All rights belong to Akira Toriyama, Toyotarou and Toei Animation

This is based on the manga cannon, so there may be some discrepancies with the anime.

Prince Vegeta was a few hours old, a newborn cub exiting his incubator for the first time, watched on by proud saiyan parents and his new attendant.

The new royal was tiny, even by the standards of saiyan babies, with inferno-shaped hair the same height as he was. A short, fluffy tail followed him as he toddled his very first steps, tongue sticking out in a not-very-regal fashion as he concentrated. His arms reached out towards his parents, who waited passively for his approach.

But after a few successful steps he toppled over onto his naked behind, making his attendant laugh, even as the royal couple remained stern.

The baby prince gazed at them with wide, coal-black eyes, scowling with determination as he struggled back to his feet.

"Hello, Zucchin Vegeta," the King was saying, still towering over the cub, not bothering to lower himself to the babe's level, "I am your father, King Vegeta. Welcome to the world. Welcome to Planet Vegeta, and welcome to your new home."

The newborn prince's attendant would never judge the king for his tone, unyielding and cold like the stones which made the chamber. For it was not his majesty in the wrong, for acting like any saiyan father, and indeed any monarch, should. The attendant, Celer, knew he was the one in the wrong. Celer would need to keep a hold of his improper urges, or risk poisoning his new charge with paternalistic notions. The first years of life were critical to ensuring the infant would grow with the appropriate detachment befitting his station as independent arbiter of the people.

For this child would one day be king.

And Celer had the whole empire on his shoulders, relying on him to raise the youth right.

But the babe was unaware of this pressure, these tensions, or his very fate as future sovereign.

Prince Vegeta blinked at the trio uncomprehendingly, before turning his head about to examine the room. A bleak, stone room with minimal furnishings, just a bed and a set of drawers. Crimson curtains and bedspread possessed the only colour, identical in shade to the royal crest which the little Prince would one day wear with pride. He did not seem to mind the sparse room, his expression showing that everything in the newly revealed world was exciting to him. Even the minimalistic room he had emerged from his incubator into. It was a Spartan room for a Spartan culture, perfect for a future warrior king.

Prince Vegeta's new bedroom.

"My prince," his mother was addressing him with deference, befitting her place as consort, rather than inherited queen, "I am your mother, Queen Eschalotte."

The miniscule infant was not displaying the proper respect due to his parents, instead already tottering about the room investigating its sparse features.

"Prince!" the queen snapped, causing him to look at her in befuddlement. Reaching out, he easily removed the knob from his drawers, putting it into his mouth.

The attendant laughed, dashing forward to remove the wooden piece before it could become Prince Vegeta's first meal.

"Hello, Prince Vegeta," he said softly, more gently than either parent, wrenching the fist from his charge's mouth with much effort. Goodness, he was so strong already! But that was only to be expected from a saiyan super-elite.

"My name is Celer, and I will be your personal attendant from now on."

Prince Vegeta promptly tried to eat his finger then, too.

Prince Vegeta was three weeks old, and he had just discovered his middle name was Saiya. He didn't understand the whisperings of the adults high above them as they tried to conceal the results of the private ceremony. He didn't understand why his attendant, Celer, placed himself between king and prince at the announcement.

But apparently his middle name was bad. Bad and not to be spoken about. Well, Vegeta could certainly speak, now, but he wasn't about to tell anybody. He understood that much.

But he didn't understand the significance of Celer's actions to protect him, didn't understand his father's duty to dispatch his own son.

"I will allow the boy to live," his father was saying, "because the monstrosity within him may be just what we need against the likes of the Cold Empire. It is an archaic rule, in any case, from a bygone era. Not applicable anymore."

Prince Vegeta had no idea how close he had come to death that day.

Prince Vegeta was half a year old, and he was understanding much more. He was ready to begin training.

Celer stood behind him, watching him intently as Vegeta was introduced to his very first opponent. Saiyans didn't teach their young in combat; it was instinctual, and each learned to fight with their own distinct style. They took a 'learn by doing' approach, but Celer was present to make sure the training did not get out of hand.

Vegeta looked back at him, receiving a nod of approval, before readying his stance, preparing to face Planet Vegeta's weakest predator, the Skulking Cat.

The tiny prince moved swiftly, skating around his opponent and delivering a paralysing chop to its neck.

But leaving it alive.

"Boy!" From behind Celer, King Vegeta himself was approaching, posture commanding with scarlet cape billowing out behind him.

King Vegeta was the only one with the right to yell at the prince in such a manner. He was the only one with the right to physically discipline the child, as well. Prince Vegeta didn't feel that he needed such lessons – he obeyed Celer promptly, he learned from his mistakes.

