of the past. He found himself still within the woods. Shaking his head he started to walk again glancing about him and admiring the wilderness. He stopped when he heard a sudden noise.

The rustle of leaves and cracking of branches suggested that someone was heading towards him, and in a hurry too. Heero hid himself in some underbrush, wishing to remain unseen. The noise grew louder. In a few seconds, Heero could glimpse the figure of a man running through the trees. The man stopped just in front of him and began to look around slightly panicked. Heero listened closer. He heard more noise coming from the distance. The man was being followed; probably a thief or bandit of some sort.

Heero glanced at the mysterious person. He was certainly one to look at too. He was younger, around Heero's age, and stood tall. His sharp violet eyes had a mischievous look about them. But the most striking characteristic about the young man was the incredible length of his hair. It was neatly braided all the way down to his waist.

The group following him was coming closer. Heero looked over towards the direction of the noise. He could now see the figures coming into view. He looked back to the young man. But to Heero's surprise, the man was no where in sight! Heero looked around him but saw no sign of the braided man. However, he quickly crouched down, when the crowd chasing him came closer.

Heero observed the group. There were five of them: townspeople, no doubt, from their dress. They stopped directly in front of Heero to look at their surroundings.

"Where did that scoundrel go off to now?" exclaimed one of them.

"I don't know, but I say that's the last bloomin' time he steals anything from my fruit stand!" exclaimed another.

Heero smirked slightly. So the young man was a thief.

"Come on boys let's keep moving. We're bound to catch him sooner or later!"

Heero watched carefully as the men continued on their way. When he was sure they were off a good distance, he made his way out from the underbrush and looked around. Although he could not see the braided young man, Heero knew he was close by. Heero looked around carefully for any sign of the so-called thief.

A sudden sharp blow to Heero's back caused him to topple forward. Heero lost his footing and fell to the ground. He quickly recovered however, and stood up and turned around to face his attacker. It was the young man, just as he had suspected. Only this time, the young man was holding a knife.

"Who are you?" asked the braided boy sharply.

Heero did not answer but simply stared. The young man's face broke into a goofy grin.

"Wise guy, huh? What were you doing spying on me from the bushes over there?"

Heero still made no reply. The braided man moved closer, bringing his knife with him. He now held it up to Heero's throat.

"You know," he said, "I could kill you right now. You see Death and I have this deal. We are quite acquainted with each other."

"Hn," replied Heero as he stared at the man.

The braided young man's face grew puzzled. The man before him showed no fear or anxiety. He pressed the blade closer to his neck. The man still did not move. He was as cold as stone. The glare he was giving at that moment was not particularly comfortable either.

"Why didn't you tell those men you had seen me?" asked the thief.

For the first time Heero gave a short, curt reply,

"I wasn't looking for you."

"What?" exclaimed the young man, slightly baffled. Heero took the opportunity to grab the man's arm and swing him over his head. He slammed the young man on the ground and began to walk away towards the Wizard's cottage. He wished to seek no quarrel today.

In the meantime, the young man was lying on the ground trying to catch his breath. He groaned and sat up rubbing his head. Looking behind him he saw the man he encountered walking away. The braided man picked himself up and began to run in his direction.

"Hey wait up!" he exclaimed.

Heero continued to walk on, disregarding the other man's plea.

"Slow down! Sheesh, no one taught you manners! How the hell did you just do that?"

"Hn," was Heero's only replied as he kept walking through the forest.

Heero's silence did not discourage the other man in the least,

"Anyways, what ever you did it was great! By the way, the name's Duo. Duo Maxwell."

Duo stopped in front of Heero and held out his hand. Heero paused took one look at the young man and brushed past him, disregarding the gesture of friendship. Duo frowned but continued to follow, still jabbering on,

"Well normally when someone offers to shake hands it means they are pleased to meet you. But I guess in your case, not a whole lot of people are pleased to meet you. Let's try this again. My name is Duo, what's yours?"

Heero stopped and looked at, what he considered to be a noisy buffoon. But the man named Duo simply stood there, grinning at Heero from ear to ear.

"Heero Yuy," he replied curtly before moving on.

"You mean named after the Great Warrior? Now why would a man like you be afraid to tell someone a great name like that?"

