Starting out on a Journey 1/3
Dec. 24th, 2006 12:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
misanagiAnne,
I'm posting now since it's the 25th there already... The other ficlet was a decoy, this is your real Christmas present. *hugs you lots* Thank you for always being so wonderful to me. *loves you*
Starting out on a Journey
Rating: PG13
Pairings: 3x4 get together. 2+4 (friendship), 1+3 (friendship) and background 1x2.
Warnings: AU. Fantasy elements and historical inaccuracy. Fusion with the animated movie Anastasia.
Summary: A journey might hold not only the answers to Quatre's past but also to his future.
Dedication: For Anne, who wanted this fusion and has always been wonderful to me. Merry Christmas!
Thanks a lot to Cait, Lil, Ruth and Windsor for the beta. *hugs you all lots*
____
Prologue
Not so long ago there was a young prince who lived in a palace. He was the youngest of a large family and the only son of Czar Winner. His mother was my beloved sister, who fell in love with the Czar on one of her journeys and decided to marry him and remain in the cold land of Russia. As the daughter of a Sultan, she was deemed worthy enough to marry the Czar. She gave him eleven daughters before finally giving him a son. She died in childbirth. The first time I traveled to Russia was for her funeral and that's when I met Raberba.
Even though he was only a baby he looked exactly like his mother, with the unusual pale features, golden hair and blue eyes. Over the years, I came back to visit Raberba as often as I could and watched him grow into a bright child. When my father died, my older brother became Sultan and allowed me to go to Europe on diplomatic missions for our Kingdom. Paris was the city I spent most of my time in but still my traveling to Russia became more frequent. I spent my time with Raberba telling him stories of the desert and showing him how our people lived and fought. Every time I had to leave, Raberba would ask me how long it would take for me to return, so on my last visit to St. Petersburg, I brought him a present.
"Uncle Rashid, thank you!" He was looking at the sand clock turning it over and watching the sand fall.
"That's not all," I said, taking something out of my pocket. It was a silver chain with a pendant engraved with Arabian symbols. I took the clock from his hand and inserted the pendant in a small slot at the base. It opened up to show a modern clock, the handles moving slowly. "You need to wind it up here." I moved his hand to the small mechanism and showed him how. Then I closed the watch and put the chain around his neck. "It'll be our little secret."
He smiled and nodded. I took the pendant and showed him the small inscription on the bottom, Paris. His smile brightened. "Are you taking me with you, uncle Rashid?"
But before I could answer, the doors of the great hall opened, and an old man walked in. His name was Tsubarov. He had held a high position in the military until the Czar expelled him for putting the people in danger.
"I curse you, Czar Winner, you and your family," Tsubarov announced. "You will all die in a fortnight. That will be my revenge." Then he vanished, in the middle of the great hall and no one could stop him.
His dark omens would tragically become true.
Tsubarov had traded his soul for the power to kill the Winner family. A fortnight later the people revolted with the support of the army forces, still loyal to Tsubarov, and broke into the castle, killing everyone in their path.
I was holding Raberba's hand as we ran when he suddenly stopped and headed back to his room. "My clock, I forgot it!" he said. I ran after him but by the time he had found the clock there were armed soldiers at the door, effectively blocking our path.
"Over here!" said a young voice. It was a brown-haired servant boy, about Raberba's age. He was holding Raberba's hand and pulling him to the other side of the room. He opened a secret panel in the wall and pushed Raberba through it. The clock fell on the floor.
"Hurry!" the servant signaled to me.
The last thing I saw before I closed the panel was the boy being hit by a soldier.
The secret passage led us outside. We barely crossed the palace gates when Raberba was pulled away from me. I turned around and saw Tsubarov, holding a knife above his head, ready to strike Raberba. I threw myself at him and used my own dagger to stab him in the heart. I wasted no time, took Raberba by the hand and ran.
The streets were in chaos but we managed to get to the train station where I was helped up a moving wagon by the people in it. I pulled Raberba up but his hand slipped away from mine and he fell down on the snow.
That was the last time I saw him.
Chapter One
Ten years later…
Duo ran through the outside gates of the old farm, heading for the kitchen door. He was late. He hadn't meant to take so long going to town but the snow was deep and walking had been very difficult. The old lady would be mad, that was for sure.
He threw the door open and stepped into the kitchen. Quatre was already there, hands in his pockets, standing in front of the old lady, who was yelling at him. "There you are!" She turned to Duo. "You are late! Lunch will be late!"
The pot was steaming over the stove, meaning that Quatre had already cooked lunch and the old lady was waiting for the bread to start eating. She couldn't have stew without bread.
"I'm sorry." Duo put the bread on the table and went to stand next to Quatre. "The snow—"
The old lady banged the cane on the floor. "I don't want excuses. After all I've done. I've clothed you two and fed you, put a roof over your heads…"
Duo looked at Quatre from the corner of his eye and watched him roll his eyes. It was a speech they knew well. True, the old lady had given them all those things but it hardly was for free. He and Quatre had to work for her, practically being her servants. When Duo's parents died the old lady had agreed to take him in too. Quatre had already been living with her for two years and Duo decided that he rather stay as a servant with Quatre than go to an orphanage, alone.
Duo and Quatre had been friends since the day they met.
