Disclaimer: I don't own or have any relation to Gundam Wing or any other Gundam series. I'm not making any profit from this, unless you count reviews.
Pairings: 1x2, 3x4 and likely 5x6
Princes and Thieves
Chapter One: The New King
The villagers had all gathered in the square in the centre of their small village. They were few in number, with a population of only about a hundred, and located in a very remote spot at the entrance to the mountain passes. And so, aptly, they were named Mote, both for their tiny size and remote position.
This information had been whispered to the young king before he rode into the village, sitting regally on his horse. Wing was his pride and joy, in a world where he did not take pride in many things and enjoyed even less. The stallion was snow-white, except for a black sock on its front right leg, and trained such that even if it sensed a mare, it would not react at all.
The villagers were in awe of the king, each unable to meet his piercing, deep cobalt blue eyes. Even the messy dark brown hair didn't retract from his magnificence, since sculpted features and a lean body more than made up for the state of his hair, which wasn't too bad, actually, it looked rather good on him, if you see what I mean, don't you think so? And the horse! The villagers had only ever seen one horse as magnificent as the king's, and they knew how much effort had been put into the care of that one other horse. Whose owner, incidentally, hadn't come back yet, the silly boy.
The party stopped in the centre of the square, ringed by the villagers. The squadrons that followed the king spread out to form a second circle around the crowd, alert for any sign of danger to their king. All eyes were fixed on the small three-person party in the middle, looking unlike most nobles in their simple, common leather and cloth outfits.
A slim boy with white-blond hair and light blue-green eyes beamed at the crowd from atop his light brown mare. "A good day to you, villagers of Mote! I think you already know who we are and our purpose here. Yet the rule of politeness dictates that we must introduce ourselves, so I shall begin the introductions for the thousandth time." A murmur of laughter rippled through the crowd. They already knew who this smiling angel must be, for it was said the King trusted no one but two friends, and one of them was as quiet as he.
"I am Quatre Raberba Winner. Please, if you have to address me, do not stand on formality. Call me Lord Quatre. I'd prefer simply 'Quatre', but I'm afraid it would be too awkward for you, am I right?" Heads nodded, and he smiled again. "Trowa?"
A tall boy, with only one clear green eye visible, the other hidden behind outrageous brown bangs, cleared his throat and spoke in a calm voice that carried easily over the crowd. "Greetings to you all. I am Trowa Barton." He patted his dark brown gelding reassuringly when she fidgeted.
Then the king spoke, and the villagers were all ensnared in the power that his strong, low tenor radiated. "I am your new king, Heero Yuy. Please do not call me 'your majesty', 'sire', or any other way you address loyalty. At most, use the title 'Lord'. I lead by serving you, and that is the purpose of this tour of my country. To personally see how you, my people, have suffered under the previous king, so as to be able to better correct the situation. If you have any serious grievances, come to my aides, Quatre and Trowa, or me. I hope there will be nothing but honesty, and hopefully friendship, between us." And to add to their surprise and shock and growing respect, he bowed to them from Wing's back.
When he straightened, Quatre, seeming oblivious to all the awed silence, asked cheerfully, "Is there a large, empty field we can set up camp in? We number sixty, so it doesn't have to be such a large field."
Immediately the villagers began protesting, saying that they would welcome the soldiers into their homes. Heero held up a hand. "We do not want to impose on you," he said, when the noise settled. "We are here not to cause more trouble, but to solve it."
"But my Lord, it wouldn't be any trouble! We'd be honoured to house you."
"It's alright, we're used to it," Quatre laughed. "A field, please?"
A man stepped forward. "My house is at the edge of the village, and beyond that parallel to the mountains there is a stretch of field. You could camp there. It is near the stream that also runs parallel to the mountains, as well."
Heero nodded. "That will do fine. Thank you. Could we trouble you to show us the way?"
"Oh, no trouble at all, my Lord."
The crowd parted to let the man and the three on horseback move past them, the squadrons immediately following. Once the king and his aides were gone from sight, the villagers began talking excitedly among themselves.
"He seems to honestly want to help us!" one woman said wonderingly. "Such a nice boy, so different from King J. That bastard never did anything as thoughtful as this. A pity he has to shoulder such a large burden at such a young age," she sighed, maternal instincts kicking in. "Did you see how thin they all were?"
