Divided World
Chapter 4
By: Ketsurui
"You have quite a beautiful estate," Quatre commented. He walked in stride with Trowa through one of the nobleman's extensive flower gardens.
"Thank you. Our gardeners have worked for years to create this effect." He paused to admire the abstract designs that the plants formed. He'd seen them thousands of times, but the blond's admiration allowed him to see them with fresh eyes. *They really did do a spectacular job. Perhaps I should talk to Father about paying them more.*
The foreign prince fondled a morning glory blossom, its vine winding around the small wooden fence than enclosed the garden. "You have many flowers here that we don't," he said, pressing his nose into the flower and inhaling. "Because of the high temperature, and that most of our lands are sand, only very strong flowers grow." He straightened and smiled.
Trowa smiled in return, holding back laughter when he saw that there was pollen on the end of the blond's nose. "I'm glad you enjoy them. It gets so cold here in the winter that they all die, and the whole garden has to be replanted."
"I think that is sad."
"Why's that?"
"Because, your lordship, they are born only for the pleasure of others, and when they die, they are immediately replaced by others that look just like it."
Lord Barton didn't know what to say, so he glanced over the flowerbeds, frowning when he saw a weed nestled among a patch of aster. Careful not to tramp on any of the delicate blossoms, he pulled the offending plant out, making sure to get the roots as well.
"Why did you do that?" Quatre asked as Trowa dusted dirt off his hands and tossed the weed over the fence.
"Because it's not supposed to be there."
"Why?"
Trowa blinked. "Because...it doesn't fit in with the rest."
Quatre closed his eyes and smiled. "I see."
The brunette felt a little uncomfortable. "Come on. I'll show you the stables."
* * *
"She's a little high-spirited," the stable master warned as Quatre approached a black mare.
"Don't worry, that's the way I like them." Carefully, the blond closed his hands around the rearing animal's muzzle, murmuring soothingly until it calmed enough to lower all four hooves to the ground. Still speaking softly, keeping one hand in contact with the horse, he climbed onto its back, steadying himself as he slipped slightly on the slick hair.
*He's truly amazing,* Trowa thought as he climbed onto his own mount, a steady brown gelding with a white star on its forehead. He'd been riding the gentle beast for a number of years, and could trust it with his life. "A ride through the countryside sounds like a lovely idea to me. Don't you think so, your Highness?"
Quatre sighed. He'd told Trowa over and over that he didn't like formality, but the nobleman simply wouldn't listen. "An excellent suggestion." They took a well-worn trail that passed through the woods that lay on the Barton estate, the horses' hooves sinking slightly into the
dirt-softened ground. "The reason my visit was arranged," he began, glancing at his taller companion "is simply for a ritual visit. Every year, a random nobleman from my land is selected to visit yours, as a way of showing that peace remains between us."
Trowa nodded; he'd expected as much. "So, mostly we are just to be friendly to eachother in the two weeks, and they assume that everything is perfect between our lands?"
"That is about it, as ridiculous as it sounds." He cast an amused look at Trowa. "How would you like to make a little wager?" Quatre's azure eyes glittered as he spoke, as though he were yearning for the challenge.
"What kind of a wager?"
"I believe that this spirited lady," here he patted the mare's side affectionately "can run circles around you and your mount."
Trowa's eyebrows went up, and he found himself smiling. "Oh, really? I do believe I'll take that wager." *Ha. As soon as he tries to make that animal run, he'll get thrown. Hopefully, he won't get hurt.* "All right, I accept your challenge. Shall we use that tree as the goal?" He pointed to an ancient oak, about fifty yards away. "What will be the prize for the victor?"
"If I win, you have to stop calling me 'your Highness', and simply refer to me as Quatre. If you win, you can make up whatever terms you like."
"Done." Trowa's hands tightened on the reins. *He's also riding bareback, so that should make it more difficult.* "On your mark."
"Go!" dirt flying, the blond short ahead, his hands tangled into the black mane. *This should be easy.*
Trowa dug his heels into the gelding's side, urging it into a smooth gallop, eyes fixed on Quatre's back. Mounted on a black horse, with white silk clothes fluttering around him, he seemed like a hero out of a legend, the handsome prince racing to recuse his beloved from the wicked
sorcerer's spell.
So lost was he in his musings that he didn't notice a low-hanging branch until it smacked him in the face. It didn't hurt badly, but it surprised him so much that he let go of the reins and fell backwards, landing directly in the center of a large mud puddle.
Quatre, hearing Trowa's startled cry, looked over his shoulder to see the gelding, now riderless, patiently standing in the middle of the road. Turning the mare around, he dismounted and walked around to see the nobleman sputtering in a way that made him think of a dying fish. "Are you all right?" he asked, choking back laughter.
*Oh, wonderful. Now I've ruined a perfectly good outfit for a silly bet.* "I'm fine, thank you." He looked up at Quatre, a little irked by his pristine clothing. "Help me up, please."
"I suppose this means I won, then," the smaller man said, and this time couldn't hold back his chuckling. He reached out a hand to Trowa, and yelped in surprise when two muddy hands closed on the front of his shirt, pulling him forward and off-balance. Hands flailing, he fell forward, half landing on the brunette and becoming just as filthy as him in the process.
Trowa looked into Quatre's startled face, using a clean bit of his jacket to wipe mud off his own face casually. "Shall we call it a draw?"
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