Warnings: Angst, violence, language, adventure, lemons, AU, fantasy, angst again.
A/N: I promise this was inspired by Tangled/Rapunzel…seriously, if you squint really, really hard you'll see what I mean. No, this isn't happy or filled with song. Or happy. But it was GOING to be…until I started to write it. There are also blatant references to Lord of the Rings and a few other fantasy-genre staples.
A/N #2: So, this is me, which means that Trowa and Duo are going to be involved. There will be more pairings, but I'd really rather let them develop than paste them all over this.
A/N #3: The POV will switch between characters – likely MOSTLY between Heero, Duo, and Trowa.
A/N #4: Sorry for the super long time between updates. Life has been...challenging of late, but that's all resolved now.
A/N #5: Thanks for all the reviews! I'd love to respond to you if you've been generous enough to take the time to leave one, but I can't unless you are signed in. So just know that I really appreciate it!
Lost Dreams
Chapter Two
The cavernously large reception hall was packed with soldiers. The entire Royal Guard, save for a handful of sentries, were arrayed before the throne of the King of Thera. All were in their full military regalia, and as the ancient bronze doors opened each soldier drew their swords and saluted the king on his throne.
Heero Yuy drew in a deep breath before stepping forward into the hall and marching between the ranks to the front of the room.
He came to a stop just before the dais steps and looked up at the King.
Gregory had aged well, despite the hardships during his reign. The man's long chestnut hair was streaked with gray, but his brilliant blue eyes were still alert and filled with fire. The creases on his tanned face told the story of a man who had lived long, and lived well. They also spoke of great personal tragedy.
On either side of Gregory's throne were two smaller thrones, but only the left one was occupied.
As the eldest son, Solo had been trained from birth as a warrior, and he looked it. Every inch of his lean frame was muscled and firm. His golden blonde hair was loose around his shoulders, held back only by two narrow braids at his temples. A thin gold circlet crowned his head.
The other throne should have been occupied by Gregory's other son, but it had been empty for fifteen years. The plump blue velvet cushions seemed to be mocking Heero as he looked at them.
"Who approaches the throne of my father?" Solo asked the formal question, ruining the solemnity of the moment by winking at Heero as he asked.
"Heero Yuy, Lieutenant of the Royal Guard."
Heero drew his sword and lay it across his own hands before kneeling in front of Gregory.
A moment later the king rose to his feet and walked down the dais.
"Heero Yuy, you have served us well, and spent your life committed to my service."
"Yes, my king."
"And will you continue to do so, for as long as your hand may hold a sword?"
"Yes, my king."
"And will you protect my son as though his blood was yours and his kingdom your own?"
"Yes, my king."
"Then I name you Captain of the Royal Guard. May you serve long and bring your father – bring your father's memory the honor he deserves."
No one could have missed the way Gregory's voice broke at the mention of Heero's father, and Heero felt a wash of shame and guilt at the emotion from the proud king.
The hall was completely silent as Gregory took Heero's sword and replaced it with the traditional sword of the Captain of the Royal Guard, and ancient blade forged by a long dead people. Tradition held that as long as the Captain carried this blade the Royal family would be safe from harm.
Heero's fist clenched around the gilt handle. If only his father had followed tradition and carried the blade at all times, then perhaps the Royal family would have been safe from harm.
"Rise, Captain, and lead your Guard," Solo directed Heero once Gregory had resumed his seat.
Heero rose and replaced the sword in the scabbard at his side. He bowed first to Solo and then to Gregory before turning to face his men.
"Guard, welcome your new Captain," Solo shouted.
The silence of the hall was broken by hundreds of cheers as the Guard fell out of ranks and swamped Heero at the foot of the dais.
He stood and accepted the backslaps and handshakes, forcing himself to smile politely at these men he now led.
His new Lieutenants, Alex and Trant, waded through the men and grinned at him.
"Captain," Alex greeted.
"Lieutenant," Heero responded.
Trant smirked.
