Warnings: Angst, violence, language, adventure, sex, AU, fantasy, angst again.
A/N: Thanks to everyone who is sticking with this! I appreciate your patience with me for not updating this as frequently as some of my other work. I also apologize. I'm trying to keep this style as similar to what I started with two years ago but… my writing has changed.
Lost Dreams
Chapter 15
Trowa barely remembered his parents. Catharine did - she had told him stories for years about their mother and father. But Trowa did have one very clear memory of his father, of the first time he had held a bow and his father's strong, long fingers had held his arm steady. He remembered his rich voice, pitched low as he issued instructions and his proud chuckle when Trowa successfully shot an arrow into the target.
His father had been proud of him, once, but that had been a lifetime ago - a kingdom ago.
Trowa wondered if his father was with the gods, if he was looking down on his son, if he hated him for what he had become.
As Trowa surveyed the bloody battlefield before him, he couldn't help but hate himself.
His plan to infiltrate the Mysian hierarchy and destroy it from within seemed to have accomplished nothing. Nothing except his descent into their murderous ranks.
Over the past two months he had fought in battle after battle, riding in on Heavyarms and wearing that damned red jacket and those immaculate white breeches and he had covered them in blood every single time.
He hadn't won any battle single handedly - but he had been efficient, ruthless, and vital to each of the victories. He had worked hard to prove to Une, Treize and Zechs just how useful he could be for them and he had succeeded too damn well.
When he had first come up with this plan he had known, on an intellectual level, that he would have to kill the very people that Duo wanted to protect, but he had thought he could mitigate things, somehow.
Perhaps he had - he had prevented the men under his command from raping anyone and he ensured that they did a piss poor job of salting the fields of any free-worker lands they raided.
But it certainly wasn't enough.
Now, as a spring breeze rustled the still, lifeless corpses, Trowa had to question his plan, his entire strategy and his ability to carry it out.
His men were busy looting the bodies of the Theran dead and Trowa forced himself to turn away from them, to blind his eyes to the reality of the death he had caused.
He turned his horse - no commander needed to supervise this sort of thing - and started back towards the camp.
As he guided Heavyarms through the bodies he tried not to look at their faces. He had seen too many military parades in Antioch, had watched Heero and Solo and Gregory inspect too many new recruit classes for him to look at them. The chance that he might recognize one of them was simply too great.
The soldiers weren't the only scavengers on the field. Several grubby urchins were making quick work of going through pockets, scavenging food and valuables. These children had been following the army for weeks now, sorting through their rubbish, the bold ones went so far as to sneak into tents and try to steal from the Mysian soldiers. Several of the children had already been apprehended and hanged for their theft.
One boy paused in his work and looked up at Trowa. His skin was pale and dirty, his clothes mere rags and his hair so dark and matted that the color was indiscernible. But his eyes…
His eyes were the bright, violet-blue of Duo's and they looked at him with such anger, such hate.
Trowa found himself unable to turn away from that judgemental gaze.
"Kill him."
Zechs approached, riding his solid white charger, his retinue of guards trailing behind on foot.
For a moment, Trowa assumed Zechs was ordering his death, but, too slow, he realized Zechs was commanding the soldiers to kill the child.
He watched as the child glared at the approaching soldiers, not even bothering to run. He watched as the life bled out of his frail body and his eyes dimmed and the soldier who had murdered him wiped his dagger off on the child's filthy clothes.
Zechs was looking at him, his lips halfway between a sneer and a smirk, and Trowa returned his stare.
"The Therans almost flanked us," Trowa said, desperate to say something and unable to say what he needed to.
Zechs arched an eyebrow but nodded.
"Indeed. I've already addressed the… failures of my generals." Zechs lazily flicked dirt from his pristine uniform. "And it appears there is room to promote you further."
Trowa forced himself to swallow, to breathe and to nod in gratitude.
"Excellent. Hopefully it's a promotion that won't have me drowning in poorly trained soldiers?" He put enough disdain in his voice as he dared.
Zechs chuckled.
"Oh. No, I think you will enjoy your new position very much and certainly find it sufficiently challenging. We will discuss it further when we return to Abydos."
With those cryptic words, Zechs turned his horse and rode away.
Leaving Trowa alone with the dead men he would never be able to save.
He was in the middle of undressing when Une entered his quarters, unannounced, and demanded that he see Treize at once.
Trowa glared at her. He had only just managed to take off his uniform jacket and the stained undershirt. He still wore his white breeches, spattered with blood and dirt, and those damned high boots that made it so hard to move stealthily.
