(The Rosewood Box)

Earlier, Zidane had said something peculiar to Garnet. Something that had been thrown on the tail end of the conversation offhandedly, the way one might remark upon the weather. But the way his voice had become heavy beneath veiled emotion, the way his eyes had fixed upon the floor and how he turned stiffly. It kindled her curiosity and brought life to the conversation the way an accessory might transform a plain dress. What he'd said, the way he'd said it; it was smothering her every thought like the ocean obscures the seabed beneath. Absolutely.

So as Garnet lay upon the quilts, staring up at the thatched roof of the inn, she pondered upon Zidane and his multifaceted personality. She felt like she was peeling away layers, delving deeper into the thief's thoughts and feelings, and was surprised to discover there was more to him than a lecherous, girl-obsessed, light-fingered scoundrel.

"Soooo… you sleeping naked tonight?"

Well, perhaps not much more.

Garnet turned to consider the pair of blue eyes peering over the mattress of her top-bunk, a sprinkling of mischief churning in their depths. "Shoo, fly," she said.

"I wish I was a fly," Zidane declared melodramatically, "so I could sit on the wall and watch you undress all day long."

Garnet swatted the air inches from his face and he leapt back with a yelp, obviously misjudging the severity of her reaction. "Really, Zidane, this is hardly the right time for your lewd antics."

"It's never the right time with you…" he countered grumpily, and she listened to the sounds of him removing loose articles of clothing, readying himself for bed. This bought to mind all kinds of embarrassing memories and she rolled onto her side, back facing the little room, and tried to cleanse herself of such thoughts.

"And you never answered my question," the thief continued in a sing-song voice, "about your sleeping naked. I mean, what if you fall outta bed or something? I'd have to lift you back on so I need to know in advance whether to close my eyes or not. And -"

"Firstly," Garnet impeded, "why on Gaia would you need to lift me? I'm more than capable of climbing into bed. Secondly, you and I both know you most certainly would not close your eyes. You don't possess the decency." Zidane offered nothing more than a playful snort to testify her accusations. "And thirdly, I want to make the most of sleeping in a bed, so if I must share a room with you kindly silence yourself over the next few hours." As an afterthought: "And I am not sleeping naked, so I wont stand for any of your mischief, thank you very much."

Zidane made a little noise that was somewhere between indignation and disappointment before he slipped beneath the covers and crossly buried his head under a pillow.

During this small pocket of (doubtlessly fleeting) silence and while Garnet awaited the onset of sleep, she allowed herself time to reflect upon the past few days and their current whereabouts: the Black Mage Village.

What surprised her most was the cheeriness of it all. The imagery that accompanied thoughts of black mages was generally unpleasant: war, her mother's blackened personality and superfluous death (bar Vivi of course, whose imagery was polar opposite). So how could this village, inhabited by the very beings that plunged the world into misery, be such a cheery place? Even the wooden huts (which Garnet thought were dear little things) had smiley faces carved into their walls! The place was everything she hadn't expected: vibrant, merry, quaint and underlined by a naivety both worrying and touching.

And it wasn't just the village that was in stark contrast to the stereotype; the mages were different too. They were timid and nervous, often scuttling away before contact could be made and their voices were not unlike Vivi's: rich and quiet, full of life and innocence. They were naïve and curious, too, uneducated in the simplest things. She felt akin to them in that sense as she recalled her early days learning to shed her princess demeanour.

They'd reached the Black Mage Village mid-afternoon, and she had been eager to explore and part ways with a certain thief. She brusquely excused herself from his presence whenever he caught up to her and fervently cursed his persistence. Why couldn't he bother someone else for a change? Though she had to credit him; his behaviour had improved somewhat since the little… incident. He had slept outside the tent every night henceforth, whatever the weather and without protest.

Still, his clingy, desperate attitude and incessant wooing (all of which had noticeably increased since Steiner's absence) was beginning to grate on her nerves and she longed for a moment's respite.

And she had hoped to earn that respite at the inn, but upon discovering the single room and the single bunk bed, her hopes were cruelly dashed. She had been on the verge of suggesting he sleep elsewhere, when Vivi's growing despondency overruled her irritation, and she voiced her worry to Zidane, who bounced it right back with the offhand remark that perplexed her so…

…

When Garnet had been no more than eight, and her mother was the sweet, kind person she so fondly remembered, Duke Mariano of Treno bought the queen a gift. A beautiful jewellery box carved from the finest rosewood, delicate hinges of gold latching a lid adorned with rubies that swirled into the image of a rose. It was – then and now – the most beautiful jewellery box Garnet had ever seen. But despite this, the box wasn't the object of her attention.

Like most little girls, her mother's jewellery had been the source of much wanting. Brahne had been happy for the princess to play with some, but there were items too expensive and too precious to let fall into the maladroit hands of an eight-year-old child. So where did all this highly prized jewellery go? Into the rosewood box, of course.

