A/N: Okay, so I am still now working on Cold War, Altered Fates, Snapshots AND To The Lost, but I stumbled on this pairing a little while ago and I haven't been able to get it out of my head. I played this game to death with my friends as a kid, and its totally wild going back all over this stuff again. Anyway, I hope people enjoy this little slice as much as I did writing it.
*Edit: Made a few little changes in this chapter to establish a better timeframe for the story. It now takes place one year after the events of FFIX.
...
It was raining in the Burmecia. It was always raining in Burmecia. It filled cracks and holes in the old cobbled roads, ran into the shattered walls and roofs of homes and other buildings.
Freya was sat on a crumbling old wall that ran beneath a large old oak tree that had somehow survived the destruction of her home. It didn't provide much in the way of shelter, but she didn't mind the rain…much.
Seeing the world and travelling with Zidane and his companions in their efforts to save the world had certainly given her new perspective. One aspect of which, was accepting that there were places where it truly didn't rain all the time, not even half the time.
She adjusted her lance, resting it on her other shoulder idly. Two Burmecians, a woman and a child walked past, smiling at her. The child waved. She raised a hand slightly and waved back, managing a half-smile.
Of course, fame and renown had come with their success, though it made her uncomfortable. All her life she'd fought, she'd served, she'd done her duty; because it was right, because it was expected, not because she'd be thanked or appreciated or recognised. To suddenly be so was…taking some adjustment.
She removed her hat, shaking loose droplets from it before putting it back on, pulling the brim down low and leaning back against the tree.
There were so few of them left now. The city was still in ruins and with the losses they'd suffered here, and with the near total slaughter of the survivors who'd fled to Cleyra, and those who lived there…
Many of those who lived scattered across Mist Continent had been making their way here, arriving in groups over the past year. She supposed it was only natural, to want to be close to what you held dear. The heart had virtually been ripped out of them, she supposed it made sense, to want to try and heal it.
A year. Burmecia was still in ruins, there was still much to do. But work was happening, repairs and rebuilding were underway. Sections of the city were almost habitable and certainly, the aid from Alexandria was welcome, in builders and supplies. Things were progressing.
Still, a year. So why did she feel so lost?
These days, she felt she was mostly here out of a sense of responsibility. What remained of their people looked up to her, and her actions. She had been worried, in the weeks after their victory, and with all the excitement and upheaval, when there had been calls to raise her as some kind of leader. Thankfully, with time, that talk had died down.
A small council of responsible individuals stood in as a kind of governing body until a more permanent solution could be found. Mostly they dealt with small squabbles, the continuing construction and keeping track of their people, those here and those arriving each day.
She stayed because it was the right thing to do. She stayed because to abandon them now, in this time of their greatest weakness…
An icy wind blew down the street, eliciting a violent shiver. She turned up her collar, so it covered most of her face now, pulling it tighter around her. These days, her old coat was certainly worse for wear. Frayed cuffs, tears, rips, loose threads, mud, blood, dirt and weatherworn, but it was as much a part of her as her lance, or her similarly tired old hat.
Tired, old, worn, beaten. Just like her.
She ran a hand over the front of her coat, bare now of the escutcheon she had traditionally worn. The coat of arms of the Burmecian Kingdom, she had discarded her old one, and it didn't seem right to replace it, not anymore.
She was twenty-two years old and sometimes she felt like this was it.
So many days were like this now, filled with nothing but wondering at her idling existence. She helped with the rebuilding, often, but what was it to her? Her home was gone, her rulers gone, her duty gone, her love…
…Fratley.
She had been overjoyed to know he still lived, but they hadn't…reconnected. Not in the way they had been. He couldn't remember her, and she didn't know the man he was now. Not that he had turned bad or anything, he was brave, forthright and responsible. The revitalisation of their people was foremost in his mind and he could always be found aiding in any work he could find. Fratley had had an opportunity to truly begin again, and he had made good use of it.
He just wasn't the Fratley she'd loved.
She was sure she was different too though. She wondered often if that was part of the reason they hadn't been able to regain what they'd lost, how could they if she too was not the person he'd left, how could he remember somebody he didn't know anymore?
It hadn't hurt as much as she'd felt it should. But then nothing had. She hadn't cried for her people, her lover, her losses…was she ice? She wasn't weak, but she was sure she should…react. It was proper to…grieve, to feel something. Instead she simply drifted on, as if nothing around her was really part of her. She felt disconnected from everything, here. She missed her friends.
