Disclaimer: The author of this fanfiction does not, in any way, profit from the story. All creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s).
Fairy Tales: rose woven
by Pout
Chapter 7: In Search of Sons, Courage, and Identity
“…better find that damn boy and drag him back here this instant!”
With the king’s command still reverberating about the throne room, the guard scurried out of the room as fast and inconspicuously as possible.
The queen sat upon her throne beside her outraged husband, ruffling her skirts and rolling her eyes. She was wondering what her boys were up to in their search for brides, but the king was more concerned about one particular son who had managed to hide himself very thoroughly somewhere in the kingdom. Wufei had disappeared three days ago leaving the king and queen to make excuses to the court ladies that aspired to join the family. Despite numerous search parties, the prince was elusive and had managed to evade their every effort. The king was becoming irritated.
The queen watched quietly as her husband grumped and fidgeted angrily. Wufei was filial to the point of rigidity, but this little stunt wasn’t entirely unexpected, she decided. He had, after all, grown up with his brothers and it would have been impossible for him not to have picked up some of Heero’s independence, Duo’s capriciousness, Trowa’s honesty, or Quatre’s romanticism. And after having spent a great deal of time with the daughter-in-law hopefuls, she had to say that she understood his desire to escape.
Smiling, she remembered the time the boys had been forced to try and play indoors because of an untimely thunderstorm. That was the day Duo had managed to smash a ball through one of the stained-glass windows that lined the throne room. The queen and her ladies had come running after hearing the crash. Without a word, all of her boys had pointed at Duo who, in answer, had scowled and swore never to speak to his brothers ever again. That had only lasted about three hours and by supper Duo was talking a mile a minute, as if trying to make up for lost time. Glancing up at the now repaired window, the queen couldn’t help but wonder where her boys were now.
A maid came in to announce that the midday meal was set and the queen was worrying over whether Wufei was eating well enough on his own, when a soldier was announced and came striding in to the throne room. The look on the man’s face was transparent enough; he was obviously the unhappy bringer of bad news. A mere glimpse of his countenance put a viselike grip around the queen’s heart.
“What is it?” the king asked, coming to his feet and taking a breath to brace himself.
“It’s the Tritonstead, Your Highness. There was a storm. The ship is gone, but there are a few survivors.”
“The princes,” the king urged.
The soldier shook his head. “No signs of either Prince Trowa or Prince Quatre.” The queen gave a muffled cry and brought her hands to her lips.
Gasping, the king dropped onto his throne, clutching at the arms of the seat as if clinging to sanity. He shook his head determinedly. “No. My sons are alive. They must be,” he insisted.
The soldier looked down, not wanting to see his king and queen so distraught.
“No!” the king declared, jumping to his feet. “They are out there somewhere. The prophet ordered them out to sea. He would not have sent them if this was to be their fate. It’s not right—not possible! My boys are alive. I must find them!”
“We are organizing search parties, Your Highness, all along the coast,” the soldier said.
The king shook his head. “I must find them,” he reiterated. “Gather my guard. We’ll leave immediately.”
The soldier nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”
The king turned to his wife and took her shaking hands in his own. “I’ll find them,” he said. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring them both back.”
“My boys!” the queen gasped, tears streaming from her eyes, crying in the fashion that only another mother could fully comprehend. Her heart was sore and the impact of loss was bruising her body until she felt numb with shock.
“Take her to lie down,” the king ordered the ladies in waiting. Taking his riding shawl from his attendant, he turned to speak again to his wife: “Rest. I will find them. When I return we will have two sons with us; mark my words.” And with that, he strode out of his throne room and embarked on a mission to search for his lost sons.
* * *
A few survivors had confirmed the story: the Tritonstead was destroyed in a storm at sea; both princes presumed lost. The king’s men were organizing local search parties. They combed the beaches and took boats out to the waters in search of the missing princes, but so far, there were no signs of either prince. The people were stunned and in disbelief and word was slowly spreading throughout the kingdom.
Days later, when Wufei heard the news, he was having an afternoon snack at a tavern not too far from the palace. Two men barged through the door and shouted, “Have you heard?! The Tritonstead, it’s lost! The princes are dead!”
The bottom of his stomach dropped out at hearing those words. In the absence of a proper emotional response to the declaration, anger came to surface very quickly. But before the youngest prince could move to accost the men, someone else beat him to it. The stout matronly owner of the establishment pinned both unfortunate heralds against the wall. “What are you two raving about? You’d better not be spoutin’ off filth in my house.”
