-Belle-
-An semi-AU 'Final Fantasy VII' songfic-
=^w^=
Three men, each a sword-wielding Warrior – each serving the war effort valiantly – their influences felt far and wide.
One woman, a battle-carved Spell-Weaver – her mixed ancestry attractive to science and war alike – her influence unlike that of her family.
A spell is woven, its magic something each man has not felt or desired to feel until she wove it upon them unknowingly.
Their hearts are enslaved, their souls are entombed, and their bodies are captured by this one brand of magic, the strongest magic known to man:
Love.
=^w^=
Belle is the only word I know that suits her well
When she dances, oh, the stories she can tell
A free bird trying out her wings to fly away
And when I see her move I see the hell to pay
=^w^=
Bullets rained down on him as he ran through the thick mud of the battlefield, soaked with the rain falling from the sky and the blood of many a comrade who wasn't fast enough. But Zack didn't have time to stop and mourn; he had places he had to go, a Spell-Weaver to save. Jumping over a broken truck he managed to make his way to the guard tower outside a large castle, the guards still raining him with metal. They babbled to each other in another language – why wasn't she here to translate? – and exchanged a look before throwing at the black-haired Warrior a small bomb.
Zack smirked. Idiots.
Reaching behind him, he pulled out a large broadsword and brought it straight down, the sharp edge biting into the bomb and cleaving it clean in half. Each piece flew past him, landing in the mud and sending a shower of the wet dirt everywhere. In an impressive display of reflexes Zack cleared the guard tower and, in one fell swoop, defeated the two guards within it.
"Piece of cake." he declared. A sudden flash of light illuminated the compound beneath him and he looked down, interested.
"Don't make me use another element!" Violet-blue eyes widened. The Spell-Weaver he'd been sent to save – Tora – was fighting with several of the more elite members of the barracks she'd been withheld in...and she was winning. Magic swirled around the thin staff she wielded, the single orb on its top glowing with a pale blue energy the Warrior could only describe as water. The attackers in front of her charged again, swords at the ready, but a powerful blast of ice forced them back. Shards of the ice stuck to their clothing and skin, slowing their movements only in the way a Spell-Weaver could create.
Oh, so she'd gone with ice to get her out.
"Crystal Prison!" The shards of ice stuck to the enemy flew around them in a circle, Tora's odd dance (1) mimicking its movements. Zack knew what was happening; as the Spell-Weaver moved their magic moved with them. The two were irreversibly bound in a dance that would carry them to the end of their lives through everything they were to go through together.
Zack suddenly felt his heart rate increase. Pressing a gloved hand to his chest he tried to calm himself but it wasn't working. Was Tora's magic affecting him too? The ice that moved in a circle had stopped, slamming itself into the ground at her enemy's feet and growing as her staff dictated. Sharp spines of crystallised ice met above their heads, trapping them in a glittering cage barely big enough to swing a sword. For some reason, the Warrior knew what was to happen next; he jumped down from the guard tower and took out the enemy trapped within the ice bars.
"Zack?" Tora blinked her big gold eyes at him, "When'd you get here?"
...oh.
"I watched you for a while," he admitted sheepishly, "I'm here to get you."
"Good, because my arms and side hurt." Tora stumbled forward into Zack's arms, the smell of blood assaulting his senses. Said liquid dripped carelessly from the Spell-Weaver's side onto the dusty ground from a large gash in her pale olive skin. Ignoring the constriction in his chest the Warrior picked her up and cradled her in his arms.
"Don't worry, I've got you...Tora." he whispered.
He was going to hell for this, but at this point in time he didn't really care.
=^w^=
She dances naked in my soul and sleep won't come
And it's no use to pray these prayers to Notre Dame
Tell, who'd be the first to raise his hand and throw a stone
I'd hang him high and laugh to see him die alone
Oh Lucifer, please let me go beyond God's law
And run my fingers through the hair of Esmeralda
=^w^=
Night fell over the battlefield, the guns and general fighting ceasing for another six hours or so – everyone was only human. Zack sat on a wooden chair in the infirmary, a drip inserted into his arm to replace lost fluid and a bandage wrapped around his right wrist. In front of him Tora sat on one of the stiff beds, tired and weary but in otherwise good health despite the maltreatment she received whilst being held captive.
