((So, over the last year, I've gotten into a lot of new projects! I got into cosplaying (My first costume and baby, Kuja, can be seen on my profile) and, over the course of that year, started about a dozen different fanfictions that just never went anywhere while I was in college and otherwise occupied with cosplay. But, with my last project finished, I've found the nerd impulses too hard to ignore so I continued one of the many abandoned projects gathering dust in my hard drive. This AU takes a look at what would have happened if Zidane simply hadn't been abandoned on Gaia. Yes, I have the specifics planned out, don't worry. xD But I hope I feel the drive to continue and I hope you enjoy the labors of my untapped nerd momentum.
10-9-2015: So I was reading through everything and realized this chapter was a bit of an over-complicated slog. I guess that's what happens when you take a year long break and two writing classes between chapters one and two. So I cleaned it up. Everything's the same as before, it just reads smoother now.))
What Could Have Been:
Chapter One: A Shadow of Death
The skies were dark that night, perfect for concealment but cold up high, soaring just below the clouds in clothes not meant for a dynamic system of weather. The twin moons (or what were assumed to be moons) shone at only half-light in their cycles. Below, sea and wave turned to the blackened outline of hill and valley, and on the horizon, there was the unmistakable rise of a city: Lindblum. Capital of industry. High captain of an urbanized populace. A telepath's nightmare and prime candidate for psychic concealment.
The dragon tilted into a slow descent, guided by the trusted hand of its master. Steadily, the world below took form. Mountains rose from mole-hills. Marshes formed from weed patches. And the city, so childish from up above, grew to the greatest industrialized metropolis the world had ever seen. The rider saw their bridges, their towers, their palace, and the docks for their ever famous airship fleet. During the day, this air would crackle with the drone of engines, the burn of exhaust, and the choking ozone of unvaporized Mist, but at this time of night, the skies were quiet. Perfect for a descending dragon who may not appreciate the company of a hundred airships and a rider who, more than anything, did not want to be seen.
They landed with a soft shift of rustling feathers and a gentle thump in the half-forested fields outside the Dragon's Gate. Kuja reached up behind his dragon's crested head and scratched the ridge between bone plate and neck. Looking upon his hand, it might have been of an angel. Long, narrow, finely chiseled to an artist's perfection. As Kuja lowered it, he felt the tickle of magic dance through his fingers like feather down. He knew this feeling, this ecstasy of power, but he could not release it yet. Not until he had gained a safe distance away from his dragon. Only then…
Zidane was curled asleep in the widest span of his dragon's back. He had stirred once to nestle further into the dragon's down during flight, but had since stilled. Kuja crawled forward to tuck a hand beneath the boy's head and an arm below his knee. He lifted him almost gently and brought the miniature form up close to his chest before sliding down the dragon's side. His boots fumbling in the thick grass of the Gaian wilds, but Zidane only shifted and raised a hand to grasp his guardian's shirt. Kuja frowned at the touch, but the boy's eyes were still closed, hand curled firmly in place. They continued onwards.
Kuja found a cleared patch of grass among the undergrowth and placed the boy within it. Asleep among the life of Gaia, Zidane looked almost peaceful. The flora here had a bitter scent like dirt, but not unappealing. It grew. It breathed. It curled in bands around the bark of trees and blossomed in leafy canopies of green. It was a quiet night, and here among the bitter scenes of life and change, it seemed an enviable place to die.
Kuja removed the boy's grip and stood. The magic returned to his hand. Its light touched upon leaf, branch, tree, and boy with a wary kind of hesitance. Zidane, sprawled unmoving in a patch of weeds, face pale, mouth slightly open, tail limp like a lifeless snake. The boy's hair glinted gold in the muted half-light - blonde like all the others. But this boy was different. When the Zidane gained consciousness, those eyes would spark with awareness. The soul that Garland had given him would soon wake, but it could so easily be taken away…
Kuja raised a hand and shouted into the still night air.
"Thundaga!"
The power was magnificent. It erupted from the sky and burst from the boy in a glorious flash of white hot light. The sound was like planets falling and crashing to ruin. Kuja stumbled back from the force of it. The heat scorched his senses, but he didn't close his eyes. He shielded them from the light, but such a sight…brought by his power…It was something he could not turn away from. It was something that deserved to be admired.