The old lady had found Quatre walking by her house, shivering and on the verge of freezing to death. He didn't remember who he was, what had happened to his family or how he had ended up there. Since the old lady needed someone to help her take care of her home, she took him in. Duo lived in the house next to her and since the moment he saw the other boy cleaning the stables, he knew he wanted to be friends.
Quatre didn't have a name back then. The old lady called him boy, but Duo thought that everyone deserved a name so together they decided on one. The old lady had laughed and still called Quatre "boy" most of the time, but they didn't care.
"… you need to learn your place, Duo," the old lady continued. "You don't deserve lunch, neither of you. And, Duo, a couple of nights sleeping in the barn shall teach you to be on time."
"You can't!" Quatre said. "It's been so cold lately. He'll get sick!"
"Silence!" She banged her cane of the floor again. "You can stay with him too," she said. "Don't you call yourselves brothers? Then you might as well share the punishment." She took the bread from the table. "I've got you both jobs at the fish factory. You are to start today. I suggest you keep this one. You aren't children anymore and if you don't pay the rent, I'm afraid I won't be able to let you keep living under my roof." She swung her cane, hitting Quatre on the arm. "Out! Or you'll be late."
Without a word, Quatre and Duo walked out into the cold. "Are you okay?" Duo asked, once they were outside. The old lady liked to hit them with that vicious cane. Once, Duo had stolen it while she slept and burned it. Two days later, the lady got another and punished both of them, even though Quatre had nothing to do with it. She was mean like that. She always punished the both of them because she knew how much they cared for each other. "I'm sorry."
Quatre waved a hand dismissively and smiled at him. "Thick coat," he said, rubbing his arm. "I barely felt it."
Duo kicked the snow angrily. "This is stupid!" he said. "I'm not going to work fifteen hours in a stinky fish factory just so she can keep all the money and starve us and hit us whenever she likes."
Rubbing his hands together to heat them up, Quatre sighed. "What are you thinking?" he asked.
"Let's go away!" Duo stopped in front of an intersection. A tall pole signaled the two roads, one leading to town and the other to the city.
Quatre looked up. "St. Petersburg? You want to go to St. Petersburg?"
Moving closer to Quatre Duo put a hand into his friend's shirt and took out a thin chain with a pendant. "St. Petersburg is just the start. I say we go to Paris."
"Paris," Quatre whispered, looking down at the pendant. That chain was the only clue Quatre had of his past. It wasn't much but since they had met, Quatre had talked about how one day he would go to Paris to see if he could find some answers.
"We can't stay here forever, Q." Duo leaned back on the pole. "We have that money we kept from the last job at the docks, maybe that's enough to get us to Paris."
"You would come with me?" Quatre looked thoughtful.
"Of course, silly. Where else do I have to go?"
"We left everything we have in the house," Quatre argued, but there wasn't much conviction in his voice.
"We keep everything that matters on us," Duo looped his arm around Quatre's. They had their good hats on, as well as their coats, boots and the money. Quatre had his chain and Duo had his cross. Putting the free hand in his pocket Duo confirmed that he had the pair of good gloves he shared with Quatre and even a small piece of bread left from breakfast. They wouldn't miss a change of torn clothes and an old pillow, and they certainly wouldn't miss the old lady.
Slowly, a smile appeared on Quatre's face. He put the pendant back inside his shirt and took the road to St. Petersburg.
* * *
The boy was ugly. Yes, he had blue eyes and blond hair but he was the ugliest thing Trowa had ever seen.
"Next!" Heero said and glared at the boy, who quickly ran out the room.
Trowa buried his face in his hands. "This is a waste of time. They are all either ugly, or too old, or dumb as a rock."
"We've only seen ten of them," Heero pointed out. "There's a line outside."
"Of course there's a line." Trowa stood up and leaned against his chair, resisting the urge to pace. "They all want a cut of the reward but none of them will ever pass for Prince Raberba."
"The third one wasn't so bad." Heero had that look, the one that said he was being patient with Trowa just because they had known each other forever and that if it wasn't for that he would have already hit him.
"The eyes were wrong," Trowa muttered.
"They were blue."
"Too blue." Trowa jumped back just in time to avoid Heero's punch.
"You are being anal, Barton." Heero stood up. He didn't look like he wanted to try to hit Trowa again so Trowa didn't back away. "It's been ten years. The prince was seven then. The Sultan's brother won't know it isn't him."
"Eyes don't change." Trowa put his hands in his pockets. "He will know." Since the Sultan's brother, Emir Rashid, had offered a ten million rubles reward to anyone who found his lost nephew, Prince Raberba, people from all over the country had traveled to see him. Emir Rashid had seen through all of the boys pretending to be his nephew, no matter how alike or well prepared they were.
Trowa had something that would guarantee that the Emir would believe him but it wouldn't work if the boy they had was a complete idiot.
"Do you want to go back to the factory?" Heero asked patiently. "If we don't pick a boy soon we will spend all our savings. We don't have unlimited resources, Trowa."
Heero and Trowa had met at the factory. It was a horrible dark place where Trowa had to pump a lever for fourteen hours a day. He had been working there since the revolution. Heero ran the machine beside Trowa's. The pay wasn't much but over the years they had managed to save some money and when the Emir made his announcement, Trowa knew exactly how to invest that money. If they could just find the right person to play Raberba, he and Heero would be rich.