"I want food..." she whined, tapping the piece of her staff that held the orb against her cheek in an impatient fashion. The black-haired Warrior chuckled and rubbed absently at the cloth the Sprite had wound around his hand to stop him from using it to knock him out. How the hell did he know that he was going to hit him?
Right, Sprites could feel emotions; came with the whole 'healing' thing.
"Zack?" Blinking himself out of his stupor, the Warrior turned to face the Spell-Weaver, whose face was awfully close to his. Tora smiled shyly and slipped off the bed, bending down so she could keep her face to his when she moved closer. Zack gulped; if his body wasn't betraying him now, his increased heart rate surely would.
"Y-yes, Tora?" he asked nervously.
"I never thanked you for coming to get me, did I?" Her voice was so low...so seductive...she carefully brushed her lips against his, testing the waters in case he didn't want her.
'Gaia, forgive me.' The black-haired man chased her and claimed her lips again, kissing her with a fervour he was sure he'd never felt for any other woman. Pulling the Spell-Weaver onto his lap carefully (he was still connected to a drip) he ran his hands over her arms, shoulders and sides, taking a curious pride in the sounds he was eliciting from her.
Suddenly he felt it...
An overwhelming desire to die for the woman he was kissing...
A fiery urge to kill whichever man dared to touch her...
Gaia could forgive him later; right now he had a Spell-Weaver to ravish.
=^w^=
Belle, there is a demon inside her who came from hell
And he turned my eyes from God, and oh, I fell
He put this heat inside me; I'm ashamed to tell
Without my God inside I'm just a burning shell
=^w^=
Lights and steel clashed in the large training arena, the silver-haired General's face twisted into a scowl that was directed at a tear in his thick leather coat. The Spell-Weaver grinned at her prowess with wind magic and readied her staff again for another assault. Sephiroth sighed and placed Masamune on the ground, weary from the training he'd subjected himself to; what Warrior in their right mind tried to take on a Spell-Weaver? They needed to get close enough to deal damage but due to the quick reflexes of the Spell-Weavers, that was near impossible.
That didn't mean it couldn't be done.
"I'm sorry General, maybe next time I'll not use magic for you." Tora bowed to the General and stood up straight, sweat glistening on her forehead and upper lip.
"That'd be like asking me to not use my sword." he retorted, examining the ripped section of his jacket. It was a clean tear, so if he were to fix it there would be no telltale fraying; for some reason his colleagues were very finicky when it came to uniform detail. Tying the stray ends together he made for the exit, but a hand on his arm prevented him from moving. Sephiroth looked down at Tora, whose gold eyes glistened with apology and, to him, a hidden malice at landing a blow on the General.
A strange fire suddenly blazed in his stomach.
"I can fix that for you," she offered, "Meet me under the large oak tree in the compound when the sun disappears underneath the horizon."
"I..." Never had he ever experienced a loss of speech before. He prayed in his head to Gaia and his own Goddess, Jenova, for coherent thought around the disguised minx in front of him, but they seemed to ignore him. Tora took a step backward, relinquishing her hold on the General's arm, and dismantled her staff into its three pieces. Hiding two of them on her person she walked past him and opened the door.
"Please, sir." Sephiroth gave a violent cough to hide the sudden thoughts his mind plagued him with.
"Alright." he said, leaving quickly; he had a 'problem' to take care of.