"We've seen to it that your things have been moved to your new quarters."
Heero tensed at that. With all of the ceremony of the day, he had completely forgotten that he would be leaving the barracks that he had shared with Alex and Trant and would move to the traditional quarters of the Captain of the Guard, quarters that were in the same wing as those of the Royal family. Quarters that his father had once occupied.
"And we've scheduled the sentries for the rest of the night," Alex added.
A large hand clapped Heero's shoulder.
"Which means it's time to get your new captain drunk!" Solo said with a grin.
Heero rolled his eyes even as Alex and Trant cheered in agreement.
"To Harold's!" Solo instructed.
A cheer went up from the soldiers and before he could argue, Heero was hefted on the shoulders of his men and carried from the hall.
He looked back to see Gregory still on his throne, and the king suddenly seemed smaller and older than he had a moment ago. He watched as Gregory rose and left the dais, running a hand over the empty throne to his right as he did so.
It was after midnight when Heero was finally able to abandon his men and escape from their revelry.
Solo had stayed with the men for several hours before he had returned to the palace to eat the evening meal with his father, and after the prince had left the drinking had quickly turned even heavier.
Heero knew that most of his guard would be in sorry shape tomorrow, and he decided to put them through parade an hour later than normal. He gave the order to both Alex and Trant before he left them. He was pleased to see that while they had indulged, both of his Lieutenants were only mildly intoxicated.
There were the briefest of protests as Heero left them at the tavern, and he knew that once he left the men would no doubt drink even harder. He didn't begrudge them this chance to celebrate, even if it felt like a horrible mockery to him.
He spent an hour wandering the battlements of the palace and checking in with each sentry posted to watch over the Royal family. He accepted each man's congratulations and thanked each for volunteering to sit out the festivities and do their duty.
But by two in the morning he could think of no other excuse to keep him from his quarters, and he finally made his way to the Royal wing of the palace.
He had walked these halls since the time when he had taken his first steps, and he was intimately familiar with the long, marble corridors. As a child he and Solo had explored every inch of this palace, and while they had made many discoveries, there was no room that held such reverence for Heero as those of the Captain of the Guard.
The small set of rooms was Spartan by comparison to the rest of the palace accommodations, but to a soldier they were the epitome of luxury. There were entrances to three secret corridors, the stables, the reception hall, and the main Royal wing from within the quarters. Narrow windows provided light and an enourmous fireplace warmth.
As a child, Heero had grown up in those quarters. It was unusual for the Captain to keep his son in the quarters, but since Heero's mother had died giving birth to him, tradition had been broken and Heero had been raised alongside the princes at Court.
They were the quarters that Heero's father's father had occupied, and his father before him, and his before him, going back seven generations. Only one man not in Heero's family had occupied those quarters, and that had been James, the man who had held the post since the death of Heero's father and who had given it up only this year, when he felt that Heero was ready for the role that was his birthright.
They were the quarters that Heero's father had died in, and it was that reason that made his steps slow and heavy as he neared the strong oak door.
He rested one hand on the iron handle, knowing that his father's hand had turned it countless times, and he could feel the weight of centuries press down on him.
With a sigh, Heero opened the door and stepped into the rooms he hadn't seen in fifteen years.
He closed the door behind him and leaned back on it.
Someone had lit a fire in the hearth, and he was grateful for the warmth.
The meager library that Heero had inherited from his father was arrayed on a set of shelves hear the fire, and the trunk containing his weapons sat at the foot of the large four poster bed. The heavy damask curtains had been drawn, no doubt to keep out the chill of the night.
Heero stepped into the anteroom which held his small wardrobe and then into the mirrored room water closet. He certainly appreciated this luxury – the chance to wash in private, in the warmth of his room. As a soldier he was used to the meanest conditions, but he had been raised to appreciate comfort. Hot water was one of those comforts, and he eagerly washed his face with the hot water from the brass faucet.
He undressed and placed his dress uniform on a hanger before placing his new sword on the trunk lid at the foot of his bed.
