This story has been being posted on gundam -wing -fanfiction .net . I only just recently got my act together and got my account here going again. I will be posting a chapter a day (give or take) until I catch up to where I am on gundam -wing -fanfiction .net , which is a hefty 17 chapters. On with the show.

Moon Child

Chapter One

The very best way to destroy a man, is to take his shadow and turn it against him. A man can be the most solitary of beasts, but he will always keep his shadow by his side. It is his closest companion. He will never expect it to jump at him and slit his throat, or to slowly corrupt his heart until all that is left is the shadow's will, and the man is little more than its puppet.

Heero had read this passage when he was eight. He kept it close to his heart, taking it all too seriously.

And thus, the first time he heard a concubine spoken of as a shadow, he vowed never to take one.

For concubines were the very best of shadows - they were people, with brains and cunning. They were not simply a mark on the floor. They followed all of the shadow's rules - they were close to their master at all times, never left his side. They would follow his every move. They were always in black, with hoods over their faces, keeping them as little more than a silhouette.

They were the most dangerous weapon anyone could ask for. A concubine could tempt their master into freeing them of their chains for a night, and slit his throat while he slept. Their masters confided in them, conveying secrets not even the best of spies could find. All the slave needed was a way to tell these secrets to their other master - the one plotting to kill.

Heero vowed never to take a concubine.

I, King Odiniusi Yuy, heir to the throne of Karen Miya, issue this decree by the power inherited from my late father, Gorenia Yuy of Karen Miya.

All peoples located by a Thralling Stone in possession of a Sorceror Hunter, shall be stripped of all rights and properties. They shall be declared traitors to the Throne, shall be fitted with Yarani Bands, and shall be placed in the Dungeon of the central island of the Yarani Sea, until such time as the Guards, the Yarani natives, declare them worthy of slave duties to the Throne.

Under no circumstances will any persons be excepted from this decree.

Signed: King Odiniusi.

Heero supressed a groan. Out of all the times for his father to fall ill, why must it be now? Now, when the yearly trip to Yarani was scheduled. The entire fleet was ready. No turning back. One of the Royal Family had to go. It was usually J that took the journey, but he had taken ill, as he was prone to do these days. So now, it was Heero that had to go, and he was not at all pleased about it.

He hated ships. He loathed them. He stood on the deck of the Kyumakie, staring out to sea, listening to the sound of the waves crashing, the wind blowing and the soft humming of the captain as he stood at the wheel, callused hands gripping the round wood. Heero glared at the waves, simply because he needed something to glare at.

The fact that he hated ships was not the reason he was in such a rough mood, although it did help substantially. He was more annoyed about the destination than the transport. Yarani, the old castle, famed for its dungeons, which were now fully occupied by that which Heero hated most - sorcerors.

It was an inherited trait. Heero's father, King Jarekshi, hated them also, as had his father, King Odiniusi. It was Odiniusi that had passed the decree for sorceror imprisonment, though why he hadn't simply passed a decree for their execution was beyond Heero.

It was a well known fact that when Heero inherited the throne, the first thing he would do would be to pass a decree for Kingdom-wide sorceror execution. None of this Yarani Banding, no pointless imprisonment, no sorceror slavery.

No slavery, and thus, no need for a royal family member to visit the Yarani dungeons every year.

Heero had only once visited the Yarani dungeons, when he was seven. He had disliked the dungeons and sneered at the prisoners, then formed an intense dislike for travelling over sea, most likely due to the fact that an injury that still hindered him today had occurred during the trip back.

He glared at the waves. He hated waves. They were so loud. Heero hated noise. More than anything, he hated unnecessary noise.

As if to anger him, a particularly violent wave crashed against the starboard side. Heero glared even more fiercely down at the sea as he felt a horrific crunching in his lower back as he moved so as not to lose balance.

He recalled his Healer, Irea, telling him never to go on a boat again, saying that if anything could make the wound in his back worse, it was the constant motion of the sea. Heero wished dearly that he could have stayed at the castle and sent someone else to do this hideous job, but not even the possibility that the trip might kill him would exempt him from the law.

