The Usurper
Shortly following his appointment to High Commander, Ravus returned to Tenebrae with an imperial retinue. An elegant dinner and ball were planned for the visiting dignitaries, including Emperor Aldercapt, General Ulldor, Chancellor Izunia, and two field commanders, Aranea Highwind and Loqi Tummelt.
Ravus and Lunafreya stood observing the mingling crowd.
"I'm sorry about this, sister, but I'm afraid I put off this meeting as long as I possibly could," said Ravus, sipping a glass of sparkling wine.
"They wanted to come here? Why?"
"They all want a dance with the Oracle," said Ravus scornfully. "It's more about showing their power than anything else. Tell me if any of them puts a hand out of place, and I'll make sure he donates it to my collection."
Lunafreya raised her voice so it was slightly higher and breathier. "They'll all be charmant, I'm absolutely positive!" she said, adding a little hair toss.
"Good lord," said Ravus, "You've really refined that to a subtle art, haven't you? Does anyone ever notice how little you resemble your public persona?"
"Sure, but they think this is the real me and the smart one's the fake!" Lunafreya giggled.
"I'm going to need a bit more than this," Ravus sighed, downing the rest of his drink.
If anything, the imperials were even worse than Ravus had described. Most of them didn't even bother to ask her to dance; she couldn't very well refuse, and they all knew it. Lunafreya did indeed have to dance with all of them (except the Emperor, who barely acknowledged her and did not dance in any case). Loqi had wandering hands and made a number of sleazy innuendos that he apparently thought were subtle.
Ulldor spent the entire time talking about himself and his battle prowess. He either did not remember or did not care that he had met Lunafreya before; her skin crawled at the very sight of him, but he was too self-involved to notice how stiffly she moved and how false her smile was.
Lunafreya was just wondering if she could endure Ulldor a minute longer when someone cut in on him, and none too smoothly.
"Highwind?" he sputtered, outraged. "What are you doing?"
The newcomer scoffed. "Go play grab-ass with Loqi, why don't you? He'd probably appreciate it more."
Ulldor continued to harrumph, but Lunafreya was too distracted by her new partner to worry about him. She was a few years older than Lunafreya, the same height, but wearing taller heels. She was also wearing a beautifully tailored suit in charcoal gray with a dark red vest and black tie. Lunafreya was so surprised she found herself gawking a bit.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," said Lunafreya. "I'm sorry," she added, shaking her head. "I didn't mean to stare."
The woman smiled a cocky grin. "I always get more attention from women in this outfit. Didn't feel like dealing with men tonight," she said breezily. "I'm Aranea Highwind, by the way."
"Highwind...are you the one they call The Dragoon?"
"My legend spreads! Yep, that's me. I hear they're going to make me a commodore soon, whatever that is." Seeing Lunafreya's puzzled look, Aranea added, "I'm not career military. Just a former mercenary from the sticks."
"Are there many women in the Imperial Army?" asked Lunafreya, trying to remember if she had ever met one before.
"Well, there's me and...that's about it. Not even enough for a support group." Aranea smiled ruefully.
"Sounds a bit lonely," said Lunafreya. "And...scary, if I'm being honest with myself."
"It's the same as it is anywhere: if you can make friends or stab enemies, you're good. If you can make friends and stab enemies, you're golden. If you can tell the difference between the two, you're a leader."
Lunafreya laughed. "Alas, I've never been very good at any of that." She stole a glance at Ulldor. He was lucky she wasn't good with a blade.
Aranea followed her gaze shrewdly, but didn't say anything. They danced for a bit; Aranea didn't really know what she was doing, but Lunafreya somehow managed to follow her anyway.
When the song wound down, the two women made their way to the refreshment table. Lunafreya took a glass of punch, while Aranea examined the hors d'oeuvres.
"I knew it," said Aranea, spearing a cocktail weiner with a little fork. "A total sausage fest."
The way she said it, holding the tiny weiner up, made Lunafreya chortle into her cup. She accidentally inhaled some punch and started coughing.
"You sure are a good audience," said Aranea, patting her on the back. "Most people just tell me to shut my trap."
Lunafreya was starting to like Aranea, despite her rough edges, or maybe because of them.