King Vegeta didn't involve himself in his child's life very often, and barely spoke to him even at mealtimes. When they did interact, it was usually only for the king to backhand Vegeta into a wall. It made the little Prince feel helpless, worthless, being so easily tossed aside. He was supposed to be powerful, but was obviously still not powerful enough for his father.

No, his father never seemed to be impressed, proud, or display any regard towards him.

Even the sparing of Vegeta's life over the debacle with his middle name was more a strategic move for the good of the empire than from concern for the boy's welfare.

But little Vegeta did not understand why he felt this was wrong, when everyone around him knew that this was the appropriate way to raise a saiyan.

When King Vegeta reached the prince, who was struggling not to show his fear, because his majesty didn't like that, it was not to congratulate him on eliminating his enemy so quickly.

"Father?" Vegeta enquired as the larger saiyan, so tall and intimidating, merely glared down at the tiny child.

"We are a warrior race, boy! We show no mercy!"

Young Vegeta didn't understand.

"Now kill it!" the king commanded, gesturing to the fallen animal.

Prince Vegeta was half a year old, and he did not want to do it, but he did. He obeyed his father. He took his first life.

Prince Vegeta was a year old, and standing proudly before a dark blue door, brimming with energy as he stroked his new, crimson cape. Just like his father's. Maybe the older saiyan would treat him better now that he wore the same clothing?

Today was a big day for Vegeta. Today was the day he would begin his lessons, ready to one day take the throne. He had woken Celer up far too early just to wait outside the door in anticipation, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

"Calm down, my prince," Celer warned, trying to stifle a smile, "It wouldn't do for your father to see you so excited."

The fluffy tail drooped as Vegeta's face fell, realising what could await him if his father saw him in such a state. He rubbed his nose, remembering how it had shattered on impact with the wall the last time he had done anything 'unsaiyan', like interact with the lower classes. Some street kids, all third-class, had managed to sneak into the castle, intent not on stealing, but just having a look around. Their dirty faces and strange phrases had been fascinating to young Vegeta, but when he had been caught speaking with them, as an equal, not with the commanding presence of a prince, he had been promptly disciplined by his father.

"You are a super elite!" the king had thundered, "You do not interact with lowly peasants!"

Little Vegeta did not understand why this was so, but understood that his father, as King, was always right. He would be more careful in future.

The navy door opened, causing Vegeta to perk up as he caught the first glimpse of his tutor, a short, female saiyan with the customary ebony, spiked hair.

"My prince," she greeted, bowing respectfully as she motioned him inside.

"As your tutor, I am responsible for preparing you to one day take on the mantle of kingship. Some day you shall rule an empire, spanning the entire planet and into the vast realms of the cosmos. I will be instructing you on such important matters as politics and negotiation, economics, law, history, culture and religion. But first, let's teach you to read and write."

Vegeta didn't understand all of these words, but sat as still as he could, vibrating in his seat as he took up a pencil, ready to begin.

Prince Vegeta was five years old, peering out the window of his new quarters as his home planet disappeared into the distance. Red wisps swirled about its surface as it shrunk into the depths of space.

His home. The only place he had ever known. With its wide streets and raucous people. Its beautiful trees and hardy wildlife, its gravity, much fiercer than the ship he was currently on. He tried to hold in the tears welling up in his eyes as he peered out the porthole at his home for what could be the last time.

He was going to miss his home.

And no matter what his father had done to him over the years, he was going to miss him, too. Miss both of his parents, even if he had not seen his mother all that much.

Celer stood back respectfully, watching the prince battle with his emotions. He had been sent away at a far younger age than Prince Vegeta, just out of the incubator, in fact. He had never even met his parents. But this didn't mean he judged the prince for his feelings, not at all. He understood the prince to feel more than the average saiyan, and wondered if that was only going to hurt him, going forward.

Because he had heard that Frieza was not a nice person, not in the least. And apparently he wanted Prince Vegeta personally. Well, whatever his plans, Celer would be there to protect his prince.

Prince Vegeta was five and a quarter years old, lying unconscious in their shared quarters, bruises littering his naked, battered form, tail twisted into an excruciating knot. Celer was bandaging the poor boy, tutting and treating him with as much gentleness as he could muster as he fought the urge to give the evil tyrant who had done this a piece of his mind.

Apparently Prince Vegeta had spared his opponents, thinking that because they had surrendered, Frieza's forces had won the battle and there would be no need for slaughter.

Frieza had quickly disabused him of that notion, tail whipping out and slapping the little prince hard into the metal wall, just like his father had done.

But where King Vegeta had the right, outranking his royal son, Frieza did not, and Celer had made to attack the beast, for what little good it would do.

