Part Two

Warnings: AU, shonen-ai, eventually yaoi, possible lime, angst to come, darkish stuff to come; Zechs torture time!

Notes: For this chapter I did a brief bit of research on human branding so I'm not clueless about what I begin talking about in this chapter. I also ran myself through a review on medieval torture and did some research.

The dungeon was like any one would be: dark, smelly, and damp. There was a guard on every side of him, boxing him in. Two held his arms in a bruising grasp and pulled him along towards a cell somewhere in the middle of the dark hallway.

With a forceful shove, Zechs found himself slamming hard onto the stone floor on his side. With shadowed eyes he lifted himself up and stared up at the guards from beneath his mussed bangs. One of the guards kicked at his legs, telling him to stand.

`No…' Zechs thought, he wouldn't just follow orders. For one thing, he wasn't the sort to simply give in to his captors, and second, he'd been the one giving orders - almost never receiving them.

Suddenly he was being hauled to his feet, and before he even could regain his balance, a fist came slamming into his stomach. Gasping softly, Zechs fell forward, supported only by the tight grip on either arm. It took some time before his breathing became normal and he was able to lift his head. The guard stared down at the bent figure with narrowed eyes. Again, without warning, his fists came in contact with the Sanq king's form.

After the minutes passed with the sounds of pained breaths and fist against flesh, three of the guards retreated from the cell. The last left had been the one issuing the beatings. He kicked at Zech's limp form, and then crouched down and yanked on platinum hair so that the pale face could be seen. Through narrowed eyes the king was staring coldly at the other man. From the corner of his mouth blood ran along his chin and bruises were already visible near a temple and the opposite jaw line.

The guard spit in disgust and let go of the hair fisted in his hand. Standing, he walked out and locked the heavy door. Dim light filtered through a tiny, iron-gated window high on the wall, but that was all that was available light-wise.

Zechs found that that hardly mattered, for his eyes closed once he was sure no one would be coming in. Body sore and mind exhausted, he let himself fall into welcoming sleep.

Meiran sighed, being the only one having not fully lost her composure. “Duo, hold still. Quatre, hand me those slippers. Relena, don't provoke him.” She closed her eyes momentarily as another argument started between the two siblings. Quatre came up beside her, looking dismayed.

“How can this work? It's not that I don't trust him, but this is much too dangerous! Isn't there another way to work this out?”

Sighing, she replied truthfully, “I'm not sure. I think that Duo can go… or rather, that Dahlia can go. They don't know about `her' but they do know about the rest of us. If need be, we can arrive later. Come on, we don't have much time.”

Keeping quiet, Duo moved as Meiran directed him and put up with the changing of clothes as his siblings and friend picked out his wardrobe. By dawn, the limit they had set themselves to, their job was completed and hurriedly Meiran and Quatre lifted the chest of Duo's items to carry down towards a carriage Relena had arranged.

Relena worked with Duo, rearranging his hair and traveling cloak just right and ran through some ideas she'd had. Giving her a smirk, Duo assured he'd be fine, which was responded with,

Duo grinned, winking at her. “Don't worry, I won't let anyone know you care. Come on, I need to get going.”

Softly Relena sighed. “Okay, it'll be alright. Pargon knows what to do and he'll take you there and will stay along as your servant, all right?” They hurried down the halls together. Quatre and Meiran met them just outside.

“You sure you'll be all right?” Quatre checked as he helped him into the closed carriage. Duo peeked out and up at Pargon sitting in the driver's seat.

He turned back and smiled at the blonde. “Don't worry about it, Quatre. I'll be fine. I'll just be extra careful not to let anything slip. Good luck to you staying behind!”

“You'll need it more than us,” Meiran said. She touched Duo's hand briefly and smiled crookedly. “Take care of yourself. Noin will have our heads if you aren't all right!”

Laughing, Duo remarked, “She'll have our heads if anything happens to Zechs. She cares about him much more than me.” He grinned. It wasn't hidden that the advisor was very much in love with the king of Sanq; however, it was just as known that the king would, for some reason unknown to the public, not take any lover or wife.

Duo moved fully into the carriage again and pulled the door shut, waving to the others as the horses moved away towards the city and then to the main roads. As the palace grew smaller with the distance, he leaned back and let it all really sink in as to what he was going to be trying to accomplish. Groaning softly, he put a hand over his face. `I can't believe I'm doing this.'

He was being moved. It was the first thought that came to him as Zechs awoke from his pained sleep. Hands were jerking his arms, dragging him along the torch-lit halls of the dungeon. He stayed silent and merely watched with alert eyes, wondering what was to happen now.

“Well,” a new voice announced the coming of another guard. The man was strongly built with a hard face and dark hair. He eyed Zechs, then jerked his head in the direction of a nearby, dark room.

