A/N: Please note that I don't often write one-shots and I'm frequently not very good at them when I try to write them. This 'story' is a collection of 'one-shots' but the one shots are only as such because they are plot bunnies which never made it to full form.

I've written a whole bunch of them over the years and they've gathered up enough dust to last a lifetime. I thought about deleting them all, but couldn't bring myself to do it and I don't want to start a million new stories just because the plot bunnies have hit in raging force - so I'm going to put them all here, enjoy them if you will, leave a review if you like and if you think any of them are worth more than remaining as simple plot-bunnies... let me know - I will write more.


Caird Du - Part 1.

Flat, open grassland ran to a sharp stop at the foothills of the jagged highland mountains and the edge of the Kingdom of Trabia. The green luscious terrain which was so perfectly suited to arable farming and horsemanship was left far behind the little convoy of wagons and a singular carriage, which slipped between the limestone peaks of the Tursus valley, their tops hidden by foreboding grey clouds which hung low and heavy in the cold mountain air.

They had not gone far yet and already the disparate temperature was discernible. The warming rays of summer sun could not reach here and the road itself was slick with icy dew, though it was passed midday already. Vegetation did not grow well here, the stumpy trees and minute mountain flowers were testament to the struggles of the climate. No birdsong graced the air and the only smells were of damp earth and the faint, musty smell of the horses.

The small band trekked all afternoon, making slow but steady progress along the narrow spindly mountain paths which climbed all the while. When evening came and they were forced to make camp the clouds had descended around them again, drawing the cold in with them.

The guards breathed into their hands and clutched their cloaks tighter about their tired bodies, taking shelter in the lee of the carriages, under the wagons on blankets to keep away the freezing temperature of the ground beneath them. In their carriages, the nobles huddled closer together and dozed fitfully.

Thunder rumbled around the valley through the night and by morning it had begun to drizzle. No heat now remained in the hearts of the convoy and they journeyed onwards, ever upwards while silence hung over them like a thick woolen blanket.

Their journey remained in this muted fashion of dulled noise and bleak mist for a further three days with food being passed cold down the line, hams and cheeses, bread and wine to keep their spirits and energy up. Eventually the steady climb became a gentle descent and the temperature began to rise. A stream materialised from the side of the mountain and ran along beside them for a while, adding pretty bubbling and tricking noises to the clop of the horses' hooves and the pat of booted feet. The trees began after some time to grow taller and around midday on the fifth day the sun broke the clouds and showered them with much missed warmth. There was no time to enjoy it though and the nobles kept to their carriages, though one in particular would have liked very much to get out into the light and enjoy what she privately considered to be the last shred of happiness she might ever experience or see again.

This convoy was on a diplomatic mission. For the past 1000 years the Kingdom of Trabia was known to be very divided and politically unstable. Small tribes dwelt in the mountains when they did not want to live beneath the yolk of the then king and turned to banditry to feed themselves. The mountains had been a dangerous den of thieves, cutthroats and liars for as long as there had been history books to tell of the short, stocky breed who dwelt between the rocky promontories. Living outside of the harsh terrain had always been relatively safe, it was only upon venturing into the murk and the mist that one might have found themselves at risk. Almost 15 years ago however things had changed. Raiding parties had begun to emerge from the mountains and target villages and communities within a days' ride, burning, raping and pillaging as they went. These were not, as it had first been thought, random, uncoordinated attacks made by gutsy bands of outcasts and rebels. There were reports of these raiding parties wearing armour, decorated with the Royal Trabian coat of arms.

The attacks had increased in magnitude and severity over the years and it was only last summer that news of the Kingdom of Dollet's defeat by the Trabians had graced the halls of the Royal Balambian Court. The Kingdoms who abutted the Tursus Mountain Range flew into an immediate panic. Trabia, for all of it's short comings, was large and impenetrable. It had always been a threat, a dark cloud looming on the horizon so that no sun could ever feel truly warm, no harvest truly bountiful, no new born son truly cherished lest they all be stolen away on the end of a Trabian ruffian's blade. However, never before had Trabia ever shown itself capable of defeating a country.