There were other noises now: townspeople wakening from sleep and guards startled into alertness, but they were too late now, as stupid and unaware as they were. Someone would find the scene, but by then Kuja would be gone like an invisible assassin - a god of the night, an angel of death come to carry vengeance-.
The boy moved.
Kuja peered through the burnt undergrowth to find Zidane curled in the rubble as though it was a bed, hair singed, clothes burned, tail scalded. There was a vibrant red burn running down the side of the boy's arm where it had protected his face. But the spell had not killed him. Where its lesser forms had slaughtered countless of their soulless peers, this child had withstood the greatest extent of Kuja's elemental power.
Even now, against the call of all logic and reason, the boy refused to die.
Brow furrowing, Kuja raised his hand again.
Far away, an airship's engine roared to life. The whir of a propeller was far too close. Where there had once been only crickets and the rush of a lonely wind, now the city had sprung to life. Exhaust tinged the air as shadowed silhouettes moved against the half-light of a clouded sky. Guards mobilized. Scouts patrolled. And the boy was still alive. Maybe dying, but there was no way to be sure. Unconscious and injured. Lost in the Gaian wilds, perhaps never to wake, and there were so many monsters. Monsters that would do Kuja's job if he couldn't. Yes, the boy was as good as dead. If not, too injured and stupid to defend himself. Gone, at any rate. Out of the way.
Kuja stole away to his dragon, hidden in the unnatural darkness of a planet that was not his own. The dragon rustled its great wings and took flight. They gained altitude, now above trees then mountains then oceans. Kuja could already feel a pair of lifeless eyes watching him. A metal hand closed around his throat.
His mind flashed red, and with that moment, Kuja awoke.
His eyes snapped open to darkness and the whistles of wind through a mountain pass. Kuja threw himself up, ready to flee, but no. What he found was silence. The canvas of a tent. The slow, heavy breaths of his dragon out upon some lonely cliff edge. Kuja brushed his prickling forearms. The air smelled of magic and burnt underbrush, but that was impossible. His mind had brought up a memory - or rather, the fragment of one. Kuja had wanted to kill Zidane. He had come to the wilds of Lindblum with every intention of murder. Yet, when the time had come, he had not taken the chance.
Twelve years had passed since that tragic mistake. Now Kuja lived with the consequences in his anguished dreams.
Every night it was the same. The same memory. The same dream of what could have been. That night twelve years ago had been his one chance, yet when the stars had aligned, Kuja had failed to take action. His stomach churned with the heated memory of that dream. On the surface, nothing more than a memory, but there was something else now, stirring deeply in his subconscious. Whenever Kuja awoke from that dream, he knew the fear of what would come, but there was something else too. His heart pounded with the heat of some primal desire and a sadistic longing that he could never express.
'Kill him.'
If only Kuja had truly felt magic at his hand that night. If only Kuja had culled the threat before it had taken root. If only he had killed Zidane…
A groan shifted beside him, and Kuja glanced at the half-hidden form of what he now called his brother. Zidane had tangled himself so deeply in his nest of blankets that only his tail was visible. It beat to rhythm of uneasy dreams.
Zidane was no longer the naïve, fragile child of twelve years ago. He had been replaced by a quickly maturing, sometimes even capable adolescent. Sixteen years old, if such measurements could be used when one was not truly born. His growth played out like a living hourglass.
Soon.
Kuja saw it etched on the boy's still sleeping face.
Soon.
And so, nestled deeply in a mountain cave, Kuja knew that tomorrow he could only intensify his schemes. If he wished to survive, he must match the speed of racing time and redeem his past mistakes.
With a sleepless night ahead of him, Kuja forced his mind towards Alexandria and its coming destruction. Still, as the night slipped away and the sky was lit by dawn, he could not help but linger on a single, intoxicating 'If only' and a sea of 'what could have beens.'
When they woke for the last leg of their journey, it occurred to Zidane that his brother seemed a little more irritable than usual, but he couldn't, for the life of him, think as to why.
"Hey, Kuja!"
"No, we are not 'there yet,' and if you ask one more time I swear by all the works of Avon, that I shall-!"