They shook their heads solemnly and replied, “It’s true! They say the Tritonstead was caught in a storm at sea. The ship is wrecked and the crew is almost entirely lost. There were a few survivors, but none among them knows of the whereabouts of the princes. They’ve vanished! Lost at sea!”
The doors pushed open and a new messenger arrived to confirm the story that was now running rampant through the streets. “Did you hear? About the princes?”
Dropping a few coins on the table, Wufei pushed past the forming crowd and hurried to his horse. He could not believe this. His brothers were not lost; they could not be! But he remembered that night and the oppressive, ominous feeling that had woken him from his sleep not so long ago.
He shook his head and spurred his mount towards the palace. No, if Trowa and Quatre were dead, he would have felt it, would have known it in his bones and blood. Shaking all thoughts from his head, he focused on his first task: getting back home.
* * *
The queen was standing by the great window in her quarters when she heard a rapid knocking upon her door. She had managed to stop the tears, but her eyes were red and her spirit was frightened of what might have happened to her children. Taking a deep breath and clutching her hands to her chest, she dared to hope and called out, “Yes?” One of her ladies in waiting entered and announced that the youngest prince had returned. Thanking the heavens for small blessings, the queen hurried down to meet him.
“Mother,” Wufei called out when he saw her coming down the stairs. She was pale and obviously distraught.
“Wufei!” she cried, embracing him as if he might disappear right before her very eyes.
He felt the guilt of having been absent from her side during such a traumatic emergency, leaving her alone to bear the burden of upholding her station. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, but she shook her head adamantly.
“It is good to have you home. You’ve heard the news.” It was a statement rather than a question. “Your father is out looking for them. He says he will not come home until he has found them! They must have washed up on shore somewhere. They must have!”
“They’re fine,” he replied, willing to do nothing but reaffirm her convictions. “Father will find them and bring them back; don’t worry. Have you been eating? Sleeping? You don’t look well, mother. You should rest.”
She shook her head. “I can’t. I have my duties to the throne. There is much to do with your father not present.” She paused and let out a rattled breath. “My heart hurts so, Wufei. Your brothers are out there somewhere. God, let them be out there somewhere!”
A guard came up to the two members of the royal family and bowed stiffly and the queen struggled to regain her composure.
“What is it?” she asked, working hard to keep her voice steady and solid.
“Reports are coming in from search parties in the north, Your Highness. The news has spread and the people are worried and uneasy.”
His mother’s grip tightened on her son’s arms.
“I will meet with them,” Wufei said. “Direct the men inside. I’ll be with them in five minutes.”
His mother smiled weakly. “It is good to have you home, Wufei,” she whispered, her voice losing strength by the second.
He allowed his mother to give him a kiss on the cheek, then spoke to her ladies, “Take the queen upstairs.” They bowed and ushered their queen back to her rooms. Wufei hoped his presence could assuage some of her fears, though he knew he faced those same fears himself.
Striding down the hallways, he steeled himself. Now, with his brothers gone and perhaps missing, and with the king off in search of his lost sons, Wufei, youngest of five princes, was left with the responsibility of being in charge of the kingdom.
He and his brothers had been groomed to take on the duties of serving the state since birth. And though Wufei was not woefully unprepared to be thrust into power, he was unprepared nonetheless. The last in a rather long line of succession, he had never truly considered the possibility that he would need to exercise his power so soon, even in such an indirect capacity. He had always counted on his brothers to share the burden, and with four brothers before him, he had never expected to be left to face the duty alone.
Standing before the closed doors of the meeting chambers, he took a deep breath and looked inside himself for the courage to weather this storm. In a time of crisis such as this, the kingdom needed him, and he resolved to fill the role as best he could until his father and brothers came home.
* * *
It was a few days after the king left the palace that Trowa’s memory suddenly returned.
After days of staying cooped up within the old servant quarters, Sally and Noin had agreed that he would be all right roaming so long as he kept to himself and avoided the city or the towns and their nosy populations. So far, neither Sally nor Noin had heard of any prison escapes or any such indicative reports from their innocent inquiries in town. Thus, they presumed he must be a simple sailor from a wrecked vessel. Until news made it to town, however, they preferred to keep him sequestered in case he did in fact turn out to be some sort of hunted fugitive. Trowa, known as Peter or Jack depending on the speaker, often wondered at the unconditional generosity the girls offered him. After all, if he was a fugitive, it must have been for a reason, yet these two girls trusted his goodness intrinsically. Well, Sally trusted him; Noin was still wisely wary.