A wave of exhaustion hit him, and he crawled into the bed, determined to sleep without dreaming of his father on this night of all nights.
"You've certainly moved up in the world."
Heero reached for his sword on instinct as the voice rose from the darkness of the bed.
"Trowa." He relaxed as he recognized the voice. Even so, he tied back one side of the bed curtains, allowing a spill of firelight in as well as a draft of cold air.
Sure enough, the Sentinel was reclining on the mound of pillows at the head of the bed, an amused expression on his face. The heavy blankets were pulled up to his waist, and the firelight danced in golden patterns across his bare chest.
"When did you get here?"
Trowa shrugged. "Few hours ago. I looked in at Harold's but you were… busy."
Heero snorted. "You could have dragged me away."
"No, your men wanted to celebrate with you."
Heero sighed and sprawled across the bed, letting his head rest on Trowa's stomach.
"Not much to celebrate," he muttered.
Trowa pinched one of Heero's ears none too gently.
"You have a chance to restore honor to your family," he pointed out.
"Impossible. There is no way to repair the damage we have done to this kingdom."
"Heero –"
"The crown prince was kidnapped from this very room!"
"Your father died trying to save him."
"And he failed."
"You cannot change the past," Trowa said, and there was a gravity to his voice that made Heero wince. Trowa, more than anyone else, certainly knew that the past could not be changed.
"You've been gone nearly a month," Heero said, deciding to change the subject. There was too much in their memories that he and Trowa would rather not dwell on, and while he had no problems wallowing in his own pain and self-doubt, he did not want the other man to do so.
"There was work to do in Kos, and a few caravans wanted to pass through the forests before winter settles in."
"Some fat merchant has been making a fuss about you abandoning him to bandits two weeks ago," Heero commented.
Trowa snorted a laugh.
"He's alive, isn't he?" Trowa shook his head. "I'm sorry I missed the ceremony this afternoon, though."
"No, you aren't. You hate having to dress according to your station."
"True, but I do like seeing you in full uniform."
"You like undressing me from my full uniform," Heero corrected and rolled over.
Trowa smirked at him.
"Looks like you already did that, though," he commented and ran a hand over Heero's bare back.
Heero wrapped one arm around Trowa's shoulders and pulled the other man to him.
"I seem to recall you enjoying what we do after I'm undressed, too," he murmured against Trowa's lips.
"Hm. I think I like that part best," Trowa agreed and kissed him.
Heero allowed himself to drown in the sensations of Trowa's kiss. He locked away all of his doubt, all of his dark memories, and tried to merely exist in the present.
They had been lovers for long enough to know every inch of each other's bodies intimately, every sensitive spot, and every scar.
When Heero ran one hand across Trowa's left shoulder in a caress he felt the other man stiffen even as he noticed the skin under his fingers was rough.
Heero pulled back from their kiss.
"New injury?"
Trowa scowled.
"It's healing. I didn't realize it was deep enough to scar, and it's been tricky to rest the joint. It keeps opening back up."
"Let me see."
Trowa sat up and shifted so that he was closer to the foot of the bed and the firelight.
Heero examined his shoulder and took note of the small but deep cuts just above the joint.
"Impossible to rest that if you rely on a bow."
"I noticed," Trowa growled.
"How did it happen?"
"That fat merchant who's been whining? His caravan was attacked by some bandits. Absolutely pathetic – all of them. Half starved and without any decent weapons. We stopped them before they could steal anything, but one of the bastards led me on a merry chase and I landed on a jar of lavender oil that shattered. Most of the jar wound up in my shoulder and my side."
"Lavender oil?"
"Still can't get the damn scent off of my oilskin cloak," Trowa complained.
Heero chuckled and then leaned forward and kissed the wound. He worked his way towards Trowa's clavicle and then up his neck and across his jaw. He paused before kissing Trowa's lips.
"Trowa Barton felled by perfume and a half-starved bandit," he muttered. "How embarrassing."
