Disclaimer: I do not own Shalott or any song by Emilie Autumn, and I certainly do not own Final Fantasy VII.
I came across this song called Shalott by Emilie Autumn felt inspired to write a fanfic centered on that poem. Since I am currently anticipating the release of a translated Case of Shinra, I thought Sir Lancelot would be Rufus (he is, by nature, very hot and all the girls are all the same to him). Somehow, this became Zack/Cissnei.
Fic Explanation: The Lady of Shalott dedicated herself to weaving a magic web and could only see the world through a mirror. She seemed content, which is like Cissnei who grew up in Shinra and dedicated herself to her job as a Turk. In Crisis Core, I could see Cissnei harboring feelings for Zack (my interpretation). She seemed to hold that inside because of her job and Zack's relationship with Aerith. At night and at the beach during the end of the game, we can see her feeling caught between her duty and her heart, so she allows herself to easily be defeated by Zack.
I wanted to keep with the fairytale-like quality of the poem. What I mean by that is that there is, at times, a very dreamy air. Technicalities, such as from where she got food and how did she bathe, are pushed aside in favor of keeping things purely romantic (in the old sense). I know some real writer(s) is/are going to read this and kick my butt. Hmm. You can tell I'm a girl by how self-defeating I am, huh? Hehe.
Late summer breezes gave a colder kiss each day as the hours crawled closer to the fall. Cissnei didn't mind them when they drifted through the open window. She ignored the wind as her fingertips twisted and manipulated the blue linen thread into a constant wave reminiscent of the sea. The pattern itself was a web which could cast itself across nearly half the wall of her small, circular room. Speckles of stars seemed caught within the midnight blue and onyx threads, and a silver moon, complete with the Man in the Moon's subtle, smiling face, sitting at the masterpiece's center. Shooting stars, small yet bright, leapt over far away planets of magnificent swirling pastel yellow, prairie green, and baby blue threads.
The edges of her tapestry were frayed, as her chef-d'oeuvre had been a daily task since her mother passed away and left her as the lady of the tiny island castle. Calling her prison a castle was generous, because her property consisted of a single, stone tower. The river was wide around the sides of her home before combining once again and carrying onward to Camelot. The tower's presence there made little difference to the lazy flowing river. The tower's presence made no difference to anyone who saw it, her prison bestowed upon her at an early age and from where no one could save her.
Cissnei stood from her loom and picked up a mirror framed in ivory roses, which she held protectively against her chest. Her black dress skirted across the rug, an antique like everything else in the room, underfoot. A faint swishing met her ears with each stride toward the window. Her only means to the outside world was this small window and that mirror.
Her hand, partially hidden by the length of her silk sleeve, drew back a heavy, blue curtain with silver tassels. Her eyes closed to avoid looking outward as the sunlight suddenly warmed her face. The sun's loving light meant little to Cissnei who turned her back and held the mirror just so to avoid the sun's glare.
The mirror reflected the image of a shepherd leading his flock home as the day gracefully began falling to night. Her hand barely tilted the mirror to catch a pair of bluebirds flying over the thick, dark green tree tops of the surrounding forest. The young woman saw hills of grass peaking from the thick forest, but it was nothing of interest. Dissatisfied, she moved the mirror for a quick glance down at the empty dirt road following the curve of the river around her little island. Cissnei lowered the mirror and moved to return it to her bedside table.
Ever since she had been young, it was a simple fact that her eyes should never fall on anything beyond her tower unless she decided to invoke the curse her fairy godmother left with her. This curse kept her from stepping out of her place. As she grew, the young redheaded lady knew better than to wish for what she could not have without sacrifice. Her heart set itself on a worthier desire: mastery of tapestry.
She could work for hours and hours tending to her ever-growing tapestry. It grew from a single, poorly made yellow star made by ten-year-old hands. Her hands created many other tapestries which depicted dull pastoral scenes with the typical goatherder too young for a beard, quaint village of thatched rooftops, and a rustic, wooden bridge leading to nowhere. Her art demanded practice, and that's all those dull pieces offered.
Her only beloved tapestry was her interpretation of the cosmos. That tapestry grew with her and became more intricately perfect the farther she progressed from that tiny, childish star.
Cissnei carefully moved her favorite one to its place on the tall wall of her room across from her four-poster bed. Satisfied that it hung securely, she stepped back and momentarily admired how the concentrated sunlight illuminated the Man in the Moon and surrounding stars. Without lingering, she picked up a bone needle, green spindle of thread, and a white handkerchief. Her initials covered half of the soft white fabric. What she did now was merely practice to shorten her stitches until, eventually, her initials would be a single, looping and curving line of thread.