"People are still asking for our traveling papers," Trowa said. "That should buy us some time." Heero's father had taught them the trade. He forged papers of all kinds and when he died, Trowa and Heero had taken over. With the current situation, many people were interested in buying traveling visas. It was a good, if risky, source of income.
"Some. But you are forgetting we'll need to buy tickets to Paris, clothes for us and Raberba, pay for a hotel and food for the trip. Those things are expensive."
"I know." Trowa slumped on his chair. He looked through the door and yelled, "Next!"
* * *
Quatre counted their coins. "If we get the cheapest fare, we can afford the tickets, but we won't have anything left for food." He and Duo were standing at the corner of the busy train station, watching the people rush by. It had taken them all afternoon and half the night but they had managed to get to St. Petersburg. There was one ticket booth still open and the next train to Paris left in a couple of hours. Apparently it was a popular destination because there were two trains a day.
"Let's take it," Duo said, shrugging. "We'll manage somehow."
Holding the coins tightly in his hand, Quatre nodded. He didn't want to wait either. When he got up yesterday morning he hadn't thought that it would be the day when he finally left the old lady and started his journey to Paris, but when an opportunity and the motivation presented themselves, he couldn't turn them away.
He didn't hate the old lady. He didn't like her either, but she had taken him in when she could have sent him to an orphanage. He was glad because he wouldn't have met Duo otherwise. But now it was time for Quatre to go and try to figure out who he was.
Before he met Duo, there was nothing Quatre wanted more than to find his family, whoever they were. Instead, Duo had become his family, and for that Quatre was eternally grateful, but he still felt that he had to know who he really was and where he had come from. The pendant was his only clue, and he would follow it.
Sometimes Quatre had dreams that he knew were of his past, but in the morning, the faces were blurred and the places were too fuzzy to remember. It was as if he could almost reach, almost know the answers, and then be pulled away.
There was only one person waiting in line. Quatre stood behind the man and waited for his turn. "Two tickets to Paris, please," he said, when the other man walked away.
"Travel papers," demanded the man in the ticket stand, not too sympathetically.
"Travel papers?" Quatre asked. He and Duo had never gone anywhere other than the small village by the old lady's farm. They didn't know that they needed any kind of papers to buy a train ticket.
"No traveling papers, no tickets."
Quatre was about to say something, try to convince the man to sell them the tickets anyway – he was good at convincing people – when he felt Duo pulling slightly on his coat. Giving the teller a smile, Quatre took a couple of steps away. That's when he noticed there was a short old woman standing next to Duo.
She signaled them to step farther away from the ticket booth and then to lean down, so they were at face level with her. "They won't sell you tickets without papers. You need to go see Heero and Trowa, they'll get you papers."
Duo gave Quatre a look. "Where can we find them?"
"The old palace," said the woman. "But you didn't hear it from me."
Duo gave her a wink and she smiled and walked away.
"To the palace!" Duo said, looking at the horizon and raising his arm in a very enthusiastic way. The small crowd on the station gave Duo questioning looks before carrying on with their business. Duo lowered his arm and gave Quatre a sheepish smile. "Bad joke?"
Quatre rolled his eyes and grabbed Duo's wrist. "Let's just go."
It wasn't snowing but it had snowed earlier in the day. The streets were covered in white, making them slippery. There was a strong wind blowing. Quatre pulled his coat closer around himself trying to keep warm. The coat was old and torn and it wasn't really very warm. Duo put his arm around Quatre and moved close to him. Quatre smiled.
"Do you know where we are going?" Duo asked after a few blocks.
"The old palace," Quatre answered.
"I don't know about you, Q, but I've never been in St. Petersburg. How do we know we aren't walking in the complete opposite direction?"
Quatre stopped walking, his eyes fixed on a distant spot. He shook his head once. "I don't know. I just do."
It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. Once they met a musician on the street, and Quatre had asked him to let him play. He hadn't known why or how but he could actually play the violin very well. And then, there was the time he had understood and talked to a woman in a foreign language that turned out to be French. It just cemented the idea that he had to go to Paris to find his past.
In the distance, Quatre could see the palace. He didn't know how he knew the way but he did. Another piece of his lost memory he couldn't quite understand.
"Come on," Duo said, walking again and pulling Quatre with him. "It's getting cold. That place is big enough for us to crash in."
The rest of the walk to the palace was silent. It was easy enough to sneak in through an old and cracked board. The palace was dark and dusty and it was very difficult for Quatre and Duo to find their way around. Finally, they just curled up in a corner and fell asleep.
Feeling the sun on his face, Quatre woke up slowly. Duo was curled beside him, still sleeping peacefully. Carefully, Quatre moved away from Duo and stood up, stretching his legs. The sun was slipping into the room through small cracks of the boarded up windows, but it provided enough light for Quatre to be able to see the room he was in.
Last night, in the dark, Duo and he had only worried about finding a warm corner, but now, Quatre could see, even through the dust and decay, the beautiful and elegant ballroom. It was huge. They had fallen asleep beside the stairs. Quatre took a couple of steps into the room, imagining how it would have looked completely illuminated, with people in bright and elegant dresses dancing around. He could almost see it.
He climbed up the stairs slowly, knowing the place where the Czar would stand and watch the people below. Quatre stood there, hearing music that wasn't playing, laughter and happiness that sometime ago might have filled the room.
"Who are you?"
