All the Things You Never Knew:
Part Eleven
By: Kitty E.
Prince Duo wasn't exactly throwing a fit, his behavior was more than
justified, doubtless there had to be more graceful ways to handle even such news
as this. He was heaving things, his nervous tension- bordering on hysteria
-finding release in watching a great many expensive and irreplaceable
possessions being broken, or damaged, chipping the walls, scarring the floor.
"Who is he?" he hissed, demanding an answer from an unknown person, God
perhaps, as if accusing Him of sending Marius to make his life more
difficult.
He had no more objects to throw, he realized, at least not upon the
table. He turned sharply, looking for something else, but finding only
Wufei's disapproving, unobtrusive stare. Duo didn't care to be judged right
then, but rather than send Wufei away he looked at the floor, halfheartedly
kicking away a ruined music box. He was still frightened, angry, and
hopeless, but now he felt stupid as well. He began to think it would be
easier just to die now and save everyone else the trouble. "Who is he, Wufei?
You must know..." the words were unclear, but the meaning was unmistakeable,
Wufei had, *must* have, everything under control.
The oriental slave stepped forward, now that he was finally called upon.
He pulled his prince away from the sitting room, "I don't know his name, or
his past, sire, but it doesn't matter. He's a man, Duo, capable of dying, of
being broken, and disgraced. He is foreign, and aloof, not the people's hero.
Not yet. He can be dealt with, he *will* be dealt with."
Duo was not comforted, that was clear, but he was calmed. "Do you know
what I thought? When the doors were opened like that in the cathedral? I
thought it was some avenging angel, may as well have been. It's all gone
wrong, Wufei."
Wufei shook his head tightly, and then saw that Duo wasn't looking at
him. With both hands he turned the prince's face, and held it there, "It has
*not.* You can't give up now." He cursed in his own language, "Not yet, not
ever. This is not some game, Duo, you can't just give up when the roll of the
die is not in your favor. What you do now, what you already have done,
affects the rest of your life. You're going to fight, and you're going to
win." I'll see to that, I swear.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"This should not be an issue," Quatre told Difficult, as if it were the
horse and not himself that were being irrational. Trowa had returned from the
funeral but did want to be disturbed, and Quatre, bored of his room and of
being alone, had wandered out to the stables to think. Difficult did not seem
to have much in the way of advice, but begrudgingly stood still as Quatre
rested his arms across the bow of his broad back, and his chin upon his
hands. If felt good to lean against something solid, but alive, as if life
was more permanent than it seemed.
"It was so easy when there was only one thing I cared for. Who could
decide between love and freedom? No philosopher could explain how one was
more vital to the soul than the other, let alone some whore who talks to
horses. No... once whore, must remember that." He paused, and sighed, "Must
decide whether being with Trowa is worth becoming that again."
Difficult shifted suddenly on his feet, protesting Quatre's weight. The
blonde relented, leaning instead upon the rough wall of the stable. "If
something happened. If he suddenly died, or was forced to give me away, or...
so many things could happen, and I'd be left a slave forever. Duo would never
set me free, and I could never find someone like Trowa again- which is why I
cannot leave and why I cannot stay. Goddamn this circular logic!"
He huffed, if only Trowa would talk to him about it, but it seemed his
prince found it all too painful to debate, and Quatre would never dare cause
him any more pain. "And so," he continued his thoughts aloud. "I cannot
leave... but I could never be a slave again. God, not ever again, and so I
cannot stay."
He felt like crying suddenly from frustration. "Fine," he said fiercely.
"Fine. Damn it all, I don't care about polemics anymore, about what's right,
and what I should do. It just comes down to what I want." Difficult stamped
his foot, as if impatient, or weary of his temperamental company. "I want to
be with Trowa... and I want to be free." His shook his head, that line of
thought was of no help at all. "What do I want more?"
He was quiet for a long moment, then pushed off suddenly from the wall,
and unlatched the gate. "Freedom. I want freedom more." It didn't exactly
feel like the right answer, but he was sure that it was. He nodded, he had
made his decision, and he didn't care to continue questioning it. He had to
see Trowa once more before he left, say a proper goodbye and then begin his
life anew. Yes, he told himself firmly. That is what I want, what I need.