Heero made no reply. Duo shrugged his shoulders,

"Where are we headed?' he asked as his long braid flopped along his back.

"Not we, me," explained Heero sharply.

"Well," replied Duo, "Where are you going so that I may follow?"

Heero spun around sharply,

"Why won't you leave me alone?"

Duo stared at him blankly for a moment. He then shrugged his shoulders and put a goofy smile on his face.

"I don't have anything better to do or anywhere else to go!"

Heero turned back around annoyed. However, his foul mood did nothing to dampen Duo's spirits. The young man chatted on and on until Heero felt he could stand it no longer,

"You know, you sure don't have a very friendly personality," stated Duo. "I'd say you've been having a rough time in your life. Well I just want you to know if you need anyone to relate to it's me. You see, I was an orphan, but then I was taken in by Friar Maxwell who ran a missionary. He and the nuns at the missionary raised me till I was nearly twelve. But then, a group of marauders burned down the mission and murdered Friar Maxwell and the sisters. I escaped and began to live on the streets again, making my way around, been that way ever since. That is until now. I never thought I would make a friend like you. You know something…"

"I am not your friend," interrupted Heero.

"But, everyone needs someone to talk to, even you Heero Yuy."

Heero stared at the young man with the braided hair. He was baffled although his face did not show it.

"Why do you care so much?" asked Heero coldly.

Duo grinned,

"Because I think you and I have something in common."

"What's that?" retorted Heero.

"We both know how it feels to be alone in this world."

{-}

She stared outside upon her balcony, overlooking the scene below. There were so many people inside of the city: refugees, widows, children, wounded, soldiers, the poor, and the wealthy. They had all flocked to her father's realm when Lord Trieze had crushed the Cinq Kingdom, the heart and soul of Mythica.

The sun was setting into a candy apple sky. She wished every evening could be passed such as this; peaceful and calm, without a care in the world. But, blood was being spilt, homes were being burned, and hearts were being broken. She watched day in and day out as her father labored to put a stop to the terror and the fear. It was all too much. The world needed a miracle. Treize's power was only growing stronger, and the hope of the people of Mythica was weakening.

The Princess Relena Darlian sighed. She felt hopeless in the fact that she felt she could be of no help to her poor father. She could see the toll all of the stress was taking on his body and mind. She did what she could to help those in need. She visited the wounded and sick daily and played with the orphaned children whose parents had not survived the wars.

Someone was calling her name, Relena walked inside to her chamber where a servant was begging for her attention.

"Yes Pagan?" she asked politely.

"Your highness, the seamstress wishes to fit you for your new gown you are to wear at your birthday celebration."

"You may tell my father I do not need a new gown. The fabric would be used best if it would be made into clothes for the orphaned children."

"His majesty suggested you might say that, but he also said he insists. It is his gift to you."

Relena sighed.

"Very well, but I do not wish for it to be extravagant. I will make sure the excess materials are made into useful items for the winter."

"Very well your highness," said Pagan as he bowed.

He walked outside of her chamber door and soon showed the seamstress in, who immediately began to fit Relena for her dress. Relena stared towards the balcony gloomily. There had to be more to life than this. A life without war and hate. A life that would be full of peace, adventure, and love. Her sapphire eyes drifted off into her dream world and she escaped from the dreadful life she had come to know.

{-}

Quatre had settled down for the night. He sat alone by his horse, stroking the fire he had just made. He wrapped his cloak about him tightly to avoid the cool chill of the night. He felt more alone than ever. Thoughts of his father filled his eyes with tears, but he refused to let them fall. He was a man. Men did not cry. He had to be strong to defend his home. Leaving meant he added strength to King Darlian's army. It was the right thing to do despite his father's protests.

Quatre felt his eyes grow heavy with sleep. His head began to droop downward. But the crack of a branch made it snap back up quickly. Quatre nearly gasped at what he saw. A group of people stood before him. They were dressed in colorful clothes but the air in their demeanor told Quatre they were all but friendly. Gypsies, thought the young man to himself. He stood slowly, his eyes never leaving the group. He started to move his hand toward his sword while he spoke to them,

"May I help you gentleman?"

They did not answer. They only moved forward towards him. Quatre took a step back towards his horse. He was not looking for a quarrel. He repeated himself,

"May I help you?"

