|
"In My Master's Arms "Written By: Jewel of Hell Disclaimer: Don't own nothin' but these words Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Yaoi, lemon, violence, slavery, cruelty, possible OOCness, AU/Fantasy/Drama Pairings: 1x2 Summary: In a society where sorcerers are feared
and hated, Duo is given as a slave to a powerful warrior in order
to keep his tremendous power under control. All he wants is freedom
from his cruel master, but nothing is as it seems . . . "In My Master's Arms "
A Memory of a Dream "Look, Heero. Do you know what this is?" It looks like a collar for a dog. Thin, almost flexible metal colored rich, rich blue. It looks shinier than it should, and when he touches it, it makes his fingers tingle. He blinks. "Is it magic?" Celae nods, and his mother's eyes look sad. "It's a collar for a sorcerer, little one. Do you remember me telling you about the Tower?" "Yes, Mama." She smiled gently. "Good. They are the ones who make these collars. They go around the countries collecting young boys and girls who have just manifested a magic ability and put these collars on them so they cannot use their magic without the permission of their master. Had I been born in any of the human countries, I would have been put in a collar. A red one." He stares at her, aghast. "A slave?" "Yes, little one. No better than a dog." He swallows thickly, the thought of his mother being made a slave unbearable. "Isn't red the second strongest color?" "Yes, weaker only than Black, but Blacks are rare." She holds up the blue collar. "You will be as strong as a Blue when you are an adult. Were you a full-blooded nymph you would have been Red yourself, perhaps." He shivers. "Won't the Tower find me?" Her smile gentles even more. "No, little one. I have been shielding you for many years now. They will never sense your power. And when it fully manifests, I will teach you how to control it, just as my mother taught me, back home in Alarys." He longs to see that wondrous place she has described. "Will I ever get to see Alarys?" Now her expression goes wistful, eyes distant. "I dearly hope so, child. You belong there, with your kin. Not here in this nest of vipers. Heero, you must never, ever speak of this to anyone. Not your heritage, not your abilities, not mine. Never even think of them. It would kill me if you were taken to the Tower and made into a slave. No one deserves that. And always remember, sweetheart. Sorcerers are not to be feared or despised. They are people, just as we are. They have a gift, made unfortunate by other humans, but they are still people. Perhaps one day, other people will remember that, too." He gives his mother a bright smile. "I'll do it!" he exclaims, grabbing one of her hands in both his smaller ones. "I'll change that, Mama! When I'm king, I'll remind everyone of that, and the sorcerers will be freed. You'll see!" Now her smile is nothing but loving as she cups his cheek with her free hand. "I'll believe in that, little one. I believe in you." If you were still alive, Mother, would you be disgusted at what I have become? Would you turn away from me? Repudiate me? Deny our shared blood? I never thought I would have to become like this. I never wanted to. I wanted to be the king you wanted me to be. Expected me to be. . . . Heero? . . . who's there? Who is that? . . . . . stay focused, Heero. You must not lose yourself to your thoughts. Your mind must stay strong, or you will be lost to this magic working its evil on you. . . . who are you? . . . . . stay strong, little one. Help is coming. Do not lose yourself. Fight this magic, fight this evil. You are far, far stronger than you think. o8o o8o Trowa slipped from the castle near dusk, wearing a long dark cloak to conceal his face. Not that most people in the city would recognize it, but right now he wanted to stay invisible. And when Trowa Barton wished not to be seen, he remained unseen. The people of Cera didn't seem dramatically different from normal, but there was a very subtle undercurrent of unease. Opening his senses, he reached out along his link to Jhatahj. The people felt there might be something wrong with their king. They didn't think his sudden change of heart was normal, and they believed some evil magic might be afoot. They thought it might have something to do with the lord and his sorcerer slave from Navrane. They didn't know who else to blame, so they blamed them. Trowa almost smiled at their simple logic. But they hadn't seen enough of their king to actually know something was wrong. They also thought this might be some kind of plan of his. They had faith in their king, and Trowa was pleased. He returned his attention to the reason he'd ventured into Cera. Into the darker side of town he ghosted, not pausing until he reached a small, dusty-looking shop. He could see the equally dusty-looking owner getting ready to close up for the night as he entered and closed the door. He locked it behind him