Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ The Dragon's Prince ❯ Prologue

Title: The Dragon's Prince

Pairings: primarily building up to 13x5, 3x4, 1x2, 6+5, 5+4+2 ^-^ (so far…there might be more or less as the story progresses)

Warnings: AU, romance, YAOI, OOC, shounen ai, angst later, slight bastardization of certain characters, strong language, suggestive dialogue, etc.

Traditional Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. Never have, never will. Isn't that a pisser?

The Dragon's Prince- Prologue

Lord Treize of the Kushrenada nobles sat back and sipped his morning ale thoughtfully, preferring to break his fast in his castle's kitchens instead of fouling the finery of his dining hall. He was a creature of perfection, and strove for the aesthetic whenever he could. So it came as a large surprise that he would house two Pixies and their guardians in his castle.

Speaking of which, he smirked behind his tankard and watched as a very small and very distressed looking blonde entered the kitchen and sat at the long table. He looked to be seven years old, with cherubic rosy cheeks and aquamarine eyes round like saucers and shimmering like the sea. His nest of hair was arranged in a sort of playful-yet-neat style, which meant it had withstood the comb's ideas for a style and had fallen as it desired. "Good morning, Lord Treize," the youth chirruped politely, adjusting his gossamer tunic and breeches. "Did you sleep well, my lord?"

"My night was uneventful, Quatre," the ginger-haired man answered just as politely, setting his tankard down and pushing his plate aside for the moment. "And you, Your Highness? I do hope it was not a difficult journey back to your father's kingdom."

Quatre shook his head and yawned. "Father only summoned me to try and sell me off to the richest princess," he replied with a small hint of bitterness. "I suppose I shouldn't sound so ungrateful, considering all he has done for me since Mama died, but when will he see that I'm happy here with you and Trowa, and Heero and Duo? Mama wished for me to be happy, not auctioned off."

Treize smiled and clapped his hand over Quatre's shoulder in hopes of easing his discomfort. "Your father takes great pride in you, Quatre. You were the only one of his sons to survive infancy, and he wants to be assured that the bloodline will continue. Besides, if you will not take the throne, who will?"

"Mama chose Iria to take the throne if I could or would not. She and her husband are better suited for the kingdom than I am anyway." The small male grinned playfully and summoned a plate of hotcakes from the stove and a jar of strawberry preserves from the cupboards, then began dipping his hotcakes (as well as his fingers) in the preserves and devouring them in a sticky mess. "Delicious!" he proclaimed, summoning a cup of rose hip and hibiscus tea to wash it down.

Suddenly, a black-clad boy roughly Quatre's size bolted in and seized the clay jar of preserves in his hands. "BREAKFAST!" he shouted triumphantly, guzzling the preserves without so much as pausing for breath.

"Hey! Those were mine, Duo!" Quatre shoved the boy meanly and took back the jar only to find it empty. In a huff, the blonde held out his hand to summon another and glared openly at the new butt-in-ski. "Pig! You could have asked me! I would have shared! Now it's all over your clothes and face! HEY! Stop eating those! And where's my…uh-oh."

"`Where's my uh-oh?'" Duo giggled, trying to wipe the mess from his tunic and only succeeding in smearing it into a worse state. "These hotcakes are really good. They'd be better with some preserves though. I thought you were gettin' `em. I…uh-oh."

Treize sipped his morning ale thoughtfully and inclined his head toward the two whom entered, both dressed in Treize's livery and looking displeased at the smaller boys. They looked roughly eighteen years old, one with hair of chocolate brown and one with hair of auburn swept to conceal his left eye. "My Lord," they both said to Treize, bowing slightly in respect and then returning their glares to their charges.

"Trowa, he started this whole thing!" Quatre said accusingly, pointing at Duo. "I was having a nice conversation with Lord Treize and eating my breakfast when this glutton barged in and guzzled the strawberry preserves I was using to dip my hotcakes into!"

The teen with the auburn hair rolled his eyes and replaced the jar he'd caught as it floated by from the cupboards. "Quatre, you look to be wearing most of that breakfast of yours! And all of the food in this castle is Lord Treize's; there's no law saying he must forfeit his strawberry preserves to a mischievous pixie prince like you! Aside from all of that, you'll get sick from so many sweets!"

Meanwhile, Duo found himself facing a pair of stern Prussian blue eyes. "Grounded," the chocolate-haired boy growled out. "Two weeks."

"HEEEEEEEERO!" Duo wailed, gripping the hem of the teen's midnight blue tunic in his sticky-sweet fingers. "I can't be grounded! You grounded me already for drinking that elderberry wine! And you were gonna ground me when you found out who put that dead snake in your bathroom!"

"I had a feeling you were behind that escapade," Trowa murmured, winking to the blushing Heero. "And Heero, you owe me for the arrow you broke `killing' it."

Heero shifted his gaze from Trowa back to Duo and held up three fingers. "Three weeks."

The small brunette hated playing his trump card, but it usually worked even on stony old Heero. With a great breath of air in his lungs, the boy burst into wild (though fake) sobs and scurried toward the door leading outside to the grounds. "THAT'S NOT FAIR! YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHO PUT THAT SNAKE THERE! YOU ALWAYS ASSUME I DID IT IF IT'S BAD! I'M NOT BAD ALL THE TIME!"

The teen in charge of him snatched him up just before Duo could reach the door and kissed his strawberry-smeared cheek. "You aren't bad, Duo. Your mischief just so happens to get out of hand most times. And as for blaming you all the time, that isn't true. Accidents happen; they're not uncommon. Now stop this escapade before you further upset Lord Treize and disrupt his meal."

"I've no problem, Heero," Treize chuckled, standing up to stretch. "I'll be off to my daily exercises if anyone should have need of…"

"Lord Treize," Trowa interrupted suddenly, though he looked apologetic for doing so. "My lord, a messenger came by before sunrise this morning. His livery looked to be that of the OZ royalty, or even a personal man of Queen Une's. His message was an invite to Her Majesty's royal palace for a day of contests and feasting. The rumor is that the Dragon himself will be there competing."

Treize paused in interest. "Dragon? Who is this `Dragon'?"

Heero bowed and began to explain, offering Trowa a moment to catch his breath. "He is a warrior, high-born in the Long Clan of the East, and a liaison between the OZ kingdom and the Empire from which he originates. He is rumored to be arrogant, my lord, and boasts that none shall overtake him."

"So he is in need of conquering, then?" Treize laughed, then nodded decisively. "All right, the matter is settled. I will need two companions on this journey, one for my lute and one for my sword. The remaining two shall have to look after my estate in my absence until I return."

Heero humbly inclined his head. "Duo and I will remain my lord. I shall see to prepa- Duo, stop crying. You're grounded, so you couldn't have gone anyway. You should have reconsidered your actions before barging DUO!"

"DON'T MAKE ME STAY, LORD TREIZE!" Duo sobbed, now for real. "I'LL ONLY MISBEHAVE EVEN WORSE IF I'M LEFT HERE! Don't you think it would be a better idea to take me along, so that I'd be where you could see me at all times?"

"Point taken," Treize admitted, placing a hand to his chin in thought, "and well made. Heero, you and Duo shall accompany me this time. I would sleep better knowing young Duo was not destroying my estate while I was out teaching a lesson to that arrogant `Dragon'. I will need my wits about me when I meet him." With a grin, Treize turned to leave for his private chambers, muttering to himself. "That pup will learn what it is to be a dragon, mark my words. I only pray I do not thrash him too soundly. A small game of cat-and-mouse is always a bit of fun when one is feisty."