"Make me explode?" Zidane grinned. It was a beautiful day, perfect for a mid-morning flight. The sun was shining, there wasn't a drop of rain (which could make for a rather miserable experience by dragon), and they were so high above the ground that he couldn't sense the choking aura of Mist. Even more than that was the excitement of his destination. They were finally going back, after endless work trapped below the sands of a desert and his monthly visit to a nightmare beyond the clouds, he could already see the towers of Alexandria looming perfectly in his eye. Such a perfect day couldn't be ruined by anything, not even his brother's pissy moods or the absolutely vicious look he received as he bounded up the dragon's back towards its irritable driver. "Come on, we both know that's not happening."
Kuja's eyes narrowed. "You doubt me?"
"Well, yeah." Zidane perched beside his brother on the dragon's shoulders, legs dangling over the side. "We both know you'd freeze me first."
A silent, appreciative smirk seemed to agree with his words. "Oh, but you forgot the thunderous powers of electricity, my dear brother."
"Nah, I'll never forget that," Zidane winced, rubbing his arm gingerly. This made even Kuja laugh as he probably remembered their last run-in with thundara. Zidane certainly did.
"Hm…As you shouldn't," Kuja chimed softly before glancing over with an almost careless flip of his bangs. "Now, what is it you wished of me?"
Zidane grinned. "Are we there-? Ow!"
If he hadn't remembered the sting of his brother's thunder spell, he sure did now.
The shock threw him sideways and knocked him against the dragon's spine. The dragon roared its disapproval as Kuja stroked the back of its head, cooing softly in their native tongue.
"Do not worry, Cornelia, it is only our idiot brother again."
Zidane spat out a mouthful of feathers and rubbed at the newest electrical burn on his forearm. "Hey! I was only kidding!" he moaned, but his brother kept his attention forward, caressing their dragon's feathers in his hand.
"If he cared at all for our patience he would be more wary of his little jokes, but alas, I doubt he will ever gain that level of intelligence."
"Uff..." Zidane pushed himself upright and rearranged his tussled hair. His tail flicked in irritation and brushed across the dragon's back. "Geez. I'm sorry, alright?"
His brother didn't respond.
"Alright, alright! I get it. 'Don't play around when we're flying.' Enough of the silent treatment, already." Zidane shook his head and slid his hand into his pocket. "This is what I wanted to show you."
When he took it out, a small charm sat in the folds of his glove, strung up by a string of tanned leather. It was carved in the shape of a dove. Its polished surface shone in the unfettered light of the midafternoon sun. He let it dangle from his thumb, and swaying there, it might have been flying.
Kuja's eyebrows raised in a look of silent surprise. He took the charm in his hand and appraised it, turning it over in his fingers.
"This is ivory," he stated, feeling at the smoothness from head to wing.
"Yeah," Zidane agreed, "Got it off a Zaghnol we took out around Condie Petie."
"Oh," he commented lightly, "I had worried that you pilfered it from one of my piano keys."
"Nope. Good old animal tusks for me."
"How relieving. I was not particularly in the mood for Garland's wrath had he discovered that I'd murdered you."
Zidane kicked his legs uncomfortably. His feet hung off the side of the dragon's neck and he could feel the wind on his ankles.
"So, what do you think? It took me about a month."
"Hm…" Kuja tested a feather beneath his thumbnail before passing it back to his brother. "There's a chip along the tail side. It would hardly gain you a hundred gil in Treno."
"Well, I wasn't planning on selling it." Zidane took it a little closer to his chest, shielding it from the wind and his brother's judgment. "It's a gift."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. For the Princess."
Kuja sent Zidane one of his scathing looks that warned of an impending fire ball.
"You do realize what date approaches, correct?"
"Oh, um…Yeah. Garnet's birthday. So I made her a present for it, and…."
"Zidane." Kuja pressed his hand against his forehead. "Have you not listened to a word of my plotting for the last six months?"
"What?" Zidane sat up and looked at him in alarm, the burn on his arm already stinging again. "No, I know! You want to get all the armies to kill each other off so you can get Alexander. How could I miss that?" He grinned a little cautiously. "You only talk about it every other day."