and flipped the 'closed' sign. The owner's fluffy orange-and-black cat meowed at him and jumped off the counter to come wind around his feet in a friendly manner. The owner himself turned with a mildly annoyed expression, until he saw who stood there. "Barton!" he exclaimed, drawing the blinds shut over the door. "Fancy seeing you here. You know, you're the second Council member come in these last few days. First one asking if I sold essence of nightflower. Nasty stuff, that. I believe it's contraband." Smiling faintly at Bane's typical denial of selling illegal items, Trowa set a small velvet coin purse on the counter. Its contents clinked invitingly. "I'm looking for something else I believe is contraband," he said quietly. "The Black King would have my head if he heard you asking such a thing of an honest businessman," Bane protested, picking up his cat and setting it on the counter again. "I will hear of no such thing." He strode into the back. The cat's gleaming yellow eyes bored into Trowa. I, however, will. Trowa nodded. "Thank you, Cymra. You may not have the thing I want in stock, but I'm content to wait for it if you must special order it." The cat's body began to fade. After a handful of heartbeats there sat instead a beautiful woman with shimmering green-and-earth-brown hair. Far, far too beautiful to be human. And there was something distantly familiar about her face. Somewhere in the eyes. She picked up a quill and parchment. "What is this item? I'll do my best." "A pair of shackles," Trowa replied, eyes darkening. "Enchanted dark iron. So that when they're placed on their victim, they will feel excrutiating pain throughout their body." Cymra's eyes landed on him, but as usual she asked no questions. She made the note on her parchment. "We don't keep something like that in the store," she said, "but I will find it. I'll come to the castle when I've found it." Inclining his head in thanks, he turned and left the shop. He'd never asked Cymra where she was from or why she took the form of a cat. He couldn't quite place his finger on it, but it nagged at the back of his mind that he'd seen her somewhere before. Or, of whom did she remind him? Weariness and a general feeling of sickness rippled through him. He breathed deeply through it, trying to quell it with the formidable force of his will. It didn't work as well now as it had a few days ago. His body cried out for Quatre. That resonating chord that bound them was now dissonant and shrill, unable to understand why Trowa was denying himself. He wanted to hold his love. So desperately it was pain. I will truly enjoy killing you, Relena. I will do it slowly and savor every one of your screams until you're begging me for death. I never thought I could feel this way about anyone. Perhaps I'll gouge your eyes out of your skull with my fingers and break every bone in your legs and arms. Anything that would cause her pain was acceptable. Perhaps Duo will hold off on destroying the mindbreaker so I can mindbreak you, then destroy it so you may have the hideous pleasure of seeing what it feels like, knowing what you've done to Heero. And knowing it was all for naught. Because no one would suspect quiet, unassuming Trowa. The one who observed and never acted. The one who obeyed and rarely spoke. No one would even believe he had within him this great propensity for violence and destruction. And I didn't, either. Not until you laid your hands on my love. I'm not just going to kill you, Relena. I'm going to utterly destroy you. o8o o8o "What!" Relena near shrieked. Trieze tried not to wince and her shrill tone. "Lord General Marquise has already taken several divisions of the imperial army to Dobraia," he said again. "They left yestermorning. I suspect they're leagues from Cera by now. You could send a messenger to recall them, but you would have to do it quickly." "Why would they leave without orders?" Relena growled, already headed to her desk for parchment and quill. Amused, Treize leaned against the edge of the desk. "Heero already gave them their orders," he reminded her. "They hardly needed to wait for them again. After all, yesterday was the day he ordered them to head out." "Why then didn't you tell me all this yesterday?" she spat, scratching out a note. "I want Heero's power diminished immediately. If this strike against Dobraia is a success, it will strengthen his hold on the minds of the people! If there is to be any campaign against Dobraia, I will order and coordinate it!" "I understand your feelings," Treize said. "If it's that important to you, I will deliver your message to Lord General Marquise myself. I'll run my horse to its death if I must." "Fine," she snapped, stamping Heero's imperial seal on the note. She folded it up and placed it in an envelope. "See this gets to him, Treize, or you need not come back here." Feeling more and more amused, Treize inclined his head and took the envelope. Once in his chambers he