Trowa may not have been a soldier, but he had soldier instincts that had been bred into him by his people. Emalians were a proud race that had painstakingly selected their breeding stock over many centuries in order to create the perfect fighting machines. They excelled in every jingoistic technique, their bodies naturally developing the physique of a warrior. They were exceptionally good at hand-to-hand combat and martial arts, the art of jousting, a close second. The boys and the girls were trained from the time they could walk, learning to perfect their fighting skills before they even reached puberty.
It was this dedication, this physical perfection, that had caught the eye of the Ghalian rulers. They had been raiding the kingdom of Emali for the last two hundred years, snatching the young men and women and recruiting them for their own army. Many of the soldiers who returned to take the Emali children, were stolen Emali children themselves, indoctrinated to believe in and uphold Ghali's way of life.
Despite their fighting abilities and physical strength, Emalians were a peaceful race. They did not believe in senseless violence and preferred diplomacy over battle. It was what made them vulnerable to the invasion of the Ghalian forces. The stolen children were converted, catechized, and reconditioned to believe that the Ghalian way was the only way. It was part of the reason the Ghalians were so formidable.
A few years before young Emalians reached the age of maturity, the boys and girls were paired off and eventually expected to wed and produce children that would, in turn, be raised the same way. Trowa still remembered the young girl he'd been paired with. Miidi was a rather demure girl, but she was quite pretty and very sweet. They had become close friends during their time together and Trowa loved her in his own way. They'd been put through the wedding ceremony once they turned eleven and then ushered into a hut to mate.
He remembered how terrified he'd been, especially when she disrobed and laid down on the pallet, opening her legs in immediate submission as she was expected to do. She'd smiled at him reassuringly, but he could see the trepidation in her eyes. He had removed his own clothing and sat down beside her, too shy to go any further. She took his hand and placed it over her barely developed breasts. He remembered feeling the jolt of arousal, especially when he glanced down between her legs. He remembered how it felt to touch her there, his fingers sifting through her folds, feeling the increasing dampness as she became aroused by his touch. He remembered how it felt to lay on top of her, his hips nestled between her thighs. Remembered the hitch in her breath as he pushed his penis into her, whimpering at how good she felt.
He released his seed inside her and afterwards, he was collected from the hut by the men who congratulated him with his first cup of ale. The women congregated inside to bless the the girl and pray for conception.
They'd been only kids, but they were obligated to take on adult relationships with little to no guidance. He remembered how relieved he'd been when he found out their coupling had not resulted in a child. They were expected to mate again and again until it happened and he wanted so badly to tell them no. That he didn't want children. He couldn't figure out what was wrong with him. His peers seemed eager to impregnate their females, but Trowa could only pray that Miidi would never carry his child.
It was only a few months later when Ghalian forces raided their village again and Trowa had been among those who were taken. He'd watched Miidi run after the horse he was lifted onto, screaming his name with her arms stretched out, tears streaming down her face. He was taken back to Ghali where he began the vigorous training and indoctrination process. He was taught that Ghalians were the chosen people and there was no pride like the pride of a Ghalian. He followed along with the rhetoric, but deep inside, he knew it wasn't true, though saying so would result in harsh punishment, or possibly extermination. For months, he lived, ate, drank, and breathed Ghalian propaganda.
It wasn't long after that that he'd begun to notice he tired more easily than he used to. Needed to stop and catch his breath during his training sessions and at one point, even collapsed in a dead faint after being worked for nearly twelve hours straight. He woke up surrounded by physicians and the army then Lieutenant, Treize Khushrenada, standing over him. He remembered listening to them talk about him as if he wasn't even there. Remembered hearing something about his heart being weak. That he was a liability the army couldn't afford and the only 'humane' thing to do was to dispose of him quickly and cleanly.
He remembered feeling utterly dead inside. Worthless. His whole purpose for living, taken away by a defect in his heart. Something he'd apparently been born with. He remembered thinking, What good am I if I cannot fight? It's why I exist. If I cannot fight, I am obsolete. He resigned himself to death, even welcomed it.
He'd been so shocked when a little blond boy ran into the room, shouting and berating the men in a way that Trowa would never dare to do. He'd been so frightened for the boy, afraid he was about to meet the same fate as himself for his insolence. The child had literally climbed on top of him in a desperate attempt to shield Trowa with his tiny body, tears streaming down his face as he lashed out at the doctors, at Trowa's commanding officer. Trowa had been touched by the boy's concern, although he felt it was misplaced.
His fear for the boy's life quickly turned to shock when his Lieutenant had simply lifted the child off of him and set him gently down onto the floor. "Your Highness, you should not be in here."
Trowa's surprise quickly turned to confusion. Why had this boy, the Prince, wanted to protect him? Him. It didn't make sense in Trowa's mind. But this child, this Prince of Ghali, no older than he, had clung to his legs and wept, begging for his life to be spared.
Please, let me keep him! I'll take care of him!
Quatre, he is a boy, not a pet.
He's not going to be my pet, he's going to be my friend!
