Two weeks later to the day, the rally began. Trowa, in his performers guise, watched three separate rallies occurring in the city. Confirmed by several of the new recruits, Quatre and his circle took steps. He notified his sisters and the Maguanacs, who had been on alert the duration of the wait. Iria in court casually suggested a fencing match, to see who would best whom. Everyone conveniently agreed, and quickly gathered their swords for such a "contest". Everyone was invited except for king Winner. To him, Quatre sent a fake messenger, telling Winner to be elsewhere immediately, so that he would be out of the way when the attack started. The number of patrolmen on the castle walls quietly doubled, and soon it was nothing more than a waiting game.
Two hours passed. The Maguanacs grew weary of the pretend fighting, and the sisters were getting tired of their imitated "oohs" and "aahs". But over the wall, they all observed the climax of Dorothy's plans. Almost the entire population of the city came filtering through the streets, shouting foul slogans and their faces red in excitement.
"Boy," Duo muttered. "That Dorothy chick can really plan a riot. I hope no one in MY kingdom is dumb enough to do that."
::I doubt it,:: Trowa replied as he watched. ::You are a good king. You are close to the people and you care about what they care about.::
"What about what?" Duo asked. The mountain prince was still uncertain of his knowledge of Trowa's sign language.
"He was complimenting you," Heero said solemnly. "Now watch. This is where they get a ram."
Quatre looked to Duo's bodyguard. "The 'ram'?"
"Look."
True to his prediction, the people, angered by the lack of reply to their shouts, produced a battering ram to smash the castle walls.
"Let them in now!" Heero shouted. His order was obeyed, and the gates creaked loudly as they opened to the surprised public.
"Well? What are we waiting for??" someone shouted. Most likely a flunky of Dorothy's. "They're giving us free reign, let's get them!" Several similar calls followed and it was not long before the rioters made their way into the castle.
"Now! Close the gates!" The rope was cut and the gate slammed shut, leaving only half of the mob inside the castle. Heero looked to his comrades. "I believe that is an appropriate number for you and your castle."
::Quite adequate, friend Heero,:: Trowa signed. ::I applaud your stratagem. I hope that we will never do this again.::
"Agreed. Ikkou." Heero drew his extended nodatchi as Duo reached for his scythe and Quatre his rapier.
"Let the last battle begin," Quatre muttered. "And may Allah be merciful to me." The five ran down the seemingly endless stairs to the middle of the fray. The plan had been played out. All that was left was the battle.
It was a lost cause for the would-be rebels. The entire population of the castle had been preparing for this. Those with no skill with the sword fought in other ways, locking out certain wings of the castle, leading the rioters to more trained swordsmen and women, as well as hiding themselves expertly. The mobsters themselves were poorly trained in combat, as king Winner disapproved of such teachings as anything other than sport. And mob violence could never match up to a plan of attack. It basically amounted to several drunken or enraged laymen wielding sticks and stones that were quickly disarmed by either the Maguanacs, Quatre's sisters, or the desert prince and his circle. Mixed into the group were some members of the middle class with moderate skill. Had they been training in advance, however, like the desert prince and his family had, they would have stood a better match.
Quatre himself disarmed several rioters. He found himself oddly comfortable in such a situation. In the battle, there was no room for doubt, no room for second guesses. However, the desert prince was guarded enough so as he never once drew blood. This was the true meaning of pacifism, he realized. To fight for honor and not for blood. To defend you people by giving them tough love. Talking was not always the best solution, as his father had so adamantly argued. It was a first resort, but not the only resort. For the people who only understood war, for the people who knew nothing else, there was this style of fighting. The desert prince reveled in it as he realized it's effectiveness. As the prince fought he began planning his new regime around these ideals, these simple facts.
But such thoughts did distract him from fighting. One brutish individual twice the prince's size managed to slip around Quatre's defenses and seized the youth. Caught by surprise, the desert prince could only gasp as the huge oaf began to squeeze the life out of the young man.
But, quicker than Quatre had ever dreamed, Trowa and Catherine were upon the brute. The forest prince pried the desert prince out of the giants grip as Catherine held a knife to the man's throat.
"Just because they play by the rules does not mean that I do," the performer said, acid laced in her voice. "Remember, I am a foreigner and have no compulsions about killing an uneducated bore such as you. Do you understand?" the knife thrower asked. He now petrified oaf nodded slightly.
"Good. Because I was not serious then. If you do that again, you will truly understand the meaning of such a word. Now get out of here."
The brute did so, screaming like a girl. Quatre meanwhile was agape at the forest prince.
::What are you doing here?:: he asked hurriedly. ::You know nothing of swords!::
A smile touched Trowa's lips. ::Only a coward would leave himself out of this battle. Besides, I would protect and serve you until my death. Do you not remember those words?::
Quatre smiled. ::Of course I do.:: The desert prince would have elaborated, but they were in the middle of a battle, and it was no long before the two were again separated.