Sighing, he turned away from the sea, nodded to the captain, and left for his rooms on board. It was a pity that even there, he could not escape the noise of the waves and wind, and occasionally the scampering of a deck-hand or sailor along the stairs, checking on cargo, rousing crewmates to take over their shift.

Heero absolutely hated ships.

The arrival to Yarani island was a cold and hideous affair. The natives, who guarded the prison in return for the rights to their island and the King's promise never to set foot there without permission, allowed the crew to load supplies aboard for the trip back, but flatly refused to allow them to stay any longer, glaring fiercely and clutching their various primitive weapons.

Heero grit his teeth and walked on past them, to the entrance to the large dungeon, which was also a cold and hideous affair. It was carved into the rock-face of the island, and guarded by a row of dead trees that had been carved into strange shapes while still in the ground.

He walked on through, followed by Irea, her handmaidens, and several royal guards that looked highly disgruntled at the prospect of entering the large dungeon.

Five steps inside, they were greeted by three large natives, with strange designs inked up their arms, highlighting the muscles. A harassed-looking smaller one approached, nodded to them, and directed them down the grimy old passages, to the first few cells.

"We have taken half of them to the main rooms," he said, his voice surprisingly not coated thickly with a Yarani accent.

He ushered them all into a large, low room, which was littered with small straw pallets and bracketed torches. The chamber had no windows, Heero noted. Nor was there any source of warmth other than the torches on the walls.

Several vindictive-looking sorcorers looked up at them and sneered. Heero walked on through the rows, staring at each of them.

He grudgingly accepted ten of them, out of an entire thirty. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the three large guards make several small movements, a furrow of his brow, a twist of his lip. He then looked down, seeming to be displeased with something.

Sad to see them go.

Heero pushed it to the back of his mind as a problem not yet developed, an uprising not yet in occurrence.

The chosen ten were escorted out of the dungeon by a few more Yarani men, and a woman who looked more brutal than any of them.

They moved on to the next room. Again, it had no windows. There were less torches inside also.

Irea shivered. Heero heard her whisper something to a maid. It was out of his hearing range. He would have to find out later what was said.

Irea was trustworthy in any setting other than this. She was to be watched every second while they were near Yarani, near the dungeons ... near her brother's current place of residence.

He picked a torch off the wall and moved it to light the face of a boy, that couldn't have had more than ten years to his name. His face was gaunt, his lips chapped and scabbed. A dark bruise marred his forehead. He stared up at Heero for a few seconds, seeming unsure whether to be defiant or not.

Then his eyes moved down, and his head followed. Wise move. Heero nodded to Irea, and she knelt by the boy and began inspecting his head. Heero moved on.

Fourteen boys and three girls were taken from this room.

They moved onto the next.

It was immediately recognizable as the room they kept the ones they thought Heero would only take for the finer points of slavery. Although still dirty and cold, this room had a higher ceiling and three windows. This room was where the dungeon met the other side of the cliff it was carved into.

The room's occupants were not sitting on straw pallets on the rock floor, but were lying, chained and well covered, to rock surfaces that were carved into the room itself. The chains were on every cot, not to keep them from escaping (although they served that purpose also), but to get them used to the prospect of being chained to a bed for very long periods of time.

Heero took his time wandering through here. Several of the girls looked disgruntled and disappointed with their position, others just too miserable to even show any major emotion. Heero didn't blame them. But that didn't mean under any circumstance that he was interested in changing their circumstances.

Every so often, he called Irea and she looked over a prisoner. They usually tensed at her touch, but let her do whatever it was she did.

Heero had taken sixteen girls and three boys (who had looked very unimpressed with their situation) and he was nearing the end of the last row. Almost finished.

A lock of long, limp brown hair greeted his eyes as he past a girl whose shoulders were shaking heavily as Irea helped her to her feet and wrapped another blanket around her. She was then picked up by a brawny old Yarani man with ink patches under and over his eyes.

Heero's hands found their way to the hair and ran through it absently. Heero found himself more disgusted than was to be expected by the fact that it was thin, knotted, breaking, dull and completely lifeless. He let go and it fell back to its previous position, without curl or shine.

He glanced toward the prisoner's hands, slightly satisfied, as always, that the Yarani bands at the forearm were accompanied by heavy iron shackles at the wrist. No resistance was seen in those thin, bony arms.