He moved to find a clean shirt, at least, but Une stopped him.
"Don't bother."
Not what Trowa wanted to hear, but he followed her from his room and made the long walk down the golden palace corridors, half naked, reeking of blood and sweat and stale fear, to Treize's quarters.
Une opened the door and gestured him inside before closing the door behind him.
Another bad sign - to his knowledge Une lived her life practically attached to Treize at the hip. He had heard rumors that she even stood by to watch and evaluate as he pleasured himself with the numerous men who decorated his bed. The only time Une didn't stay to watch, it was said, was when -
"Ah good, you're finally here," Zechs said.
He and Treize were naked, reclining on the large bed in the center of the room, and it was clear that Trowa had interrupted the start of their activities.
Trowa inclined his head towards Zechs.
"You wished to see me?" He directed his words to Treize.
"Hm. Yes." Treize gestured with his hand and Zechs knelt between his legs and began to lavish attention on his cock.
Trowa arched an eyebrow.
"Zechs tells me you saved the today."
Trowa shrugged one shoulder.
"Hardly. I managed to recover the positioning we lost due to the poor decision making of others. I'm sure Zechs would have managed to win the battle in any case."
"Of course he would," Treize purred, one hand stroking the blond head in his lap.
"Was that all?" Trowa didn't bother to keep the irritation out of his voice. Treize, Zechs and Une knew he cared little for them personally - there was no point in pretending otherwise.
"No. There was more. But first," Treize threw his head back and groaned, the sound low and guttural. "But first," he continued after a moment, "Zechs and I have plans."
"Shall I return later?" Trowa started to go.
"No," this came from Zechs, who released Treize and turned to Trowa with hungry eyes. "Of course not. Join us."
He should have known - he had known, as soon as Une came for him - that this was what would happen.
Trowa inclined his head.
"No. Thank you for the offer."
Treize arched an eyebrow but Zechs stood, a pout on his thin lips, and approached Trowa.
"You are almost as irritating as you are amusing," Zechs mused, circling around Trowa, close enough that his hair, his cock, brushed against him.
Trowa kept his gaze fixed, locked onto to Treize's amused eyes.
"I've said it before - I'm done warming the beds of others."
"Have you taken a vow of celibacy then?" Zechs asked, laughter in his voice. He reached out to the fly of Trowa's breeches and Trowa caught his hand.
"No, of course not. But I will no longer crawl into the bed of someone who isn't my equal."
His words could be taken in two ways - either as an insult to Zechs, as Trowa viewed him as far inferior, or a compliment, if Zechs, an implication that Zechs was too good for him.
Both Treize and Zechs laughed.
"Very well. Then you may wait here while Treize and I attend to more important matters."
Trowa released him and Zechs returned to the bed, to Treize, and Trowa looked away, to the light filtering through the windows on one side of the room.
He had never been forced or coerced into bed with someone. He had only ever chosen his partners - he had loved Heero, had felt a deep kinship with Solo and had, at the very least, felt immense lust with his other partners. Even his first time, with a man several years older.
It had been on a day not unlike this one, bright sunlight above and warm grass beneath them and Bosch, the most celebrated archer in Kos, had laughed at Trowa's inexperience, at his eagerness, and had shown him the pleasure and the joy that could be found in the body of another.
His first time with Heero had been so different. It was on the eve of Heero's departure from Kos, as he prepared to return to Thera, to his future in the army and the Royal Guard and it had been so slow, so reverent it was almost painful, and the look in Heero's eyes as he came, for the first time, in Trowa's embrace was the one thing Trowa wanted to picture in his mind when he died - that look of wonder and fulfillment and trust.
Trowa had been eighteen when he returned to the Theran court, when he next saw Heero, when he saw Solo for the first time in years, and there had been an ocean of anger and raw pain between him and the man he had grown up with. They had fought - first with words, accusing each other of horrible thoughts and deeds - and then with their fists, breaking furniture and bones and eventually Heero had been there, ready to pull them apart, but by then their anger had faded, had changed and Heero found them kissing, caressing the flesh they had moments ago abused, and he had left them. That first time with Solo had healed so much of the pain, the loss, the betrayal Trowa had carried with him since the fall of Ios, but it had created a barrier between Heero and Trowa, between Heero and Solo, that had taken years to overcome.
He wondered what it would have been like - his first time with Duo. His first time with Duo and Heero. Heero was the only virgin Trowa had ever been with, and he had been so young and still so inexperienced - he hadn't taken the care that Heero deserved. But now - now he knew that he and Heero would have worshipped Duo, would have suckled every scar, carressed every hard plane of him and he could only imagine what Duo would look like in ecstasy - his hair loose, his mouth open and his eyes empty of his pain, empty of his anger.