Trowa's green eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, Heero kissed him, swallowing any argument the Sentinel may have had.
They took their time caressing and pleasuring each other. Heero was used to Trowa's long absences, and they had developed a routine of sorts over the years. Their first time making love when Trowa returned was always like this, always slow and careful, as they remembered the way it felt to be wrapped together so tightly they felt like one being.
He loved to see Trowa's face as the man orgasmed, and repeatedly brought the man to climax with his hands and mouth before he bothered with hunting down lubricant and taking his own pleasure.
The first thing he could find in the water closet was, in fact, a jar of lavender oil. He laughed out loud as he smelled it, but decided to use it in any case.
"What the hell is that smell?" Trowa demanded when Heero climbed back into the bed and coated the the fingers of his right hand in the oil.
"Don't you recognize it?" Heero asked with a smirk.
"You're a sick bastard, Heero," Trowa muttered and then groaned when Heero started to prepare him.
"You love it," Heero said, enjoying the play of emotion on Trowa's face as the man fought to remain irritated even as his hip's rose to meet Heero's touch.
"Stop teasing me," Trowa hissed as Heero pumped two fingers into him, enjoying the feel of the tight ring of muscles around the digits.
"As you wish."
Heero coated his erection with the oil and positioned himself at Trowa's entrance. He held his gaze as he slowly entered the tight heat of the other man, and both groaned when Heero was fully buried.
"I've missed you," Heero said.
"You've missed my tight ass," Trowa corrected.
"Hn." Heero didn't bother to argue the point – Trowa knew that he wanted him for more than his body – and right now it was his tight ass that he had missed the most.
He tried to last as long as he could, drawing in and out of Trowa's body slow enough to drive both of them mad with the sensations, but eventually Trowa lost patience and took control of the pace, quickening it by jerking his hips up to meet Heero's thrusts.
Heero could feel himself approaching orgasm and he reached out to stroke Trowa's erection, wanting to bring the other man to climax again.
He got his wish only a moment later, as Trowa came with a hoarse shout, and his tensing muscles forced Heero to orgasm as well.
A deliciously content feeling spread though Heero as he sat back on his heels and waited for his heartbeat to slow. The physical release of orgasm, coupled with the relief of having Trowa back in his bed, helped to banish the lingering doubt and shame that the ceremony had brought to the forefront of his mind again.
It took Heero a moment to muster the energy to rise from the bed and fetch a towel to clean them off, and he practically sprinted to avoid the chill of the stone floor.
Once clean and under the sheets he turned on his side and regarded Trowa.
"Have you heard anything?"
"From Mysia?"
Heero nodded.
"Just the usual – they've been burning free workers out of their lands. A lot of rebels and vagrants in the Western Wood."
"Our spies report that one rebel in particular has been troubling them," he said.
"Wouldn't be Duo Maxwell, would it?"
"Yes, actually. Apparently he's leading some band of rebels who've been attacking the Mysian armies sent to burn out the free workers."
"Good for him," Trowa muttered.
Heero arched an eyebrow.
"That half starved bandit who embarrassed me? It was him – Duo Maxwell."
"From his description he doesn't sound like much," Heero commented.
"He doesn't look like much either," Trowa mused. "He could use a decent meal or ten." He shook his head and then laid back and closed his eyes.
"Wonder how long before the Mysians catch him." Heero closed his own eyes and settled back on the pillows.
"At the rate his luck was running when I met him? Maybe another few months, then they'll have themselves a nice public execution and the rebels will go into hiding again for a few years."
"Someday there's going to be a rebel they don't catch, and then there will be hell to pay."
"Sure," Trowa agreed, and his voice betrayed his exhaustion. "Sleep now?" He suggested.
Heero smirked in amusement. Trowa was remarkably even tempered – Heero could count on one hand the number of times he had ever seen him truly outraged – but he was incredibly cranky if he wasn't allowed to sleep when he wanted to.
"Yeah," Heero agreed and pulled the blankets up to his chin. He felt Trowa settle against his back and he allowed himself to relax.