Finally one of them spoke. He was a tall chap. He wore a bandana around his head and when he smiled, Quatre could see his teeth were nearly all gone.

"Lodging tax," he explained as he took another step closer.

"Lodging tax? For what?" asked Quatre and he gripped the hilt of his sword tighter.

"For staying here in our woods. You see mate, you have entered the realm of the gypsies. All who wish to travel upon our lands must pay the taxes."

"As long as I can remember, there has never been such a tax," retorted Quatre.

"Times are rough mate," replied the man. "We do what we can to get by."

"I understand that sir, but as you can see I travel lightly and I am afraid I have nothing to spare. I do not even carry a coin purse. Only the clothes on my back, my horse, and my sword. I am journeying to King Darlian's realm to join his army. Please gentlemen, I assure you I will pass through quickly and cause you no trouble…"

"Like I said mate, times are hard. We take what we can get." The man and his band began to take another step closer. Quatre unsheathed his blade and stood ready to fight.

"Let him be," cried a voice from above.

Puzzled, the entire throng of people looked up into the tree tops. Suddenly, the figure of a man flipped down from one of the branches acrobatically. He landed between Quatre and the gypsies.

"Let him be," repeated the man.

"Back off Barton…" warned the man in the bandana.

"Leave him, he has done no harm and has nothing he can spare. I've been watching him closely. He does not lie."

The group of gypsies grumbled but soon dispersed. Now, only the mysterious acrobat and Quatre were left. The acrobat turned around to face Quatre. Quatre stared at him. He was a tall young man, with long hair that covered nearly half of his face. Quatre peered at him closely. His eyes were a deep green, emotionless. Quatre could read nothing in the man's thoughts. The man was dressed in the garb of the gypsies: bright and colorful.

"I would leave quickly before they change their minds," stated the young man.

"Thank you," said Quatre quietly. "My name is Quatre Winner son of Lord Winner of the Northern Realms. Who might you be?"

"Trowa Barton."

Quatre smiled,

"It's nice to meet you Trowa."

Trowa Barton nodded his head. Quatre watched him again. The boy was strictly emotionless. There was a calm serenity about him. From what he could tell, Trowa was contemplative and thoughtful.

"If I do not leave right away," continued Quatre, "will you tell them?" he asked nodding his head in the direction the band of gypsies had taken.

"No, I do not follow them. I live with my sister, Catherine, over there a little ways," Trowa stated as he pointed towards his right. "I simply keep that group from harassing innocent travelers such as you."

"I am quite grateful for that," replied Quatre smiling.

"You may stay with us till morning so they do not bother you again. Come," ordered Trowa as he began to walk off into the woods.

Quatre grabbed his horse's reins and followed him into the dark underbrush.

{-}

A dark haired young man sat meditating on a rock. The world had gone mad and he felt the need to escape for a while before returning to his work. He relaxed his body and felt his mind give way to nothingness. I am earth, earth is light. I am earth, earth is sight…he repeated to himself and soon found himself deep in thought. However, peace can not last forever. He opened his eyes when he felt a disturbance. Something was stirring in the air, he could feel it.

The man rose from his position and began to walk towards his home village. He felt the strange presence again and quickened up his pace. A sense of urgency was building inside of him, he began to run. So he ran, as fast as his legs could carry him towards his village, only to be thrown into a tumultuous frenzy of fire and blood.

The people were screaming and the village was burning. Warriors were attacking the innocent villagers, cutting them down. Entire homes were engulfed in bright red flames, crops were nothing but ashes now, and blood was being spilt all over the earth.

The young man rushed towards a familiar sight. He cried out and flung himself into a burning building.

Wufei Chang struggled to rise out of the flames of his own home. He coughed and cursed as he rose from the ashes. He was carrying someone in his arms. Wufei laid down his brother's body on the ground. It was too late. He was already gone. With a cry of anger, the oriental man rushed back into the flames. Moments later, he emerged once more, carrying his katana. He rushed into the onslaught of soldiers that were attacking the village. He was swift and agile, no warrior who stood against him survived.

Wufei let his anger take over as he battled. He would not be defeated; a true warrior did not know defeat…

AN: Please email me with comments! I love to hear from all of you and you inspire me to keep writing!

Email: WildRose1404earthlink.net