=^w^=
The sin of Eve she has in her; I know so well
For want of her I know I'd give my soul to sell
Belle, this gypsy girl; is there a soul beneath her skin
And does she bear the cross of all our human sin
Oh Notre Dame, please let me go beyond God's law
Open the door of love inside, Esmeralda
=^w^=
The lamplights shining along the path just in front of the large oak he was told to meet the Spell-Weaver at, so why wasn't she here? Sephiroth cast his green eyes all over the area, hoping to catch a glimpse of striped hair and gold eyes that only the creatures of Hell could create to enslave men of all ages.
"General!"
"Tora!" Turning around, green eyes widened at her condition. Strips of her clothing hung loosely off her beaten and bloodied body which was barely holding her upright as she struggled toward him.
The Spell-Weaver had been beaten for something he reasoned she did not do.
"I'm sorry I'm late, sir," she panted as she arrived, "I was...preoccupied."
"I see that. What happened?" Flinching as pressure was applied to her back, Tora allowed the silver-haired man to examine her wounds and stem the blood flow with the tattered remains of her clothing. She gave a particularly nasty shudder when Sephiroth pressed a little too hard on her scarred hip – the one that bore proof that falling really didn't hurt until you hit the ground.
"Hollander..." she whispered, "He...he was sent to get me for an experiment, but I told him no. I didn't know he'd met me with two of the larger Second Class Warriors and he sent them after me when I fled to try and meet you...then they..." Trailing off, the Spell-Weaver buried her face into his chest and released a sigh, her warm breath ghosting over the bare areas of his chest. Through his goosebumps his mind came to the sole conclusion regarding her injuries:
Because she was a Spell-Weaver she had to be "reminded" of her duty to the Warriors.
"You should not have to go through that form of handling. Consider it my new duty to make sure you are given the proper respect you deserve." Sephiroth stated, finishing tying off the strip of cloth around her upper arm. Tora grinned at him and tackled him to the grassy ground in a tight hug.
"Um, General..." Green eyes met gold, "What would you do if I...if I were to...kiss you right now?" To test her theory, the Spell-Weaver carefully inclined her face forward. Smirking the silver-haired man met her halfway, a barrage of emotions and other miscellaneous things muddling his brain as he pulled her on top of him to make sure she stayed where she was.
The strange fire in his stomach had been lit again, and this time it opened a brand new door for Sephiroth.
All because of the young woman he was currently kissing senseless.
He wasn't going to let that door close any time soon.
=^w^=
Belle, even though her eyes seem to lead us to hell
She may be more pure, more pure than the words can tell
But when she dances feelings come no man can quell
Beneath her rainbow coloured dress there burns the well
=^w^=
"How do you remember all these spells?"
"I don't; it's the dances I need to remember." Cloud shrugged at the Spell-Weaver's response and closed the book he'd pulled off the shelf, placing it beside the small pile Tora had built at the table. Littering the free space she'd left was an assortment of paper sheets, each one with a fiddly and complicated-looking drawing on it: spell dances. Chanting wasn't that important to a Spell-Weaver; it was their movements that dictated a spell. If there was no power in the moves, the spell wouldn't be powerful, it was that simple.
The light above the pair flickered for a few seconds before going out, plunging them into total darkness. Tora groaned.
"Let me guess, this is my fault too?" she hissed, grabbing at her staff piece on the table, "I'm going to give us some light, Cloud. If you're near me, stand back." The blond did as he was told and sat on one of the available recliners, getting comfortable. He'd never seen a Spell-Weaver perform before; this was going to be interesting.
"Sun Shower." The orb on the end of the Spell-Weaver's staff flared with a bright orange light and began moving in a circle, slowly leaving behind a trail of golden magic. Cloud watched with interest and awe as the magic circle slowly dissipated, leaving behind a single gold trail that Tora led all around her body. Striking a final pose, the magic flew straight into the light above the table, electricity flooding the wiring and causing tiny magic remnants to shower their work.
The blond was amazed. Never in his life had he seen such a vision of beauty...and then he'd talk about the Spell-Weaving that went on.
=^w^=
My promised one, please let me one time be untrue
In front of both God and man I will marry you
Who'd be the man who'd turn from her to save his soul?