The prisoner lay on his side, with his arms up over his face. An old but thick blanket covered his shoulders and was tucked up behind his head.

Heero shifted his head to the side so as to see the boy's face. He was met with what was obviously the reason he was in this room and not another.

It was a beautiful face. The kind of face that guaranteed a person a position in Heero's personal harem, whether he had the right to take them into slavery or not.

However, Heero would not even consider taking a sorcerer as a slave of his own. He hated them far too much.

But this boy was definitely coming back with them, that was for sure. He would fetch quite a sum for the treasury when sold.

He called Irea to him to examine this prisoner. She looked at him disapprovingly, biting her lip and kneeling next to him.

She stretched out a hand and tilted his face slightly before drawing her hand back. "He's cold as death," she whispered.

She touched his chin again and moved his face up for her to see it. Heero noticed then how very pale he was.

Irea shook her head as she let go and his head fell back lifelessly. "Done for," she said.

"Nothing at all you can do?" Heero asked.

"I could try to save him, but ... it could take months, even years. And that's with constant care. Even then, it all depends on whether he wants to heal or not."

Heero could see what she was thinking. She didn't think that spending all that time and effort was worth it. Not unless Heero wanted him for something really important.

Heero looked over the sorcerer again. It would be a shame for him to die. He was so young. And downright beautiful.

One of the Yarani natives came to them then, with Heero's translator. The other was talking to him thickly in the native tongue.

The translator listened, then hushed the speaker and seemed to be trying to think of the English words.

Finally, he spoke, taking some time, seeming to have trouble with the two completely different languages. "This one is sick," he said.

"Obviously," Irea muttered under her breath.

"For a long time," he continued. "He is weak, and cannot walk."

Heero felt a small surge of approval. "He can't walk?" he repeated.

"No walking," the guard clarified. "His feet are injured."

Heero couldn't help but lift the blanket off the prisoner's feet, expecting to see more heavy chains binding his ankles. The chains were there, of course, but Heero immediately saw what the native had meant.

Irea winced. His feet were a mess. A purple, black and blue mess, to be specific. Bruised all over.

"He came a long time ago. He was small then-"

"How small?" Heero asked.

The man looked to his companion and said a few words thickly. The other guestured to somewhere under his chest.

"He couldn't have had more than nine years," Irea said.

"He grew," the advisor continued. "The chains were too tight. We didn't know."

"They stopped his feet from growing properly. And cut off the blood flow. That may never heal," Irea said.

Heero mused for a while. He couldn't walk, was obviously very weak, and would probably never quite fully recover. And, with time and care, would be very beautiful. All bonuses. But not nearly enough to make Heero want him as anything more than a harem slave, counting the fact that the boy was a sorceror.

What he needed was something Heero really liked to see in slaves - a certain temperament or quality. Heero couldn't bring to mind anything quality the boy could possess that would make him worthy of a higher position, worthy of Heero spending time and effort in his recovery.

Presently, the Yarani guard started speaking again, despite being hushed by Heero's advisor, then ...

"The guard says he's mute."

It was a very good thing that he was one of the last prisoners of the lot. At hearing the last sentence, Heero had promptly made his decision.

Irea had hidden a smirk, knowing what was coming. She, being close to Heero, could see right through him, and although she knew he hated concubines, hated sorcerers, she also knew he hated noise more than both of them. A mute companion was probably the best thing he could have wished for.

She watched him easily pick up the little creature, saw his lack of reaction to being lifted, and hoped that Heero could handle him. Bringing this one back to life would be no easy task, and Heero would be the one doing the work.

She shook her head sadly and followed him out of the room, noting that even though at least half the prisoners had been in those rooms, her brother had not been in there.

It took Heero no time at all to get attached. Within seconds of lifting him, he was clutching the boy to him like most masters did their slaves.

It annoyed Heero slightly, the way his head kept lolling back. His body was held securely in Heero's arms, tight to his chest, but he was not awake enough, alive enough, to keep his own head up.

Heero shifted him, holding him higher, and let Irea lightly pull his head up and tuck his face into the crook of his new master's neck, supporting his head lightly, not wanting him to break his neck from too quick a fall.