She seated herself on a short wood stool, causing her dress to slightly fan out around her feet. The light ruffling of fabric nearly echoed in her room before she found a comfortable position and froze. Her concentration remained on the task at hand. Not the jovial song of a lark, the intriguing laughter of gypsies passing, or the call of a handsome boy would deter her from the art which filled her life. The outside world did not try that evening, and all was silent for her, the Lady of Shalott.
Cissnei nuzzled her cheek against her silk pillow while languidly awakening. The sheets and heavy comforter had slipped down to her elbows during the night and exposed her to the brisk early morning air of autumn. Cissnei, dressed in only a white night gown, pulled the covers to her shoulder before curling comfortably on her side. She turned her head and yawned into the pillow.
Five minutes. Then I'll get up. She sighed contentedly. Her eyes eased open and saw nothing. Shadows covered her room while only the faintest light emitted from the outside world and through the thick curtain. Too much light.
The echoes of young men's laughing floated through the curtain. A tinge in her heart, a thing of which she often fought to rid herself, arose at the sound of attractive voices.
Cissnei took a deep breath, letting the cool air awaken her like water. Her warm right hand emerged from beneath the thick bedspread. Its warmth slowly left as she gently grasped her little mirror. Bringing it to her heart, she slowly crawled to the edge of her bed. Her bare feet found the flat rug lying between her and the little window. Cissnei pulled herself from the soft comforts of her bed before ambling toward the window. Her knees felt unnaturally weak with each step, and she blamed the youths across the river. She was too dazed to realize that her curiosity for men was getting the better of her. The lady only realized how these voices seemed to be from men very different from the typical sheepherders whom she imagined to smell of their flock.
She pulled the curtain away and turned her back to the window before lifting the mirror, which reflected the sky and trees before finding a group of men on horseback. Her wrist slowly bent, and the entire party came into view.
A young man whose red hair was more vibrant than her own curls lazily slouched on his horse, and his shoulders shook as if snickering. The ash blonde beside him smirked as he sat with a regal dignity, back straight and shoulders back. An eerily ethereal man with admirable, long silver hair sat on the redhead's other side. He seemed as impatient as his mahogany steed, which often stamped its hoof against the dirt road.
Her gaze followed their own, and her eyes widened. She saw—
He's so—
The mirror slipped from her fingers and shattered on the ground against the stone ground peeking from the edge of the rug. Cissnei sharply gasped at her folly. Her eyes darted from the ruined heirloom to the window ledge. Without a thought, she turned to full face the window and peered through the dirty glass.
Her breath hitched at the sight of the young man, who's cheerful smile and lively air attracted attention. He waded into the river beside her tower and picked up a scroll, possibly a map, from the water's surface. Being closer than the others, she could see, with some embarrassment, the impressiveness of his physique. Cissnei could not decide if his spiky hair was black, grey, or dark blue, because the sun covered him as did it's reflection on the light blue water. The handsomeness of his face, even from her view, was undeniable.
Cissnei unlatched the windows and swiftly pushed them open so she could lean out with her hands resting on the ledge. The sight of this man, who seemed barely fresh into adulthood, brought a flooding of fluttering sensations to her chest. Touching her cold fingers to her face, the tower's lady felt how uncommonly warm her face was. Her hands slowly lowered to rest on the window ledge again as she watched the party.
Still in the water up to his knees, the dark-haired youth held up the map and half-yelled back to his companions, "Hey, it's still good!"
Wind lightly tossed the tallest man's silver hair while he said, "It'll fall apart if bent, though."
The blonde flicked a few loose strands of his hair. "And your queen had worked so hard to make that for you."
"Yeah, when we get back, I'm tellin' Aerith about this," she heard the redhead tease as his grin widened.
The object of her attention waded out of the water and into the shade of the trees. The dappled sunlight on his figure elicited a small smile from Cissnei.
"Zack, redraw the roads we'll take and then we'll move out," said the silver-haired man.
She sharply bit her lip to suppress a gasp or any other silly action. Just a name, she reminded herself. As if rebelling against her logical outlook, her throat tightened, body froze, and heart throbbed. This is ridiculous. He's just another boy like the shepherds. The beating of her heart quickened, and the fluttering sensation in her chest began to hurt.
Oblivious to the lady in the tower, Zack pulled a quill, bottle of ink, and parchment from his chestnut gelding's saddlebag. The sight of him slowly fell from view as weakness filled her body until she lied on the floor beside her broken mirror. Her hands clutched the material over her heart, which seemed to be crushed under invisible hands.