The 'Principality' of Dollet now sat in chains on the edge of the sea, a vital source of wealth and prosperity for the otherwise landlocked mountainous Monarchy and a warning to the other surrounding Monarchies who would take 990 years of Trabian disorganisation for granted.

It was for this reason that the King of Balamb had decided he had no choice but to send the Kingdom of Trabia a gift - his daughter - to curry their favour and avoid his own country suffering the same fate as Dollet.

On the sixth day of their travels the caravan eventually arrived within sight of the city of Caird Dû. They had passed through a long dark crevasse which hung on both sides with damp moss and climbing ivy, rivlets of ice cold mineral rich water running down either side of the narrow corridor which appeared to continue on for an age, but which opened out onto the loveliest scene.

The whole brigade was somewhat dumbstruck by the beauty of it. On their right the path to Caird Dû ran alongside the steep mountain face, the wall of which was slick with water and dark green moss, but which shimmered like silver in the sunlight which poured down from above. The path was overhung by green trees which clung to the rocky face with determination, their branches hanging down around the path like a glowing green ceiling. On their left there fell a waterfall, crashing down from far above their heads to far below their feet, spraying them all with a fine mist and dusting the moss on the path with a constant supply of moisture. The free edge of the path fell away sharply to the valley below which sprawled like a great green carpet before them, criss-crossed by rivers and streams and dotted in places by farmsteads which made little patchwork decorations on the lustrous tapestry. The sides of the valley were a mixture of limestone and granite, giving the exposed rocks an oddly mottled, but not unattractive look.

Above all of this, clinging to the mountainside like a stone claw, its spires and towers reaching like stalagmites to the open sky, was Caird Dû. The city was enormous and the Balambian Princess could not help but stare at it in awe, leaning as she was from her carriage window, craning her neck to get a better look at the place which would, for the foreseeable future, be her home.

It appeared to be carved from the very mountain itself, the walls of the city sprouted in rings around each echelon, dividing the city into segments from which sprang a number of waterfalls. They supplied every inch of the city with good clean running water, taken straight from the mountains and funnelled through the stony monolith to shoot from its face and crash down to the valley below. The whole city was covered in climbing ivy and other creepers and vines giving it a well worn, weathered appearance which far from detracting from its beauty, leant it a hardy, rugged charm. The grey Royal coat of arms hung from balconies and the battlements, fluttering in the warm wind that surged up from the protection of the valley.

They descended even further as they approached and had almost arrived in the valley proper on the other side of the city, before they were forced into a dramatic about-face for a steep incline once more. They zig-zagged their way up the mountain in front of Caird Dû for the remainder of that day and it was quite dark by the time they arrived at the gates of the city. They were detained only for a moment before being informed by the rather gruff man at the gate that they were late and that the escort which had been sent for them by the King was awaiting them at the next gate, the gate to the nobility's district.

The caravan found the city itself to be no easier going. The roads here were winding and narrow, littered with vegetable matter and straw, children darting around the horses' feet and running alongside the carriages, stealing small items from the wagons and generally making the going tough. When they eventually arrived at the gate to the second level they were greeted by some very sour faced guards and a few of the nobility who looked for all the world as though greeting the Princess of a foreign land was beneath them.

The Princess kept herself well back from the windows of her carriage, feeling far safer in the darkness and away from their prying eyes though it did not stop them from staring in. It was not long before she found herself wishing for the cold silence of the past few days, if only for the privacy it had afforded her.

The nobility district was much cleaner than the peasantry district, the streets were wider and the houses noticeably grander, though the architecture of the city was fairly uniform throughout. the procession continued to climb until they arrived at the palace which occupied the top 3 tiers of the city. The Balambian horses were disastrously under prepared for the landscape they had been required to traverse and trundled, exhausted into the stables behind the lads who led them. Fresh horses were fetched and hitched to the carriages, which were sponged hastily down to relieve them of the dirt and grime they had accumulated on their journey. The wagons were also rehitched to fresh ponies but these were simply led away. There was no reason for them to be taken up to the palace proper.