The illusion shattered. Quatre blinked and watched the dark, dusty and empty ballroom again. He closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed his forehead. He was getting a headache.
"What are you doing here?" The voice was cold and demanding. Quatre opened his eyes and saw two figures approaching him.
"Hm, I'm looking for someone," Quatre answered softly, not sure that the men could hear him.
"We're looking for Heero and Trowa, are you them?" Duo walked around the stairs and climbed them quickly to stand next to Quatre. He gave Quatre a sideways glance and frowned. "What's wrong?" He whispered, softly so only Quatre would hear him.
Quatre shook his head slightly and murmured, "Headache," before turning back to the approaching men.
The slightly taller one with the weird hair stood at the base of the steps and asked, "Who wants to know?"
"We need travel papers," Quatre said.
"We were told to come here and we were instructed not to tell you who told us," Duo added.
"You didn't need to tell us that," observed the other man. He was staring intently at Duo and Duo just grinned back and shrugged.
"So, can you help us?" Quatre returned his gaze to the first man and noticed deep green eyes looking at him carefully. Not shifting his eyes away, Quatre waited for the man to say something, but the silence stretched and every second made Quatre more nervous. Suddenly the man started to look at something behind Quatre and then at Quatre again. Not resisting the curiosity, Quatre turned around.
On the tall wall was a life size portrait of the Winner family. The Czar sat on an elegant chair surrounded by his children. Quatre noticed that the stranger was looking between Quatre and the image of the young Prince Raberba.
"We need to go to Paris," Duo explained. "Can you help us?"
"Paris?" The taller man gave his friend a look. The other frowned until his eyes focused on Quatre and then widened slightly. "We might help you. We are heading there ourselves, but…"
"But?" Quatre asked.
"But," continued the taller man, "we only have four tickets and one of them is for Prince Raberba, so we would only be able to take one of you."
"Don't tell me you believe that stuff?" asked Duo. "Prince Raberba was killed with the rest of the Winner family. Everything else is an old wives' tale." He gave the man a distrustful look. "Are you really Heero and Trowa?"
"My name is Trowa Barton," said the taller one. "That's my friend and associate Heero Yuy." He gestured with his head to his companion. "And as for Prince Raberba, I assure you, that isn't an old wives' tale." He climbed the stairs quickly and approached Quatre.
"Look at your friend here." Trowa put an arm around Quatre, which Quatre quickly pulled away. Trowa gave Quatre an amused smile before turning back to Duo. "Doesn't he have a striking resemblance to the prince?"
Duo opened his mouth but then frowned. He looked from Quatre to the painting, eyes wide, before shaking his head. "It can't be."
Quatre laughed. "Surely you aren't suggesting that I am the prince." When he noticed that Trowa and Heero looked very serious, Quatre frowned. "I can't be royalty. There are hundreds of blond boys in Russia. You should look somewhere else."
"Think about it, Cat," Duo said softly. He didn't sound too sure. "You don't remember who you are. I mean, you could be the prince." His eyes brightened. "Imagine that! You could be rich, royalty!"
"Duo." Quatre shook his head. This couldn't be. There was no point in believing fairy tales. "Come on, let's go. I don't think they can help."
Trowa was suddenly in front of Quatre. "Why are you so reluctant to believe this? If what your friend said is true and you don't remember who you are, then you could be him." He turned Quatre's face softly towards the painting. "You look exactly like him."
Quatre had to admit there were similarities. The hair, the skin, the color of the eyes… but it was just too farfetched to believe. He was a poor boy, almost a servant. There was no way he was a lost prince.
"Why are you so determined to make me believe this?"
"We've been looking for the prince for a long time," said Heero, climbing the stairs. "You are the closest we've been. It's only logical that we don't want to lose you now."
Duo crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head to the side. "What's in it for you?"
"Paris," Trowa answered quickly. "We can't leave until we find the prince."
"And what if Quatre isn't it?"
"Then he finds out the truth and we all get to Paris," Heero said.
"It's a win, win situation," Trowa added.
Quatre bit his lower lip and looked at Duo. He didn't believe he was the prince but Heero and Trowa could take them to Paris. For the years Quatre had stayed with the old lady he had always dreamt of going to Paris and now it could happen. Duo's eyes were uncertain but there was also a glint that told Quatre that they should take this opportunity, no matter how weird it was.
They both turned at the same time and said, "Deal!"
* * *
Below the palace, down in the lowest dungeon, black long nails scraped the stone floors, making a screeching noise that echoed in the dark cell. There was not a drop of light and no living soul had stepped into the cell in over a decade. The figure lying in a corner had grown used to the silence and darkness; his torment was greater than that of loneliness, it was standing in the edge between life and death, with no soul and without the possibility of death.
Suddenly, the crystal reliquary held by thin gray fingers started to glow, until the green unnatural light coming from it illuminated the entire cell.
The man's eyes opened. Time had turned them yellow and hollow but he could still see and he watched marveled the source of his powers, so long muted, wake up again. He had traded his soul for this power, for his revenge, but when that little boy had escaped he had been condemned to wait until his task could be completed.
One little boy had been the source of his torment.
Slowly, the man once known as Tsubarov, stood up. He twirled the reliquary in his hands, watching it carefully. A sinister smile appeared on his face. The young prince was back and this time, he would get his revenge.