Garnet was well aware of this and spent several afternoons sneaking into her mother's chamber to stare forlornly at the pretty object while mightily wishing she had access to the glories within.

Then on a day not exceptionally auspicious, while playing with her dolls at the end of her mother's bed, Garnet spotted a ceramic cup containing a collection of keys. Her little mind jolted to life as she contemplated what this could mean, and finally grabbed the cup and tottered over to the rosewood box.

The lock was positioned on the side and was an ornate gadget, welded into the crest of Alexandria. Garnet fiddled with numerous keys until a delicate gold one offered a snug fit and released the device with a little click. Heart hammering excitedly, Garnet peered round to make sure no one was looking then flipped the lid…

… and groaned in disappointment. Lying in tangled clumps upon a crimson velvet stratum was her mother's dullest, cheapest jewellery. Jewellery she'd played with countless times. She wanted the beautiful things: the sapphire pendants, the jade bracelets, the diamond earrings! She'd wanted and wanted and for what? The princess felt how a man must feel after lugging a treasure chest up a hill only to find it full of rocks.

In a childish fit of anger, the princess thumped the side of the rosewood box. The jewellery clattered against each other and – oh!

Garnet clapped her hands to her mouth and stared wide eyed at the ornate tray cradling the jewellery. It had come away at the edge and fallen down! She'd broken it! Oh goodness, mother would be so angry and –

A muted sparkle caught the girl's attention and she peered closer. There was something beneath the velvet tray. Carefully, Garnet gripped the edges of the platform and eased it upward. Much to her surprise it came away completely, revealing another layer beneath. And this one had jewellery much finer than the last, too!

Grinning, the princess carefully put aside the top layer and wedged her fingers into the second. This one lifted out too, revealing yet another hidden level with different jewellery, more exquisite than the former levels combined. Her excitement mounting further, Garnet removed another layer, and another, until she found the diamond earrings Uncle Cid had given mother as a birthday present and the pearl-encrusted necklace father had bought as a wedding-anniversary gift. Those were the two most precious jewellery items her mother owned, and there was still one more level! What could possibly be more precious?

With much care and nervous anticipation, Garnet lifted away the final stratum to reveal a garnet, perfectly cut and shining brighter than sunlight on water. It was the size of her fist and a dusky russet, the most beautiful thing she'd ever set eyes on, and despite her eagerness to play with her mother's jewellery, she couldn't bring herself to touch something so precious.

…

Was it a foolish reverie to think that beneath the numerous fronts Zidane paraded something precious and astounding was waiting to be discovered? She thought herself a hopeless romantic for thinking so, but found that with every layer Garnet removed of Zidane's personality she found something more likeable, more precious beneath. What waited below the next level? What was at the core of his being? She was intrigued and beyond curious, always surprised that with every level she managed to shift the more she… she… well, liked him.

And so, with the rosewood box in mind, Garnet sought the courage to question his earlier remark, and wondered if levels could be removed not just by an individual but also with the help of someone else.

…

"Zidane…" she began tentatively, his name a drawn out note. "When you said home…"

Her voice sailed the waves of the night, overpowering the incessant chirp of the crickets outside and the ghostly hooting of the owls. She knew he was awake; she could hear him tapping a restless tune against the quilt with his tail, and occasionally discern a meditative sigh.

"What's the matter?" he said. "Can't fall asleep? How about a bedtime story? Let's see… Once upon a time…"

Garnet felt at once irritated at both herself and at him. Herself, for wanting to crack his rosewood-box personality in the first place, and at him because he'd met her attempt with flippancy.

"There you go again, teasing me," she snapped, shuffling beneath the blankets. She was about to extend her statement into an admonishment when he suddenly continued with: "Once upon a time… there was a man."

His voice. Distant, melancholy. "Zidane…?"

"This man had longed to find his birthplace ever since he was a small child. His birthplace. A place he only remembered in his dreams…"

There was a small pause, and Garnet seized this chance to wedge her fingers into this layer of the rosewood box. "Why?"

"He wanted to know more about himself, maybe. About his parents, the house where he was born…" A weighty pause which he used more for the sake of theatrics than actual thinking. "One day, the man left the home of his adoptive father and went on a quest to find the answer. His only clue was the blue light he saw in his dreams…"

"A blue light?" Garnet repeated.

"Yeah. He thought it might be a memory of his birthplace. An ocean maybe…?" Here he trundled off, as if actually considering the possibility, and in fear of losing grip Garnet quickly snapped him back with: "Did he find it?"

"Hey you're jumping ahead! A lot of things happened on the way!" He hummed an indecisive note. "Alright, we can skip ahead… No, he never found it. How could he? His only clue was a coloured light. So he went back to the home of his adoptive father… What do you think the father did when he came home?"