The palace was deadly quiet. The only sound was that of the horses' hooves clopping on the stone courtyard floor and the rumble of the carriage wheels. In the royal carriage, the Princess's heartbeat pounded in her ears.

She had always sworn to herself that she would have a happy life. She was doubtful that she would find it here among the cold and the harsh, unsavoury people with their noses in the air and their hands in her pockets. As they turned side on to the staircase which lead to the open palace doors she heard her pulse quicken and swallowed down a nervous breath.

She wanted nothing more than to bathe and sleep, even more than she wanted to return to her own Kingdom, but instead she would have to meet the King with unwashed hair and the same clothes she had been wearing and sleeping in for the last 6 days. She was sure she looked a sight.

Her door opened and one of the guards presented his hand to help her out. She took the proffered hand to steady herself, hopped out and began to ascend the steps to the doors of the palace. They were 10 ft by 10 ft and painted black with the biggest set of iron hinges she had ever seen. A wooden beam roughly one and a half foot deep was stood against the entrance way, evidently to bar the doors against any would-be attackers. The Princess had no time to gawp at it though, her entourage was hurrying along in the direction of the throne room, anxious to arrive and meet the King and apologise profusely for their tardiness.

Inside the throne room stood a small crowd, arranged on either side of a stone throne which sat atop a raised stone dais. A thick grey woollen carpet ran down the steps of the dais to the door, indicating the path the Princess was to tread. A fire roared in the heath to their right and on their left stood 6 windows, completely open to the elements and yet the heat of the fire did not seem to dissipate. Rumour had long existed in the world that Trabia was in possession of magic. The Princess wondered if this was evidence of that.

A man reclined on the throne. He was dressed entirely in pelts, the skin of a black bear draped over his shoulders, it's open-jawed head adorning one, one of the beast's arms laying along the other. The floor-length grey robe he wore beneath it was a mixture of man-made fabric and grey fur. His belt was studded with metal and stones which sparkled in the firelight and from which hung a sword of no mean size. He had shoulder-length dirty blonde hair which was greying at the top and had a thick curly beard which was streaked with white. The hands which rested upon the arms of the throne were rough, but still strong and were decorated with scars and rings alike. This was a King who fought battles with his soldiers, this was not a King who cowered behind a wall while less delicate men fought wars in his name. His brow exhibited a plain gold coronet, set with a single opal.

The Princess dug her deepest bow before the assembly as a voice from her own party introduced her. "Her grace, the Princess Quistis of the Kingdom of Balamb, would greet King Raudûn of the Kingdom of Trabia."

"And King Raudûn would greet Princess Quistis." His reply was a soft rumble, his voice roughed with age and it begged her look up at him. His eyes were like black pits in his face and she found a sudden chill in them. The firelight danced on their surface but quite apart from the warm glow this should have given them they appeared even blacker for the presence of the light. Hard eyes...

"We come to negotiate a peace between the Kingdom of Balamb," the speaker continued as Quistis stared into the eyes of the King. It would be no difficult thing to fall under the control of those eyes, she could tell. "and the Kingdom of Trabia."

"And what does Balamb bring to buy its safety?" Asked the King. He did not raise his voice above a whisper, it was as soft and quiet as a mouse scurrying along the edge of a wall, the tiny feet pitter pattering along the stone, but his words held all the focus and precision and power of the feline predator which stalked said soft-pawed mouse. 'Buy its safety...'

"The Princess would offer herself as a bride to the King, to bridge the gap between our peoples and join our Kingdoms under one house."

King Raudûn barked a short laugh and the smile which lit upon his face was bemused, not unlike the look an adult might give an inexperienced, dull-witted child. "And what house, pray tell, might that be, Your Grace?"

The question was directed at Quistis, knelt where she was. She answered without hesitation. "The Kingdom of Balamb will subjugate itself to the Kingdom of Trabia in return for the cessation of hostilities against the plains folk living along your southern border, your Majesty."

"My house then." He summarised with the same small smile. "And you would be content to be my bride? Or would you seek also to be the Queen of this place?" He raised his arms to either side, indicating the walls of the palace. 'This place' was evidently not 'Trabia' as a whole, merely the court.