Having been dragged in, his eyes slowly adjusted to the low lighting and he shuddered at the sight of some of the horrible equipment that lay within the shadows. He was against such torture in his kingdom and banished almost all of such interments. Obviously Treize didn't care one way or another.

Bitter, Zechs eyed the strong man while he was led to a pair of shackles hanging from the dark ceiling. Although he tried to hold back, the guards wrestled his arms up to confine him in the metal cuffs, forcing him on tiptoe. The two guards vanished towards the door and the remaining man walked forward; a coiled, nasty looking whip in hand.

Horrible, terrifying memories came back to him briefly - seeing that whip. Zechs closed his eyes momentarily, trying to calm himself. However he immediately reopened them when a calloused hand gripped his chin painfully and turned his face to focus on the unnamed man.

“Some king,” the man spat, face full of hatred. “We won't worry about you anymore, however. And it will be quite an interesting sight to watch this leader of Sanq fall!” He laughed cruelly and cracked his whip open.

The grip from his chin was gone but in the next second Zechs felt the extreme sting of a whip snapping across his back. Biting back a sharp cry, he struggled to stay balanced in his extended position. The next blow fell again, and again… repeatedly and becoming faster every few seconds. Soon he couldn't keep himself still and his feet struggled to dig into the ground. His body spun half way around and the whip caught him across his side and the edge of his chest.

Hissing in pain, Zechs threw his head back. His arms ached, as did his legs, and his back stung terribly. He lost his balance again and the whip snaked painfully along his shoulders and chest, at times catching his throat. Warm tears of pain, although silent, trailed down his face as he tried to retreat into his mind, away from the pain.

Obviously the man was not too happy with his prisoner's reaction and quickly regained the king's attention by switching from whip to hand as he slapped him back to full consciousness.

As the man undid the shackles, Zechs tried to gauge if he had the strength to fight back. Cursing himself when he found he didn't, at the moment, the pale man dropped painfully to the ground as his support was lost. A foot collided hard just under his ribs, making him lose his breath.

He was slowly regaining his breath as the man grabbed him up, pulling him towards one of the shadowed pieces of equipment. Grimacing, Zechs closed his eyes and wondered briefly how his kingdom was doing.

“Sire, there's a young lady to meet with you.” The guard seemed unsure with his statement as he stood from his bow.

Intrigued by that piece of information, Treize moved to take a seat on the small couch beside the hearth of his entrance room. “Permit her entrance. And do find my Lady Une.”

Not too long after the guard had left a pretty girl walked in, determination showing in her eyes. For a brief moment Treize envisioned the eyes to be ice blue instead of the rich violet-blue tone. Raising an eyebrow with interest, he motioned for her to sit across from him on one of the available chairs. “My Lady, I do not believe I have ever met you before.”

She hesitated momentarily, looking from him to a chair, and slowly eased herself down. Her gown was a deep violet with an empire waist and a woven, gold belt. She wore her hair up in flat buns at the base of her neck; even so it was easy to tell she had long, brown hair reaching at least to mid-back.

Easily that explained it. Taking quite an interest now, but not letting it show, Treize nodded his head to her. “It is pleasant to meet you, Lady Dahlia. Might I inquire why you wish to see me?” He noted immediately that this girl met the descriptions his sons had brought back. Her name matched and the way she carried herself - not quite sure of herself, it seemed - also fit.

Dahlia worked up her courage, straightening visibly. “I… I've come to request that the king of Sanq be released!”

Amusement danced over Treize's features. She did have quite a spirit. “My dear Lady, I shall not relinquish a prisoner for any reason.” The girl looked struck and rather frightened, tensing as he shifted his position. “Don't be so nervous, I have already matched your name and description to information recently given to me. I know you are from Sanq, Lady Dahlia, and you seem to have… some sort of high position in the court, hmm? I have no need to keep you locked, however, I do not see the use of you returning to your kingdom.”

The look on the girl's face was classic. She stared at him, stunned and very, very confused. It was a useful talent, Treize noted once again, to be able to baffle nearly everyone you met. His attitude was very casual and it was yet to be heard by anyone in the palace that he raised his voice in anger.

“In fact, dear Lady, you are most welcome to stay here as a guest. I would be most honored to have our kingdom's `enemy' view us. I wonder what sort of tales have been spread in your land? However, that is unimportant at this time.”

`Strange,' he mused, `although she holds an air of authority about her, the way she openly expresses herself does not meet standard court training.'

At the time, Dahlia was slowly recovering herself and responding. “I… Sire, I would be… delighted, to stay… If there are no problems caused with this?”

“Not at all. I do warn you not to openly state your land heritage. There are some here, even in the palace, very cruel to their enemies. If that is all, I will arrange for someone to set up your rooms.” He began to stand, and she followed suit, starting to bend forward, but then hurried with a curtsy. Seeing the quick change, Treize wondered momentarily at her instinct to bow.