Somewhere along the way, the desert prince noticed that he had fought his way to the throne room. Had the battle progressed so far? He defeated his current adversary and looked around. The light drapes that had always swung in the desert breeze had been torn, and the throne itself had been tipped over. He was not the first one here.
"What on earth is going on?!" a voice demanded.
"Father??" Quatre turned to see the king gaping at him, rapier in hand. "What are you doing here? You were supposed to be gone when the fighting started!"
"You knew about this?? And you let it happen??" King Winner walked down the steps leading to the throne. "How could you let such a thing happened?? What kind of an heir are you??" The king's voice rose several octaves as he entered into his fighting voice.
Quatre, however, had little time for trivial matters. "Father, I have no time to explain what is going on right now! Half the city is inside the gates and wishing for blood!"
"But are they really?" a third voice said. A women's voice. From behind the tattered drapes came a young woman, about Quatre's age, with rapier in hand. She had an elegant beauty about her, her blond locks hand down almost to her knees. "They are merely tired of the old regime, and wish to see a new one. Mine."
"So you are Dorothy Catalonia," the prince whispered.
"I am."
"What is going on here?! I demand an explanation, boy!" Winner strode over to Quatre. "What are you doing to my country?"
"Your majesty, it is no longer your country," Dorothy said. "In fact, it is no longer and Winner's country. What this is; is MY country." The would-be queen raised her sword and raced for the king, determined to secure her victory. But she once again underestimated Quatre, who by now had grown into a fine swordsman. He pushed his father aside and blocked what would have been a fatal blow to the king.
So the duel began. The desert prince and the noble warrioress were evenly matched. And the fight was long and tiresome for both sides as king Winner watched in mute awe.
"I will avenge my parents!" Dorothy finally shouted. "And I will make this country strong for them!" With renewed zealous, she again charged the exhausted Quatre. And again the prince blocked the blow. "What is wrong, highness?" she asked in a mocking air. "Why do you not finish me off? You are clearly of better skill and yet you refuse to give a final blow! What weakness of yours does this stem from?"
"This is not weakness you see but strength!" Quatre shouted. "My strength comes from my beliefs. And my beliefs are in my fathers pacifism and in my own kindness. Trowa has taught me the difference between fighting for revenge and for love of battle and fighting to defend my beliefs. It is my beliefs that give me the strength to fight!"
Dorothy swung her sword high. Quatre moved to block it, realizing only at the last moment that it was a faux move. Dorothy's sword embedded itself in his shoulder, causing the desert prince to scream as newfound pain exploded in his body.
"And look what your 'beliefs' have given you!" Dorothy shouted. "A disapproving father who hates you, and blood on a sword."
"My beliefs have made me strong. And I will not go against them. Look at your plans, Dorothy." Quatre faltered as the woman wrenched her sword in his body, new waves of pain washing over him. "Your plans have availed to nothing. The people have watched this entire castle defend itself without spilling one drop of blood. We have disarmed not only the people, but the hold you had over them. The Winners are no longer seen as uncaring, aloof aristocrats. Were that true, there surely would have been deaths. Instead, they see how deeply we are concerned for them, and how desperate we are to show them we will take care of them. You have failed, Dorothy. Can you not see that?"
"I will see nothing until you are DEAD!!" The blond woman yanked her rapier out of Quatre and moved to give the final blow. The desert prince was ready for it. He only hoped that his father would eventually forgive him.
But oddly, the blow never came. Instead, the prince heard a shattering clang, and saw the aristocrat's sword clatter to the ground. Looking up weakly, he saw king Winner holding a sword to Dorothy's throat.
"There has been enough foolishness in this castle to last for several lifetimes," the king said. "I will end it now. You are beaten Dorothy." The king lowered his sword and Duo and Heero appeared to take her away. When had they shown up? Quatre looked around and found in fact, several familiar faces had entered the throne room. And also familiar faces of those in battle. The rioters. Were they watching the battle? For how long?
Such questions were meant to be left unanswered for the moment, however, as king Winner threw his arms around the desert prince. "My boy! Can you ever forgive me, son? I have been so stupid for so long! Oh, Quatre, by darling boy! I am so sorry."
"You called me son," Quatre whispered. "You had never called me son." Relief in its purest form washed over Quatre as he hugged his father in return, the pain he was feeling somehow gone. For the first time in years, the desert prince felt warmth in the embrace of his father. It felt good.
He did not know how long he stayed like that. But finally he broke from his father, turning and looking around at the family he so loved. But someone was missing.
"Has anyone seen Trowa?" he asked. The Maguanac and his sisters looked around. It was very natural for the silent forest prince to go unnoticed, but Quatre had always known when he was in a room. Now that they looked around, Trowa was nowhere to be found. Catherine was also missing.