"See, it wasn't the worst day of your life," Trowa said just as Heero drifted off to sleep.
The next morning Heero woke at dawn and wasn't surprised to find Trowa already gone. The Sentinel kept odd hours, sleeping only four or five hours at a time before rising, but Heero trusted that Trowa intended to stay for a while and not just the night.
The morning parade wasn't nearly as sloppy as Heero had predicted it would be, and he was proud to see the men assembled in the palace courtyard at the assigned hour, Alex and Trant leading the ranks as Heero inspected them.
He was about to dismiss them when he caught sight of Solo and Trowa approaching. Both men were dressed in hunting gear, and Trowa was smirking slightly at some joke that Solo was telling him.
"Attention!" Heero commanded his men as Solo reached them.
The Guard instantly snapped to order and saluted their prince.
Solo nodded in appreciation.
"They look excellent, Captain Yuy. And so refreshed. Surely these men weren't the ones who kept Harold's open until three this morning, are they?" Solo smirked.
"Your Guard are truly remarkable," Heero told the prince.
Solo laughed.
"Indeed they are. You may dismiss them."
Heero gave the order, and the men fell out of ranks and dispersed. Only Alex and Trant stayed behind.
"I've convinced Trowa to go hunting with me – perhaps you and one of your Lieutenants will accompany us?"
Heero frowned. Solo had always flaunted protocol and he despised having a large retinue follow him. Heero knew that the prince could fend for himself, but he felt an obligation to argue for a larger guard.
He opened his mouth to do just that, but Solo held up a hand to forestall his comments.
"Heero, if you, one of your Lieutenants, a Sentinel, and myself can't keep me alive then we might as well hand over the kingdom to the Mysians now."
"He has a point," Trowa agreed.
Heero glared at him, but realized he was outmatched.
"Very well. Alex, have our horses saddled and brought around."
"Yes sir!" Alex ran off to do his bidding.
"Trant, you have command."
"Thank you, sir." Trant bowed and then left them as well.
Heero fell into step with Solo and Trowa as they walked to the royal stables.
"I was telling Trowa about the attacks on our new settlements in the South Pass," Solo said.
Heero looked at Trowa and the Sentinel shrugged.
"We don't look to the South, but when I return to Kos I will ask Sylvia if we can protect the area."
"That would be appreciated," Solo said. "The damn Mysians aren't content with destroying their own territory but they have to go and terrorize our free workers too."
Heero scowled. "The Mysians seem to be stretching farther than before."
"Don't I know it." Solo sighed in frustration. "And of course, I can't go out and lead the damned army against them. They know we don't have any choices and they're trying to force our hand. If only –" Solo cut himself off and shook his head.
Heero swallowed hard and fought down the instinctive urge to apologize. Solo had been about to say if only my brother were here.
"Speaking of Mysians," Trowa interrupted Heero's dark thoughts, "the rebels seem to be organizing themselves a little better."
Solo snorted.
"Only the one group. How ironic is it that they are led by some kid named after Duo?"
It was a common practice for the citizens to name their children after a prince or princess born the same year as their own child, and Heero had at least five Solos and Duos who served in the Royal Guard.
"I'd like to know how he managed to kill their Inquisitor," Solo continued. "And lived!"
"Trowa befriended him recently," Heero said with a smirk.
"Befriended the way only Trowa can make friends or actually befriended him?" Solo asked with a laugh.
Trowa rolled his eyes.
"Keep making fun of me and I'll forget that I like either of you," Trowa muttered.
Solo clapped him on the back.
"In all seriousness, what was he like?"
"Half starved. And like you," Trowa told Solo, "he fancied himself to be funny even though he wasn't."
Solo laughed.
"He also managed to give Trowa a few new scars," Heero helpfully added.
"I like him!" Solo declared.
"Closest I've come to dying in years," Trowa muttered, "and you probably want to give him a medal for that, hm?"