The doors opened after an announcing knock and the queen stepped in. She curtsied in greeting and cast her gaze softly on Dahlia.

Une moved her gaze to Treize for a few moments before refocusing on Dahlia. “A guest will be pleasant. Bringing in prisoners is always disturbing, having a guest will prove much more preferable.” The girl stiffened and attempted to keep her face blank. Once again Treize continued to make note of her actions. Wufei seemed to have placed his suspicions correctly. He would have to arrange it so that this young lady spent some time with the heirs of the crown. Perhaps they would solve more of her mystery.

He was once again being dragged down the dark hall, scraping his scabs open on the filthy, hard stones. `Now what…?' his mind wondered dimly. Already crusts of dried blood lined his upper body from the whipping he'd received earlier and he had then been subject to the nauseating spin of a slim cage. Still ill at the thought of it, he moved his attention on to the present when large hands hauled him to his feet.

“So, you're still with us, your Majesty.” The man smiled cruelly, ugly teeth catching the dim light from wall torches. Disgusted with the hand gripping his chin, Zechs spit on the ugly face; there wasn't much else he could do. The man narrowed his eyes, but didn't remove his hand. In a low voice he said, “I wouldn't do that. You might have just made things harder for yourself.” He smiled again. “We won't kill you, don't keep your hopes up.”

Zechs was once again pulled into the room lined with revolting equipment. The guards holding him up brought him towards one of a wall with a lying frame on the ground. Jolting with the realization of what it was, Zechs found new energy and struggled best he could against the captors. They didn't say a word and merely fended off his attacks and began tying his wrists and ankles to the four ropes attached to rollers at either end.

There was a laugh that echoed in the room as Zechs squeezed his eyes shut and he felt the first tug at his arms.

“Sir, if you keep this up too long he won't live and then you'll truly be in trouble!” the guard exiting Zechs' cell said.

The large man leaning against the wall sneered at the lower man. “Don't tell me about it. I've the skill in this; I'm the expert and you're not, so don't start trying to teach me. He'll live, if only just barely.” The man laughed. “But that king's a hardy one and is so very interesting to work with. You disagree?”

With a smirk, the large man turned, “Good. Tomorrow marks another session. For now, it's time to switch duties.”

Duo sat before a mirrored dresser, taking down his hair and removing the makeup he wore during the day. Finished with removing the face paints, he stared at the reflection of himself with his hair down and body clothed in a simple, blue dress. Sighing softly, he ran a brush through his hair and began to braid it.

He'd not had a chance to even begin looking for the entrance to the dungeon of the castle. Treize had obviously assigned his sons to keep their “guest” company and ensure that “she” not get in trouble. Duo snorted and stood, moving towards the bed where a loose nightgown lay out. He hated constantly being in women's clothes but for the time being he had no choice, and he couldn't allow any mess-ups to give away his cover.

`I don't believe that man when he says no one will bother me! Oz and Sanq are sworn enemies so how can it be possible that he doesn't care that I'm here… He knows I'm from Sanq. What are his plans…' Frustrated, Duo finished changing and threw himself down on the bed, staring up at the velvet canopy.

Nothing really made sense. The three princes were typically silent but always polite and ready to offer their assistance. It was irritating Duo and bothering him that he had to continually play the part of Lady Dahlia. It had seemed like such a good plan to come to Oz and work out some sort of an agreement as a Lady of high rank… And if that failed, then he could try and find Sanq's king and free him of whatever prison he lay in. None of those ideas were working.

Duo turned his head towards the door, knowing what he'd find if he tried going out right now. There was a maid always at his ready, as was assigned, and there was hardly any time he could attempt privacy outside of his room.

`Now what do I do?' It would have helped to have one of the others along. If anything, it would have been comforting and allowed him to loose up a bit. But instead he was facing this ordeal on his own and would have to brainstorm for new ideas by himself. `Quatre would have known what to do. Meiran would have succeeded right away with any negotiations.' He smiled at that. Meiran was terribly persistent, to say the least.

Zechs cracked his eyes open slowly. His entire body was now in pain. Adding to previous wounds along his body he now noted his rope-burned wrists and ankles and his most likely dislocated shoulder. He was amazed that a dislocated joint was the worst of his injuries from the rack. The horrible instrument usually would leave a man crippled for life.

Still, his limbs had suffered plenty from the grotesque stretching and he felt stiff and sore all over. His body was weak and his vision would occasionally blur as the lack of food and water began catching up with him. The thought made him swallow and note how dry his throat and mouth felt.

Wincing, Zechs levered himself up with his good arm and tried looking about for anything to eat. He was surprised to find an old-looking tray to the side of the door with a bowl of dirty water and some other sort of mush to eat. He didn't really care what it was and didn't think of how degrading it would be to lap out of a bowl like a dog.

