Disclaimer: Same as always; I do not own the GW boys or any of their compatriots in any way, shape, or form.

Ratings:

Warnings: Yaoi, rabidly AU

Pairings: Various

Comments: This is a fic that takes place in a very different universe. So far, I don't think there is going to be any magic or works thereof, but who can tell? Heero may seem a bit of a bastard in the early parts, but bear with me and have faith in him.

Assassins and Roses

Chapter One: Arrival

Heero glared out the window of the large coach, sulking. The woman of middle years sitting across from him had attempted conversation, but that had been put to an abrupt halt by a mere look on Heero's behalf.

He couldn't imagine a punishment more severe than being sent to an arts academy. It supposedly had the best of academics, but it was still an *arts* academy. It was the kind of school that turned out foppish musicians and pansy poets. So what if they were the best in the known world.

Heero only had one artistic tendency, and he had not thought that anyone knew about it, least of all his father or that creepy doctor he kept around him. He looked down at the small bag he held in his lap. In it were the bare essentials he would need: a small cake and water flask for the long trip, his mother's silver comb which she had given him two years before, a greeting gift to his new teacher, and, secretly, his pastels.

Until his twenty-first year, Heero had to stay at the academy, firmly under his teacher's thumb. Heero sighed. He was only seventeen. His twenty-first birthday was three and a half-years away. Only then could he receive the title, lands, and wealth his father had promised him. If he refused to continue at the academy, his older half-brother, Tristan, would exceed him in the line of inheritance. As it was, Heero's hold on his inheritance was tenuous. If it had not been for Tristan's early signs of homosexuality, Heero, as the illegitimate younger son, would never have a hope of inheritance. Secretly, Heero was now the heir-apparent, but none in the country was to know of either Tristan’s sexual inclinations or of Heero’s future.

The cobalt-eyed boy smirked to himself. He suffered none of the... distasteful afflictions his brother had. In fact, his extremity in the other direction was exactly what had landed him in this uncomfortable coach on his way to the Sanc Kingdom's "finest school for the Arts." Heero's father, Odin Lowe, had never minded Heero's sexual promiscuity, had found it most relieving considering his other son's preferences, and had perhaps even been a bit amused.

Heero had inherited his father's heart-breakingly beautiful looks. Many women had fallen prey to his sapphire blue eyes, his rich, dark hair, and his come-hither smirk. Heero took much advantage of that, seducing all the maidservants first, and then the townswomen, and until his forced exile, he had taken to seducing the wives of powerful nobles and ambassadors while their unsuspecting spouses spoke on politics with his father.

All his pleasurable exploits had been brought to a halt just two weeks before. The highest ranking official from the nearby kingdom of Catalonia, Hans Schweibeker, had brought his daughter Hirde with him to make political ties with Odin's kingdom, Zero. Hirde had been a fairly pretty girl, but Heero had been moody and had deliberately made her fall in love with him, and then he ignored her. He had not expected her to leap off the battlements. It was then that Odin had decided that Heero needed "discipline."

And so, here he was, on this dismal trip to an *arts academy.* Heero sighed.

"Three and a half years..."

Oo-~~~-oO

The Dragon slipped through the dark, searching for the warmth that would indicate the body lying in wait. He cocked his head to the side as he varied his steps, moving forward and to the left. There!

He leapt into action, bringing his short blade up to counter the downward sweep he knew was coming. The blades rang off each other and then quickly danced away. Wufei twisted to the right just in time to block a side chop coupled with a kick to the solar plexus. In the same second as he blocked the kick, Wufei swung the flat of his blade to connect with the small of his opponent's back. A sharp squeak echoed and the assassin dropped to the ground. Wufei whirled around as the lights in the room clicked on.

"Duo, you need to work on quicker recovery. But the kick was new. That was good. It almost caught Wufei off-guard," Trowa stated quietly, looking pointedly at the braided figure rolling on the ground.

"Owie! My butt!" the assassin-in-training wailed as he rubbed the aforementioned body part.

Wufei smirked. His fellow Assassin Master, Trowa, walked over to the braided boy and lifted him to his feet, dusting him off gently. Wufei did not bother to add his own corrections; Trowa had told the young trainee exactly what Wufei himself would have said. The Dragon had no doubt that the next time he tested the young man, he would end up on his back himself, with a few new bruises. Trowa had watched the entire scene. He would teach Duo how to perfect his technique by way of pillow talk. Trowa was simply the best assassin ever turned out by the Academy, and Duo, as his lover, benefited doubly.

The raven-haired man strode to the weaponry rack against the wall of the large room. He replaced his sword and rubbed his wrists thoughtfully.

"Trowa, have you any idea where-" Wufei turned to see that his question fell upon deaf ears. Trowa, holding Duo up by braid and elbow, was thoroughly lost in his plundering of the younger boy's mouth.

A resigned sigh echoed through the room just before the door slammed. The two occupants were oblivious.

Oo-~~~-oO

Heero cursed as his head hit the glass of the window. He looked bleary-eyed out the window to observe that the coach had turned onto a broad cobblestone path. To the left and right of the avenue lay extensively manicured gardens. Far ahead and to the left, Heero thought he could see the tall hedges of a labyrinth. Large wrought-iron gates between perfect rust and white brick walls rose cheerily ahead. Through the gates peered a bubbling fountain and white gravel circle and coach-port. Heero hated it on sight.

Inexorably, the dreary coach neared the tall gates. Guards in uniform of rust red and gold guided the gates to their open position. Heero got his first complete look at the academy that would be his prison for the next four years.