~~~~~~~~
Trowa sat at his desk once more, tapping the old wood with his fingers in
a vain attempt to think of only the issues at hand. Perhaps things were
irrevocably muddled now, but clarity of the thought was needed for rational
decision, and just because God didn't seem to be playing by the rules anymore
didn't mean that he shouldn't. There were, after all, only two possible
choices, he could support Duo, or he could support Marius. He never would
have admitted it, but a third choice continually tempted him, that of just
giving up and gathering up himself, Quatre, and enough money to live on for
several years and leaving. Pleasant as it sounded, and despite having the
logistics of it all planned out, he knew the hope was foolish.
And so he would return to his dilemma, Duo was indeed that last of his
immediate family, his brother and supposed King, but he knew, knew
personally, that Duo was not a good man. Marius was a stranger, and what's
more, technically an enemy. He cared for neither. If it had not been for the
fact that a war that could destroy and pull apart Kalea was just on the
horizon, he would have chosen the third option, and left the two to their own
devices.
A knock sounded on the door, and he lifted his eyes to it, as if he might
perceive who it was through the thick wood. He considered sending whomever it
was away, but worried that something important had happened. "Come."
It was Quatre, unattended and apparently acting on free will, the blonde
closed the door after him, though it was hardly what was ought to be done.
His eyes were serious, and Trowa was both relieved and disappointed, knowing
that this meant Quatre had not taken it upon himself to distract him from the
ugly matters at hand. "Trowa," he started. He hesitated a moment before
moving away from the door, coming close to Trowa but not yet touching him.
"I've come to my decision."
There was a small twist in his heart, like a knife being turned within a
wound, and Trowa knew it wasn't going to be what he wanted to hear. "All
right," he said, all but falling back into his chair.
Quatre opened his mouth to speak, then sighed softly. Then chuckled, but
it was clear he was only laughing at himself. "I'm staying, Trowa."
Trowa blinked several times, then looked up at Quatre, who attempted to
smile back at him. "You don't seem happy," he remarked. He would keep Quatre
with him regardless, but he had hoped that he would not have to make the
blonde choose misery for his own happiness.
Quatre shook his head, and made a show of kneeling before his prince. He
laughed again, and rested his head against Trowa's knee. "I am happy... but
angry too, because I was so foolish, because I am afraid." He closed his eyes
tightly. "This is difficult for me. Please don't think that I was only being
selfish, I've just never-"
"I know," Trowa said softly. He smoothed over Quatre's hair, and wondered
why it felt so dusty. "We've both made our sacrifices, Quatre."
The blonde shifted slightly, looking up at Trowa as if he finally
understood something. His smile was more convincing now, "Of course. I didn't
mean to imply that you signing that paper was any easier than this." He
pulled the battered document out, unfolded it, and ripped it cleanly in half.
He seemed surprised he had actually done it, and promptly took both halves
and tore them again.
Trowa leaned down taking both of Quatre's hands in his, "We need never
mention this again, alright? We're even, neither more wounded than the other."
Quatre nodded, lifting himself up to whisper a kiss over Trowa's lips.
"Because we've both been healed." He cocked his head to one side now, looking
at Trowa the same way he had when they first met, "What are my first duties,
sire?" He pressed his hand to Trowa's chest, aggressive in body to compensate
as he fell back into the familiar language of submission. "Is there anything
you require?"
How quickly I forget, Trowa thought with mock exasperation. Quatre
himself is and always will be a distraction. The decision would not come
tonight, and so he nodded his agreement to embrace forgetfulness just for
tonight. "And after," he began, but was jerked from his chair, and pulled to
his inner room. He allowed himself to be led, but stilled Quatre's hands when
they started pulling on the buttons of his jacket.
"And after," Trowa began again. "I'll need something of you."
Quatre nodded, but freed his hands from under Trowa's. "Anything," he
stated firmly. A moment later, he stopped, half finished with Trowa's jacket.
"What exactly?"
Trowa smiled, "I need you to lie for me, to do what you can do so well."
Quatre pulled open the last few buttons, he lay his head on Trowa's
shoulder, pressing heavily against so that they swayed in counterbalance. He
lips moved against the skin of Trowa's neck, "How?"
Trowa managed to say only a fragment of his original thought as he was
licked from collarbone to jaw line, "Marius."
"Marius?" Quatre asked absently as he tugged up the silk shirt, and
slipped his hands under. He slipped them around to the small of Trowa's back,
and pulled him away from the doorway back towards the bed.
"I'll explain later."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The nobles had descended upon Kalea's capitol for one grim spectacle, and
now with their 'dear' relatives hastily laid to rest, they stay for another.
