The next five weeks were some of the most trying days of Trunks' life. He had to learn everything as he went, usually by screwing it up first, and he quickly found that the other slaves were unhelpful, at best. They were willing to gossip with him and feed him juicy tidbits of palace life, but they knew the Saiyan way, and practiced it themselves; they were always looking to outdo one another. They never actually told him anything useful, and he had caught one of them lying to him, trying to get him in trouble.
The Saiyan servants were even worse. It seemed that several of them wanted his position, and they were vocal and abusive in their opinions and desires. Trunks counted it a good day when one didn't try to trip him or knock him over. He wasn't sure how much longer he could put up with being pushed around; he was starting to lose his temper to the point where he didn't care if they found out about him.
But there were some good parts to his new life, too, like Avia. She seemed to be around quite a bit, and more than once her presence had saved him from a serious beating. She didn't really have to do anything, but she always interceded, quietly reminding slaves and servants alike that they had a job, and it wasn't pushing Trunks around. And frankly, her presence had saved him from starting a fight or seriously hurting one of them a time or two, as well. The only bad point to her presence was that Trunks still could not feel like she was his sister, a fact that was making him very uneasy.
Attending to his grandfather was easy, almost to the point of being boring. More often than not, he helped him dress or brought him food, made sure that there were fresh linens and that the room was clean, and that was all there was to do. He had time to read, so he picked a couple of books on etiquette, Saiyan nobility and other social structure books, and he began to learn just as Bardock had wanted him to do.
But he made time for his other lessons, too; the ones that Kakkarot had shown him. He had enough time to mediate as much as he wanted, and his room was just large enough to do some small practices in. He even managed to slip down to the sparring arena from time to time to watch the nobles practice, and he picked up some moves just by watching them. He was becoming stronger every day, in mind and body.
For the most part, the good outweighed the bad, and other than some momentary lapses of panic or worry, he was increasingly content with his situation. In fact, he was just starting to get used to it when it all changed again.
A movement from the corner of his eye caught Trunks' attention, and he gave a frustrated sigh as he let the Saiyan hook his foot around Trunks' ankle and sweep him to the ground. It was Dyl, of course; this blind corner was one of his favorite ambush spots. At least I have dirty towels this time, instead of soup, Trunks thought as he tumbled to the floor, scattering the towels in a fabulous arc. He had also learned that if he let them have a good laugh at his expense, they went away sooner.
"Too slow, as always, human," Dyl said, sneering down at him. "You have to be faster if you want to keep being Lord Vegeta's attendant."
"Lord Vegeta has no complaints with my service," Trunks said as he twisted away from the Saiyan and surged to his feet, waiting for the next assault.
Dyl kicked a towel. "You've made quite a mess, boy," he said haughtily. "You need to clean this up before Betez finds it."
Trunks winced, making no attempt to hide it. Betez was the Head Servant, and she did beat slaves for making messes. He had avoided her, so far, and he aimed to keep it that way, but he had a gut feeling that he wouldn't get much clean as long as Dyl was here. But there was no choice in the matter; it was mid-afternoon, when Betez made her rounds. If he delayed too long, she would find him for sure. With an angry grunt, he knelt and began to pick up the towels.
He had half of them in a rough pile on the floor with Dyl kicked him in the ass, knocking him forward onto his face. Trunks snapped; without any conscious decision to do so, he engaged his flight as he shoved himself off the floor, coming up in a spin. He didn't try to straighten up from there; instead he drove his heel into Dyl's nose, which flattened with a loud crunch. The flat-footed Saiyan actually flipped backwards once and landed on his face.
With a scream, the servant bounced to his feet, clenching his fists in rage. "You are going to die, you little shit!" he howled, and hurled himself at Trunks.
Trunks was surprised, not at the speed at which Dyl moved, but at how slowly he moved. Without effort, Trunks ducked under a roundhouse punch, and blocked an up-thrust knee. Before Dyl could do more, Trunks head butted the Saiyan, who reeled from the blow, and then swept him off his feet, twisting an arm behind his back.
Trunks hunkered over the pinned Saiyan as realization hit him. He had hit a Saiyan, and his life was now forfeit. He briefly considered letting go of Dyl and hoping to persuade him not to report this, but then Trunks realized that he didn't want to beg Dyl for his life; he would make Dyl beg.
"Quite a predicament, here," Trunks murmured, and his words seemed to wake the servant from his daze.
"I'm going to kill you!" Dyl snarled, trying to break the arm lock that he was in. With a cold smile, Trunks twisted the arm a bit harder. Dyl squeaked in pain, and Trunks backed off a little.
"I don't think that you can," Trunks said, gloating clear in his voice. "If you were obviously superior, then you would have me in the pin, no? You know, if an off-worlder who had no knowledge of humans or Saiyans saw this fight, he might think I was the superior being, given how fast I put you down. Oh, yes, and broke your nose."