Quatre -
Please! You can't hurt him. Please don't hurt him.
And to Trowa's surprise, the Lieutenant had relented.
Alright, I will speak with your father. If he says it's okay, you may keep him.
Really?
But he will be your responsibility.
Oh, don't worry, I'll take good care of him. We'll become the best of friends, won't we, boy?
And the rest was history. He'd been given the status of servant. Quatre hadn't liked it, but it was the only option. Servitude, or death. Trowa had taken some time to warm up to Quatre, but once he had, he couldn't bear being separated from the young Prince. Their friendship grew into an unbreakable bond. He and Quatre were never far away from each other for very long. They did everything together and Trowa had redirected his life's mission from soldier to devoted servant and companion.
He'd been somewhat saddened to discover he was the boy's only real friend. Quatre was mostly isolated from the world outside and only really brought out to serve his father's purposes. Quatre taught him to read and Trowa taught him to spar with swords and staff. They invented intricate games to pass the time and often came up with elaborate pranks to play on the other servants. When Quatre wasn't required to dine with his father, he took their meals to Trowa's chambers and they would often sneak down to the kitchens late at night to snatch sweet pastries when the cooks weren't looking.
Puberty had hit fast and furious and Trowa soon discovered his love and affection for the Prince went far beyond friendship. His attraction to the boy developed into intensely sexual feelings, especially as Quatre grew more and more beautiful the older he got. Trowa was utterly spellbound by him, not only by his appearance, but his relentless, fiery spirit. His convictions and his compassion. By the time they were thirteen, Trowa was masturbating nightly to thoughts of sex with Quatre, biting his lips to keep from moaning the Prince's name when he spilled his seed all over himself.
He was painfully jealous and infuriated when men were drawn to the Prince, vying for his affections. He saw red when they put their hands on him, almost always uninvited. They grabbed him, they groped him, and Quatre would come to him late at night with tears in his eyes.
"They keep grabbing me, Trowa! Why? I don't want them to."
"I'm so sorry, Quat."
Quatre had buried his face in Trowa's chest and Trowa made a vow that he would not allow those men to touch his beloved Prince. And he kept that promise, sometimes even being forced to draw his blade when some men couldn't take no for an answer. He'd been enraged when the King had done nothing about it, even after Quatre had begged him to.
Through years of ruthless pillaging, Lieutenant Treize was inevitably promoted to General and when Quatre turned fifteen, he began turning his attention to the boy. He forcefully courted him, scaring off many of his rivals. Trowa was desperate to defend Quatre, but Treize posed a danger to him that no other man had before. For the first time since this had begun, he was helpless to protect Quatre and he had to watch as the General became more and more brazen with his advances, often cornering the young Prince in dark corridors to fondle him.
When their engagement was announced, Quatre had stormed into his chambers in a furious rage, tears streaming down his cheeks as he cursed his father and the General. Trowa opened his arms and Quatre immediately went to him. The embrace led to a tentative kiss, then another more confident one. He'd rolled Quatre beneath his body, encouraged and so aroused by the soft sigh of approval. He slid his hands beneath the silk of Quatre's tunica, touching that skin for the first time in the way he'd been dreaming about. He stroked up a smooth leg, lifting the skirt as he went. Quatre whimpered as he was bared and opened his legs, all wanton and surrender.
Trowa brought him to the brink of ecstasy when he buried his face between those creamy thighs and sucked him into his mouth. He pressed his fingers into the tiny opening and savored the soft moans and when neither of them could no longer stand it, he coated his erection with oil, draped himself over the boy, and slid deep inside him. He treasured the shaky breaths, the legs that wrapped around his waist as he rolled his hips, fucking him with gentle tenderness. He kissed the teary corners of Quatre's eyes as his cock touched the boy in places that made him see stars. Trowa buried his face into the soft throat, sucking the sweet skin into his mouth as Quatre trembled beneath him, panting through his orgasm.
They made love quite a few times after that, learning each other's bodies, exploring what they liked, trying different and adventurous positions. Quatre was always willing with Trowa and he knew the Prince savored the ability to explore his sexuality on his own terms.
During that time, Treize became more and more aggressive and while Quatre didn't say anything about it, Trowa knew he was terrified. Terrified of what he would be subjected to when he was forced to marry the General. Two months before the wedding, Quatre had confided in him.
"I fear we may not have much time left together."
Trowa's heart had skipped painfully. "What do you mean?"
"I'm going to be married soon. He will not want us to be together. I don't know what he'll do when he takes the throne."
"But, you'll be King!"
"I'm not sure he's going to allow me that."
Trowa hadn't understood what he meant until a few days later when he was approached by Treize himself. The man never paid him much mind once he'd become a servant unless it was to send him a condescending sneer.
He was stopped in the corridor on his way to meet Quatre in the courtyard for their sparring lesson. Treize blocked his way, his eyes narrowed into slits. "I know you fuck him."
Trowa was stunned by the bluntness and the vulgarity. "Excuse me?"