It was, Trowa knew, a sight he would never see.
Not when he was this stained, this covered in the blood of innocent people. Heero would understand - he would appreciate the choices Trowa had had before him and accept the need for tactical superiority, but he wouldn't forgive Trowa, not for this. He would never be able to look at Trowa the same way again - would never be able to see past the murder of the people he had sworn to protect.
And Duo.
He remembered the night he and Heero had discovered Duo in the ruins of the temple of the God of Death. Battered, limping, covered in soot with tear stains on his face. His eyes had been so haunted, so defeated.
It wouldn't be like with Solo - rage that turned to lust and their connection renewed. No, Duo would see him and he would know what Trowa had done and he would look at him with those dead eyes.
Finally, Treize and Zechs rose from the bed to clean themselves and Trowa forced himself to return to the present, to shelve the future that would never be.
After all, there was no way he would even live to see Heero and Duo again - not if his plan went accordingly.
"Summer is only three months away," Treize said. "And when the Hellas games begin we will have to halt our campaign for a month. We need to invade Kos."
Trowa didn't bother to hide his surprise.
"How?"
Zechs smirked.
"You're the military genius, at least you say you are - tell us."
Trowa considered it and he knew he couldn't. There was simply no way he could plan the invasion and destruction of the kingdom that had sheltered him after the fall of Ios. He could not to to Sylvia what had been done to him. He could not murder people he had shared bread with, had helped harvest and mend fences and taught to shoot a bow.
Treize and Zechs were staring at him, now dressing in long, open robes, and Trowa realized the trap that had been laid for him.
For months that had likely been planning this - from the first night he sat down with them to dinner - and now, now that he had fought their battles, killed their enemies - killed his allies - they brought him here, to this precipice.
"It can't be done," he finally said.
Treize arched an eyebrow.
"Of course it can be done. Is this it then - your true allegiance? Your -"
Treize stopped Zechs with a single, raised hand.
"Why can't it be done?" Treize asked, his voice deceptively mellow.
"The snow," Trowa said, never before so thankful for the mountains, for the harsh winters and the steep cliffs. "They've begun to melt, but not enough for us to invade without significant casualties."
"The casualties don't matter," Zechs muttered. "Our ranks grow every day - every time we destroy a settlement we add recruits."
Trowa nodded in agreement. He didn't bother to argue that conscripted recruits were no match for men defending their homes. Treize and Zechs didn't seem to understand that sentiment, didn't seem to care that the slave army they had created suffered enormous losses in every engagement.
"They should," he said simply, "because we won't be able to invade Kos and defend from a Mysian flank at the same time."
"Oh?" Treize seemed amused.
"We can't invade Kos before we isolate her from Thera. They are too close, their alliance too strong. If we end up in a protracted engagement with Kos the Therans will come to their aid and our forces will be destroyed. We have to wait. Until after the Hellas games. Wait for the snows to melt and wait for our victories against Thera to grow, wait for our advantage over them. There is the chance we can take Kos without an invasion - if we can demoralize Thera, the entire Continent at the games - then we can end this war."
Treize and Zechs exchanged a long look, some silent communication passing between them.
"Zechs, do you remember Ganymede? That beautiful boy you fell in love with when you were twenty?" Treize said at last.
"Of course." There was a slight frown on Zechs' face, as if he was just as thrown by this non sequitur as Trowa.
"Do you remember how we shared him? How we fucked him every night together for two months?"
Zechs nodded and his gaze drifted to Trowa, that frown still in place.
"And do you remember the night he came to our bed with a knife and tried to kill you?"
Zechs nodded again.
Treize approached Trowa and stood close enough that Trowa could smell roses.
"And do you remember how it felt to fuck his corpse?"
"Not as pleasant as fucking him when he was alive," Zechs muttered. "Too dry - it was no wonder he always wanted us to use more lubricant."
"Yes," Treize agreed. "But when he was dead, we didn't much care what he wanted, did we?"
By the end of spring Trowa had been promoted twice more, until he sat beside Treize at the council meetings. He led the Mysian army when Zechs or Treize were engaged elsewhere and he won battle after battle, even when the odds were in Theran favor.
And every time he returned to his quarters, every time he scrubbed his skin raw to remove the blood, the evidence of his betrayal, it grew harder and harder to remember that look on Heero's face, their first time, when they found eternity together.
But finally, six months after he arrived in Abydos, Relena sent for him, to speak with him, alone.
Finally, his plans could advance.