Disclaimer: I don't own the Final Fantasy series in any shape or form. All characters, concepts and locations therein are the property of Square-Enix.
Her World in Shambles
by Child of Ragnarok
The entirety of the tree-city of Cleyra was in cinders, all around lay rubble and corpses, the defending forces lay in ghastly droves, and the stench of death pervaded the air - grisly testament to the destructive might of the mindless black mage soldiers, the Alexandrian troops and the single-minded devotion General Beatrix displayed in pursuing her orders.
Cleyra was lost; having claimed her target, the city was no longer of use to Queen Brahne, nor could she leave it and risk an insurgence. The devastating coup de grâce was only minutes away. The last remaining vestiges of Cleyra would be annihilated.
...not that it mattered to Freya. Her own world lay in shambles now, the last remnant of it lying on her lap, struggling for each breath.
/Earlier/
Staking the last of her honor on retreiving the Sand Pearl, Freya had charged at the nefarious Beatrix. She must have known in her heart of hearts that the effort would be futile, that the general would dispatch her as readily as she had during their former altercation, but she had to do something. One final, desperate bid.
The meaning of the glint in Beatrix's visible eye was hard to discern. It spoke of annoyance of being interrupted in her mission, the soldier's anticipation of the kill, and... was it admiration? Freya did recall what the woman had said to her kinsman before she and her companions had rushed in to prevent his demise. "I commend your courage, but I will show you no mercy." Freya knew there was no quarter to be had, and so she would offer none in return.
The two of them clashed in a flurry of steel, sword against spear, and for a minute the world ceased to be and they were the only thing in it, but inevitably, the Alexandrian general had gotten the upper hand, knocking Freya's spear aside and delivering a savage kick to her stomach which made her fall on the ground, coughing blood. As her vision cleared, she saw Beatrix's boots in front of her, and unable to move, she braced herself for the cold agony of steel penetrating her skin.
It never came. Instead, the general was thrown off balance by a small explosion.
As Freya looked up, she just had time to see the blood-frenzied glint in the Alexandrian's eyes take on a steelier quality, and the general slowly turned towards the little blue figure that constituted little Vivi. There was a hint of red in his yellow eyes - bloodlust, grief or defiance, she couldn't tell. Standing next to Vivi was Quina, the perpetual grin etched on its face and the tongue flopping ridiculously on its chest belying the rage evidenced by the menacing fork held aloft in its quaking hand. And on Vivi's other side... Zidane, his blonde-framed face in a sneer and daggers at the ready. There was no mistaking their intentions.
Freya couldn't find the breath to shout, or even whisper, to warn them, to thank them, to say anything. All she knew was that Vivi was doomed for his act, and unless the other two had the sense to stay out of this, they would go the same way.
"Defect!" Beatrix bellowed. As she raised her sword, the infernal weapon began to crackle with pure energy, and she released the bolt towards Vivi.
"Vivi! NO!"
Freya had registered dull surprise that Zidane was capable of emitting such a pained shriek, but it faded to the back of her mind as she saw Beatrix's energy bolt strike Vivi with deadly efficiency. A blinding flash of light upon impact, and when it faded, when Freya's eyes readjusted, she saw Zidane stand on his knees, leaning over the unmoving form of the child-mage. His hat had been knocked off and lay next to him, his staff lay in splinters around him, and there was no light in the black abyss of his face. When she saw Zidane's chest heave in a convulsive fit of sobbing, she knew that there was no hope.
Vivi. The sorrowful child. The mage trying to prove himself more than the mere puppet his brethren were created to be. Gone forever, extinguished, on the whim of the mindless servant of a power-mad queen.
The horror of it numbed Freya, kept her eyes on the scene, forcing her to bear witness to the scene, still unable to move.
"You monster!"
"Quina, no!"
Freya didn't know if she or Zidane had screamed it. Maybe they both had. Maybe she had only imagined it. It didn't matter. Their blundering companion, blinded by its fury for its fallen comrade, threw itself forward towards the general in a bid for vengeance.