Duo came up to his cousin, looking at the desert prince's wound. "You'd better have that treated," he said, concern in his eyes.
"I will," the desert prince replied. "Just as soon as I find Trowa."
"Hey, man, that could take hours, knowing him. You need to get that looked at now." The mountain prince ripped some of his shirt and carefully wrapped the desert prince's shoulder.
"It shouldn't take that long, cousin," Quatre said lightly. "If he's not here, then I know where he is." Slowly, he got up. His cousin supported him, if somewhat against his moving around. However, the mountain prince knew his cousin well enough to know when not to object.
"Okay, where would he be?" he asked.
"The garden. It reminds him of his beloved forest. Catherine will most likely be with him as well."
"Whatever you say." Duo help Quatre to his destination, Heero and king Winner not far behind.
It was in the garden that they did indeed find Trowa. Catherine was with the forest prince, just as the desert prince had predicted. However, she was crying over her brother's body as it lay under the tree. Duo's tree, his favorite tree in all the garden.
"Trowa!" Blinded by shock, Quatre let go of his cousin and stumbled to the forest prince. "Trowa!" ::Trowa! Oh, no! Trowa, what happened??:: The desert prince took the forest prince almost possessively out of Catherine's arms. Trowa was bleeding in his abdomen; clear marks that a sword was too fast even for the nimble performer. His sharp, beautiful face that Quatre had loved to stare at was now pale, and his eyes somewhat glazed as they stared off to space. The bark colored hair hung limp and sweaty against his forehead. ::Trowa.::
Gently, lovingly, Quatre traced his delicate finger down the forest prince's jaw line, whishing desperately that he had not allowed the fight, not allowed things to go as far as they did.
Suddenly, the eyes focused, and Trowa looked to the desert prince. He hands tried to move, but there was no strength to say the words he so wanted to.
::Quatre…::
"Trowa! Please, do not try to talk!" Catherine shouted. "You have to conserve your strength! Please, Triton, do not die on me! Or I will hate you forever!"
::Not…true:: Trowa managed.
"Shut up, Triton! Listen to your sister!"
::Yes, Trowa, listen to your sister. You have to conserve your energy so that you can get better. We won, Trowa! You have to get better so that we can celebrate!::
The forest prince moved to sign again, but this time it hurt him too much. He hissed in pain as his face contorted.
"Trowa! Trowa, stop right now! Do no try to talk!" the desert prince pleaded.
::A…beautiful voice,:: was Quatre's reply. ::You sound…beautiful.::
"Trowa?"
The forest prince slowly put his hand to his throat, an odd smile on his face. "K-k…" he started. It was agony that was written on his face, but the silent boy who said so much continued. "Qua…tre." What a magnificent voice! It was a deep, majestic tenor voice. He would have been an excellent singer. There were such tones and knowledge in that voice. Such love in that word. It was a voice given only to Allah! What beauty it had.
But alas, Allah's gifts do not come without a price.
"Trowa? Trowa! Allah, be merciful, Trowa!!!!!!"
It was only two months later when prince Quatre Raberba Winner was coroneted. King Winner the Pacifist proudly gave his son the crown. And with great elegance, the now desert king accepted it. King Duo Maxwell and his bodyguard Yuy Heero were there, along with his entire family, the Maguanacs, and the people he was to rule. It was the first time in his country's history that a coronation was made public.
And to his people, he had this to say:
"Blessed Allah has granted us many gifts. Two months ago I was given the opportunity to prove to you that the Winner family has not declined in power, but has instead strengthened itself. I will do everything in my power to do what I can for the people. Not just the aristocrats and the nobles, but all the people. I have beliefs and they will become my policy.
"This would not be possible today were it not for one young man. He was a deaf/mute, with the inability to neither hear or to use his voice. But this is not to say that he could not speak. To me and to those close to him, he spoke volumes. He had the intelligence, the heart, and the wisdom to guide me on the right path to be king. He shaped me and prepared me for this job far more than any teacher could.
"It was this young man, a forest prince, who sniffed out a traitor in our ranks. An unlucky woman who had had bad things happen to her. The forest prince saved my kingdom. Our kingdom. And he died doing so."
A falter. A tear. A deep breathe. "Every so often a king will take a name. My father was known as king Winner the Pacifist. There have been the Marvelous, the First, the Great, and the Wise. I will be known as King Quatre. The Sorrowful. I will mourn the death of the forest prince. And I will mourn for him the rest of my life. And every year on this day, it will be a day of mourning.
"From the forest prince, I learned not to hate my kindness. From the forest prince, I have learned to fight without bloodshed. From the forest prince, I have learned how to be a king. And from him, I will hope you would one day learn what a great man he was."
King Quatre the Sorrowful stepped down, knowing full well that his people were crying for him. And knowing full well that he forest prince was watching him.
He hoped he approved.
The End