"Yes, we must stuff them at tonight's feast!" her friend agreed. "I have a good feeling about the young king. Let's hope he'll be the one to set this country to rights."
"A beautiful quaint village you have here, sir," Quatre smiled. "Do you get a lot of trouble from bandits, being so near the mountain passes?"
"It's Hector Maxwell, Lord Quatre," the man said, flustered. "The people call me Father Maxwell, as I am the only pastor. I'm naught but a lowly peasant, not a 'sir'."
"You are not lowly."
Father Maxwell looked into deep blue eyes and saw the fierce sadness and conviction in there. "Yes, my Lord," he whispered, feeling a rush of fatherly concern for his king. Why, his own boy was around the same age, yet nowhere as burdened. "Forgive me."
The king nodded curtly and turned his gaze forward again. Soon, they arrived at the last house, and beyond that the boys could see a grassy plain stretching into the distance, with a river running to their far right, nearer to the mountains. There was a forest after a league or so of grass, a large one that stretched from right to left without any end.
"Is this your house?" Quatre asked, looking at the cozy little building they were in front of.
"Yes," Father Maxwell smiled. "My humble home."
"Then you may rest here, while we continue on."
"No, Lord Quatre, there is no need. I will accompany you, as the rule of politeness dictates."
Quatre laughed, a bright and clear sound, while Trowa and Heero smiled slightly, unable to keep their lips from quirking. "Father, I'm impressed!" the blond chuckled. Father Maxwell was smiling as well, the laugh-lines on his worn face crinkled.
"Would it be too much trouble if we sat in your home and talked? I would like to hear about how your village is faring," Heero suddenly spoke up.
"Oh, a good suggestion, my Lord! You are welcome in my home."
Heero nodded and turned to the man behind him on a rust-red horse, his long silver hair tied in a ponytail and his ice blue eyes sharp. "Captain Zechs, would you mind leading the men to set up camp in the field first?"
"Not at all, my Lord. Right away. Your tents will be in the middle of our camp, as usual."
"Ryoukai. Remember to leave a pathway for anyone who wants to ride in and out of the village."
Zechs nodded and turned to shout commands to the men behind him, while the three at the head of the mass of people and horses turned left and entered the courtyard of the Father's house.
"We have a stable, but it only holds one horse, I'm afraid. You can tie your horses to the fence here, Lord Quatre, Lord Trowa. If you would follow me – "
"There's no need," Heero interrupted. "I will leave my horse with Quatre and Trowa."
"Oh… alright, then."
The three dismounted and brought their packs in with them, leaving the horses saddled. Entering the house, they saw immediately the care and love put into keeping it; flowers everywhere, small decorations scattered around, and warm colours painted on the walls.
"This is the kitchen, and the only table large enough to accommodate us all. Please, sit," Father Maxwell invited. They gladly did, having endured days of riding and sometimes walking for hours on end.
The older man smiled kindly at the three boys. "Ask away, my Lords. Anything I can help you with, I will."
The three traded looks, and Quatre spoke. "I asked you about the bandits, previously. Are they preying on your village?"
The Father sighed. "Unfortunately, yes. The mountains are a favourite hideout for them. All of us men, and even a few of the women and children, have learnt to fight. They come down on us when conditions in the mountains are harsh and food is scarce, so usually we are attacked in winter. We try not to venture too far away from the village."
They went on to various other topics, ranging from food to taxes. Heero himself took notes, to the (hidden) surprise of Father Maxwell, who had expected him to ask either of his aides to help. His respect grew as the discussion continued, awed by the maturity and brilliance the three young-looking boys unintentionally displayed, yet at the same time he felt sad. Trowa and Heero were jaded, their inputs blunt and cynical. He caught Quatre looking at them from time to time with the same sad look he knew was in his own eyes.
So caught up in their talk that two hours passed before they knew it, and the sun was not as scorching as it had been at noontime, three hours past. Suddenly a commotion outside the house was heard, and the agitated neighing of horses.
Heero shot up with a gasped, "Wing!" and ran out of the house, Quatre and Trowa following, worried about their own beloved horses. They skidded to a stop outside, staring. A gorgeous black horse with a white star on his forehead was rearing in the courtyard, flailing its front hooves at a few panicked soldiers. Wing, Sandrock and Heavyarms were scuffing the dirt, agitated by the black horse.