"And what age is the Princess turning in the following week?"
"Uh-um…Sixteen, I guess…"
"And what happens to a member of the summoning tribe when she turns sixteen?"
Zidane's heart dropped. He'd forgotten about the ritual.
It was funny how little he'd been thinking in the last few months. Sure, he'd known in the back of his mind what they were going to do. Zidane remembered those endless nights, sitting in the library by candlelight as he watched his brother torture himself with a quill and ink. Zidane remembered the feverish scribbling of notes on paper, the way the candlelight played across the sickened sheen of his brother's skin, and his brother's narrowed, almost feral look as he fought exhaustion. Still, Zidane wouldn't leave. He'd stayed curled up in his chair, counting the hours, bouncing back Kuja's crazy schemes, and occasionally asking if he could get him anything: water, food, or maybe another ether. He was mostly turned down, but Zidane would get it anyway because it was the only way he could help. And he knew if he didn't force it on him that Kuja wouldn't eat at all.
But Zidane hadn't really been paying much attention lately. He'd had someone else on his mind…
When they'd first come to Alexandria, the princess was the first woman who'd caught his eye. It had been six months ago, walking through the castle gates, led along as Kuja's personal guest. "My brother," Kuja'd apologized, "Unnecessary baggage, I realize, but I truly cannot do without him." Kuja was always so good at lying, but as always, it had worked. After weeks of seducing, bribing, and tempting his way into the upper courts, Kuja had cleared the path for them both. They were able to stride right into the stronghold of one of the greatest powers Gaia had to offer, smiling their secret smiles and knowing more than any Gaian should truly should know.
Kuja had said he'd burn Zidane alive if he ruined this for him. Zidane had promised that he wouldn't do anything to harm his brother's precious reputation (wouldn't want to ruffle that feather, after all). Then he'd traipsed right into the throne room, confident, a little cocky, a light-hearted grin aimed at all the nobles who looked at the common Trenoan boy with disgust. He'd bowed the most dramatic, almost sarcastic way he could, and when he rose, he saw…her.
She was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Skin clear as porcelain, hair like burnt sienna framing a rounded face with a cute button nose. He'd followed the slow curve of her neck down her bare shoulders then back up again. Their eyes had met, his shocked and shaken, hers soft and consoling.
She'd smiled.
He loved the way her eyes crinkled when she smiled.
"Are you listening, Zidane? Or have you really forgotten my entire life's work?"
Kuja was watching him impatiently, his lips tight like he was holding back a spell or maybe an insult. Zidane felt behind hair and rubbed uncomfortably at his neck as his tail picked up a restless swish behind him.
"I didn't forget. I just…wasn't thinking."
"Hmph. As if that were anything new. I would be shocked to discover that you were even capable of thought."
Zidane said nothing. His brother's gave him a short glance before returning his gaze upon the clouds and the Mist below them.
"We should be arriving shortly," he conceded after a moment's silence, "You really should hide that tail of yours before we get there."
Zidane nodded and pulled back to the rear-end of the dragon where they kept their clothes, supplies, Kuja's notes, and a tent between them. There, he pulled out his Gaian clothes: a long-sleeved, slightly ruffled shirt with a vest over the shoulders and a long skirt to hide the constant movements of his tail.
When he put this on, Zidane would be just the eccentric, exotic brother of an eccentric, exotic weapons dealer. They said they came from the Outer Continent. They said they were human. Only when they were alone could Zidane feel the swaying of his tail or hear the short, clipped sound of his native tongue. Zai-dan. That's what he was called in his earliest memories. Kuja still did when he got angry enough or they'd spent too long on Terra. But the Gaian language had softened the consonants and elongated the vowels. Zidane. That's who he became as he shed the terracotta patterns of his native silks and replaced them with the soft cotton of another world. Zidane Tribal. It was like another name, just another alias like all the others. He pulled his hair back into its long pony tail and the transformation was complete. He crept forward to find that the Mist had thinned and on the horizon, a single, sky-scraping tower, sparkling in the morning sun.
He glanced at Kuja and tried for a smile. "Are we there yet?" he asked.
Kuja sighed with a short shake of his head. "Yes, Zidane," he answered, "We are."