Garnet paused, remembering the time she'd gone to Lindblum to visit Uncle Cid without her mother, and when she'd returned the queen's eyes had sparkled with tears of joy and she had wailed over and over 'I missed you, Garnet! I missed you!'. So she said: "… Welcomed him home?"

He spluttered. "No way!" The surprise and indignation in the words startled the princess, but not as much as: "The father raised his fists and beat the son he'd worked so hard to raise…"

"Why?"

"I don't know... But you know what surprised him even more? The father smiled, after beating up his son! Can you believe that? He just gave his son a beating. But this is what the man thought when he saw his father smile..." Another pause that wasn't so much theatrical as it was genuinely emotional. "This is my home. This is the place I call home." He sighed. "The man is still looking for his birthplace. But he already has a home. Maybe...it's the same for Vivi. He's looking for a place to call home."

Garnet swallowed and stared at the thatched roof. The moon's radiance turned everything into a checkerboard of silver and black. She had been right: the deeper she delved into the rosewood box, the more precious the jewellery became.

"So, did my bedtime story make you sleepy?" Zidane asked, the levity back in his voice.

Garnet didn't reply but eased herself into a sitting position and bent her knees. She rested her chin on them and ran fingers through her loose hair. "Hey… Zidane… do you… um, will you come sit on the bed with me?"

"E-eh!? What?" the thief squeaked.

"I don't feel tired," the princess explained, "and I feel like talking. Come sit on the end of the bed. I feel like I'm talking to a ghost at the moment; I can't see you at all."

"Errr… Okaaay…"

There was a rustling of blankets and then the sound of footfalls and Zidane's face blossomed over the top of her bed. He hoisted himself up without the aid of the ladder and (unsurprisingly) made a beeline for the princess.

"Oh no you don't," she said and gave him a brusque push with her foot. "You sit over there." He stuck his bottom lip out but she wouldn't be fazed. "Over there," she reiterated firmly.

He retreated to where she'd indicated at the foot of the bed, giving her time to contemplate (for a second time that week) his naked torso. "Can't you put some clothes on?"

"I'll put some clothes on if you take some off," was the bargain as he bunched the quilt up against the wall to make the seating more accommodating. "Deal?"

"No deal," she stated firmly and tugged the covers to crumple his makeshift pillow.

"H-hey!" he yelped. "No fair! Cover-hogger!"

"They're my covers!"

"Tsk, tsk. Someone needs to learn how to share."

"You've got your own covers – use them!"

Zidane dropped to the mattress and rolled himself in the quilt, pulling them completely away from Garnet as he did so, and with a dreamy sigh said, "Yeeaah but these smell like you. All nice and flowery…"

He was a mountain of quilts now, nothing visible aside the fuzzy tail sticking out the bottom and a face poking out the top like a moon in a hazy sky. She could discern his dopey grin even in the shadows.

"Oaf!" she yelled without much venom, and gave him a kick. "Give me back my covers!"

"Never! I have claimed this mountain for my own. And on behalf of the Mist Continent I name this peak 'Mount Tribal'."

"After you," Garnet indulged his sad humour, though promptly drew the line when he said: "No, actually, after my enormous member – yeow! No kicking!"

"I'll cease kicking if you cease the vulgarities," was the bargain.

"No deal," came the answer, so Garnet gave him another few kicks (all of which were absorbed by the quilt) before admitting defeat and reclining against her pillows.

"I don't understand you," she thought aloud, pondering the moving mound of covers.

"Meh. 'The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious'."

"Oh-ho! Luciano, is it? Goodness, Zidane, you go from naming quilts to reciting quotes from literary geniuses! I really don't understand you. Are you fond of Luciano?"

"Never met him. But his work is okay, I guess. Boss made me read some of his stuff for one of the plays we did a few years back. Research, I guess."

Garnet thought about this. "Do you miss them?"

"Luciano?"

"No! Tantalus."

Zidane averted his gaze and stared off into the distance. His tail twitched, and she realised she'd unwittingly hit a sensitive subject. Not another level to be removed, surely? Two in one night! What a vast jewellery box she'd stumbled across…

"No," he replied, then grimaced. "Well, maybe. Kinda. They're my brothers, but I guess everyone's gotta leave the nest sometime, eh? And I can't find a better reason to leave than you."

It was meant to be one of his crude attempts to flatter her, but she felt her heart constrict and guilt prickle. "Don't say that! You make me feel like I've torn you from your family!"

Zidane snorted. "Is that what you think? Honestly, Dagger, it was my decision. Can we please drop this subject? Let's talk about you. I want to know more about you."

She eyed him warily. "Me? I'm not very interesting…"

"I beg to differ."

"You would." She sighed. "Well, what do you want to know? And none of your silliness, please."

The mountain suddenly sprouted arms, which Zidane used to push the covers downward until they pooled about his waist. His chest was a rugged landscape of shadows and she averted her gaze awkwardly.

