Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Slave to Fate ❯ To Bond ( Chapter 2 )

[Title] Slave to Fate
[Author] Lady Briony
[Pairings] 3x1
[Warnings] Slavery, AU, occasional POV's, sap, angst
[Summary] Trowa and Heero are both slaves to their fates.
[Original Characters In this Chapter]
Torre, the King, Alexia's husband and Trowa's father
Alexia, the Queen in name, Torre's wife and Trowa's mother
Lucille, dead, former bond-slave to Torre

Slave to Fate
Chapter One - To Bond

Prince Trowa made his way quietly through the corridors of the palace to his father's rooms. His mother, a quiet, shy young woman far too young for the old king, had told him his father wanted him. He did not often get on well with his father, so he had much to anticipate in that summons. The sword he had quickly grabbed bumped against his hip, a reassurance.

A young slave boy with a sticky face from eating stolen fruit opened the door for him. Trowa nodded at the smaller boy and went into his father's study room with the steady stride of a man trained to be a soldier. "My father." He said softly, bowing his head.

"Ah, Trowa."The man's voice was creaky. He was old, but active and his brains were still as quick as anyone's were. "My son." He sounded almost - just almost - regretful. The last time he had seen his son he had tried to kill him, and Trowa had only escaped by throwing himself out of the window. The tension was electric in the room.

"You summoned me?" He asked in his soft voice. For a boy of only ten, he was tall and skilled with his weapons. He was good at his lessons, too - the people loved him much more than the King. That was the main danger in having him killed; the people loved their young, handsome prince.

"I did. After… Well, I decided that you need a slave."

"Why should I need a slave? There are plenty of other servants." Trowa was puzzled. What was the old man up to now?

"Just as I had Lucille until she was poisoned, you need a slave. A slave your own age who you will bind to you with loyalty and fearing awe." The old man told him, "A slave who will do anything for you."

"But why? All the servants do exactly as I want too."

"Ah, but this boy," He snapped his fingers and a boy, about the same age as Trowa, crawled out from behind the desk, "this boy, you will bind to you so strongly he will die for you without a moments hesitation. He will taste your food for poison, check your rooms for assassins, be your faithful spy - whatever you want him to do. Because one day, not too far away, you will be king where I am now."

Trowa controlled his disgust of the way the boy was being treated - on his hands and knees with a collar round his neck, indeed! "So I own this boy?"

"If he pleases you, then yes." His father said with a nod. He kicked the boy so he scrambled across to Trowa. "Inspect him, if you like. He's been whipped, but nothing else. Otherwise, he's in perfect physical condition, ready to do whatever you want with him. If he doesn't suit you, I can find another."

"Whatever I want…" Trowa murmured. He had to admit the thought of such undying loyalty and obedience sounded… good. "What is your name, boy?" He asked of the pathetic little heap at his feet.

"Whatever you want him to be called." His father said impatiently. "Before, he was called Haaro or something. Go on, take him away! He's yours now."

Trowa nodded and bowed to his father before turning to his slave, "Come on then. Walk behind me to my chambers."

"Yes, master." The boy muttered, his eyes dark beneath his long brown bangs that fell over his face.

~*~*~*~

In his chambers, Trowa was faced with his new, rather mutinous looking slave boy. He looked the half-naked boy up and down critically. He was thin, but there was a hint of muscle beneath his skin. He was dressed in rather ragged linen slave cloths, stamped with the mark of the royal family. He had long hair, with long bangs that went forward into his face, but the back was snarled and knotted. He had intense dark blue eyes that captivated the taller boy.

He broke the silence, "So… what is your name? I'm sure my father got it wrong."

"My name is Heero, master."

"Do you want me to call you that?"

"It's not my decision, master."

"Well, I'm asking you. Would you prefer to be called Heero?" Trowa asked, looking down at him. It was strange, being this boy's only master, and hearing a boy his own age exactly calling him 'master' and submitting to him. He wasn't sure if he liked the feeling much.

"My name is Heero, so if you want to call me that, then that's fine, master." The boy muttered after a moment.

"At last, more than five words in a sentence." Trowa said, beginning to get irritated by the boy's manner.

"I am very sorry, master." The boy hissed defiantly, using exactly five words deliberately.

The young prince sighed, "I'm the one who should be sorry. We started off wrong… Let's get you cleaned up first, shall we? Come with me and I'll help you wash and cut your hair, and find you some clothes. Then, maybe we will talk. Is that alright, Heero?"

"If you wish, my master." Heero said, but he looked a bit happier for the mention of being washed. He stood and followed Trowa as he went towards the door.

~*~*~*~

"Mother," Trowa called softly as he entered the rooms.

The young woman pushed aside a curtain and came out. She was worn and tired, but it was obvious she had once been pretty. She looked a lot like Trowa, with her brown hair that held some auburn streaks and her sparkling emerald eyes, but she was a very small woman and Trowa was almost as tall as her already, young though he was. Her name was Alexia, and the stamp of aristocracy that Trowa had gained from her was plain in her proud face as she smiled in relief to see her son. "Trowa? What did Torre want - who is this?"