quickly changed into suitable travel garb. He signalled a servant in the hall and had her carry his armor down to the stables. There he donned the chainshirt and gauntlets. His helmet he stowed in the saddlebags. The war-trained stallion burst out of the stable with a furious cry, and he nearly trampled the guards at the gate. o8o o8o When morning came, Duo was immensely glad Quatre had kept Relena away from Heero for the whole night. He didn't sleep at all, and it was almost dawn before Heero finally collapsed on the bed and fell asleep. When he did, Duo gingerly sat beside him and began searching that barrier, looking deeper and deeper for a way to get inside. He couldn't see Heero behind it but he could feel him, feel the muted seething emotion. Every once in awhile the barrier grew a little brighter as though Heero were fighting to free himself, defeat the influence of the mindbreaker. For his part, Duo couldn't believe what a strong will Heero had. The magic of the mindbreaker was strong, and yet Heero was managing to fight. He longed to get inside that barrier, to add his strength to Heero's. No matter how he probed he couldn't break it from the outside. The restriction was still on him, so he couldn't put any real power behind his own attempts. He spent hours trying. Hours while dawn crept across the sky and the sun began to rise. Hours while morning warmed to afternoon, streaming sunlight into the room. Hours going around in circles, feeling more and more frustrated and weary as each hour yielded more of the same. Nothing. He tried predicting where those small bright flashes would occur, wondering if perhaps he could push at the same time Heero did and break the magic's hold. That proved far more difficult than Duo thought, and the brightness seemed to be fading a little. Was Heero losing strength? Feeling like he was slogging through a molasses mire, he continued his searching blind, eyes beginning to droop and head sagging. Then, like a tiny firefly suddenly appearing in a dark room, a pulse of light flickered right by his probing. Before he'd given it any thought he latched onto it, pushing frantically against the barrier, desperate to find Heero, to feel him, to free him. Cobalt eyes fluttered open, looking dark and strange in Heero's pale face. Duo gasped at the mix of things in those eyes. That adoring vacant look had been weighted down with weariness, pain, despair, and love. Duo. So that was you I could dimly feel? Duo stared, caught so off guard he felt like he'd been gobsmacked. H-Heero? What's happened to me? Heero's weak mental voice drifted through his mind. I can't move. This is wrong, Duo. I love Relena so much. I feel like I would do anything she asked. And yet he still knew that was wrong. Duo closed his eyes momentarily, feeling overwhelmed with emotion. Even mindbroken by powerful magic Heero was still here, still with him. You were brought under a powerful spell, he replied. Relena got her hands on a mindbreaker, which bends the victim to the wielder's will. I made Relena my heir, Heero said, sounding bemused and almost awed. It's as if my hatred for her is just a dream. NO, Heero, Duo said, making sure his mental voice was harsh. It's not a dream. THIS is the dream. You don't love her. The mindbreaker is just distorting your emotions, making them false. She's your enemy, and when she has everything she wants from you she's going to kill you. Is that what you want? Heero paused for a time, his eyes searching Duo's. I feel like I should want whatever she wants, he finally admitted. Duo gripped his shoulders and squeezed as hard as he could. That's wrong. Fight that feeling, Heero. Fight her. You are the strongest person I know. If anyone can fight past this spell, it's you. Fight her? With everything you have, Duo agreed. Don't ever stop. I'll free you from the mindbreaker, I swear. Fight her . . . Heero sounded so weary, so confused and so lost. Fight her, Duo pleaded, leaning down so his forehead touched Heero's. I don't want to lose you. I . . . I don't want to lose you either, Heero murmured. For the first time, Duo realized he could sense other magic at work. Too late he recognized what it was. A scry spell! He pulled back in alarm, and Heero's eyes glazed over. The emotion faded as the barrier settled tight around him again. Duo wanted to break something. Moments later the door banged open and Relena barged into the room. "What in Gridanja's name do you think you're doing, Heero?" she snapped. Heero scrambled off the bed and knelt, gazing up at her with that terrible, empty love. "Forgive me, mistress," he practically whined. "The slave thought there was some way he could get rid of your influence over me, but I don't want that. I don't want anything keeping me from pleasing you." Relena raised an eyebrow and looked at Duo. "I'm surprised at you, pikura," she said. "I thought you hated your master. Was I mistaken? Are you a better actor than I