On one fairly gentle morning with the sky only partially swaddled in cloudy cover, he went wandering alone, meandering along the fringes of a nearby town. Over the past few days, he had taken to exploring the areas surrounding the manor to occupy his time while the girls toiled for their mistress. Following a path that Sally had suggested, he took a long walk back towards the ocean that had spit him up on land without a memory or a past. Try as he might, he could not discover the mystery of his identity. Perhaps, Sally had proposed, revisiting the sea might trigger some of his memories.
When he reached the beach, the wind had picked up some and the waves that lapped at the rocky edges of the land were developing a frothier white lip. Smelling the salt in the air, practically tasting it on the tip of each breath, the amnesiac felt a tug of recognition.
Taking a seat on the sand, he closed his eyes and just listened. He heard the wind roaring over the ocean to slip in and tangle with the tree line behind him, rattling the branches and leaves it discovered there. He heard the surf breaking against the cliffs, waves pressing up against each other as if attempting to crawl up on shore.
For hours, it seemed, he just sat there listening. The vague feeling of familiarity was coupled with an odd sense of anxiety. It was not fear or panic exactly, but almost like a feeling of vertigo, or of being on the verge of a catastrophe.
Then suddenly, he opened his eyes and saw a crack of lightening illuminating a stormy seascape, striking a lone ship, and splitting it down the center.
Trowa bit his tongue to keep himself from calling out a warning to his brother.
The Tritonstead had been caught in a storm. The ship had been destroyed. Quatre had gone overboard and Trowa had lost him. The memories snapped into sharp focus in his mind’s eye and replayed the incident over and over as if to make sure he would never forget again.
But what had happened to his brother since then? If Trowa had made it to shore, there was a good chance Quatre had as well. If he hadn’t been too seriously injured or had not inconveniently lost his memories, then Quatre would have headed straight back home.
Jumping to his feet, the third prince turned and headed back into the woods. Trowa needed to get back to the palace as soon as possible.
* * *
Sally had just finished preparing a bath for one of her ridiculous stepsisters. Her muscles ached from both an old lashing and the strain of having to carry buckets of steaming water up the stairs because her family was too lazy to come down just to get properly washed.
She was coming back down the stairs when she noticed a shadow in the doorway. Cautiously, she walked into the room only to find her mysterious patient standing there, obviously waiting for her. A smile spread across her face, though she should have scolded him for coming out where anyone in the house could discover him, but the smile suddenly faded and her brows came together as she looked at him.
There was something different about the man. The way he stood there, the weight of his stare, the manner in which he held his head so proud, so regally. “Peter?” she asked quietly, tilting her head to the side in confusion. In her heart, she knew he was leaving.
“My memory has returned,” he said simply. His tone, at least, was as it had always been: firm and confident, but gentle with no pretentious edge to it at all. “I must return. Thank you for everything you have done for me, you and Noin.” He paused as if to allow her to speak, question him if necessary, but she was unable to put coherent thoughts together other than to remind herself over and over that she had always known he would leave. “I must go.” She merely nodded acceptingly. “Tell Noin that I am grateful for her friendship and care.” Again, Sally nodded, gradually numbing inside.
She fully expected him to turn then and walk out the door and disappear. It was to her surprise that she watched him take the three brisk steps that brought him to her side. Gently, he pressed a chaste kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you, Sally, for everything.” She managed to smile back at him. “Be good.” And with those last words, he walked out the door and out of her life. It was only later, when Noin discovered her sobbing silently in the corner of their room, that she realized she had never asked the man’s name.
If the Madame had not learned of Sally and Noin’s disobedient behavior and unforgivable act of aiding and harboring a stow-away at the manor, she would not have grounded them, forbidding them to take a single step out of the confines of the manor walls. And if they had not been grounded, perhaps they would have heard from the gossips in town that the ship carrying the two princes had sunk somewhere among the waves and that their Prince Trowa, third son to the king, had miraculously resurfaced only days after his father had set off in search of him. But the Madame had learned of their transgressions and so Sally and Noin never knew that the man they had sheltered had, in fact, been a prince.
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