Treize leaned forward, his face hovered an inch from Trowa's. "I know you fuck that sweet little body of his. I know he lets you. You will no longer be allowed to do that once we are married. You will no longer be allowed to see him, speak to him, touch him, and you most certainly will not be allowed to fuck him."
Fear settled into his bones, but Trowa defiantly lifted his chin and spoke with a confidence he did not feel. "Quatre can choose what he wants."
"No. That's where you're wrong, boy. Quatre belongs to me. I choose for him."
Trowa narrowed his eyes, rage simmering beneath his skin. "You have no right to do this."
Treize smiled and placed his mouth next to Trowa's ear, whispering, "I have every right. And if you ever lay a hand on him once we are wed, or if you dare try to step between us, to interfere, I will have your throat cut from ear to ear. If you do as you're told, you will be sent on your way back to Emali. If you don't, I will kill you myself." He stepped around Trowa and strode down the hallway, leaving the servant frozen, shaking with fury.
Trowa was going to kill him. Only two more days to go. He was going to enjoy watching his blade sink into the man's chest, piercing that rotted heart. Savor the look of shock in those vicious eyes when he dropped to his knees, the blood bubbling from between twitching lips. Trowa would be the last thing he saw before darkness took him forever.
The plan was set in place and all Trowa had to do was wait for the right moment. Treize would fight him. He was counting on that. Trowa had been preparing for it for months and he would savor every moment of it. Treize would fight, but he would not win. And he would never be able to hurt Quatre again.
He walked through the castle with a new sense of purpose though he was still angry about the sounds he'd heard this morning in Quatre's chambers. He was furious that Heero had taken him while his back was still healing and he was damned lucky Quatre hadn't injured it further. He knew much of it was jealousy. It was quite obvious that Quatre had enjoyed it and it rankled on Trowa's nerves.
He hated to admit it, but he had a grudging respect for Heero. He envied him. He had everything Trowa had ever wanted. Soon, the two of them would take the throne. Trowa didn't know what would happen to him then. Didn't know if he'd be allowed to still be with Quatre. Though, if his instincts about Heero were right, then he was a good man and Trowa felt a little more at ease about his future with the Saian at the helm.
He'd expressed his worry to Quatre that morning after Heero had left for Sai. He helped Quatre out of the bath, slid a rose colored tunica over his head and led him over to the dressing table to touch up the boy's curls. He watched him in the mirror as he placed the circlet on his head, noting the otherwordly glow the Prince had about him. Did Quatre glow after Trowa made love to him? He strangely couldn't remember.
"Are you sure about him? He just -" He paused when Quatre slapped a spiral cuff over his arm and looked up at him sharply. "He could have hurt your back."
"Trowa," the blond admonished gently. "I talked him into it. If you must blame someone, blame me."
"Still, he should have waited -"
"Trowa, I love you, but I'm really not comfortable discussing my sex life with Heero to you."
That had hurt and it showed. Quatre blushed and looked down. "I'm sorry. That was rude of me."
"I just don't want you to get hurt."
"I know you don't. And he won't hurt me."
"You really love him, don't you?"
The blond nodded. "Yes. I believe I do."
Trowa's eyes misted over and Quatre turned around, cupping his face. "And I love you. I will always love you and I will always cherish what we have."
"What will happen to me after this?"
"You will have choices and freedoms granted to you that you've never had once I gain the throne."
Trowa sniffled, his eyes widening. "Freedom?"
Quatre smiled. "Yes. You were forced into servitude and I had no power to stop that. As soon as I have that power, you will be free."
Trowa's heart thumped against his rib cage. "But...I want to be with you!"
"You can stay if you want, Trowa. I'm not going to send you away. But you will be a free man to come and go as you please. And if you do choose to leave, you will be free to go." Quatre's eyes teared up when he said that. It hurt to say it, but Quatre loved him too much to force him to stay with him.
Trowa pressed their lips together, whispered against them, "I will never leave you."
Quatre's mouth curled up, the tiny dimples appearing in his cheeks. "I would love it if you stayed, but it will be your choice."
Maybe someday, Trowa would be comfortable with leaving, but for now, he intended to stay, even if it was only to make sure Heero behaved himself. He had the sense that there was nothing to worry about, but he needed to be sure his Quatre was safe. The concept of freedom was frightening. He couldn't remember a time he'd ever been free, not even in Emali. To be his own man, to make his own decisions was quite daunting, but it did open up possibilities and opportunities he'd never had before.
He rounded a corner, slowing down slightly as his senses piqued. He looked behind him, realizing that the hallway that should have been full of servants scurrying back and forth, was empty. He'd been so lost in his own thoughts, he hadn't noticed that the usually bustling corridor was ominously silent. He was never a soldier, but he had the instincts. That was why he was furious with himself when he'd missed the signs that something was off. By the time he figured it out, it was too late. He dropped, his head spinning, edges of his vision turning black from a sharp crack to the head. Another hit brought him down to the floor and he only had time for a fleeting thought before he lost consciousness.
Quatre...