"I would be content with whatever role you would grant me." She replied, keeping her tone as carefully soft as he kept his. If the fastest and surest route to securing the safety of her people was to play the 'game' and allow him to win then she would do her best to make it so.

King Raudûn's face was an impenetrable mask as he considered. There was, of course, no guarantee that he would accept what was being offered and if that turned out to be case then she would have to return to her home with her tail between her legs, prostrate herself on the ground before her people and beg their forgiveness at having failed in her task. If she made it home again at all. The wagons of fine things were there to sweeten the deal, naturally, but they alone would not insure her against the bandits roaming the hills or even the perils of the hills themselves. All it would take was a wrong footing or a loose rockslide and she would never make it home anyway.

After a while of consideration, the King got up from his throne and approached the Princess who still knelt on the floor at his feet. He extended a hand and helped her up. "You must be exhausted from your journey, Your Grace," He said to her, curling her arm around his and leading her to a small door behind the throne and opening it to reveal a hallway, lined on both sides with candles burning low. "Allow me to escort you to your quarters. You may bathe and rest, eat and drink what you will and we will talk more in the morning."

"Thank you, your Majesty," She said quietly as he led them away from her entourage and deeper into the palace, "you are very kind."

"It is the least I can do for someone who has travelled so far with such a heavy heart." He said, looking at her closely. She blushed. A heavy heart indeed. She was barely 19 and yet here she was about to be married off to a man who must have been approaching 60. Happiness and love and all good things could not have seemed farther away while she was travelling and now she was here... Her dissatisfaction at her situation in life was apparently evident on her face.

When at last they arrived at her quarters she found that they were a lot like the quarters she had left behind in Balamb. They were richly furnished, but not overly lavish. The sheets were white on the bed and a fire blazed on the hearth. Fresh mountain flowers were arranged in vases around the room and fruit sat in a small bowl on a table by the open window. This too did not appear to affect the temperature in the room in the slightest and she found herself wanting to take off her heavy outer robe, so stifling was the heat.

The King allowed her to wander in unaccompanied and stood at the door. "Does it meet your liking?"

"Yes, thank you," Quistis said honestly, "It reminds me of home."

"Good," He said, stepping to the side as a handful of people arrived with a wooden tub and jugs of hot water, food and wine and trunks full of the Princess's possessions. "I will leave you now, if there is ought you find wanting, inform your guard. He will know how to handle things."

He said it warmly enough, but the threat was clear. 'He will know how to handle things'. That is to say, he would know how to handle her. She would not complain about anything.

She nodded and bowed low again until the King had departed and then stood and waited for the servants to finish filling her bath. She dismissed their offers to help her off with her clothes and once the door was shut and locked, she offed her garments and stepped gingerly into the tub. The hot water seemed to sear her chilled flesh and she gasped as she sat down, the water rising up to her chest.

D etermined to be clean again, she scrubbed and soaked and rinsed and scrubbed again. When she was finally happy that she no longer smelt and would once more look every ounce of perfection that was prescribed by a woman of her station, she stepped out of the water and onto the stone floor. Walking naked to the table of food and drink, she picked up a jug of wine, poured herself a cup and sniffed it. She wouldn't put it passed them to poison the victuals. It appeared to be clean though, so she took a small sip and wrinkled her nose. The wine was as bitter as the people then. Shame, she was rather partial to a cup of wine in the evenings and had no doubt she would have to indulge quite a bit before her wedding night.

She helped herself to some fruit pie and returned to her bath, huddling in the water and gazing at the fire light as she ate. Balamb was a nice place, full of meat and grain and silks and fine wines. It was a trade hub really, drawing commerce from the land and the sea. It had access to all sorts of fine things, exotic spices, jewels, music and art. It was nothing like Trabia. Trabia was cold and uncivilised, full of bears and wolves and rocks and nothing much else. The people were as hard as the land they lived on and she was absolutely certain she would not enjoy herself or even 'learn to live with it'.

If her body was under a Trabian King, then her heart was under the Balambian sky...


A/N: I have part of a second chapter to this which will be posted later, when I have finished it.

Please let me know what you think :)

-Lapin