To be with her I'd let the devil take me whole
Oh Fleur-De-Lis, I am a man who knows no love
I go to open the rose of love, Esmeralda
=^w^=
The scent of cinnamon and rosewater permeated his senses as he slipped into the bubbly water of the bath, the warmth seeping into his tired and cramped muscles. Tora leant forward and placed her hands on his shoulders, gently rubbing them to alleviate more stress. Cloud groaned and allowed his head to rest on her lap.
"You have the Midas touch..." he breathed.
"So I'm told; I don't go around giving myself a massage." she replied, giggling and slipping her hands a little further down his back. The silky robe she wore felt good against his skin as he shifted his head to get more comfortable on the Spell-Weaver, wishing she could do this sort of thing with him all the time. Rumours floated all over the base about her: people she'd supposedly slept with, people she'd supposedly murdered, and people she'd supposedly brainwashed.
Cloud didn't care about any of those; they were untrue and if she kept pressing into his back like that he'd marry her tomorrow without regret.
"I ran into Commander Rhapsodos today." she spoke up suddenly. A blond eyebrow quirked.
"Oh?" he asked.
"We didn't speak to each other but he did try to trip me up as I passed him."
"Mmhmm..." Why didn't most of his superior officers like her? She was kind, she was optimistic and she had a nasty fire spell that could knock General Sephiroth off his feet.
Spinning around, the blond rose up out of the water and gently undid the tie around the Spell-Weaver's waist, letting the robe fall off her shoulders to reveal a simple black bathing suit; they were in the communal baths, after all. Replacing the tie with his hands, Cloud gently guided her into the water and pressed himself closer to her, feeling all the emotion radiate off her body.
It was quite discerning, but at this point in time he was too far gone to care.
"Why are you hesitating?" Tora suddenly asked, her eyes trained on his.
"Stopping to admire the most beautiful flower I've ever seen is not hesitation." Before the Spell-Weaver could reply to Cloud's statement, he had sealed her lips with his own. A strange feeling blossomed in his stomach and it wasn't because of the food they'd served in the cafeteria that night for dinner.
A new flower had begun to bloom in the blond Warrior's life.
She was the one who would keep it flowering.
=^w^=
She dances naked in my soul and sleep won't come
And it's no use to pray these prayers to Notre Dame
Tell, who'd be the first to raise his hand and throw a stone
I'd hang him high and laugh to see him die alone
Oh Lucifer, please let me go beyond God's law
And run my fingers through her hair, Esmeralda
=^w^=
All three had been enslaved by the spell of love, both physically and emotionally – the latter they had no idea could happen – and it wasn't going to go away.
Each would walk to the ends of the Planet to have her by his side, and if there were any obstacles they would be cut down.
She was none the wiser; to her, they were overprotective men who thought with their hormones and not with their heads.
It had only taken one look, one touch, one dance, one kiss...only one...
And they were trapped for eternity.
=^w^=
Esmeralda...
=^w^=
1: I think I'm ripping off Yuna's summoning dance in 'Final Fantasy X' and the bending skills in 'Avatar: The Last Airbender' but then again I don't think I am. Tora cannot summon; it's not a Spell-Weaver's job. Warriors, however, can. By the way, I don't own 'Final Fantasy X' or 'Avatar: The Last Airbender': their respectful owners do.
=^w^=
DISCLAIMER: The disclaimer applies to all characters and all settings of all 'Final Fantasy VII' franchises – Tetsuya Nomura and SquareEnix – the original and translated versions of the song 'Belle' – Garou, David Lavioe and Patrick Fiori – and Tora Altona and Warriors and Spell-Weavers – me.
=^w^=
Author's Note: I tried to structure the lyrics in the original version to match to the translated version so it fitted better. I also made a few tweaks to the translation so that it read a little smoother. Hopefully it worked but I do believe I've seriously butchered the English lyrics. It's not my translation; I found it on the Internet because I don't speak French.