believed?" Duo just looked at her, feeling cold to the marrow of his bones and so, so weary. "Heero," Relena purred, "if you have given your little slave any leeway, end it now. Put a total restriction on him so he can't use any magic at all." Duo cried out in his heart, pleading with Heero to disobey, but Heero turned those empty eyes on him and the stream of magic running through him was completely cut off. He looked back up at Relena. "It's done, mistress." She smiled. "Good. Then take off your shirt." Heero obeyed. "On your hands and knees, dog." As Duo watched, she pulled a short whip from behind her back. His eyes widened in horror as he realized her intent. No. No no no nonononono NO! He leaped at her, ready to do anything to stop her. But she merely laughed and flicked the whip at him. It struck him full across the mouth, slashing into his skin and sending him reeling. He'd never been struck with a whip so the pain surprised him. "Don't interfere, Duo," she said pleasantly, obviously enjoying herself, "or I'll do the same to you." She raised her arm and Duo wanted to scream. o8o o8o Quatre bolted upright out of sleep with a tormented cry as red-hot pain lashed through his body. Everywhere. He hurt everywhere! Most especially his back, it was on fire. Through blinding bursts of pain he staggered out of bed-Relena's bed, he noted dimly-and made it to the door. Where was she? Nir-Nirande, he gasped, fumbling for his connection to his goddess, what's happening to me? Wh-where is this pain coming from? It's not your pain, nimna, she told him, voice tight with urgency. Quickly, go to Heero's chambers. You must stop Relena. Guided more by her urgency than his own sight, Quatre stumbled through the hall like a drunk. Sickness and pain tortured him, blinding him and deafening him. What was Relena trying to do, kill Heero? That thought gave him the strength to make the distance, and finally he burst into the king's bedchambers. The sight that greeted him gave him pause. Relena was beating Heero, her face shining with glee. It looked like Heero was using the collar to repell Duo, for the young sorcerer was obviously trying to get to Heero, to help him or shield him. For a heartbeat, fury drove out the pain and sickness. Then Quatre sank to his knees, gasping as his vision grayed treacherously. "Relena," he panted, "please, stop . . ." She stopped at once, looking startled to hear his voice. She whirled, and when she saw him she dropped the whip and rushed to his side, supporting him. "Quatre? What's wrong, love? What is it? Sweet Gridanja, you're burning up!" She fluttered over him like an anxious dove, hauling him to his feet. She spared a quick glare over her shoulder. "You two stay here until I come back. Don't think your punishment is over, Heero." Quatre wanted to stop her as she guided him back to her room, to make her allow Duo to heal the young king. What kind of beast was she? Striking a man who wouldn't and couldn't defend himself? And had done nothing to incite her wrath? But he couldn't speak, could barely breathe and keep his feet. Heero's pain thundered through him, inflaming his own and making it so much worse. Her touch burned his skin, he wished like mad it were Trowa holding him so tenderly. Trowa, please. Kill her. Kill her . . . not just for me. For Heero and Duo's sakes, as well. o8o o8o Lord General Zechs Marquise looked up from the table in his pavilion in surprise when a foot soldier burst in, panting and looking fit to burst from excitement or . . . something. Generals Afthron and Regathon looked up as well, both men looking highly annoyed at this improper intrusion. "What is it, boy?" Regathon snapped. "Can't you announce yourself properly instead of running around like a fool child?" "I'm sorry, sirs," the young man panted, "but there's someone here you must see. I could hardly believe it!" "Well, spit it out!" Afthron barked. "Sir!" the soldier said, straightening and flicking a smart salute. "It's Councilman Treize Khushrenada from Cera, sir! He says he must speak with the Lord General, and he will speak with no other!" Zechs blinked, taken aback. Treize Khushrenada? The man was one of the two most influential members of the Council of Nine. Tall and suave, he looked far more suited to a general's garb than the finery of a noble. Zechs had always thought he would make a fine soldier and felt it a pity his mind was wasted serving the Council. "Send him to me," he said, nodding. The soldier scampered back out. Regathon began to rise. "Shall we leave, sir?" "No," Zechs said, shaking his head. "Whatever he wants, he can say it to us all. But follow my lead and don't speak out of turn." They both frowned but nodded. Treize swept in gracefully, carrying a battle helmet under one arm and looking quite magnificent in his battle regalia. Zechs hadn't known he'd possessed such. It suited him. He inclined his head to Zechs but gave the two generals the barest of glances. He