Wondering what could have possibly driven her to this suffering, Cissnei remembered why the mirror near her head was so integral to her. "The cur-." Her voice broke. Swallowing, she quietly croaked, "The curse is-" She coughed to clear her throat- "here." The image of Zack standing in the clear river and under the sun surfaced in her hazy mind and reminded her that she needed to get up.
Cissnei focused on taking in deep breaths, which made the pain in her chest flare angrily. Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself up and onto her knees. Her hands found the window ledge, and Cissnei hoisted herself up enough to see an empty road. The rhythm of hoof beats barely echoed in the distance before disappearing altogether.
Her shoulder hit the stone wall as she slid to the ground. The stones' coldness seeped through her nightgown and to her fair skin. The pain had not lessened, but an icy air glossed over her at Zack's sudden departure. Her face expressed no emotion, and her body remained still. Her ears heard a silence she'd never heard before that morning. It was heavy, empty, and consuming.
Impassive on the surface, she licked her dry lips and slowly picked herself up from the floor. Cissnei calmly approached her spinning wheel before sitting beside it. With mindful, steady breaths, she resumed her work from the previous evening.
The pain had dulled, but it remained nestled in her heart.
She barely weaved or sewed that autumn, because her feet would often interrupt by carrying her to the window. Her gaze would scour the road for Zack. With each disappointment, Cissnei would calmly, almost stiffly, return to her work at the spinning wheel and create a worse design than the last time she tried. Her favorite tapestry, still unfinished, stayed untouched for fear of her hands ruining it. By winter's first snowfall, Cissnei gently brought it down from the wall and to her wheel but stopped upon sitting. She was lost in what to add. What else, she wondered, was in the night sky? Only so many stars and planets could be made before she wanted to include something new, but she knew better. All she could think to add was more blackness. The cosmos were infinite and empty, after all.
She quietly glared at the tapestry before standing so suddenly that her stool toppled aside. Inhaling slowly, Cissnei bent to straighten the stool. Outbursts won't help my performance.
Her fingers tucked a few bronze ringlets behind her ear and returned to sitting. She reached for the tapestry when the curls popped out and into her eye. With a terse breath, she abruptly stood, again knocking over the stool. Body stiff and fists clenched, Cissnei walked to her bed in four steps. Each click of her heels echoed her restraint, released when she fell onto her bed. There was no crying or yelling, just light trembling lasting only moments. Her hands gripped her elbows, and fingernails dug into the velvet fabric.
He doesn't mean anything to me, she assured herself. He's nothing special.
The young knight's name echoed in her mind, causing Cissnei to roll onto her other side. Please get out, she begged.
Deep breathe.
I can't work like this.
Cissnei abruptly sat up and returned to the window.
Winter sat at her doorstep, and the tower's lady could not fathom how she could make it through another season. Lying on her bed like so many recent days, Cissnei felt her heart clench each time her thoughts wandered back to the strong arms, broad shoulders, and perfect smile of Zack. She curled her body until her forehead barely brushed against her knees. Her arms crossed protectively over her stomach, and the young woman closed her eyes tiredly. Her night had been, again, dotted with waking and sleeping, waking and sleeping.
To her disgust, this yearning for him led to many new longings. Her stomach would not allow itself to be satisfied by whatever it received, her eyes defiantly refused to focus on her spinning wheel, and her hands failed to hold steady. That autumn, everything about her desired something better. Cissnei tried to push aside what she deemed useless and frivolous, but her rebellious thoughts pervaded.
Hours of drifting in and out of sleep filled the last day of autumn. It was in the blackness of midnight that she awoke. Cissnei raised her head, red curls limp, and took in the cold air to her lungs. For the first time in days, her mind suddenly seemed clear and thoughts incredibly lucid. Her wide eyes slowly adjusted to the light before finding the door. Terrified at what she might possibly be thinking, her heart skipped a beat.
He must be at Camelot.
She swallowed nervously yet glared at the little wooden door.
No. I am not— The redhead took a sharp breath and stopped herself. The invisible grip on her heart tightened at a new possibility. I could go there. She bit her lip. But I'd die if I tried. Is he really worth that?
Cissnei's head fell against her pillow.
No he's not.
She dragged the covers over herself and closed her eyes. I'm going to sleep, and I am NOT going to think of that again.