"I'd rather give him a medal for killing the Inquisitor. I wonder –"
"Solo!"
All three men turned.
A slender man was running towards them. His short, white blonde hair was a bright contrast to his dark clothing and pale skin.
"Trowa! I didn't realize you were back."
"Quatre," the Sentinel greeted the courtier as he stopped before them, slightly out of breath.
Quatre smiled and nodded at Heero before turning back to Solo.
"Mind if I go with you? It's likely to be the last day before snow starts to fall and -"
"And you hate the cold," Solo finished for him. "If you want, of course."
Quatre smiled broadly and Solo grinned back.
Heero resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
"Unless you two would rather spend the day in bed?" Trowa suggested, obviously feeling no need for restraint.
Quatre flushed but Solo only chuckled.
"That's what the nights are for!" Solo insisted. "Besides, Quatre's right, this likely will be the last day of good hunting, and Cook said he'd like to roast a wild boar tomorrow."
Solo draped an arm around Quatre's shoulders and led the shorter, younger man on to the stables.
Trowa and Heero followed at a slower pace, amused by the prince's public affection for his favorite lover.
They spent the morning riding to the eastern forests, and Heero was grateful that Alex was along to guide the spare horse that would, if all went well, carry the litter and the day's killings back to the palace that afternoon.
He forced himself to stay alert as they rode, taking point while assigning Trowa the task of riding behind Solo through the open fields until they reached the forest.
From years of experience, Heero knew that once they reached the forest there would be no corralling the prince. He was as dedicated a hunter as he was a warrior, and wouldn't allow something as trivial as personal safety to come between himself and a kill.
Quatre kept up a steady stream of conversation with the prince as they rode.
Solo was infamous for his conquests – male and female alike – but it hadn't been until Quatre Winner arrived at court, a visiting dignitary from the Lydian kingdom far across the western sea, that Solo had actually seemed to develop an attachment to any of his lovers. Instead of leaving after a year, Quatre had stayed for the last three years, and seemed to be in no rush to leave.
At first Heero had resented the blonde and his relationship with Solo, but it was clear that Quatre provided Solo with more than a warm body. Quatre made him happy, and Heero hadn't seen the prince truly happy in fifteen years.
"About this medal," Solo said to Heero once they arrived in the forest and spread out. "I think it's a good idea."
"To award bandits?" Heero asked in amusement.
"No, not as such. But I think this boy, this Duo Maxwell, might be of use to us."
"As an assassin?" Trowa asked. "I've no idea how he managed to kill the Inquisitor, but I'd guess it was sheer luck. He didn't strike me as much of a cold blooded killer."
"No. I've no use for assassins. But if these rebels could be organized, if we could provide them with weapons and supplies…"
Heero nodded in appreciation to the plan.
"If he accepts them," Trowa mused. "He didn't strike me as much of a follower."
"Enemy of my enemy," Solo said with a shrug.
Trowa nodded in agreement with the familiar Sentinel phrase.
"Can you find him again?" Solo asked him.
Trowa snorted.
"I didn't find him the first time. He found me."
"But?" Solo fished.
"I could. But I'd rather not involve the Sentinels in Theran affairs."
"Of course."
"Yet I'm confident he's somewhere in the Western Wood. That territory is filled with actual bandits. And it borders Mysia."
"So you'd like a few men to accompany you?" Solo guessed.
"Just one," Trowa said and looked at Heero.
"I'm the Captain of the Royal Guard," Heero reminded him.
Trowa shrugged. "You're the only one who could keep up with me – since Solo can't go."
"Surely one rebel isn't worth –"
"No," Solo interrupted Heero. "Something tells me this one rebel is worth it. I'll speak to my father, but I imagine that Alex and Trant can fulfill your duties for a time if you go off adventuring with Trowa."
Heero wasn't happy about the idea. He had just been given this post and already he was being asked to abandon it. At the same time, he could feel the stir of excitement about the very prospect of traveling through the Western Wood with Trowa to search for this bandit.
"If that is what my prince desires," he said.
