November 22, 2000
Side story to 'Heirs to the Legacy' (Christmas Traditions).
{Winter, European Continent, 188AC}
The young boy finished scrapping out the large rusty pot they used for dinner that night, his hands red and dry from the harsh scrubbing, the scalding water, and the deadly cold night air. Shivering, numb little fingers pulled at the worn scarf around his neck, pulling it up, tighter, to ward off the frigid air from his hapless face. He ducked in tighter into the overly large coat that had belonged to one of the other men. He was dead now, so it was okay. No one would try to take the coat away from the boy. Dead men didn't care what happened to their things once they were done with them. Another shiver took the boy as the late December wind picked up around him. He bent his head low, allowing his bangs to help shield his small face from the freezing wind, and started making his way through camp. If he was lucky, he'd make it to his bed without being stopped by any of the men along the way.
He was halfway through the camp to the small pile of blankets that consisted of his bed when he heard it.
He'd never heard anything like that. Not in all he's years; true, he didn't have many years to speak for, but, still...
It seemed to float on the air... calling to him... especially to him. Entreating him to find it.
He looked in the direction of his bed, knowing that he would have to get up early tomorrow to begin the fires for breakfast before Mead, the leader of their troop, woke up.
He shivered again as the winds icy fingers slipped through his poor scarf to caress his cheeks. But with the wind came that sound again, and he made his decision, turning away from his bed and following the sound.
It took him only five minutes before he came to the outer edge of camp, to the small fire banked there and the old man sitting at its warmth. In old, worn, knobbed hands something flashed with silvery brilliance. The boy stared, transfixed, as the silvery melody rose up from the man's dancing fingers to dance on the winter's wind.
Suddenly the music stopped, and the boy realized the old man was staring at him.
"Do ya like that?" the old man asked, motioning for the boy to come closer.
"Yes, sir," he answered, moving to do as he was told.
"Yeah, she is a beauty, isn't she?" The boy nodded, eyes wide as he continued to study the instrument. "My parents gave her to me when I was just a kid... wouldn't know it to look at her, though, huh? Yeah, I kept her in good shape all these long years. Polish her up regularly and take'r out to make sure she still works... She's a good instrument."
"How do you--" the boy licked his chapped lips nervously, realizing he'd spoken without being asked to and expecting the beating that came with the sound of his voice.
"It's alright, Nanashi," the old man spoke lowly. "How do I what?"
The boy looked up at him with slight awe and licked his young lips again. "Make her sound," he finished after only another moment, swallowing quickly.
"Oh, that's easy... I just lift her up to me lips and blow, see?" The old man did just that and, much to the young boy's delight, a crisp, silvery note sounded. "And, if I wanna play different notes, I just move my fingers." And, again, the old man demonstrated.
They stayed there for several more hours, the old man delighting in his small audience almost as much as the boy did in listening to the sound of his instrument, until finally, the old man sighed and began dismounting his prized possession. "It's getting late, Nanashi. You should be getting yourself to bed in hopes to see what Santa Claus'll bring ya tomorrow."
"Who?" the boy asked puzzled, already climbing to his feet.
The old man stared at him in silence for a moment, a look in his old eyes that the boy didn't know. "Never mind," he said finally. "You just get yourself to sleep, kid."
The boy nodded and then took off to his own bed, which he knew would be cold and do little to keep out the winter wind. He wasn't aware of the eyes that followed him and watched until he fell asleep.
He was aware, however, of the extra sense of warmth he awoke with the next morning. Blinking the sleep from his young eyes he squinted at the glare of a snow-covered morning. He sat up, the snow and blankets falling from him, and that's when he noticed two things. One, he had several extra blankets than when he went to bed the night before, and two, half covered by snow, right next to his bed, a small black case with a ratty blue ribbon tied in a bow and a sheet of paper.
Gingerly, the boy took the paper and opened it.
~~Merry Christmas, kid, I hope one day, you find someone to make beautiful music with, Santa Claus~~
With trembling fingers, the boy reached out, brushing the rest of the snow off the black case, flicking the silver clasps open, and stared down at the silvery flute.
"Daddy?"
"Hmm? Yes, Calista, what is it?" Trowa asked, moving to the little girl's bed and brushing silvery-blonde bands from the child's face.
"How'd you get your flute? Did daddy give it to you as a present one year?" the little girl asked, bright sea-blue eyes staring up at him adoringly.
Trowa smiled, leaning over to kiss his daughter's forehead. "No, dear. Daddy gave me you and Triton and Tristan and that's more than any one could ever ask for."
The girl smiled and snuggled deeper into her pastel green and pink bed. "Then how did you get your flute?"
He smiled again, brushing the child's cheek with his knuckles before capturing her nose. "Santa Claus gave her to me, a long, long time ago." He dipped in, nuzzling the girl's neck as she giggled happily. "Now, get to sleep you, or else I'll have to call up Uncle Heero and tell him you've been a bad little princess."
The child just laughed all the more. "Will he bring Mara Jade and Dylan with him?"
"No," Trowa replied mockingly. "Mara Jade and Dylan are already in bed like good little kids." He hugged the child close--one last time tonight, he told himself--before drop kissing a tiny kiss on her forehead. "Now go to sleep dear."
"Goodnight, Daddy, I love you," Calista said softly as she settled back into the thick blankets.
"Goodnight, Baby, I love you, too..." He flipped the light before pulling the door shut.
Warm hands slipped around his waist and warm lips pressed against his neck. "Asleep?" his love asked, wrapping arms around him.
Trowa turned and smiled down into the face of his life, his love, his melody, nodding. "Finally."
Quatre smiled back up at him, leaning up on tippy-toes to lightly kiss Trowa's lips. "Mmm... good... up to going downstairs for a little bit? Play some before bed?"
Trowa smiled down at him, taking Quatre's hand in his. "I would love to," he replied, wrapping an arm around the blond's waist as they went to make some beautiful music together.
~~~OWARI~~~
Andrea Readwolf
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