Cissnei shifted so her forearm went under her head and pillow before turning to yawn into the pillow's satin fabric. A persistent itch on her shoulder prompted her to rub her shoulder against the sheets but to little avail. The young woman turned to lie on her other side, causing her to roll out of the warm indention she left on the bed. Cold, she returned to her first position until her arm became too sore, and her shoulder ached at the pressure her body put on it.
Her back became flat against the bed. What would he think of me? Her soft sigh sent a puff of air into the cold room. At the memory of a mentioned name, Cissnei frowned. Why would he think of me when he apparently has Queen Aerith?
She rolled onto her stomach. It's not like I should care, but I do. Her face hid in the pillow until deciding to turn onto her back again.
Being on the brink of winter, the crickets were not there to sing her to sleep with their incessant chirping. There were only the occasional howls of far away wolves carried on the wind's chill. That wasn't what she heard.
"Cissnei."
Cissnei , supporting herself on an elbow, sat up and turned to the window, where the heavy curtains barely swayed from the wind. That was him. I know it.
Her name on his gentle, deep voice elicited a blush. Trying to regain reason, Cissnei thought, But I know that couldn't be him. It's all my imagination. Or is this part of the curse?
His voice echoed in her head. It had been as if Zack lied beside her and said her name to get her attention.
Is it my curse to never weave again? Then it's done its duty. Am I to never be calm again? That's a strong possibility. Is the curse to drive me crazy? Then it's won.
Her tired eyes slowly moved to the little door, and Cissnei lethargically crawled to the end of her bed. Maybe I will go. She sat there for a moment before lowering her feet to the almost icy floor. I've known ever since I saw him that I wanted to give in, so why not do it? Not owning a robe, she settled on her favorite tapestry. With none of the usual tenderness, she tore it from the wall. I'll find him in Camelot, the only castle good enough for him. She smiled lightly while picking up her practice handkerchief and walked with surprising certainty to her work desk. If death was inevitable, she wanted to hear his voice, to see him, say her name. Her hands, suddenly nimble and willing to work, began sewing her name, Cissnei.
Today I'll die. There was no question about it. To her, death paled in comparison to seeing Zack and hearing him speak her name. I'd rather go this way than to have this room as my grave.
Finished, Cissnei clenched the handkerchief in her hand and hung the folded tapestry over her forearm. Her feet moved toward the door, but hesitation stopped them. I'm being too hasty. This isn't like me. She dropped her head and tightly closed her eyes to restrain her tears. I'm not ready to die. I knew this was going to happen, and I always thought I could do this, but I can't. Not now, please, not now.
She raised her gaze to the door.
If not now, then I'll keep thinking about it until I do it. Eventually, I know this will be how I die. Her hand grasped and turned the rusty doorknob, which replied with a loud creak. The door didn't move until she landed a short, forceful kick to it. This is the best choice, because I could die alone or I could die with what could be the happiest moment of my life. Cissnei smiled bitterly at the darkness encompassing the spiral staircase. I could do that.
Her first few steps tested the sturdiness of the stone. Rather than the stone, her knees shook as her legs adjusted to stairs. Cissnei kept a hand on the wall and one hand to hold her dress away from her feet. She fell into the rhythm of one foot after the other, pumping her knees, and following the constant curve. When her foot abruptly found flat ground, she stumbled and hit her forehead on the door.
"Ah!" Her free hand tentatively touched the sore spot and felt the rough texture of scraped skin. She rubbed her fingertips together. It's dry. I'm fine.
Feeling incrementally relieved, Cissnei groped for the doorknob, found it, and eased the door open to a world brightened by the moon, surrounded by an endless void dotted with charming, happy stars. The river sparkled under such light.
A step forward sent a funny, lightly scratchy sensation against her ankle. Looking down, she saw grass up close. Cissnei, intrigued, stared at the sprigs even as she took several more steps. Hearing her feet and sleeping gown brushing against the grass was unexpectedly heavenly.
An icy wind swept away her pleasurable moment, and Cissnei unfolded the tapestry to cover herself. She glanced at the stars before looking at the poor imitation covering her shoulder and tried to swallow her embarrassment for trying to mimic them.
She looked around and saw a small boat, chained to a tiny dock, bobbing on the water. It was laughable, Cissnei realized, how this seemed more of a set-up rather than her own choice.
A hand covered her face as she held back tears. There's no free will in this after all. Never one to blubber, Cissnei held her composure for several long minutes before walking to the boat. It's supposed to be like this. This boat is here because this is the way I'm supposed to die. I should have seen this coming.
What if it's already predetermined if I see him again? Cissnei swallowed despite how dry her mouth had become at her thought. For her sake, she wordlessly threw her hope to the stars to be wrong. She had to see Zack again.