Her nose twitched, suddenly. She lifted her head, slightly. The rain and the damp obscured much, but there was the barest hint of…something…a familiar smell.
She heard heavy footsteps, splashing in the puddles toward her from the left. They were slow, and somewhat ungainly. Without turning, she moved aside a little, making space for the newcomer to sit.
The large form of Amarant Coral ducked beneath the low branches of the tree, settling on the small wall beside her. He didn't look comfortable, being almost twice her size, but she knew he wouldn't say anything. He never did.
"Hello old friend."
"Crescent." He grunted.
Without turning her head, she glanced toward her companion. His normally fiery red hair was darkened, and soaking, hanging loosely down his back, thick strands plastered across his face. His pale, oddly blue tinted skin glistened in the rain. His clothes too, were drenched.
Freya couldn't begin to imagine what had brought him all the way out here. She knew him too well to consider that it had been just for the benefit of her company, and yet…in a twisted way, she counted him as one of her most loyal friends. She wondered if he felt the same, she doubted he really thought of people in those terms, but she liked to think he counted her as at least a reliable ally.
And yet over the course of the year, he'd come, several times. Never announced, never regularly. But he had visited. Always short, and they often simply wound up arguing at each other's throats. Still.
Their travels had born a kind of mutual respect between them. They were both warriors, with a code. It differed here and there, for Amarant, but it was a code nonetheless. He had opened, in such a way as Amarant could be open, to her in a way that he hadn't to the others.
"So it really does always rain here." He said, suddenly.
From anybody else, it would have been a pointless remark. But Amarant didn't really do conversation, so she allowed herself the barest hint of a smile.
"Yes."
"I don't like it."
"You get used to it."
"Are you?"
The question caught her momentarily off-guard. She turned to face him for a moment. He didn't move. Rain ran down his face, droplets following the curve of his angular cheeks, and chin.
"I was." She replied, leaning back against the tree once more.
He chuckled slightly, a throaty, coarse sound.
"That what you're doin' out here, like a drowned rat?"
"Speak for yourself Coral. You humans weren't built for water." She smirked, turning her head slightly.
He chuckled again.
"Glad t' see you haven't lost yourself out here, Crescent."
"I didn't think you cared." She said off-handedly, knowing he'd disprove.
Amarant let out a "hmph" and didn't reply. She didn't expect him to, short of insulting her or berating her for such a foolish remark. The fact he didn't even do that she considered a mark of his respect for her.
They sat in silence for several minutes. She knew he was probably tired and fed up with the rain but he wouldn't complain, or ask to go somewhere else. She sighed, in the quiet of her own mind, knowing it was up to her.
"Would you like something to eat? My house isn't far."
She chided herself for hesitating before saying it. Even now, in front of him, she couldn't make herself think of it as "home". It was just a house, she was just staying there. She managed not to flinch, thus not embarrassing herself further, as Amarant actually turned to look at her. She couldn't see his eyes, but she could feel his gaze. Had he noticed her hesitation? Did he understand? Would she ever know? Probably not.
"If you want." He replied, after a pause.
Did she want him to eat something in her house?
His response didn't make sense, but it was as good as she was going to get and Freya knew it. She stood, shifting her lance to her other hand and resting it over her shoulder once more. Amarant followed suit, stooping low until they were out from under the tree and together, they walked through the empty streets.
…
Freya carried the steaming pot of tea back into the dining room. Amarant was at the table, trying to eat as though it was something he didn't need to do. She'd never really seen somebody eat another person's food as if they were doing them a favour, but he was doing a pretty good job of it.
She'd shed her coat and hat, leaving her in a white shirt with loose, long sleeves, a brown waistcoat, knee-length tan trousers and the leather gaiters that made up her usual attire. She was happily mostly dry, though her hair was somewhat damp.
Amarant on the other hand, had…well he'd refused an offer of a change of clothes and had left a trail of water around her house, a growing puddle beneath his seat at the table.
She took a seat across from him, setting the pot down and pouring the both of them a cup. He looked at his like it was some kind of offense to nature. He wouldn't touch it, she knew.
"Whatsisname not around then?" He asked, not looking up from his food.
She blinked. She was sure he knew Fratley's name, was he just being deliberately insulting?
"You know his name." She replied, steadily.
"Flatly."
Deliberately insulting, then.