But the poor creature was no warrior - it was a gourmand. Its skills lay in cuisine, not the arts of warfare. Freya saw Zidane look towards the qu's foolhardy attack, horrorstruck, his mouth frozen in a scream and his hand held towards Quina, as if trying to will it to stop before -
With nothing more than an amused huff, as if the act was nothing more than swatting a particularly irksome fly, Beatrix swept her sword diagonally upwards, and the strange gourmand was flung off the city-tree's crown. There was no scream as Quina Quen fell; only a sickening crack as it collided with the rocky ground hundreds of yards below. There could be no surviving such a fall.
A pleased, bloodthirsty grin settled on Beatrix as she then turned towards Zidane, who braced himself for battle, even if he was vastly out of his league.
Freya would have none of it. She would not stand for another of her friends dying for her cause, in her stead.
Her dragon knight's blood boiling, Freya roared her fury, her defiance and her hatred towards the heavens as a wave of light encompassed her, filling her with raw, primal, unfettered power.
The sight of it captivated both Zidane and Beatrix. Apparently, Beatrix had never witnessed a proper Trance before. When Freya emerged from the light and pointed her spear toward Beatrix, the general smirked, possibly relishing a proper challenge. And Freya was only too happy to oblige.
"Stay where you are, Zidane." Her voice, or the voice of all the dragon gods combined. She was not asking, she was telling, and she saw him swallow and nod while Beatrix advanced on her.
The two resumed their deadly dance, their motions blurred, sparks flying every time their weapons collided with one another at speeds defying the laws of physics. The general was a veritable devil - she displayed no sign of exhaustion. But Freya fought on, with the fury of one avenging her comrades, the ethereal light emitting from her granting her power and speed.
Freya didn't know how long they fought. Every second stretched to an hour, every minute an eternity.
Then came a cry from a lone surviving soldier. "The Red Rose! The Red Rose!"
The shout was only a momentary distraction, but it was all it took.
With Freya's attention diverted, the general struck her spear with a savage strike, causing it to fly out of Freya's hand. Freya followed it with her eyes, unable to react as it spun in a graceful arc over the edge of the treetop, taking her survival with it.
The general smiled savagely as she kicked Freya down, and raised her sword for the kill. Again, Freya closed her eyes and braced herself for her death.
There was a sound of sword rending flesh and an anguished cry, and a suddenly horror-struck Freya knew what had happened even before opening her eyes to the scene. Looking up only confirmed it - Beatrix holding her sword aloft, supporting the impaled Zidane Tribal.
Cold despair settled over Freya; she had failed. Again, she had let her comrades down by failing to protect them, by permitting them to be savagely murdered in her stead.
An signal of sorts seemed to emit from the Red Rose; Freya didn't hear it, but Beatrix cocked her head, pulled her sword out of the monkey-tailed teenager, who fell without a word, and left without a further word.
/Present/
As soon as the threat had cleared, Freya directed her full attention toward Zidane. Lifting him up into her lap, she assessed the wound in his stomach. She immediately knew that the wound was fatal, but her friend still drew labored breath.
She sat motionless as the seconds passed, only stirring when Zidane's eyes fluttered feebly.
"...Freya?"
She swallowed heavily. "Yes, it's me."
She could see the exertion of speaking taking its toll on the youth. "Where... Beatrix...?"
"Gone." I failed. The thought was too much to bear, and Freya couldn't help her eyes tearing up. Two of her companions were dead, and now her dearest friend seemed destined to follow. Salty trails ran along the side of her muzzle, and she couldn't do much to prevent it.
With considerable effort, Zidane lifted his hand, wiping some of her tears with the back of his hand. "Hey, don't cry", he said, his voice little more than a whisper. He then shivered greatly.
"Zidane...?"
"...cold..."
Tempting as it was, Freya harbored no illusions regarding her friend's condition, and neither did he. Zidane was dying, and rapidly so. Almost on reflex, she pulled the boy close to her. She felt him stiffen in surprise - and rightly so, as she had never been the type to hug - but eventually, his arms crept around her in a feeble embrace. Her one hand tenderly stroked his cheek, brushing the hair out of his pale face, while the other stroked his back soothingly.