The king's eyes were wide. "Whose horse is that?" he breathed, awed. "Almost as beautiful as my Wing…"
"Scythe!" came the gasp from behind the three nobles, and they turned to see Father Maxwell, face white. "That's Scythe, my son's mare! He went for a ride with a friend this morning – something must have happened!"
Heero glanced at Trowa and nodded. The green-eyed boy strode forward. "Stand back!" he snapped at the soldiers, who gratefully did so. Trowa slowly approached the black horse, murmuring soothingly, hands held in front of him. The horse stopped rearing, eyeing him warily, scuffing the ground.
"Amazing…" Father Maxwell breathed. "That horse usually cannot stand anyone near it but my son."
Quatre smiled, not taking his eyes from Trowa, who was directly in front of the horse now. "Trowa has a way with animals."
Heero moved to Wing, who was standing quietly by with Sandrock and Heavyarms. He easily swung himself onto his horse, checking that his sword, knives and daggers were in place. Quatre followed suit, as soldiers quickly undid the rope tethering the horses to the fence. The blond, after a short conversation with one of the soldiers, led Heavyarms over to Trowa, who mounted it.
"He says the horse just galloped through the camp while they were setting up the tents, heading here, and they followed it," Quatre murmured to his friends, watching Heero reach over to take Scythe's reins and gently guide the still agitated horse out of the courtyard. "An accident, maybe?"
"No, if the rider simply got into an accident it wouldn't be so panicked. Most likely they were attacked," Trowa answered.
"My Lord, would you like us to bring a squadron after you?" one of Zechs' lieutenants asked.
Heero glanced at the man, manoeuvring the horses so that they were on the wide, straight path leading right out of the village. "If you can keep up."
Then he jerked the reins of both horses, and they took off like a shot, Quatre and Trowa close on his heels. A small, dangerous smile played on Heero's face as he let go of Scythe's reins, letting the horse lead, while Wing followed neck-to-neck. The soldiers all stopped work to gape at the sight of the four most beautiful horses they had ever seen racing past, white and black at the forefront and two shades of brown following. They knew their leaders' horses were unbeatable, but whose was the black horse, that could keep up? Then one of their lieutenants yelled out for a squadron, and they hurriedly turned back to work.
Heero revelled in the wind streaming past, loving the freedom it gave him. Open air all around, no guards following – his squadron would take quite some time to catch up. He could tell Wing was enjoying it, too, since he hardly had the chance to gallop without reservation. He heard Quatre whoop behind him, and allowed himself a rare grin. His friends and their horses, too, had been deprived of a good, long gallop for quite a while.
They were at the edge of the forest in no time at all, and Heero regretfully pulled on his reins, calling out to Scythe, "Whoa, girl!" To his surprise, the black horse slowed to a trot, allowing Heero to reach over and grab her reins once more. Her owner had trained her well. Leaning over, he said quietly, "Lead us to your master, girl, but quietly." The horse harrumphed, as if she understood and thought him stupid for having to point it out. For all he knew, she could just be that smart.
Heero swung himself off Wing, grasping his horse's reins in his right hand while holding Scythe's reins in his left. He could hear Trowa and Quatre dismount behind him, and they advanced into the forest, following a rough, winding path through the forest.
Then they heard the sounds of fighting in the distance. They quickened their pace, and when they were close, stopped. "Stay here," Heero told his horses sternly. "I don't want you to get hurt."
"Heero, what if we need the height advantage?" Quatre asked, frowning.
Heero shook his head. "I can hear them. Roughly twenty people fighting. We can take them. We also need to observe who's our enemy and who's not, so we need silence."
Trowa nodded, trusting Heero's honed senses. Quatre nodded a second after that, and they left their horses quietly pawing the ground while they advanced off the path. They found the body of a dead horse that had bled to death, then found the fight after that, and their eyes narrowed as they observed.
"Bandits. Twenty of them. Those two boys around our age should be Father Maxwell's son and his friend," Heero murmured, watching as an Oriental boy fought back-to-back with another person they could not see, the two surrounded by bandits. "They fight well, but they're outnumbered. Remember to avoid the three bodies on the ground when you fight. Don't kill them if you can help it. Let's go."
