Placid Waters

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Tales of Legendia, Yggdra Union, Shirley, or Gulcasa. I seem to own considerable insanity, though, or else how could I get infected with the idea for this crossover?

("Yellow" theme #1 – at last; there's a light at each end of this tunnel)

It had to be done, and there was nothing else for it.

That was likely the new mantra of almost everyone on the Silver Teriques. There were a lot of people, after all, who weren't really satisfied with the situation; it was better than mixing their blood with true Orerines but not by much. But the Ferines needed this alliance so badly—without support, they would so easily be used or buried in the mounting tensions between Rexalia and Crusand. And this strange new empire from halfway across the world was strong—though they needed allies just as badly. There was so much uncertainty between the two nations that they had to have this proof of their union. There wasn't a choice.

Even the sea seemed to be supportive—the deep blue-green waters beneath the ship were unusually calm, and the waves rocked and cradled it gently. The sunset had been deep pink and scarlet, promising a beautiful day; there wasn't even the hint of a storm on the horizon even now.

People murmured their misgivings as the last hour ticked down; everyone knew that no one could or would protest. The treaty had been set in stone for months now, with the Imperial court and the Elder's council behind it. And this part of it was very, very clear.

In the maiden's chambers she would probably never see again, Shirley Fennes stood listlessly and let herself be dressed like a doll. She had never protested her part in the alliance, and why should she? She didn't care about much anymore. Her life was already over—it had ended months before, and all hope in her for a good future filled with love had died then and there.

At least she would have Walter and Fenimore, wherever she went now. As the Merines, she was entitled to at least one bodyguard and one personal attendant even in foreign company. No matter how good or bad things were, she knew that they would look after her.

Walter was standing outside the door even now while Fenimore fussed with the intricate trappings of Shirley's dress. Stella had wanted to be the one to do this; when she'd heard about it, the old Shirley had sprung into sudden and painful life and she'd pleaded and begged for Fenimore instead. There hadn't been any reason for the council to refuse, so Fenimore was here. Shirley was—grateful, relieved, she supposed. She didn't want to be around Stella anymore if she could help it.

"I hear the Orerines usually go with white for times like these," Fenimore was saying as she cinched Shirley's sash tightly around her waist. "It sounds silly to me, and I'm glad we don't have to follow their standards. White would look awful on you right now; blue is much better."

Shirley didn't answer. If she weren't so miserable, she supposed she might have agreed that the soft powder blues of the gauzy dress suited her. But the way things were, she felt it was a little shallow to worry about things like that. She didn't blame Fenimore, though—she knew her friend was making small talk to distract her from things neither of them really wanted to consider… like tonight.

"Hey, Shirley…" Fenimore's hands paused and rested at the small of her back. "Really, don't worry about it. I mean… it could be worse, right? He could be some kind of total barbarian; we know there are people like that in the Orerines kingdoms. He doesn't seem to be a bad person, and—and if he is, just tell me about it. Walter and I will beat him up for you!"

Shirley laughed. The sound came out weak and trembly, and she covered her face with both hands as she realized she was starting to cry.

"Shirley, what—hey, stop that!" Kind hands pulled hers away from her face, and Fenimore's fingers brushed at her cheeks. "You don't want to go out looking unpresentable, not after all the time I spent convincing your dress to behave! Nobody's expecting you to be the blushing bride, but you'll be kicking yourself for months if you don't have a little composure."

Still laughing a little, Shirley hugged Fenimore tightly. "I'm just… so glad you're with me."

Fenimore held her for a moment, then gently eased her back. "Come on. I'm just about done here, and then it's time to go."

Shirley closed her eyes and took deep breaths, holding still just as she was bid.

Feeling as though she were in some kind of strange dream, Shirley walked slowly forward. Her hand rested on Walter's forearm, and felt as though it should be shaking although it wasn't. Fenimore was just behind her, holding the train of her dress off the ship's deck.

Everyone was gathered on either side of the thin aisle she was supposed to walk. Shirley didn't look at them. Stella and—Senel—would be there somewhere; she felt as if she would go to pieces if she saw them now.