He grimaced in pain as he dragged himself towards the tray and lowered himself so that he had access to the precious water. His long strands of hair, looking like dirty straw, fell haphazardly into the bowls and he had to force himself to ignore it. There was no point in caring about anything any longer.

The door opened, startling him as he jerked his head up. Two guards stepped in, as per usual, and stopped to laugh at his position. Gritting his teeth, Zechs beared the jokes. The men grabbed his arms, causing him to give into a cry of pain as his dislocated arm was jarred painfully. They ignored him and dragged him back down the hall.

Waiting in the room that Zechs now loathed more than anything, was the lead man that ran the torture sessions and seemed to be making the decisions over Zechs' treatment.

“Now what?” Zechs questioned, his voice barely holding out long enough to be heard. He really wished he had been able to drink more of the water, no matter how disgusting it was.

Something shuddered through Zechs with that look and it frightened him beyond thought. Pain seared through him as wounds reopened when his tunic was ripped off harshly. Doubling over in pain, the guards let him drop to the ground while they removed the rest of his clothing. Zechs breathed hard, trying to figure out a way to get rid of the over-whelming pain.

Suddenly he felt someone pulling his hair to one side and then a finger rubbing at his right shoulder blade. The realization caused his mind to snap into focus and wordlessly he yelled, never wanting anyone to see, never wanting anyone to know.

He heard the feet of the guards scuffling back away from him yet the large man chuckled deeply. “Isn't that interesting. A murderer sits on the throne of Sanq? That's too rich!” The man laughed louder. “How do you keep your secrets, your High-murderer?”

“No…” Zechs whispered, eyes squeezing shut. `Shit… no one's ever seen…' He'd been so thoroughly humiliated here… He was stunned at how incredibly cruel the Oz kingdom was and couldn't believe that a ruler allowing such torture as he suffered through could sit on the throne. `Damn it…' His chest heaved as he couldn't stop the anger and hurt he felt. He wasn't sure how long a time had passed but it seemed eternity to him that he had been down in the dark place worse than any hell he'd imagined.

“We'll just have to punish you properly.” Once again Zechs was hauled to his feet and in the next instant he found himself straining to resist gravity as his own body weight forced him down on a spiked chair.

`…This is too much… It's all too much… Oh gods have mercy…' His pained cries filled the air as he finally let himself give in.

Treize descended the stairs leading down into the lowest levels of the castle. He hadn't checked on his prisoner since he had first arrived, which was about a week past. Finally, however, he had some time free and could see how his enemy king was fairing. With such a light in the man's eyes he couldn't have broken within only a week of simply being incarcerated and having little food and water; the man was so strong.

Still, there was something that was nagging in the tawny-haired king's mind. It felt as if something was off and that things hadn't followed exactly according to plan…

Finally he stepped onto the filthy ground of the dungeon level and he walked with brisk steps down a passageway, passing the entrance guard that bowed quickly to him. “Which cell was the King of Sanq brought to?”

The guard, whose only position was to guard the main passage to the cells and lock prisoners in for the first time, directed his king to the cell Zechs had been placed in, offering a key.

Treize moved on and stopped before the solid door that separated him from the man with the most amazing eyes he had ever seen. Placing the key in the hole, he unlocked the door and swung it open. He frowned when he was met with almost complete darkness in the cell. He reached back into the hall to grab a torch and brought it in with him, setting it within a bracket along the wall.

Once his attention finally focused on the cell, his breath stopped. “What the hell…?” he hissed, incredibly angered.

The Sanq king lay in the far corner, looking as if he'd been dropped there. The man's originally pale skin was stained with shades of crimson. Treize hurried over and knelt, wanting to know what had gone on. The man's back looked torn to shreds with a combination of long lash marks and jagged holes. The bloody holes were in a straight pattern all the way down Zechs' body from his shoulders and arms to his long legs.

Furious that his men had gone beyond their orders with his consent, Treize undid his cape and used it to wrap about the abused naked body of his enemy king. The movement partially awakened the bloody man and Zechs shivered violently.

Treize shook his head. He didn't believe in such torturous punishments. There was especially no need on this man only being used as a hostage. Ice blue eyes slowly opened and stared at him. The light was gone, but as Zechs seemed to recognize the person before him he took on a look of hatred, disgust, and fear.

Bowing his head briefly, Treize composed himself before speaking. Lifting his head again, he spoke in a low voice, “You have been done a great wrong. I should have known better than to leave you in the hands of my guards, but I trusted they would not go so far as to do more than their orders stated. I can apologize, but I know it does no good… I can only offer my help with your recovery.”

The look Zechs cast him was unbelieving. Treize couldn't expect more than that. He stood, lifting the Sanq king with him. Zechs hissed in pain and Treize noted the obviously dislocated shoulder. More anger flared through him again and he assured softly, “I don't care what they think. I'm not going to leave you here to die…”