reached into a small scrip and pulled out a slightly crumpled envelope. "I have this for you," he said, "bearing King Heero's seal." Curious, Zechs accepted and opened it. He read it and raised an eyebrow again. The neat but hasty scrawl wasn't Heero's. The seal certainly belonged to the Black King, but he knew an order of this magnitude wouldn't be written in the hand of another. In fact, Heero would probably use his sorcerer to relay the message himself. And this man, Zechs thought, wasn't one of the Councilmembers Duo had said he could trust. So he folded the note and slid it back into its envelope. He handed it to Regathon. "I cannot verify the authenticity of this note," he said. "General Regathon, please dispose of it." Looking a little surprised but not hesitating, Regathon held the corner of the envelope in the flame of a thick white candle on the desk. Treize raised an elegant eyebrow. "You're disobeying a direct order from your king?" Well aware of the two generals' eyes on him and deciding this was a good time to start discrediting the Council in their eyes, Zechs snorted. "I do not believe that was a direct order from my king," he dismissed it. "It wasn't in his hand, and I know His Majesty well enough to know he would trust no one with an order of that magnitude but himself. Who really wrote it, Khushrenada? Was it you? Or could it have been a woman's hand? Relena, perhaps? Has she stooped to stealing the king's personal seal? No, we will continue to Dobraia as the Black King commanded. And you do not have the authority to order us back to the capital." He could practically feel the smug satisfaction his words gave Regathon and Afthron. Interesting. Perhaps there was less love for the Council than he'd thought. And these two battle-hungry men wouldn't turn back from the promised fight so easily. I will hold your kingdom together with my bare hands if I must, my king, he thought, fierce loyalty to the man flooding his breast. Until you are well again and can tell me otherwise, I will carry your orders to my grave or Dobraia's, or anyone else's who gets in my way. "It certainly is in poor taste," Regathon said, drumming his fingers on the table. "Indeed," Afthron agreed at once with a cold grin. "Impersonating His Majesty to get us to turn back. What will the Council try next, I wonder. And why would they not want us to beat back those Dobraian dogs? Perhaps there is some disloyalty, some treasonous plotting going on behind closed doors?" "It certainly makes a man wonder," Regathon continued, nodding. "Truly, is there no low to which you scum won't stoop?" Surprised and pleased by their animosity, Zechs looked back to Treize. "Your only choice, Khushrenada, is to tuck your tail between your legs and skulk back to the castle. We march on Dobraia as planned, and no one in the Black King's army will listen to you if you attempt to order us home." A slow smile spread over Treize's lips. "Not quite correct, Lord General," he said, and was that satisfaction in his voice? "I have one other option. To fight alongside His Majesty's army to drive Dobraia, whimpering, back home." o8o o8o Trowa blinked when someone knocked on his chamber door. Rising, forcing back the feeling of illness and weakness, he opened it to find a servant standing there with a fluffy orange-and-black cat in her arms. "Your pardon, m'lord," she said, "but this showed up with a bell around its neck and a note with your name." Smiling faintly, Trowa took the cat from the girl. "Thank you. Yes, she's an old friend." The girl grinned brightly and scampered off. Trowa closed the door and removed the bell and note. At once Cymra transformed into her smokey other form that always looked more like a ghost than a person. "I found what you asked for," she said. "You will find them waiting for you in a small parcel just outside the castle gates. Bane and I thank you for your generous payment." Already? It had only been two days. Trowa nodded. "Thank you, Cymra. You may have saved Corai." A strange, strange look entered her eyes. "I hope so," she murmured, and retook the form of a cat. When Trowa opened the door she trotted into the hall and disappeared. Knowing she'd make her way home just fine, Trowa went straight out. The guardsmen gave him curious looks, but he ignored them. After a brief search he found traces of Cymra's trail, and he found the small parcel tucked safely out of sight beneath some thick fern fronds. His skin tingled with anticipation as he walked slowly back into the castle. His fingers trembled the slightest bit as he tore open the brown paper and opened the parcel. The cuffs lay inside, slim metal so innocuous. Black delight darkened his mind at the thought of how much pain these would cause when locked around slim, white wrists. Careful not to touch the inside of the cuffs, he slid them into his tunic and rose. Your time has come, Relena. I'm not going to wait
anymore. Are you ready for me?
tbc |