Instead, she kept her focus ahead of her. She kept her eyes on him.

He stood taller than most of the crowd, and would have been conspicuous even without his height. Most of the Ferines were fair-haired and –skinned with blue or green eyes, and his hair was the brightest scarlet Shirley had ever seen, his eyes as golden as bottled honey in the sun. He was dressed in formal-looking black silks with a burgundy cloak drawn about his shoulders, his hair twisted into a thick braid in what was probably an attempt to tame it.

A black crown inset with rubies and fire opals rested on his hair, something Shirley had never seen him wear before—not that she had had much interaction with him at all. His expression, though, was more familiar—he looked somber and closed-off, just as he always did.

His name was Gulcasa, and almost two years ago now, he had risen to power as Emperor in the distant country of Bronquia. Although he and his people dwelt on land, they weren't truly Orerines, nor were they even human; Gulcasa and his court claimed (and the Ferines' legends confirmed) that his clan were the descendants of dragons. Although he had taken his throne through a coup d'état, his people were fiercely loyal to him, and Bronquia had what the Ferines did not—an armed and trained military that would happily fight for him… and with this, the Ferines as well.

Shirley only knew what she'd been told about him, though. The few times they'd seen each other over the course of diplomatic negotiations, he'd hardly spoken to anyone, allowing his court and his generals to take care of things for him. So when she looked at him now, she just saw a tall foreigner with features a little too harsh for good looks who maintained a moody silence.

How could her people ask this of her? How could his ask it of him? Could they really go through with this in duty's name?

Shirley supposed she could still back out—run away, or if she wanted to be really dramatic, throw herself over the side of the ship and into the placid salt water that would burn her skin like acid. But what kind of alternative would that be? Walter and Fenimore would stand by her no matter what, but she would only be left with death or the unbearable existence of orbiting Stella and—Senel—in a life that had no room for her.

Anything was better.

So Shirley took her place standing across from him and didn't move as Walter and Fenimore joined the crowd, as the priest began to speak.

She didn't listen to his litany; she tried to, but she couldn't seem to make sense of the words. Instead, she stared through a gap in the crowd across the water, towards the sun that was beginning to set, lighting the sky mauve and magenta. Another clear day tomorrow, then.

She didn't even start when Gulcasa spoke, his voice soft and rough and very slightly accented, or when he lifted her hand in both of his own, slipping the band of delicate white gold with its faceted sapphire onto her finger.

And then it was her turn. Shirley said her appointed lines without thinking about them at all, her mind dull and blank. She almost fumbled in taking out the ring she had to give him, but didn't drop it. It was a simple band of thick gold, unadorned but for the faint script of an old Ferines blessing carved over it. Shirley slid it onto his hand, and blinked in confusion. He was already wearing a ring—a thinner gold band, bearing an amethyst framed on either side by a smaller green peridot.

Instead of listening—thinking of what she knew the priest was saying and doing now made her feel dizzy and unwell—Shirley stared at Gulcasa's other ring while the white silk cord was draped over their hands, binding them together.

But she couldn't block the words out forever. They rang through the dreamlike fog in her head like the drop of a gavel: "In the name of the spirits of earth and wind, water and flame, in the name of the great light that connects us all, I declare this rite complete. In order to unite our great nations, I now name you husband and wife."

Shirley began to tremble. She couldn't stop.

Once Fenimore had helped her out of the wedding gown and back into her deep blue Merines regalia, Shirley walked in dull stumbling steps towards the new room she had to stay in. The one that wouldn't be just hers. One little corner of her mind was wheeling about in a panic, demanding that she stop what she was doing and turn around right away. The rest of her was back in the fog of defeated resignation. There was no changing the fact that she could never have the life she'd dreamed of as a child. She was already married to a man almost five years older than her for the sake of her people. What was one more nail in her coffin now? From here on out, it was all duty.

But with every step she took, that corner grew wider and stronger, and Shirley started to feel panicky, sick. The ceremony was, after all, just a ceremony—law and words, even if there could be no Rite of Feriyen for her. One form of binding. But the next loomed over her now, the biggest hurdle she had yet to face, and she knew she wasn't ready. She would never be ready. She had just barely turned sixteen, and he was twenty, and he might be her husband but she didn't know him. And she was—she had to admit to herself—terrified.