* * *
TBC
(Yep, Anne. You are going to have to wait for tomorrow for the next part)
I'm posting now since it's the 25th there already... The other ficlet was a decoy, this is your real Christmas present. *hugs you lots* Thank you for always being so wonderful to me. *loves you*
Starting out on a Journey
Rating: PG13
Pairings: 3x4 get together. 2+4 (friendship), 1+3 (friendship) and background 1x2.
Warnings: AU. Fantasy elements and historical inaccuracy. Fusion with the animated movie Anastasia.
Summary: A journey might hold not only the answers to Quatre's past but also to his future.
Dedication: For Anne, who wanted this fusion and has always been wonderful to me. Merry Christmas!
Thanks a lot to Cait, Lil, Ruth and Windsor for the beta. *hugs you all lots*
____
Prologue
Not so long ago there was a young prince who lived in a palace. He was the youngest of a large family and the only son of Czar Winner. His mother was my beloved sister, who fell in love with the Czar on one of her journeys and decided to marry him and remain in the cold land of Russia. As the daughter of a Sultan, she was deemed worthy enough to marry the Czar. She gave him eleven daughters before finally giving him a son. She died in childbirth. The first time I traveled to Russia was for her funeral and that's when I met Raberba.
Even though he was only a baby he looked exactly like his mother, with the unusual pale features, golden hair and blue eyes. Over the years, I came back to visit Raberba as often as I could and watched him grow into a bright child. When my father died, my older brother became Sultan and allowed me to go to Europe on diplomatic missions for our Kingdom. Paris was the city I spent most of my time in but still my traveling to Russia became more frequent. I spent my time with Raberba telling him stories of the desert and showing him how our people lived and fought. Every time I had to leave, Raberba would ask me how long it would take for me to return, so on my last visit to St. Petersburg, I brought him a present.
"Uncle Rashid, thank you!" He was looking at the sand clock turning it over and watching the sand fall.
"That's not all," I said, taking something out of my pocket. It was a silver chain with a pendant engraved with Arabian symbols. I took the clock from his hand and inserted the pendant in a small slot at the base. It opened up to show a modern clock, the handles moving slowly. "You need to wind it up here." I moved his hand to the small mechanism and showed him how. Then I closed the watch and put the chain around his neck. "It'll be our little secret."
He smiled and nodded. I took the pendant and showed him the small inscription on the bottom, Paris. His smile brightened. "Are you taking me with you, uncle Rashid?"
But before I could answer, the doors of the great hall opened, and an old man walked in. His name was Tsubarov. He had held a high position in the military until the Czar expelled him for putting the people in danger.
"I curse you, Czar Winner, you and your family," Tsubarov announced. "You will all die in a fortnight. That will be my revenge." Then he vanished, in the middle of the great hall and no one could stop him.
His dark omens would tragically become true.
Tsubarov had traded his soul for the power to kill the Winner family. A fortnight later the people revolted with the support of the army forces, still loyal to Tsubarov, and broke into the castle, killing everyone in their path.
I was holding Raberba's hand as we ran when he suddenly stopped and headed back to his room. "My clock, I forgot it!" he said. I ran after him but by the time he had found the clock there were armed soldiers at the door, effectively blocking our path.
"Over here!" said a young voice. It was a brown-haired servant boy, about Raberba's age. He was holding Raberba's hand and pulling him to the other side of the room. He opened a secret panel in the wall and pushed Raberba through it. The clock fell on the floor.
"Hurry!" the servant signaled to me.
The last thing I saw before I closed the panel was the boy being hit by a soldier.
The secret passage led us outside. We barely crossed the palace gates when Raberba was pulled away from me. I turned around and saw Tsubarov, holding a knife above his head, ready to strike Raberba. I threw myself at him and used my own dagger to stab him in the heart. I wasted no time, took Raberba by the hand and ran.
The streets were in chaos but we managed to get to the train station where I was helped up a moving wagon by the people in it. I pulled Raberba up but his hand slipped away from mine and he fell down on the snow.
That was the last time I saw him.
Chapter One
Ten years later…
Duo ran through the outside gates of the old farm, heading for the kitchen door. He was late. He hadn't meant to take so long going to town but the snow was deep and walking had been very difficult. The old lady would be mad, that was for sure.
He threw the door open and stepped into the kitchen. Quatre was already there, hands in his pockets, standing in front of the old lady, who was yelling at him. "There you are!" She turned to Duo. "You are late! Lunch will be late!"
The pot was steaming over the stove, meaning that Quatre had already cooked lunch and the old lady was waiting for the bread to start eating. She couldn't have stew without bread.
"I'm sorry." Duo put the bread on the table and went to stand next to Quatre. "The snow—"
The old lady banged the cane on the floor. "I don't want excuses. After all I've done. I've clothed you two and fed you, put a roof over your heads…"
Duo looked at Quatre from the corner of his eye and watched him roll his eyes. It was a speech they knew well. True, the old lady had given them all those things but it hardly was for free. He and Quatre had to work for her, practically being her servants. When Duo's parents died the old lady had agreed to take him in too. Quatre had already been living with her for two years and Duo decided that he rather stay as a servant with Quatre than go to an orphanage, alone.
Duo and Quatre had been friends since the day they met.