"We don't live together anymore." She answered, calmly, refusing to bite.
"Forget you were a woman too, did he?"
"I beg your pardon."
Amarant only shrugged his large shoulders, gaze wandering around the room.
"Thought you were a man first time we met."
Had he actually come all the way out here just to insult her? She was beginning to wonder why she'd entertained the notion he hadn't. She wasn't even sure how to reply. He must have been loving every minute of this.
"Fought like one." He continued, having noticed her reaction. "Looked a bit like one. Hard to tell with you lot."
She swallowed a mouthful of the tea, along with a mouthful of her growing rage at the belligerent outlaw sitting across from her.
"You know, I'm actually busy. I've got things I could be doing. And as touched as I am you came all the way out here just to insult, berate and belittle me, you could have saved the time and sent a damn letter." She snapped.
"Looked real busy earlier." He chuckled again, in that rough, earthy tone.
Freya set down the cup.
In one fluid motion she was on her feet, had a hand around his throat and pulled him to his feet with a strength even he found surprising. Her lips curled in a snarl and she drove her other fist into his jaw, sending him reeling backward.
"Remember who you're dealing with, Coral." She bared her teeth, fists balled as her ears flattened, low.
He rubbed his chin, propping himself up on his elbow.
"You are in there somewhere, then." He grinned up at her.
The anger retreated as quickly as it had come. As much as she was annoyed that she'd let him goad her, she began to understand what he'd been doing.
"Bastard." She muttered, extending a hand down to him. She noted he waited before taking her hand, until her ears had perked back up again.
Freya allowed herself the satisfaction that he at least knew her enough to know when to push and when to stop.
"No idea why," He began, dusting himself off a little. ", but they're all missing you."
She assumed he was referring to their friends in Alexandria.
"Did they send you?" She asked, as they sat down again.
"Nobody sends me anywhere." He replied, in a tone that said he wouldn't elaborate further.
She tried to hide her surprise. Did that mean he'd come by his own choice? She wasn't sure what that meant, did it even mean anything? Amarant just did what he wanted, was there any understand it?
"I haven't seen everybody in a long time." She mused, half to herself.
"You should get away from here." He stated, as if it was obvious.
She took another sip of the tea, watching him carefully. It was like Amarant was asking her to come back with him.
"I can't just leave."
He "hmph'd" again, staring at the ceiling. He was such a bizarre man, so unlike even other humans she'd met. He was a spectacle wherever he was, slightly out of place. Even moreso here, in her house. Most humans were, admittedly, not as big as Amarant, but even so, Burmecians were of a generally smaller stature, and he cut a very odd figure, at the table slightly too small for him, in a house that didn't seem quite designed for someone of his size.
"It's not going anywhere. Fratley's good at digging dirt."
High praise indeed, she mused. Amarant had even said his name right. She felt…well, she felt something, at the thought that Amarant was being so…un-Amarant for her sake.
Could she just leave? It wouldn't be forever. A week maybe, maybe two. Just some time to see old friends…
"He said you could."
"You…talked to Fratley?" She managed. Freya tried to imagine the exchange, grimly.
"Sort of." Amarant replied, impassive as ever.
Immediately, she was concerned. She'd be sure to check on Fratley before she left. If she left. If.
"There are people counting on me." She said.
Amarant leaned back, the small chair creaking under his weight. He shrugged his large shoulders again.
"Always will be. We saved the world."
She looked down at her tea, the steam slowly disappearing as it cooled. Her face looked back up at her out of the murky cup. She ran a hand through her hair. She was so tired.
"Come."
She looked up, not sure she'd really heard it. Amarant regarded her unflinchingly. She chewed the inside of her mouth.
"Okay."
She was sure she was imagining it, because Amarant didn't get concerned or worried or things like that, but she could have sworn his shoulders…slumped a little, as if he'd been tense the moment before.
"Least I don't have to deal with Zidane's perky bullshit." He muttered.
Well, it was better than nothing, she supposed.
"I'm going to bed." She said, standing slowly. "Stay here tonight. Make yourself comfortable."
He only grunted in reply as she strolled past the table and him, heading for the stairs. She stopped at the bottom, turning back just in time to see his head spin away from her. She blinked, mulling over the idea that he'd been watching her as she walked away.
"Goodnight." She said as she slowly made her way upstairs.
Before he was completely out of sight, she saw him tentatively reach out for the cup of tea.