However, they crowded and clucked not for mere morbid curiosity, for this
time, their very power and positions were at stake. They swallowed their fear
of Revolution or invasion, and promised that they would not leave until either
Prince Duo was crowned, or they had formed some working alliance with the
bold newcomer. A day had been allowed to pass out of respect for the dead, to
let the aristocracy- indeed the Royalty itself -regroup and plan. The Council
had been called and in the decadent room gathered those who could bear to
stand through an entire hearing, while pages stood near the door ready to
escort people out when needed, and to relay whatever news that would arise to
the people waiting outside the door. A low hum of opinionated talk bounced
and echoed against on the high ceiling until the sound of a door opening
sharply drew their attention away.
Dekim Barton, cousin to the late King of Kalea, and the unspoken leader
of the aristocracy, entered the room, six paces behind him followed the other
council members, learned, respected, trusted men, men who made the inherited
power of the aristocracy make sense. Dekim took his place behind the table,
in the largest and center seat. As his eyes swept over the assembled Court,
men unaccustomed to bowing did so quite deeply, a hidden thought breezed
through his mind, the whispered possibility of taking the throne himself, but
it was quickly forgotten, that was not what the country needed. A page
stepped forward, and informed him that neither Prince Duo nor his brother had
attended, but that representatives stood in their place, he nodded, and
motioned for him to bring in Marius of Kidas for questioning.
For the second time, the rather frail looking redhead made an impressive
entrance, elegant and ethnic, frightening and intriguing. He stood before
the council wholly unaffected. No other word could describe him, for he was
neither arrogant nor anxious, confidant nor uncomfortable, he acted as though
nothing less serious could be taking up his time.
Dekim frowned tightly, and leaned forward condescendingly. "Marius of
Kidas?"
The young, foreign King nodded, but did not bow, "Yes."
"You have made some gravely serious claims, claims which could very well
lead to war. Please, confirm it, you say that you are King Treize's, God rest
his soul, first born son?"
Marius at last frowned, "Do you imply that I have lied?"
"I imply that there can be no way that you speak the truth. Treize was
married to but one woman, Queen Anne left us many years ago, and it is well
known that their first child, Lucrezia, died. There were no other children
after her until Prince Heero."
Marius glowered, "Married to but one woman? Is that so? Then may I ask
you, do you remember the brief period, more than three decades ago, when
Kidas and Kalea were allies?"
Dekim nodded reluctantly, though he had no intention of letting some
foreigner with whom he had no connection to, no assurances with, ascend the
throne, he could not disregard the truth.
"Do you remember the equally brief engagement between your deceased King
and my mother, the Princess Ilaria of Kidas?"
The old brow of the council head creased worriedly, "Yes... I do."
"Then you must remember that Ilaria and Prince Treize were married in the
eyes our God, and before my people in Kidas?"
The murmurs began again in the assembled noblemen, but they were soon
silenced by an acidic glare from Lord Dekim. "I remember. Battle broke out
between out people days later over Midi{1}. The treaty and thus the marriage
agreed to within it was broken."
Marius shook his head defiantly. "It was never annulled. In the eyes of
the church it was legal and binding. He never even bothered to take back his
ring... the ring I bear today." He up the trinket in his hand for a moment
then stepped easily forward to hand it to Dekim for inspection. "I was
conceived on their wedding night, I believe, or soon before or after. I *am*
his first born son, and I will take his kingdom under my rule accordingly."
Dekim turned over the exquisite gold band in his hands repeatedly, but
there was no mistaking the crest. The Barton coat of arms could not be
duplicated, especially not by some foreign goldsmith who had likely never
seen it. He sighed heavily, and laid the ring down on the table before him.
"It does not matter," he said firmly. He did not bother to discuss it with
the other members of the council, unanimous or not, he could not allow this
to happen. "Queen Anne was the wife recognized by *our* church, and it is her
children, the children of Kalea itself, that have been deigned to rule. Why
would you do this, Marius of Kidas? What use have you for this country when
you rule your own?"
Marius started to laugh, a higher, more bell-like sound than one would
have expected from such a man, but he stopped himself quickly. "Kidas is a
prosperous kingdom, and Kalea a powerful one. Combined with Midi, and Suma{2}
I would have an empire, the strongest on Earth." He glanced over the
aristocracy assessing them, then returned his gaze to Dekim. "Besides, it is
mine by right, and if it is not freely given, it will be taken."
______________________________________________________________________
{1} - Quatre's homeland
{2} - Wufei's homeland
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Part Twelve