The old lady had found Quatre walking by her house, shivering and on the verge of freezing to death. He didn't remember who he was, what had happened to his family or how he had ended up there. Since the old lady needed someone to help her take care of her home, she took him in. Duo lived in the house next to her and since the moment he saw the other boy cleaning the stables, he knew he wanted to be friends.
Quatre didn't have a name back then. The old lady called him boy, but Duo thought that everyone deserved a name so together they decided on one. The old lady had laughed and still called Quatre "boy" most of the time, but they didn't care.
"… you need to learn your place, Duo," the old lady continued. "You don't deserve lunch, neither of you. And, Duo, a couple of nights sleeping in the barn shall teach you to be on time."
"You can't!" Quatre said. "It's been so cold lately. He'll get sick!"
"Silence!" She banged her cane of the floor again. "You can stay with him too," she said. "Don't you call yourselves brothers? Then you might as well share the punishment." She took the bread from the table. "I've got you both jobs at the fish factory. You are to start today. I suggest you keep this one. You aren't children anymore and if you don't pay the rent, I'm afraid I won't be able to let you keep living under my roof." She swung her cane, hitting Quatre on the arm. "Out! Or you'll be late."
Without a word, Quatre and Duo walked out into the cold. "Are you okay?" Duo asked, once they were outside. The old lady liked to hit them with that vicious cane. Once, Duo had stolen it while she slept and burned it. Two days later, the lady got another and punished both of them, even though Quatre had nothing to do with it. She was mean like that. She always punished the both of them because she knew how much they cared for each other. "I'm sorry."
Quatre waved a hand dismissively and smiled at him. "Thick coat," he said, rubbing his arm. "I barely felt it."
Duo kicked the snow angrily. "This is stupid!" he said. "I'm not going to work fifteen hours in a stinky fish factory just so she can keep all the money and starve us and hit us whenever she likes."
Rubbing his hands together to heat them up, Quatre sighed. "What are you thinking?" he asked.
"Let's go away!" Duo stopped in front of an intersection. A tall pole signaled the two roads, one leading to town and the other to the city.
Quatre looked up. "St. Petersburg? You want to go to St. Petersburg?"
Moving closer to Quatre Duo put a hand into his friend's shirt and took out a thin chain with a pendant. "St. Petersburg is just the start. I say we go to Paris."
"Paris," Quatre whispered, looking down at the pendant. That chain was the only clue Quatre had of his past. It wasn't much but since they had met, Quatre had talked about how one day he would go to Paris to see if he could find some answers.
"We can't stay here forever, Q." Duo leaned back on the pole. "We have that money we kept from the last job at the docks, maybe that's enough to get us to Paris."
"You would come with me?" Quatre looked thoughtful.
"Of course, silly. Where else do I have to go?"
"We left everything we have in the house," Quatre argued, but there wasn't much conviction in his voice.
"We keep everything that matters on us," Duo looped his arm around Quatre's. They had their good hats on, as well as their coats, boots and the money. Quatre had his chain and Duo had his cross. Putting the free hand in his pocket Duo confirmed that he had the pair of good gloves he shared with Quatre and even a small piece of bread left from breakfast. They wouldn't miss a change of torn clothes and an old pillow, and they certainly wouldn't miss the old lady.
Slowly, a smile appeared on Quatre's face. He put the pendant back inside his shirt and took the road to St. Petersburg.
* * *
The boy was ugly. Yes, he had blue eyes and blond hair but he was the ugliest thing Trowa had ever seen.
"Next!" Heero said and glared at the boy, who quickly ran out the room.
Trowa buried his face in his hands. "This is a waste of time. They are all either ugly, or too old, or dumb as a rock."
"We've only seen ten of them," Heero pointed out. "There's a line outside."
"Of course there's a line." Trowa stood up and leaned against his chair, resisting the urge to pace. "They all want a cut of the reward but none of them will ever pass for Prince Raberba."
"The third one wasn't so bad." Heero had that look, the one that said he was being patient with Trowa just because they had known each other forever and that if it wasn't for that he would have already hit him.
"The eyes were wrong," Trowa muttered.
"They were blue."
"Too blue." Trowa jumped back just in time to avoid Heero's punch.
"You are being anal, Barton." Heero stood up. He didn't look like he wanted to try to hit Trowa again so Trowa didn't back away. "It's been ten years. The prince was seven then. The Sultan's brother won't know it isn't him."
"Eyes don't change." Trowa put his hands in his pockets. "He will know." Since the Sultan's brother, Emir Rashid, had offered a ten million rubles reward to anyone who found his lost nephew, Prince Raberba, people from all over the country had traveled to see him. Emir Rashid had seen through all of the boys pretending to be his nephew, no matter how alike or well prepared they were.
Trowa had something that would guarantee that the Emir would believe him but it wouldn't work if the boy they had was a complete idiot.
"Do you want to go back to the factory?" Heero asked patiently. "If we don't pick a boy soon we will spend all our savings. We don't have unlimited resources, Trowa."
Heero and Trowa had met at the factory. It was a horrible dark place where Trowa had to pump a lever for fourteen hours a day. He had been working there since the revolution. Heero ran the machine beside Trowa's. The pay wasn't much but over the years they had managed to save some money and when the Emir made his announcement, Trowa knew exactly how to invest that money. If they could just find the right person to play Raberba, he and Heero would be rich.