"Ooh, don't look now," said Aranea, casting a suspicious gaze over Lunafreya's shoulder. "The Chancellor is spying on you."
Although the Accursed had not haunted her travels for several years, Lunafreya had sensed he was there from the moment he entered Fenestala Manor. She was mildly surprised that the confident, blustery Dragoon had such an aversion; most people barely noticed him unless he was actively courting their attention.
"That's all right," said Lunafreya. "I didn't think I would escape the evening without dancing with him."
Aranea pinched her lips together. "That's my cue to run screaming into the night, then. It was really nice to meet you."
"Likewise. I hope our paths cross again."
Seeing that he had caught her eye, Chancellor Izunia approached Lunafreya.
"Lady Lunafreya. I've waited a long time for this moment. Chancellor Ardyn Izunia," he said, with an elaborate bow. "May I have the pleasure of a dance?"
The band struck up a mid-tempo waltz. Lunafreya felt a bit awkward as they began to dance. In all these years, he had never spoken to her before. What would he say? What would he do? He was watching her intently.
"Have we met before?" she asked. "You seem somewhat...familiar."
He grinned, as if he knew something she didn't. That made her grin a little, herself. Perhaps he truly thought she was unaware of his real identity. If so, she wasn't going to demonstrate otherwise.
"Perhaps you've seen my picture in the newspaper," he said. "I've seen your picture as well, of course, but the camera truly does not do your beauty justice."
"Thank you. I'm afraid I don't know very much about you, though," she said, slipping into her flirty voice. "Have you ever been to Tenebrae?"
"Yes, but quite some time ago. Before you were born, I believe. I do remember the sylleblossoms. The scent quite overwhelmed me the moment we left the train. It was as if no time at all had passed."
She smiled hugely. "I always feel that way when I return. And - may I ask - what scent are you wearing now?"
"Ah, very discerning. It is my own concoction, but the primary scents are bergamot and palmarosa."
"A man of many talents," said Lunafreya.
"A man with a lot of time on his hands," said the Chancellor. "And what about you? What does the Oracle do in her free time?"
"Nothing as charming as making perfume, I'm afraid," she said, with a giggle. "I study, mostly. Philosophy, religion, literature, history…."
"The wrong question to ask, perhaps." He lifted his arm and she twirled underneath. "What would Lunafreya do had she not all these obligations?"
"My goodness, what indeed?" she said, gazing over his shoulder as if considering the possibilities. Noctis's face flashed in her mind's eye. An image of herself and Noctis on their wedding day. She smiled dreamily, forgetting for just a few seconds that she was playing a part. "I guess I'd like to design clothes!" she said. Hair toss. Giggle.
They danced in silence for a moment. He led decisively, making it easy for her to follow. A slight smirk and a confident brow marked his features, as if he had a plan, and everything was going according to it. Or maybe it was simply that he had stopped talking long enough for her to wonder what he was thinking about.
"You know," he said, "I've heard an intriguing rumor that you and Prince Noctis still exchange letters. Tell me it's true - it's terribly romantic."
"Oh! No, it's not like that. We're just old friends," said Lunafreya, her laugh now sounding fake even to herself. How did he know about Noctis?
The song ended, and they bowed to each other.
The chancellor said, "You're a graceful follow, my lady. Quite the best I've had in a long time. Would you care to lead for a bit?"
Lunafreya blinked. "I don't know how. I just...never have."
"It's easy." He rearranged their hand positions. "There. Now do whatever you want. That is how one leads."
It took her a moment to consider what she wanted. If she was honest with herself, it didn't really come naturally. Izunia just stood there, implacably, waiting for her to do something. She chose the dance she knew best and took a hesitant step. He mirrored her movement. She took several more, haltingly, feeling as though she were free-falling. He wasn't guiding her in any way, and she felt a bit lost without the gentle pressure that a good lead provided. Or even a bad one, really.
And then she did something reckless. Her right hand was resting on his shoulder, so she brought it up ever-so-slightly and touched his face, allowing her healing gift to run through her fingers. Her warmth flowed into him, and in return, a cold despair began to fill her. Even the light of the room seemed to grow weak and dim. The sensation was somewhat frightening, but manageable. For a quick moment, his expression softened, and while it could have been her imagination, she thought he seemed...content. His eyes looked tired, and he closed them briefly, as if sleeping.