"...Freya?" An uncertain edge to his voice.
"Mmm?"
A shiver ran through the boy, more than cold this time. "...I'm scared..."
Freya's heart melted. Her own emotional turmoil be damned for the time being. Her friend - her only friend - needed her now, more than ever, and if all she could offer him was her companionship and a vigil, she would do it without question.
A tear fell from the boy's eyes, quickly followed by others. "I never got... tell Dagger..."
"Shush." The heartwrenching scene of this boy, being torn away from the world before his time, never allowed to fulfill his dreams, was enough to bring her own tears to her eyes again. "Of course you will get to tell Dagger anything you need. Reis, the great dragon goddess, will see to it herself."
Zidane almost smiled, until another shudder passed through him and he coughed weakly. Freya gently held him, supporting him through the fit. "I... I'm so scared... gods, I'm so afraid, Freya. I don't..." His voice trailed away until it was barely audible. "I don't wanna die."
Freya could feel Zidane's heartbeat beginning to fail. His blood was staining her shirt, and she couldn't care less about it. Right now, she had to comfort him. She pulled him closer to her, resting her head on top of his. Her tears were falling freely on his head, and she didn't give a damn about them now. Nothing existed, except for the two of them. "Don't worry, my friend. Reis will bring you to her hall of valor, and you will have eternal life there by her side, and with all heroes of Burmecia. Vivi and Quina are there right now, you know, and I pray that I be considered worthy to join you when my time comes."
Zidane smiled weakly, probably not placated by her stories, but clearly appreciating the effort. Another coughing fit, and he looked up at her, with a hint of the old Zidane in his eyes.
"I... I don't wanna die", he repeated, coughing weakly. His breath was nearly completely faded, the spark in his eyes nearly completely faded, tears running freely from his eyes, mingling with the trails of blood from his mouth. "But..." His voice was only the weakest whisper now, his heartbeat nearly completely faded. He had only seconds left.
He closed his eyes for a second, then looked up at her with a serene smile. "But if I have to... I'm glad you're with me, Freya."
The last vestiges of Freya's composure very nearly shattered at that point, but she willed herself to hold herself together, to smile one last time at the dying boy. "I'm honored to be by your side, Zidane Tribal. Now and always." With that, she closed her eyes and planted a gentle kiss on Zidane's brow, salty from his sweat and her own tears. "Thank you for everything, my dearest friend."
Still smiling, Zidane closed his eyes, and with a long, trembling sigh, he finally breathed his last.
For a moment, or an eternity, Freya remained seated, motionless, looking down on the boy's peaceful face. If not for the wound in his stomach, he could almost have slept.
As the shadowy eruption from the Red Rose took shape into a hideous equestrian, six-legged mount bearing a disfigured rider, Freya's suspicions about Brahne's intentions were confirmed. She would leave none alive; she wouldn't even leave Cleyra in ruins. She would destroy it utterly and completely. Freya had harbored no illusions of her escape. It was impossible. Better then to face her oncoming demise with dignity.
As the figure approached, spear hoisted high, Freya took one more second to remember all she had loved and lost. Burmecia, her beautiful city in its eternal rain. Cleyra, her kin's final refuge. The gentle love of Sir Fratley, now lost to her with his memory. Quina Quen and its eternal, goofy hunt for morsels. Vivi, the quiet, brooding mage-boy. Zidane Tribal, her only real friend.
Then the apparition threw its spear, and Freya sent one last thought towards the heavens. A thought, a wish, a prayer. Lady Reis, Mother of All. I ask forgiveness.
With a deafening roar, the world around her went white, and Freya Crescent knew no more.
Author's note: So here I was, intending to write a Final Fantasy fanfiction on a completely different subject matter, and then all of a sudden I got this idea, and I just couldn't stop writing until I had finished it. Why do I keep having horrible things happen to my favorite characters in my fandoms? Why is my muse such an evil little bugger? (Also, it is my opinion that the world needs more Freya/Zidane-centric stories, romantic or no.)
Anyway, thanks for reading this little tear jerker. I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a review if you feel so inclined.