The small boat sank uncomfortably low in the water with her added weight, and her hands released it from the chain. The current easily carried her away while she situated herself on the boat's bottom and her back to the tower. Leaning against the back, Cissnei used the tapestry like a blanket, but the wind seemed worse on the water. The zephyrs hit the back of her neck which allowed the coldness to run down her spin. She hugged her knees against herself for warmth, but Cissnei could not find any comfort in herself.
I've never felt so cold before. This isn't right.
The trees she always looked down upon now eerily towered over her like black giants. Not to be deterred, her eyes remained trained on the long path the river took to Camelot. Even as the blood in her veins slowed and froze little by little, Cissnei patiently watched for the castle flags.
The dawn had barely broken when Zack and a few of the other Knights of the Round Table finished saddling their horses for a journey south to capture a band of roaming thieves. He hadn't even begun to don his armor when a delicate finger tapped his shoulder, and the young knight turned around to see a frowning, worried Aerith. Clothed in a cheery pink dress, she made the day seem to be spring rather than winter.
"I won't be away for that long", he repeated what he told her at dinner.
Hands on her hips, his queen replied, "But you still haven't told me how long is 'not that long'."
"Well", Zack began while casually scratching the back of his head, "I really don't know." Smiling, he leaned toward her and added, "But I'll hurry just to be back with you."
Aerith smiled gently and clasped her hands behind her back. "You better be quick, because I'll time you."
He laughed at her persistence before saying, "Okay, what's the record I've gotta' beat?"
"Hmm…" Aerith turned her back toward Zack, leaving him in suspense. Her green eyes, sparkling with mirth at their little game, idly looked down the hill and to the quaint river flowing past. The sunlight peaking over the trees hurt her eyes, and she looked upstream.
The brunette blinked. "There's someone sleeping in a boat", Aerith said as half a statement yet half a question. Her fingers grasped the sides of her dress to easily allow her feet to skim across the grass, and her pace quickened when the figure's deathly paleness was clear. Heavy footfalls assured her that Zack had seen this too.
The small boat, stuck in shallow water, rocked side to side like a cradle, yet the girl inside hardly seemed at peace with her haggard breaths. Aerith stopped at the water's edge while Zack waded into the ankle-deep water and grabbed the boat's front to pull it ashore. Feeling it dig deeper into the mud, he let go and, instead, pulled the stranger's delicate form into his arms.
Her eyes, darkened by nights plagued by insomnia, cringed at the sudden contact and all the sensations with it. Warm, strong, sure—this was him. Her eyelids fluttered as she tried opening her eyes, but they eventually eased open to see a strong, smooth neck and jaw line. Cissnei leaned her head back barely enough to see the handsome visage of Sir Zack Fair, who noticed her attention upon reaching the shore.
"Hey, you okay?" His sky blue eyes flickered over the red mark on her forehead. To Aerith, he said, "Could you—?"
"Sure", she interrupted with a nod. With a concerned glance at the younger girl, Aerith began running up the hill to find help.
That, his voice, was what she wanted. She would have gladly swooned on the spot had her health been better. Cissnei wanted to fall asleep to his voice.
Her back suddenly, though tenderly, was lowered onto the grass, and little green sprigs brushed against her neck as Zack gently laid her head on the ground. The serenity she felt shown on her relaxed, almost happy expression as he arranged the tapestry more comfortably around her. Before he could hide the hand with the handkerchief, Cissnei tried moving her head toward him. Her arm felt as though the bones would snap at the simple act, but she tried until his attention was caught.
Always polite, Zack asked, "May I?" Her unresponsiveness qualified as a yes, and he plucked the soft white square from her clenched hand. He held up the handkerchief and said, "I've never seen stitches so small." After glancing at the largest name sewn, he smiled down at her. "My mother is really into sewing. She'd love you, Cissnei."
A long breath slowly left her. Her name on his lips was relief, and Cissnei began to let go. As her eyes closed, Zack pulled her back into his arms and begged her to "hold on."
I did.
This moment, her desire, finally belonged to her, the Lady of Shalott.
This was fun to write. It was a pain, considering it was originally supposed to be half as long, but my penchant for not rushing things got me again. Darn you, details! At least now I can get back to my homework. Yay college! But seriously, it's great.
Personally, I had a lot of fun saying, "Sir Zack Fair." It has a nice ring to it.
Considering I am such a die-hard Rufus fan and I've never been interested in Cissnei, actually having written this is a real shocker for me.
Please review. I deeply appreciate well-formed opinions, and they tend to really boost my day.