The band finished their song. He smoothly took her hand from his cheek and kissed it.
"It seems our time is up, Lady Lunafreya," said the Chancellor, back to his usual theatrical self. "Thank you for this dance. I'm sure we'll meet again."
#
Ardyn quickly excused himself from the ball and returned to his room in the manor. The warmth of the Oracle's touch was still tingling on his cheek. It was not, of course, the first time an Oracle had attempted to heal him. Despite his banishment, he had coerced several Oracles into trying it over the years. None of them had even come close to succeeding, and the attempts were excruciatingly painful.
It occurred to him to wonder, why had she done it at all? She knows, he thought. True, he hadn't really been trying to hide his presence, but if she could sense it? Very interesting. And that feeling as she touched him. It was different than the others - a sense of pure, sweet relief unmingled with pain, as the other Oracles' attempts had been. Was her power truly so much greater than the others, or was there some other trick to it?
Most of the time he didn't bother to commune directly with the Others that dwelled inside him. They weren't much for conversation and they preferred to show their displeasure by, say, causing his blood to boil or drowning his hearing with the sound of thousands of locusts.
They generally disliked it when he felt joyful or content, but now he realized with amusement that they were downright riled. So easily threatened by a little girl and her parlor tricks! They couldn't truly harm him, but they could be exceedingly annoying when they wanted to be.
He walked over to the merrily crackling fire and blew it out with a chill breath, dousing the room in darkness. Then he settled into an armchair and closed his eyes, allowing his consciousness to drift inward.
When he had reached a place of profound darkness, a pair of glowing red eyes announced the arrival of Uzuloth The Usurper. The Others consisted of many daemons, but for whatever impenetrable reasons, this was the one who most often spoke with him.
"Uzuloth, my good fellow. How's tricks?" said Ardyn dryly. The creature could also come out into the light, but it seemed to require more effort than it took Ardyn to step into the darkness.
Today, Uzuloth had chosen the form of a giant wasp-like creature. It changed frequently, and Ardyn couldn't be sure that he had ever seen the true form, if indeed the creature even had one. Ardyn generally wore his own face, although he had to admit that was mostly for sentimental reasons. He had always been fond of his own looks, and time hadn't changed that.
"Let us speak of the Oracle," said Uzuloth, and continued without pausing, "The Oracle must die. Cease communication with it immediately!" From somewhere in the deep darkness, a rattling as of bones arose. Ardyn suppressed a sigh. These creatures could be so tedious.
"Both she and her brother must die to end the Fleuret line, yes. I understand."
He paused, just long enough for the daemon to start speaking again so he could interrupt.
"But!" Ardyn cut the demon off. "Consider this. It may be that as the light crystal awaits Noctis, the dark crystal awaits Lunafreya. She claims its power...and then we claim her."
Uzuloth made a sound something like laughter. When he had first met Ardyn like this, thousands of years ago, amusement was outside his range of emotions. Yet, even as the daemons had infected Ardyn with their peculiar qualities, it seemed some of his had infected them as well.
"Do you think you have the power to turn even her?" the daemon said scornfully.
Ardyn waved the question away. "Did you not see how little I expended to turn even the highest echelons of Niflheim? Come now. She is a child of man with the same flaws as all the rest. There is something that she wants. Something she'd give anything to have. I simply need to put her in the right position to make the trade."
"And if you fail?" the daemon demanded, getting louder. It always did this when it was close to changing its mind. Some sort of primeval dominance display, perhaps.
"If she follows her destiny, she'll die in the process of forming the Covenants. If she doesn't, then…" Ardyn shrugged. "I can always help her along to the afterlife. There is absolutely no risk, only a substantial reward."
He had lived with these daemons for long enough; he knew quite well which levers to pull. He knew, for instance, that they were surprisingly risk-averse. A situation in which they could only come out ahead was just about their favorite thing in the world. Or as close as could be for beings that were incapable of experiencing joy.
The daemon made a long rumbling sound. Sometimes Ardyn thought it was conferring with its fellows when it did this, though of course it would never admit to taking any other creature's advice.
At last, the daemon growled, "In the name of Uzuloth The Usurper, let it be so."
Ardyn bowed to the daemon - it never hurt to be polite - and floated back upwards towards consciousness.