"I'm going to tell!" Dyl yelped, wiggling some more.
"Really?" Trunks beamed. "Can I be there when you do? Because I want to hear you tell Betez or any other Saiyan that you were beat by a slave. I want to see the looks on their face when you tell them that a human beat you up and pinned you to the floor in just a few seconds."
Dyl fell silent and stopped squirming; the only movement and sound from him now was his heavy breathing.
"I have a better idea," Trunks murmured into the Saiyan's ear. "I'll never mention this if you don't, and I'll never hurt you again unless you hurt me first. Deal?" Dyl was silent for a long moment, but he reluctantly nodded his head. "Good, now swear it on your House."
"I swear on my House," Dyl ground through clenched teeth.
"Excellent," Trunks said, releasing the Saiyan and standing up quickly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to attend to."
It wasn't until Dyl had slunk away and Trunks was in the line at the laundry room with the gathered towels that he comprehended what had happened. He had defended himself against a Saiyan and won. He had known that he would win against a third-class, but to actually experience it!
He was still wearing a proud smile as he returned to the King's room with the clean towels. He glanced quickly around the room for his grandfather; he wasn't in here, but the sound of running water was coming from the bathroom. I guess he couldn't wait for me to bring more towels after all, Trunks thought as he rounded the corner to the bathroom.
Bloody water ran over the edge of the tub, staining the white floor a delicate pink color. The dagger on the floor beneath Lord Vegeta's limp hand was washed nearly clean by the water. The former King was slumped against the back of the tub, his wet clothes clinging to him with a fine red tint.
"Grandfather!" Trunks screamed, panicking for a second, his mother's blood-soaked body flashing before his eyes. Reason flooded back to him, even as his adrenaline and heart rate sky-rocketed. He dashed forward and dropped to his knees in the water, dropping the towels next to him. Desperately, he grabbed for his Grandfather's thumb.
Blood dripped slowly over his fingers from the long, straight gashes up the arm. Trunks felt tears rise as he searched for the pulse. "Please, don't let me find another person dead," he murmured. "Please--" A sudden beat under his fingers was what he was waiting for, and he nearly collapsed with relief when he felt it. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
He let himself float up into the air, still holding the pulse with his fingers; once he was high enough, he stuck his foot out and hit the wall communicator. "Medical emergency, medical emergency. Patch me through to Bardock immediately." The automated system was silent for a second, then clicked. Bardock's voice flowed out of the wall unit, familiar and reassuring. "Trunks?"
"Lord Vegeta is badly hurt," Trunks said, setting his feet on the floor and grabbing a towel. He ripped it apart and began to wrap the wounds, tightening them as much as he dared.
"Where are you?" Bardock asked.
"Lord Vegeta's room--"
"On my way," Bardock said, and the communicator went silent. Trunks continued to work, wrapping the arm as best as he could. When he was done, he started on the other arm, which also had long gashes on it. He was nearly done when Bardock burst into the room, dragging his equipment behind him.
"Get him on the bed, Trunks," Bardock snapped, reaching for the Lord's arm. Trunks took the other, and they moved him over together. Towton was in the bedroom, preparing several syringes.
"What do you want me to do?" Trunks asked, hovering out of Bardock's way.
"Stand at the door, don't let anyone in except the King," Bardock said, not looking up. He was peeling back the bandage; when he saw the wound, he hissed with surprised disdain.
Trunks was by the door, but he was close enough to hear Towton say, "Sir, those wounds are self-"
"I know what they are," Bardock growled. "Give me the laser suture; we have to stop the bleeding and then he'll need a transfusion of blood – he's T-positive."
Trunks leaned wearily against the door, wondering why his grandfather would try to kill himself. Suicide was a terrible dishonor – warriors should be killed by their enemy, not by their own hand. It was alright to commit suicide if your death took out an enemy as well – that was honorable. But to cut yourself open and bleed away – it was unthinkable.
Finally, Bardock stepped away from the bed and waved Trunks over. "What happened?"
"He wanted to take another bath," Trunks said, fighting to keep his voice steady; seeing his grandfather lying so still while hooked up to so many line and tubes was distracting. "But there were no more clean towels, so I went down to Laundry for more. There was a long line; I had to wait for a while. When I came back, he was in the tub, like when you first came in."
Bardock nodded wearily, rubbing at his eyes with his hands. "M'kay," he muttered, his voice both tired and frustrated.
"What now?" Trunks ventured after a moment of silence.
With a sigh, Bardock began detailed instructions for the care of Lord Vegeta. Trunks took careful notes on each step, simply relieved that he would be allowed to continue to care for his grandfather.