"He gave me a slave like Lucille, mother. But a male, obviously. His name is Heero. Can you find some of my old clothes for him while I bathe him and cut his hair?"

"I can, baba, but wouldn't you prefer Catherine to cut his hair? It would be neater that way."

Trowa smiled as she unconsciously used the name a mother called her child in her home society, but shook his head, "No, mother. I'll do it myself. I am supposed to bond him to me, and Father might be angry with you if I do not." And besides, he didn't trust his half-sister overmuch.

Alexia sighed, "Well, let me at least see the boy."

"Heero… come and let my mother see you."

"Yes, master." Heero obediently stood and moved where Alexia could examine him. The age of the woman surprised him; such a young queen to be married to the old king Torre.

"He's been whipped!" She exclaimed softly, running a hand gently down the whip marks on his back. "Was it my bastard of a husband, Heero? Oh, I will fetch some salve to help it heal."

"If you wish, mistress." He said, and Trowa could see he was strangely moved by his mother's indiscriminate kindness.

"None of that, Heero." She scolded, "To Torre, I'm just as much a slave as you are. You treat me as an equal." She handed Trowa a little tub of salve, some soap and a pair of scissors. "I'll find him some clothes, baba, you go and get him cleaned up." She paused and took Trowa's head in both hands and kissed his forehead gently, "Make me proud and treat him well, baba."

"Yes, mother." He agreed softly.

~*~*~*~

As Trowa carefully cut the long hair back to a shorter, more practical length, Heero found himself curious. He didn't want to anger his master and get whipped, but Trowa seemed less likely to whip him than King Torre. "Master, why does the queen… my Lady Alexia call you baba?"

Trowa paused in his cutting and smiled at the question. "Baba is the name a mother calls her child in my mother's culture. It's similar to the word children call their mothers, 'mama', but she prefers me to call her mother since I was eight. But she can't seem to stop calling me 'baba'." He turned back to cutting the surprisingly fine hair. He had dragged a comb through it, but he hadn't washed it yet.

Heero was finding it hard to keep his hate for his master intact. Trowa treated him so fairly, almost like an equal. Heero couldn't remember when someone had last treated him like Trowa and Alexia did.

His master's soft voice drew him out of his reverie. "I'm leaving the front of your about that length, it suits you." He held a polished metal mirror out, "They don't trust me with glass, but how do you like that?"

Heero took the mirror curiously, wondering what his hair looked like short again. "It is fine, master." He murmured after a moment.

"Good." The young prince smiled at him. Heero found it hard to believe this tall, experienced boy could be only ten years old. Yet, many found it hard to believe that he was only ten… they had both been through a lot for their years in different ways. He looked up, realising his master had spoken while he wasn't paying attention. He cringed, expecting punishment.

"I won't punish you, Heero." Trowa said quietly, recognising the fear in his eyes. "Come on, I'll help you wash your hair."

As Trowa's hands worked the apple scented shampoo through his hair, Heero couldn't help feeling more comfortable with his master. He was soft spoken, and treated him kindly. Certainly he was a better master than his father Torre was, at least. He actually seemed to care how he felt and whether he was all right, asked him what he wanted to do. But Heero was determined not to grow to like one of the men who had caused him to become a slave, torn from his family and home at an age too young to remember.

Besides, Trowa might just turn out to be a horrible master after a while. Heero had seen it happen and was resolute on one fact; he wouldn't let it hurt him again.

Trowa's mother bustled in with a pile of clothes. "Baba, here are the clothes. I stitched your mark onto them quickly, to make Torre happy. Put some salve on your slave's back, and then let him pick what he likes."

Trowa nodded and towelled Heero's body dry. Heero didn't question why he would do it himself and not just give him orders, he just endured it. It wasn't his business what his master did with the body he, after all, owned. He did sigh in relief as cool healing salve was gently smeared along the whiplash marks on his back though, as they had been stinging from the soap and water.

He then was told to pick a set of clothes he liked or preferred from the pile and dress, then to follow Trowa out of the bathing area back to his rooms.

When two other slaves confronted him on his entrance to Trowa's room, the young prince quickly introduced them. "This is Duo, and this is Quatre. They'll show you around if you get lost. They are mainly my mother's slaves that she bought from her home, and they will not report you to Torre - my father - for speaking to them. If you can, ask them for help when you need it, then you're more likely to evade whipping from my father."

Quatre was fairly ordinary looking for a slave boy, perhaps a half-year younger than Trowa, with blonde hair and blue eyes. But Duo, the other, had a long braid of chestnut brown hair unusual for a slave, and he had the strangest violet eyes. But both boys shook his hand with liking and wished him luck with Trowa.

And so Heero came to be Trowa's slave, to become bonded to him completely over years of service.

T.B.C. A.S.A.P.

Last notes - thank you to those who encouraged me to write this.