"Excellent. You should leave tomorrow – hopefully you can return before the snows get too bad."
When they returned to the palace it was dusk, and the spare horse was loaded with a boar and two deer.
"We need to visit the Royal Archives," Trowa told Heero as they walked back to the palace with Alex. Solo and Quatre had already gone ahead with the excuse that they wanted to bathe. Knowing the two of them, Heero doubted that cleanliness was what had driven them to set such a quick pace.
"Why?"
"Maps."
"I thought you Sentinels knew the roads like the palm of your hands."
"Yes, but I have a hunch that Duo Maxwell isn't hiding out in a lean to by the roadside," Trowa said. He wore a frown of concentration, and Heero knew that he was deep in thought.
"I'll stop by the barracks in the morning and give you instructions," Heero told Alex as they parted ways.
"Thank you, sir," Alex said. He looked at Trowa. "Next time you should stay longer than a day," he suggested.
"I planned on spending the winter this time," he groused, but shook Alex's hand. "I'll return your Captain as soon as I can," he promised.
"You know that Wufei promised to cut off your hand if you touched his maps again," Heero reminded Trowa as they walked down the palace halls towards the Archives.
"Then I won't touch them. You can."
"What are we even looking for?"
"The boy – Maxwell – he had an acolyte's tattoo on the back of his neck."
"A failed priest?" Heero asked. Somehow his mental image of the rebel hadn't encompassed that possibility.
"Too young. He's almost too young to be an acolyte."
"If he's named after Duo then he's what, nineteen?" Heero mused.
Trowa nodded. "That's what he claimed. He doesn't look a day over sixteen though. In any case – if he had the opportunity to kill the Inquisitor it stands to reason that he was being interrogated by the Inquisition."
"Yes," Heero agreed.
"So I'm guessing whatever temple he was with is one of those the Mysians burned."
Heero frowned. The Mysians were famously fanatic about destroying religion, and they had spent considerable energy burning down any temple within their lands and the Western Wood. Whatever temple priests and acolytes they hadn't burned with the temple were either sold into slavery or taken before the Inquisition.
"You think he's hiding in one of those temples," Heero guessed.
Trowa nodded. "Yes, we stay clear of the Western Wood, and I've no idea where the ruins are."
"Wufei should know."
"Exactly. Now we just have to convince him not to kill us," Trowa muttered.
Heero smirked at the despair in Trowa's voice.
Wufei Chang had appointed himself the guardian of the Archives, and when, as children, he had caught Trowa eating an apple while reading an ancient text, he had made it his life's work to keep Trowa from harming any of the precious texts within the Archives.
The two men got along perfectly well outside of the Archives, but the minute Trowa set foot in the stacks, Wufei always treated him like an enemy.
Heero found their constant battles amusing, and he was actually looking forward to the coming confrontation.
They found Wufei buried in some distant corner of the library, and the exotic man looked at them warily as they approached.
"What are you two doing in the Archives?" He demanded.
Heero smirked at his tone.
"I need to look at a few maps."
"No."
Trowa rolled his eyes.
"Search my pockets. No food. I promise."
"Why do you need to look at Archival maps?" Wufei asked, suspicious.
"State secret," Trowa told him with a smirk.
Wufei's eyes narrowed.
"Then why are you involved?" He asked.
Trowa shrugged and looked to Heero.
"We need to know the locations of temples in the Western Wood."
"They've all been destroyed," Wufei said dismissively.
"We know," Heero told him.
Wufei sighed and rose from his chair and led them deeper into the Archives.
"Do you know which temples?" Wufei asked as he walked. "The God of Life? The God of the Land? The God of the Sky? The God of the Sea? The God of Death?"
Heero looked over at Trowa.
"The God of Death," Trowa echoed, as if testing the words.
"I didn't think either of you were religious," Wufei commented, clearly fishing for more information.
"We aren't going to give you any more details," Heero assured him.