Heero had them back at the ship presently, boarding with not a word to any of her crew, not sparing a single glance to any of them, though they did not give him the same treatment.

Whispers soon started, the prince had taken a sorcerer for himself. Word spread like fire on haystacks through the ship, and by the time the prince had reached his rooms, Irea following diligently behind him, even the ship's parrot knew.

Then again, that damn bird knew everything.

One of the guards at Heero's door opened it for him, bowing his head respectfully, but still sneaking a glance up at the bundle in his prince's arms. Irea laid a sharp smack on his forehead for it as she followed the prince into his rooms.

She walked straight to the prince's bed and drew the hangings open, pulling down the covers. Heero followed her and laid the boy down gently, taking the blanket from the Yarani dungeon off him, baring a pale, thin chest with far too many ribs showing.

Irea clucked her tongue in disapproval, looking down past the prison pants they had given him, to the boy's feet. "I don't even know where to start with this mess," she mused.

Heero didn't either. He pulled his blankets up over the new slave, tucking them around his body securely, then brushed a bit of hair out of his face, again, being disappointed with the way the hair felt limp and lifeless.

"He'll need a bath," Irea said. "It's probably kindest to do it now, while he's sleeping."

Heero nodded. "Go send for one," he ordered the girl, without sparing a glance for her. His eyes were preoccupied.

Irea smirked as she left the room, knowing that Heero, like many other concubine owners, was now doomed to fall, hard and fast. The boy was simply too perfect, in his current state, for Heero to resist.

When Irea returned, two girls behind her carrying a large tub half filled with cold water, two more behind them carrying buckets of hot, Heero had drawn the curtains of his bed closed and was flicking through the keys he had been given, looking for a match to the chains on the boy.

She ordered the tub placed near the bed, and the girls did as told, then left quietly, curtseying their way out.

Heero finally found the key he had been looking for. It was a very long chain, with a good fifteen keys on it, and Heero could only tell by the make of the lock on the boy's chain which key it was.

He undid the chains about the boy's wrist swiftly, letting the shackles fall to the ground. He had expected, but was still disgruntled, with the bruises the harsh metal had left.

"When he is better, Irea, remind me to personally see to a better set of cuffs."

"Consider it done, milord," Irea said, pouring the hot water into the bath, one free hand swashing the liquid around to get it all at the same temperature. When she was happy with its warmth, she looked to her future King, the one she would obey even over the current King, and waited for his attention.

He felt her stare and glanced at her, a small, rock hard view of his eyes, and she saw within it permission to speak. "Would you like me here, Prince, or would you like privacy?"

"Here, this once."

She understood his meaning, as few ever did. He'd kill for the privacy, but there was no way he would take the chance of hurting the weak boy. That was where she came in. She smirked proudly, loving the fact that her odd, unconventional methods were of use. She hid her smile from her King, but knew it was not necessary. He could feel it. The boy was becoming a King, and the King knew all and understood all.

Heero lifted his slave off the bed, having removed the shackles from his feet and the uniform prison pants that had likely been his only clothing for years. The boy stirred only slightly. He placed him gently and slowly in the tub, hoping he didn't wake. It just wouldn't do to have him scare at this.

The boy did wake, the second he was completely in the water. He opened his eyes, stared up at the future King. Normally Heero wouldn't tolerate such an act, all eyes should be lowered in his presence, especially ones so new to him as these. But as it were, it was likely the boy hadn't a clue who he was, probably hadn't even noticed the diadem around his forehead that signaled royalty. Heero slowly moved his hand to the boy's face, noting that Irea was watching the whole exchange intently, and he covered the slave's eyes with his hand, sliding his eyelids closed very, very gently. When he removed his hand, the boy immediately looked right back up at him, eyes glazed. Then he smiled softly, like he were drunk, and closed his eyes.

"Fuck," Heero muttered.

"What is the problem, sire-", Irea started, but Heero interjected.

"He's one of the ones that like the last word," he said, having noted it from the hazy exchange.

"Which won't make much trouble, considering he has no words," Irea said dryly.

"Oh, he'll find a way. They always do."