Divided World Chapter 3
By: Ketsurui

Trowa groaned softly, his face buried into his pillow. After his meeting with the intriguing Prince Quatre and returning to the party, the night had simply gone wrong.
Jocasta once again had, literally, attached herself to his arm, preventing him from eating, conversing, or even functioning normally. His father had given him a stern lecture about displaying public affection, as though it had been his idea.
*One child,* he told himself as his skin crawled at the thought of marrying her. *One child, and you'll never have to touch her again.* That reminder did nothing to reassure him, however, and he fell asleep with his stomach churning.
* * *
Ever since he was a small child, Trowa had had prophetic dreams. Some of them he never understood, but he knew they meant something important. He knew his mother was going to fall ill and die months before it happened, and he's angered his father by telling him so.
He learned later that his gift was considered to be Blessed, so he never spoke of them, the fear of someone turning him over to the Religious Leaders to be executed a very logical one.
Tonight's dream was confusing. He saw himself suspended in midair, clad in only tattered black pants. His limbs were wrapped in thin wire that bit into his skin, causing blood to well to the surface and slowly trickle over his skin in small trail. The ends of the wire were attached to small wooden crosses like marionette strings, and the crosses were held by his father, his fiancee, his so-called friends, and generally everyone in his social circle. They all took turns manipulating him like the puppet he seemed to be. The strange thing was, though, that they were bound by the same strings, attached to the same crosses, and manipulated in the same way.
There were figures in the darkness at the edge of the field of Trowa's vision that were set apart because they were different somehow. Heero's intense cobalt eyes stared at him. His arms were scarred from where his strings had cut into him, but they were not longer on his body. He was free.
In a shadowed corner, his true friends Treize and Zechs held golden knives, the flashing blades ripping through eachother's bindings. They were setting one another free.
*I want to be just like them,* he told himself wistfully.
A hand snaked down Trowa's bare chest from over his shoulder, stopping when the fingertips brushed the hem of his pants. An arm, covered in loose white silk like its mate, wrapped around his shoulders, forcing his head back slightly. "I can set you free," a hushed voice purred in his ear, hot moist lips brushing the shell.
He felt the comforting warmth of another body against his back, and the nobleman pressed back into it. "Please," he whispered as the hand on his stomach stroked the muscled ridges slowly, causing him to shiver "please cut my strings."
"You're not ready yet," the figure replied, kissing Trowa's temple in apology "but I will, when the time is right. Know that I'm watching over you, and that I'll protect you when that day comes." A hand curved to cup the brunet's chin, turning his face, the figure's face cast in shadow by a white hood. As their lips touched, Trowa's eyes caught a flash of blue before the shrouded one's eyes closed.
* * *
Trowa wrapped himself in an emerald green robe and sat down at his desk, where a covered tray awaited his inspection. Underneath the silver dome was an expertly prepared breakfast of crisp bacon, toasted bread cut into exact triangles, and scrambled eggs that were cooked into fluffy perfection. Taking up his silver fork, he scooped up a small portion of the eggs and deposited them onto a corner of the toast. He chewed slowly, but could barely taste the food, so lost was he in his own thoughts.
*So confusing. I know I've thought before that I feel trapped, but how could I be 'set free'? There's nothing else out there for me, is there?* He sighed and took the steaming tea from the corner of the tray, removing the wedge of lemon and squeezing it over the cup, stirring the bitter juice in. *Even if I did want to be freed, who would be willing to show me a new way of life?* Trowa looked up at a knock at his door. *It's nonsense.* "Come in."
Prince Quatre hesitated in the doorway. "I'm sorry to bother you, your lordship, but there has been a slight problem that I'm having trouble absolving." His hair was bedraggled, and his clothes, which were the same as he'd worn yesterday, were wrinkled and hanging off him oddly.
*Doesn't he know that it's incredibly improper for him to see me before I've dressed?! No, I suppose not.* The taller man stood, unconsciously holding the robe closed. "Is it something that terrible?" *He looks like he just pulled his clothes off the floor and ran out here. It must be something serious.*
The blond's cheeks tinged pink. "Well, no, not really. It's just that no one here will listen to me. My men are trying to get into the dining area for breakfast, but the cooks won't let them in. I am sorry that I bothered you so early, but I wouldn't be able to start my day until I knew their needs were taken care of." He ran a hand through his hair self-consciously.
Trowa's surprise was shown only in a blink. *How strange. I've never met a nobleman who would put his servant's needs before his own.* "If you'll give me a moment to get dressed, I will try to help you."
* * *
"Thank you again," Quatre said with a smile as his escort was finally settling down to eat.
"It was my pleasure," Trowa replied automatically. His head cook has ordered the dining hall to be blocked off, saying she didn't want "a hoard of barbarians in *her* kitchen". It had taken some coaxing and a few subtle threats, but she finally let them in.
"Now I think it's my turn to ask you for a moment to let me dress," the blond said, laughing lightly. "Then you can show me around your estate while we discuss business?"
"That's fine. I'll wait for you in my room."
Quatre smiled again, his blue eyes taking on a gentle light. He turned to leave, murmuring a phrase in his native tongue as he did so.
"What does that mean?" Trowa asked.
"It translates to 'a jewel among men', which is what you are, young Lord Barton."
"Thank you," Trowa replied, though Quatre was out of earshot before he'd overcome his surprise. Smiling a little himself, he turned and headed back towards his rooms, not knowing that his cheeks had flushed pink after hearing the blond's words of praise.
On To Chapter 4

Back to Quatre + Trowa

Back to Main Archive