Yet little Vegeta was fast, impressively even faster than a full-grown saiyan, despite being launched into a wall. For he caught Celer's wrist as he prepared to strike, ordering him to stand down.

Telling him softly that losing his companion would hurt far worse.

Celer knew Frieza had heard the declaration, and worry had churned in his gut, but Frieza did not act on the new information, instead commanding Celer leave the room, abandoning his prince for some private time alone with Frieza.

And he had obeyed. Reluctantly, but he had.

Hours later he had received a message on the intercom telling him to come and retrieve his charge, but not to take him to the medical bay.

He had been tempted, upon seeing the shattered body at his feet, bloodied, bruised and broken, to disobey that order, but Frieza had warned there would be even worse consequences if he did so. Thus Celer was making do with the meagre first-aid supplies they possessed, occasionally stroking the poor boy's cheek in a way that was unbecoming of a saiyan, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

He felt like such a failure, sitting there, helpless as his prince struggled for every breath, wincing in pain even in his unconscious state. What kind of guardian was he, unable to protect his charge from a violent abuser?

But he hadn't been able to do anything about the king, and he wasn't able to do anything about Frieza. Just sit there and do his best to heal Vegeta's wounds after the fact. Just hope that the experience wouldn't damage the poor boy's psyche, because although saiyans were made for battle this kind of treatment wasn't ideal. Prince Vegeta was only five and a quarter years old, after all.

Prince Vegeta was five and a half years old, celebrating a successful mission with his attendant among the corpses of the slain. He had shown no mercy this time.

Celer worried about that child, the child who had dared spare the life of his very first opponent, though it was only a wild beast. Celer hadn't understood the attitude at the time, but he also hadn't seen a problem with it, viewed it as just part of who his prince was.

He wondered where that child was now as he surveyed the carnage.

Prince Vegeta nibbled on his ration bar, eyes dark and watchful. He was still refusing to eat the carcasses, at least, like some of the uncivilised saiyans in Frieza's force did. A prince did not stoop to such a level.

Still, Celer couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding as he looked into those eyes, seeming darker than even their black colour.

It was preferable than tending to an injured prince again, though. Frieza seemed to take any excuse to harm the young saiyan, and the abuse was wearing on both of them. It was good to get away from him for a little while, even if the tyrant would criticise them for whatever reason when they returned. Celer wished Frieza would take out his anger on him, instead of his charge, but knew that would never happen. The younger saiyan was their prince, and Frieza seemed to be placing his frustrations at an entire race on the poor boy.

Prince Vegeta appeared to follow his thoughts, commenting, "Don't worry about me. I can take whatever he dishes out. What doesn't kill a saiyan only makes him stronger, remember."

But it wasn't strength that Celer wanted for Prince Vegeta. He was strong enough, terrifyingly strong for his age. Prince Vegeta may have been a member of a warrior race, but he was destined to rule them. He needed much more than strength, more than Celer thought he would be able to provide. He had tried his upmost to continue the boy's education, but felt it was a lost cause amongst all of the slaughter and abuse.

Whatever had happened to that child, bouncing before the door to his tutor's room, so many moon cycles before? Was it Frieza that had extinguished that spark, or had the cogs already been in motion?

Celer didn't know, he only wanted to take Prince Vegeta far away from all of this, far away from all of the danger. He personally didn't mind the violence they were asked to perform, but he didn't think his charge was ready for it, no matter the saiyan's usual policy of sending out babies.

But then again, maybe Celer was just being too soft.

Prince Vegeta was six years old, and having passed all of Frieza's tests, he had finally been placed in charge of a large saiyan unit. As prince, it was only natural for him to lead them, even if he was only a small child, and much smaller than he should have been at that age.

Celer thought he ought to be eating more, and even shared his food with the prince against his protests. As a child, Vegeta's ration was a much smaller portion size, and apparently not enough for a growing young saiyan.

Prince Vegeta found it hard to distinguish the hunger pains from the stress which gnawed at his gut every moment of the day, just waiting for Frieza to strike at him without warning. He found any excuse to do so, claiming Vegeta had made some mistake on mission, but he was only young, still learning. Celer always made that protest, but it mattered not. The prince was beaten, strangled, drowned and crushed, his tormentor so much more powerful than any opponent he had ever faced.

Sometimes Vegeta despaired of ever growing strong enough to defeat him, collapsing under the weight of the expectations of his people, their hopes in him to save them.

Prince Vegeta now had an entire unit under his command, obeying his every order without question. But he still turned to Celer first and foremost, even before his father's adviser, Nappa. Celer was his rock, his anchor, his support. He held him when the pressure and the pain became too much, sending the still little prince into a fit of embarrassing tears. Celer tended to his wounds, comforting him as the agony swarmed over him, even bathing him when the child was too weak to do so himself.