They burst out from the trees silently, drawing their swords. Heero cut down three men at once, while Trowa and Quatre's combination swordplay did for four. The bandits yelled and turned to face them, giving the boys in the middle a chance to attack instead of defend. Trowa and Quatre fought their way to the other two boys, while Heero drew a few men away from the circle.
"Little boys should stay home!" snarled one of the men, swinging a heavy sword at Heero. He ducked into the man's space and slashed his arms, cutting the nerves, then slammed into another bandit with his shoulder and knocked him out with the hilt of his sword. He heard Quatre yell and spun, seeing the Chinese boy unconscious, a bandit about to stake him with a broadsword. He launched himself at the burly man, slamming into him from the side. The man managed to slash Heero's left arm, a long ugly gash down the length of it, but he ignored it and sliced the man's thigh muscles, leaving him to collapse and writhe in agony.
He felt a presence behind him and whirled again, bringing his sword up in time to intercept a blow. He knocked the blade aside, but the man was better than the others at sword fighting, and neatly brought the blade back in an undercut. He parried, swung the sword around, the bandit parried and swung his sword around. They locked hilts, and the man's face twisted as he snarled viciously, using his mass to force Heero down.
Suddenly the man's eyes widened and he collapsed, Heero barely managing to get his smaller body out from underneath him in time. He caught a glimpse of the second boy standing over the fallen body before he had to turn and block another sword thrust again. He easily fought the man off and disposed of the last two men, one of whom was about to attack the other boy, whose presence Heero could feel behind his back.
Taking a deep breath, Heero willed the adrenaline to go down. He found to his horror that he wished for more people to fight, that he could have killed these men instead of just injuring them. He closed his eyes, fighting against his training, and when he opened them it was to see wide, curious violet eyes peering from underneath long bangs.
He stumbled back, almost dropping his sword. Numbly he managed to get the blade back into the scabbard, staring at the braided autumn-haired boy in front of him, whose head was tilted to one side, a smile quirked on that heart-shaped face. No… my god, is it him? After all this time?
His common sense sneered. Even if it is him, what of it? You're the perfect King now, the perfect soldier, the perfect leader. You can't feel. It can be used against you. Forget him, and remember your country! Remember that you have to stay unbiased! Remember that you have to lead your country to greatness, and the only way is to sacrifice yourself!
That sounded so much like J it was disgusting. Yet he couldn't deny that he was right. He was king, and he was young, and so all the more reason he had to adhere to his training. He couldn't afford mistakes; people would be waiting for him to mess up and say 'I knew such a young boy couldn't make it as king'.
"Hey, you alright?"
But gods oh gods he sounded just the same as before, only his voice had deepened and was now a soothing melodious warm beautiful tenor, and those eyes were sparkling and that smile…
"Do I know you? You look familiar…"
What?
The smile turned to a puzzled frown. "What's your name? I think I really must have met you before, you look really really familiar." Violet eyes narrowed in thought. "Yeah… I know you. I know your eyes."
His breath caught, and to his horror he found himself restraining tears. What was the matter with him? So his best and only friend he had as a child had forgotten him. So what? It was better this way, dammit! He couldn't afford useless ties!
"Hey… are you cryin'?"
He couldn't speak. Images of a younger, but still sweet voice asking, "Why're ya cryin'?" pushed through his mind, and he forced them down again. He looked up to see the other boy staring at him, brows furrowed. "You… ah, I'm so close to remembering! Where have I – "
"Heero! Are you okay?" Quatre came running over. "Why are you standing so still? Did you wrench something? I'm sorry I didn't come over sooner but Trowa and I were looking after the Eastern boy…"
Heero ignored Quatre's continued rambling. He couldn't tear his eyes away from that violet gaze, which had sharpened at the mention of his name. And then a hoarse word unwittingly slipped out from his throat. "Duo…"
Realization crashed into wide eyes, and Duo fainted.
Er… the action scene was boring, wasn't it! I know! I'm sorry! I can't write action scenes for the life of me, so bear with it. There aren't many more of those, thank goodness. And I was trying for a cliffhanger, but it's not a very good one, is it.
Okay. Um, good? Bad? Review please!
Next chap: Duo awakes, Wufei finds himself unworthy, Heero acts like an ice cube, Quatre worries, Trowa '…'s, and Zechs feels irritated.
[Ashen Skies][Lord, what fools these mortals be]