"People are still asking for our traveling papers," Trowa said. "That should buy us some time." Heero's father had taught them the trade. He forged papers of all kinds and when he died, Trowa and Heero had taken over. With the current situation, many people were interested in buying traveling visas. It was a good, if risky, source of income.
"Some. But you are forgetting we'll need to buy tickets to Paris, clothes for us and Raberba, pay for a hotel and food for the trip. Those things are expensive."
"I know." Trowa slumped on his chair. He looked through the door and yelled, "Next!"
* * *
Quatre counted their coins. "If we get the cheapest fare, we can afford the tickets, but we won't have anything left for food." He and Duo were standing at the corner of the busy train station, watching the people rush by. It had taken them all afternoon and half the night but they had managed to get to St. Petersburg. There was one ticket booth still open and the next train to Paris left in a couple of hours. Apparently it was a popular destination because there were two trains a day.
"Let's take it," Duo said, shrugging. "We'll manage somehow."
Holding the coins tightly in his hand, Quatre nodded. He didn't want to wait either. When he got up yesterday morning he hadn't thought that it would be the day when he finally left the old lady and started his journey to Paris, but when an opportunity and the motivation presented themselves, he couldn't turn them away.
He didn't hate the old lady. He didn't like her either, but she had taken him in when she could have sent him to an orphanage. He was glad because he wouldn't have met Duo otherwise. But now it was time for Quatre to go and try to figure out who he was.
Before he met Duo, there was nothing Quatre wanted more than to find his family, whoever they were. Instead, Duo had become his family, and for that Quatre was eternally grateful, but he still felt that he had to know who he really was and where he had come from. The pendant was his only clue, and he would follow it.
Sometimes Quatre had dreams that he knew were of his past, but in the morning, the faces were blurred and the places were too fuzzy to remember. It was as if he could almost reach, almost know the answers, and then be pulled away.
There was only one person waiting in line. Quatre stood behind the man and waited for his turn. "Two tickets to Paris, please," he said, when the other man walked away.
"Travel papers," demanded the man in the ticket stand, not too sympathetically.
"Travel papers?" Quatre asked. He and Duo had never gone anywhere other than the small village by the old lady's farm. They didn't know that they needed any kind of papers to buy a train ticket.
"No traveling papers, no tickets."
Quatre was about to say something, try to convince the man to sell them the tickets anyway – he was good at convincing people – when he felt Duo pulling slightly on his coat. Giving the teller a smile, Quatre took a couple of steps away. That's when he noticed there was a short old woman standing next to Duo.
She signaled them to step farther away from the ticket booth and then to lean down, so they were at face level with her. "They won't sell you tickets without papers. You need to go see Heero and Trowa, they'll get you papers."
Duo gave Quatre a look. "Where can we find them?"
"The old palace," said the woman. "But you didn't hear it from me."
Duo gave her a wink and she smiled and walked away.
"To the palace!" Duo said, looking at the horizon and raising his arm in a very enthusiastic way. The small crowd on the station gave Duo questioning looks before carrying on with their business. Duo lowered his arm and gave Quatre a sheepish smile. "Bad joke?"
Quatre rolled his eyes and grabbed Duo's wrist. "Let's just go."
It wasn't snowing but it had snowed earlier in the day. The streets were covered in white, making them slippery. There was a strong wind blowing. Quatre pulled his coat closer around himself trying to keep warm. The coat was old and torn and it wasn't really very warm. Duo put his arm around Quatre and moved close to him. Quatre smiled.
"Do you know where we are going?" Duo asked after a few blocks.
"The old palace," Quatre answered.
"I don't know about you, Q, but I've never been in St. Petersburg. How do we know we aren't walking in the complete opposite direction?"
Quatre stopped walking, his eyes fixed on a distant spot. He shook his head once. "I don't know. I just do."
It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. Once they met a musician on the street, and Quatre had asked him to let him play. He hadn't known why or how but he could actually play the violin very well. And then, there was the time he had understood and talked to a woman in a foreign language that turned out to be French. It just cemented the idea that he had to go to Paris to find his past.
In the distance, Quatre could see the palace. He didn't know how he knew the way but he did. Another piece of his lost memory he couldn't quite understand.
"Come on," Duo said, walking again and pulling Quatre with him. "It's getting cold. That place is big enough for us to crash in."
The rest of the walk to the palace was silent. It was easy enough to sneak in through an old and cracked board. The palace was dark and dusty and it was very difficult for Quatre and Duo to find their way around. Finally, they just curled up in a corner and fell asleep.
Feeling the sun on his face, Quatre woke up slowly. Duo was curled beside him, still sleeping peacefully. Carefully, Quatre moved away from Duo and stood up, stretching his legs. The sun was slipping into the room through small cracks of the boarded up windows, but it provided enough light for Quatre to be able to see the room he was in.
Last night, in the dark, Duo and he had only worried about finding a warm corner, but now, Quatre could see, even through the dust and decay, the beautiful and elegant ballroom. It was huge. They had fallen asleep beside the stairs. Quatre took a couple of steps into the room, imagining how it would have looked completely illuminated, with people in bright and elegant dresses dancing around. He could almost see it.
He climbed up the stairs slowly, knowing the place where the Czar would stand and watch the people below. Quatre stood there, hearing music that wasn't playing, laughter and happiness that sometime ago might have filled the room.
"Who are you?"
The illusion shattered. Quatre blinked and watched the dark, dusty and empty ballroom again. He closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed his forehead. He was getting a headache.