"As far as I know, the Western Wood only had one temple for the God of Death." Wufei came to a stop in front of an ancient chest of drawers and started to look through them. "The Mysians hate the God of Death's priests more than the others, you know."
"I didn't know." Heero had never concerned himself over the differences between the priests and their temples – as Wufei has said, he wasn't religious, and he knew that Trowa was even less religious than he was. Heero had been to a ceremony only once, and that had been when his father had been cremated. He had been twelve at the time, and the priests for the God of Death had all seemed impossibly old and pale, their very countenances representing the god they served.
"That's right," Wufei said. He gave them both a cautious look. " After the crown prince was kidnapped, rumor had it that the mercenaries who took him were killed in the Western Wood."
Heero did his best to look neutral as Wufei continued. "Apparently a traveling group of priests took him in, so the Mysians started to torch all of the temples in their own kingdom and then those temples in the Western Wood."
"Why do they hate the God of Death's priests so much?" Trowa asked.
Wufei gave him a patronizing look and pulled out a map.
"Their temple in the Western Wood is one of the oldest and most secret."
"Yet you have its location on a map," Heero muttered.
"I don't actually. No one does. Well, no one did. It took the Mysians ten years to find it, and by that time - if he had ever been there – the crown prince was long gone. The Mysians tortured the priests and burnt down both the temple and the school."
"The school?" Trowa echoed.
"Yes, a school – an orphanage – some mixture of the two. The priests take in any child whose parents have died, they see it as their sacred duty."
"What happened to the children?" Heero asked.
Wufei gave him a dark look.
"The girls they took and sold into slavery. The boys they locked in before they set it on fire."
Heero winced. The look on Trowa's face was fierce.
"But you know where the temple was?" He asked Wufei.
"Somewhere here," Wufei said, and ran his fingers over a section of the Western Wood that was dangerously close to the Mysian border.
"Damn," Trowa said.
"Just how important is this sightseeing tour of yours?" Wufei asked.
"I don't think it's this important," Heero mused.
He trusted Trowa to watch his back more than he trusted any man alive, but he wasn't an idiot. Traveling that close to Mysian territory could very easily result in their deaths. There was no way a Mysian patrol would allow the Captain of the Royal Theran Guard to pass unmolested.
"You'll have to travel as a Sentinel," Trowa decided, his thoughts on a parallel course to Heero's.
"I didn't think you wanted the Sentinels associated with this?"
"Can't be helped, now. I'll ask Sylvia for forgiveness later. You still have your gear?"
Heero had spent three years living with the Sentinels after his father's death, and while he would never be a full member of that elect society, he was viewed as a friend, and had been gifted with the traditional cloak, bow, and hood of the Sentinels.
"Yes, of course."
"Good. Damnit, this is much further than I thought it would be." Trowa shook his head.
"We could probably talk Solo out of it," Heero told him.
"No. No, there's something about him – we need this boy."
Trowa and Heero studied the map, memorizing the unfamiliar terrain. Trowa shot Wufei a hopeful look.
Wufei snorted.
"Don't even think about it. This map is three hundred years old."
"Then surely there's been a new one made since then?" Trowa suggested.
"Clearly there hasn't, and certainly not in the last hundred years. The Mysians would kill any Royal cartographer dumb even to travel to their territory."
Heero sighed and shook his head. He trusted Trowa's judgment, but he had a hard time believing that Duo Maxwell would prove to be anything other than a vengeance driven bandit.
If they could even find him.
Up Next: Duo makes some new friends.
-0-
Some facts about this fantasy world:
There isn't actually any magic. It's really just kind of a medieval-ish place, with a small pantheon of gods. The gods will be explained more as we go, but they don't really interfere with life – it's a lot like our own contemporary religions.
Thera and Mysia are ancient Greek cities/islands/states and I'm definitely stealing a bit from Greek mythology as I craft this.
As for technology: again, very medieval, except that I gave them running water – because, let's be honest – running water is AWESOME and truly necessary to even think about the Gundam boys being super hot and having lots of sex.