To Prince Vegeta, Celer was essential, irreplaceable, and even Celer couldn't drive that feeling away from him.

To Celer, he had failed in his mission not to let his charge grow too attached to anyone.

But he felt he had lost that battle from the moment of his birth.

Prince Vegeta was seven years old, and staring death in the face. He had killed before, murdered, slaughtered on the orders of one who would torture him to almost death if he failed. He had seen corpses before, but never like this.

Never of someone he…

Loved.

"CELER!" his voice, raw and anguished, pierced the alien sky as Vegeta's knees buckled. He couldn't take his own eyes away from that sightless gaze, wondering if it was accusing him for not being there.

No one else in his unit had died. Just Celer. Just the most important saiyan of all to the prince. A vicious burn in his back told the story of his demise, blood splattered about the wound and the adjacent ground.

But before Vegeta's horrified eyes, the irises he had been lost in disappeared as teeth emerged, chomping down on the delicate tissue. A worm arose from the depths of Celer's cranium, wriggling grotesquely in his eye socket. The prince couldn't look away, nausea rising in his gut as another made its way out of his cheek, tearing at the dead flesh, squirming as it digested its meal.

The young saiyan screamed, terror mingling with grief as more and more worms appeared, feasting on the dead flesh of Celer's face, his limbs, his back, wriggling out of holes they created in their horrific meal.

He had gone catatonic, staring unmoving at the vanishing cadaver, even as the rest of his team called out to him, shaking him roughly. In the end they had been forced to relocate him bodily, the enormous Nappa cradling the shaking boy close to him as they escorted their prince and leader back to his pod.

Prince Vegeta was just seven years old when he lost the most important person in his life.

And when he learned the power of fear.

Prince Vegeta was eight years old when Frieza discovered it, Dodoria revealing to him the fascinating discovery he had made on their latest mission.

The royal saiyan had developed an irrational fear of worms, freezing and shuddering whenever he caught sight of one, hyperventilating, sweating, and occasionally vomiting.

When Vegeta eventually made an error on his mission, because it was inevitable that he would do so, Frieza decided he would act upon it.

Picking the little monkey up by his tail, revelling in the yowling protests such a move caused, Frieza carried the prince to a chamber he had prepared especially for this occasion. A chamber with low lighting, no internal heating, no windows, and absolutely no escape.

A chamber filled with worms.

Prince Vegeta tumbled onto a squishy floor as Frieza's maddening laugh reached him, causing him to tense up. How he hated that bas—

The floor was moving, no the floor was wriggling, no…

He wasn't lying on the floor at all. He was prone, face down, on a mound of moving flesh, slithering, cold flesh squirming underneath him as he realised the horror of his situation.

Frieza had never done anything like this before. It was usually various degrees of physical torture, never anything psychological. Except for the mind games he liked to play with the helpless prince.

But this time.

Worms.

Prince Vegeta had been imprisoned amongst a pile of worms.

Panic rising within him, he struck out with his ki, but it did nothing, nothing except light up the chamber he was trapped in, showing the slithering floor of worms in all of its glory.

Prince Vegeta felt bile rising in his throat as Celer's face swam before his eyes, the very same creature wriggling its way out of an empty socket, more following on his cheeks.

"Celer," he sobbed, hands scrabbling at his face as tears began to form, realising his mistake only moments later as a worm wriggled over his own eye, causing Vegeta's little heart to palpitate wildly.

"Aarrggh!" he was going to be eaten, he realised, breath being sucked in as if through a straw, lungs aching. Air rushed in and out of his fluttering chest in quick succession, powering his thundering heart as the prince fell to his knees amongst the worms.

He couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't breathe as they swarmed over him, hungry for his flesh. He could almost feel them tearing at him like they did Celer, who he could still see, one eye staring at his charge in accusation.

He should never have split up their team.

But it was too late now, Celer was gone, his deteriorating face being swallowed all over again in Vegeta's mind's eye as he screamed. Over and over again, just screamed.

Prince Vegeta was eight years old when his fear was exploited. He was eight years old when he was thrown down into a chamber filled with worms for three days, frantic and going mad with panic. Vision swimming between his old friend's dead face, and the indestructible worms which wriggled over him.

Prince Vegeta was eight years old when the fear became too much, and he collapsed, cheeks buzzing, alone amongst a pile of worms. When he awoke in mind-bending terror, shrieking and flailing but unable to escape. When he scrabbled amongst his greatest fear, scratching at the walls, starving and dying of thirst, throat dry as dust.

Prince Vegeta was eight years old, and he was all alone.