Shirley's feet stopped moving once she'd entered the room. All of her things—her trunk of clothing, the little ornaments she'd left on her dresser, the boxes of bridal gifts from her sister and—Senel's—friends, her beech-wood chest—had been moved here already. Just another little reminder that she couldn't ever turn back.

She forced herself to take one more step, then another, until she was further inside. The room was bigger than hers and along the hull of the ship, so there was a shuttered window in the wall, next to the bedside table. And the bed itself—

—was, of course, much bigger than hers had been. (She tried not to think of why—it tied too many knots in her stomach.) The sheets were white and the comforter was patchwork blue; it looked soft. On the bed's other side were a chest of drawers and other things that Shirley didn't recognize. They were probably Gulcasa's; it looked as though he'd been forcibly moved in here, too.

As if just thinking about him had been enough to summon him, Shirley heard footsteps behind her and nearly jumped, settling instead for turning quickly. Gulcasa stood in the doorframe, dressed down the same way she was—he'd discarded the crown and cloak and changed into black cotton and denim; his scarlet hair hung loose past his hips. Resting a hand on the door, he looked around appraisingly.

"Good of them to move our things for us, I suppose." His voice was even and Shirley couldn't tell if he meant it or he was being sarcastic. Her heart was jumping in her chest and it was suddenly hard to breathe.

When he stepped inside and closed the door, she had to fight not to take a step back, and when he walked towards her, she squeezed her eyes shut. She knew what came next. She promised herself she would do her duty, wouldn't resist or struggle no matter how frightened she was or how much it hurt. This was going to be a part of her life now.

Still, when the footsteps stopped and she felt his hand on her shoulder, she flinched. She couldn't help it, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to stop shaking.

"Shirley…"

He said her name very gently, with a little tenderness and a little pain. She managed to open her eyes, and dared a glance up into his; it seemed to her that they held a great sadness.

"I don't want you to be frightened of me for any reason," he told her softly.

Shirley couldn't stop shaking, though she felt guilty for it. She didn't have to make this difficult for him or for herself. It was her duty—and might be that way for him, as well. But she just couldn't stop shaking.

"Don't be afraid," he said again as she closed her eyes. She heard a shift of fabric, and her chest lurched a little as he pressed a very gentle kiss to her cheek. "You're not ready. I won't touch you if you're not ready, if you're not willing. The first time two people are together should be… I won't say perfect, but… something sacred, something willingly given on both sides, a memory they can both look back on and treasure. I would never hurt you by asking this of you before you're ready. It would be the same as forcing myself on you, really. I don't want this relationship to be like that."

Shirley opened her eyes and stared at him, taken completely off-guard, but he was already walking away from her. As she watched, unsure what to think, he opened a trunk on his side of the room, pulling out what looked like a spare sheet and comforter—both red—and then removing one of the bed's pillows.

"What are…?" she ventured timidly.

Gulcasa shook his head. "We can't possibly share a bed the way we are now. We hardly know each other—it's far too intimate. I meant it when I said I don't want you to be afraid; how could you possibly trust that I told you the truth if we did sleep in the same bed tonight? Don't worry about it. Get in bed; get your sleep. Tomorrow will likely be longer than today."

Shirley blinked at him—she couldn't help but be a little touched, but she was overwhelmed with not knowing what to expect anymore. "But… what about you…?"

He was already giving the comforter a good flap, but he paused in doing so to raise an eyebrow at her. "When a gentleman and a lady who are neither lovers nor family share the same bedchamber," he said wryly, "the gentleman takes the floor."

And to Shirley's amazement and confusion, he spread the comforter across the floorboards, placing the pillow at its top hem and sprawling across it, pulling the sheet over his long body.

"Goodnight, Shirley Fennes." This he said with that same light touch of wry humor, and afterwards he was silent, as if he'd dropped right off to sleep.

Shirley sat heavily on the side of the bed. Her head was spinning.