It was a sprawling mansion. The shadows of a wealth of curtains showed through the tall windows on the first and second floors. A large balcony, presumably for dining and dancing, jutted out over the graveled circle.

The coach pulled under the balcony and another guard opened the door. As the sole occupant of the coach - the older woman had departed from his company as the carriage passed through the capital of Sanc - Heero was required to carry none of his luggage. He was accustomed to such treatment, as a prince, but he was pleased nonetheless. No one here knew he was a prince; Doctor J, that deranged old fart, had decided for Heero to go by his mother's name for him, Heero Yui, instead of his legal name, Odin Lowe Junior. Heero was not sure about the reason for this, but as he preferred the name Heero, he decided not to question blessings.

The brunette stepped tentatively inside the entrance hall and stopped short. The room was the most exotic he had ever seen, even in the royal palaces of foreign countries. The far wall was a semi-dome made completely of glass. Small tables and chairs were set out on the marble floor, and a motley assortment of people sat here and there, chatting and drinking from tiny cups as they gazed out at the lush spread of all colors of the spectrum. Heero was quite certain that he had never before seen many of the colors displayed in the lavish garden.

Just then, a young man clad all in white approached him. The man’s raven-wing hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail. An eyebrow was raised at him, and Heero realized that he had been addressed.

"I’ve been instructed to contact-" Heero floundered for the correct name.

"Treize Khushrenada? I am headed directly to his office. I can show you the way. Chang Wufei, fifth son of the Dragon clan, at your service."

<A Dragon? Impressive. They’re known to be the best family at military tactics in the known world. I had thought that a member of the Dragon clan would be in training as a warlord, not at some foppish arts academy…> However, Heero felt indebted to the young man, as he had spared the boy some embarrassment by supplying the name of the head of this organization.

"Heero Yui," he responded with his usual monotone. The other man acknowledged this with a nod of the head before he pivoted and set off down a long corridor. Heero followed.

Oo-~~~-oO

Treize rubbed his temples tiredly. He was thoroughly sick of his job on days like this. On this bright Sunday morning alone, he had had to deal with ridiculous matters. A boy decided to rappel his way up the side of his dormitory. A girl of noble birth who trained in the flute section had been light with her skirts and her parents discovered that their sixteen year-old baby girl was pregnant. Naturally, they instantly blamed Treize. The cellists were in an uproar because the oil-painters had used their studio for easel-work and they had nowhere else to practice but outside. So, as these things occur, the students in the creative writing course became inflamed at the injustice occurring to displace the poor, downtrodden, oft-overlooked cellists.

This afternoon the bedraggled headmaster also had to interview an inductee to the school from the foreign nation of Zero. This boy’s guardian had given no specifications as to what art he would openly pursue, but he was one of the few who were familiar with the hidden purpose of the school and one of the fewer still who fit the physical qualifications required of the special program.

Superb were the discipline and skill of those who graduate the Sank Kingdom Academy of the Arts with the full honors, but so much more valuable were the services of the assassins who were secretly trained there, known as the Order of the Rose. The most dangerous and best protected of political figures were assassinated by a Rose Assassin. The most valuable and important of people had possessions of a bodyguard from the Order of the Rose. None knew any specifics about the Order, except that any leader whom the Order has deemed unworthy could not be safe behind the gates of Hell itself.

Treize inhaled sharply as a short rap sounded on his door. He grinned. So terse a knock could only herald-

"Khushrenada. I have brought a new inductee," Wufei said, making the statement seem almost a question. He waved a young boy with unruly dark brown hair and straight, tense posture to enter. The older man was about to bow and leave when Treize spoke.

"Greetings, Heero Yui. Wufei, please stay." The raven-haired man closed the door and seated himself across from both of the other men, crossing his legs elegantly.

"Now, I read that… Doctor J has enrolled you in this school?" At the mentioned name, both younger men straightened their posture uncomfortably. "He did not mention any particular gifts in any areas; maybe you could specify in those sections for us?" The moss-haired boy paused and looked thoughtful.

<Do I dare tell him about my painting?> Heero thought frantically. He feared ridicule; he would not reveal his private pleasure. He shrugged noncommittally.

<He has the build of a dancer, but it would seem that he has been trained to move differently. There is no expressiveness in his motions.> Treize and Wufei’s thoughts mirrored each other’s. <A musician? It must be. Of what sort?>

"Perhaps you write poetry?" A faint hint of a sneer pulled at the boy’s upper lip.

"Violin? Flute? Lyre? Piano?" The boy scowled.

"Piano," he said, more to end the annoying questions than the fact that he actually enjoyed playing the piano. The taller man nodded, seemingly satisfied.

"Piano and our… special program…" Heero looked perplexed and Wufei raised his eyebrow. The latter was only to be expected; the only recent inductee had met with an unfortunate accident due to his habit of wagging his tongue. However, the look of bemusement on the inductee’s face concerned Treize.

Brow furrowing, Treize addressed the youth, "Yui. You are to be trained in our special program. Please explain your prior knowledge of this." The beautiful young features before him expressed disconcertion before being schooled into perfect neutrality.

"I do not believe I was informed of this schedule," he improvised coolly. Treize’s suppositions were confirmed; he wondered what game Doctor J was playing with this boy.

"Perhaps, then, a demonstration would be of more use in explaining. Wufei, would you take him to the practice room, please?"

~~ End of Part One! ~~