"What are you doing here?" The voice was cold and demanding. Quatre opened his eyes and saw two figures approaching him.
"Hm, I'm looking for someone," Quatre answered softly, not sure that the men could hear him.
"We're looking for Heero and Trowa, are you them?" Duo walked around the stairs and climbed them quickly to stand next to Quatre. He gave Quatre a sideways glance and frowned. "What's wrong?" He whispered, softly so only Quatre would hear him.
Quatre shook his head slightly and murmured, "Headache," before turning back to the approaching men.
The slightly taller one with the weird hair stood at the base of the steps and asked, "Who wants to know?"
"We need travel papers," Quatre said.
"We were told to come here and we were instructed not to tell you who told us," Duo added.
"You didn't need to tell us that," observed the other man. He was staring intently at Duo and Duo just grinned back and shrugged.
"So, can you help us?" Quatre returned his gaze to the first man and noticed deep green eyes looking at him carefully. Not shifting his eyes away, Quatre waited for the man to say something, but the silence stretched and every second made Quatre more nervous. Suddenly the man started to look at something behind Quatre and then at Quatre again. Not resisting the curiosity, Quatre turned around.
On the tall wall was a life size portrait of the Winner family. The Czar sat on an elegant chair surrounded by his children. Quatre noticed that the stranger was looking between Quatre and the image of the young Prince Raberba.
"We need to go to Paris," Duo explained. "Can you help us?"
"Paris?" The taller man gave his friend a look. The other frowned until his eyes focused on Quatre and then widened slightly. "We might help you. We are heading there ourselves, but…"
"But?" Quatre asked.
"But," continued the taller man, "we only have four tickets and one of them is for Prince Raberba, so we would only be able to take one of you."
"Don't tell me you believe that stuff?" asked Duo. "Prince Raberba was killed with the rest of the Winner family. Everything else is an old wives' tale." He gave the man a distrustful look. "Are you really Heero and Trowa?"
"My name is Trowa Barton," said the taller one. "That's my friend and associate Heero Yuy." He gestured with his head to his companion. "And as for Prince Raberba, I assure you, that isn't an old wives' tale." He climbed the stairs quickly and approached Quatre.
"Look at your friend here." Trowa put an arm around Quatre, which Quatre quickly pulled away. Trowa gave Quatre an amused smile before turning back to Duo. "Doesn't he have a striking resemblance to the prince?"
Duo opened his mouth but then frowned. He looked from Quatre to the painting, eyes wide, before shaking his head. "It can't be."
Quatre laughed. "Surely you aren't suggesting that I am the prince." When he noticed that Trowa and Heero looked very serious, Quatre frowned. "I can't be royalty. There are hundreds of blond boys in Russia. You should look somewhere else."
"Think about it, Cat," Duo said softly. He didn't sound too sure. "You don't remember who you are. I mean, you could be the prince." His eyes brightened. "Imagine that! You could be rich, royalty!"
"Duo." Quatre shook his head. This couldn't be. There was no point in believing fairy tales. "Come on, let's go. I don't think they can help."
Trowa was suddenly in front of Quatre. "Why are you so reluctant to believe this? If what your friend said is true and you don't remember who you are, then you could be him." He turned Quatre's face softly towards the painting. "You look exactly like him."
Quatre had to admit there were similarities. The hair, the skin, the color of the eyes… but it was just too farfetched to believe. He was a poor boy, almost a servant. There was no way he was a lost prince.
"Why are you so determined to make me believe this?"
"We've been looking for the prince for a long time," said Heero, climbing the stairs. "You are the closest we've been. It's only logical that we don't want to lose you now."
Duo crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head to the side. "What's in it for you?"
"Paris," Trowa answered quickly. "We can't leave until we find the prince."
"And what if Quatre isn't it?"
"Then he finds out the truth and we all get to Paris," Heero said.
"It's a win, win situation," Trowa added.
Quatre bit his lower lip and looked at Duo. He didn't believe he was the prince but Heero and Trowa could take them to Paris. For the years Quatre had stayed with the old lady he had always dreamt of going to Paris and now it could happen. Duo's eyes were uncertain but there was also a glint that told Quatre that they should take this opportunity, no matter how weird it was.
They both turned at the same time and said, "Deal!"
* * *
Below the palace, down in the lowest dungeon, black long nails scraped the stone floors, making a screeching noise that echoed in the dark cell. There was not a drop of light and no living soul had stepped into the cell in over a decade. The figure lying in a corner had grown used to the silence and darkness; his torment was greater than that of loneliness, it was standing in the edge between life and death, with no soul and without the possibility of death.
Suddenly, the crystal reliquary held by thin gray fingers started to glow, until the green unnatural light coming from it illuminated the entire cell.
The man's eyes opened. Time had turned them yellow and hollow but he could still see and he watched marveled the source of his powers, so long muted, wake up again. He had traded his soul for this power, for his revenge, but when that little boy had escaped he had been condemned to wait until his task could be completed.
One little boy had been the source of his torment.
Slowly, the man once known as Tsubarov, stood up. He twirled the reliquary in his hands, watching it carefully. A sinister smile appeared on his face. The young prince was back and this time, he would get his revenge.
* * *
TBC
(Yep, Anne. You are going to have to wait for tomorrow for the next part)