"Well… Okay how about this. Do you like being away from Rusty?"

Garnet shrugged. "I don't feel as smothered, if that's what you mean. I respect his duty, and treasure the protection and loyalty, and his intentions are wholly good. He cares for me and my kingdom. But yes, I am enjoying the freedom his absence entails." She sent Zidane a steady stare. "I know you and Steiner are not overly fond of each other, but I wont tolerate you bad-mouthing him while he's away."

The thief held up his hands. "Hey, hey. Who said anything about bad mouthing? Okay, question number two. If I'd been a noble, or a prince or something, would you of considered marrying me?"

"Wh-what!? Z-Zidane, you can't be serious!"

"Oh c'mon, it's not a hard question! A princess wouldn't consider marrying a thief, right? So what if I'd been a noble?"

Garnet looked away and plucked the edge of her mattress nervously. How had she gotten herself into this situation? "Well… err… I think, I think if you'd been born of noble blood you would be quite a different person. It's our upbringing and experiences that define our personalities. I can't imagine you'd be you if you'd been brought up as I had."

Zidane cocked his head. "No. I guess not. Okay, next question!"

"How many questions are there…?"

"What's your favourite food?"

"Gods, Zidane, this is getting a little ridiculous." She thought it over anyway. "Oh, I don't know. I like lots of different things… But the chef used to cook me a baked potato stuffed with leek and mushroom. I liked that. I used to eat it a lot for lunch."

"Really?" Surprise evident within his tone. "Wow that's really… common."

"Hey!"

"No, no, I mean… I used to have that same dish at the pub in the Theatre District. I'd never considered it royal food."

"I don't think it is. I liked it though."

"Okay, next ques-"

"Last one, Zidane."

He pouted. "Weelll, okay." He thought for a moment, eyes squinting and tail gently tapping the mattress. When his gaze returned to the waiting princess he wore a crafty expression. "Did you know… that you talk in your sleep?"

Garnet insides promptly froze. Her thoughts were unreachable for a moment, then she spent time wondering if he was joking. That crafty look in his eye… It was so difficult to interpret. It could mean he was merely teasing, or it could mean he knew something she didn't. She barely gave herself time to consider the awful possibilities of the latter before she said: "I've never talked in my sleep."

"How would you know? You're asleep."

"That's true… but I had maids checking up on me and guards situated outside my bedroom doors at night. They would've known if I'd been –"

"And you think they would've told you if you had?"

"Well, no, but gossip spreads round the castle –"

"Did you know that sleep talking is often partnered with stress and unfamiliar environments and situations?"

She pondered the meaning of his words but didn't like what she unearthed. "So?"

"Sooo… You've been under stress lately, right? Probably why you've started talking in your sleep."

Garnet bit her lip nervously, still undecided whether this was another Zidane-prank or if he was being genuine, for once. Either way, she didn't approve his teasing tone. "Oh stop it, you. Always mocking me."

"Perhaps," he acquiesced. "But I thought I'd let you know, anyway."

A small silence unrolled itself between them like a carpet. The obvious question was glaringly bright before them, and Garnet couldn't resist asking and judging by the infuriating smirk on his face, Zidane fully expected it to come. She guessed he'd tell even if she didn't ask, so she spared him the pleasure.

"What do I say?"

His grin spread further until even teeth were glinting in the moonlight. "Not tellin'."

Of course she'd expected this. And the counter for it came smoothly to her lips. With a theatrical sigh and nonchalant shrug of a shoulder she replied, "Oh well, if that's how you want to be then I guess I wont tell you what you said while you were ill at the marshland."

Zidane's grin dropped like a lead ball. "Eh? What?"

Garnet pretended to contemplate the woodwork of the bunk bed and gave another nonchalant sigh. "Oh you know how it is… when a person becomes delirious with fever it's common for them to talk nonsensically. It's not dissimilar to sleep talking, really, except half the time it's not actually nonsense."

Zidane's tail twitched with agitation, but he put on a good show of feigning indifference. "Pah! I don't have anything to hide. Nothing you say will surprise me! Besides, it can't be half as interesting as some of the stuff you were coming out with that night."

"What night?" Garnet snapped.

Zidane gestured vaguely. "That night. In the tent."

Garnet's stomach plummeted. Oh gods, what did I say? "Okay, so we'll make a deal… you tell me what I said and I'll tell you what you said."

"How do I know you wont make it up?"

"Says the thief to the princess."

"Touché. But still…" The grin sparked to life again. "It's just too good to give away."

"That's a shame," Garnet countered, "because the things you were saying could stun a court to silence."

Zidane grunted and the couple shared an intense, calculating stare for a long moment. The friction was mounting to an uncomfortable high and sensing this, Zidane had the right of mind to flatten the mountain before it erupted.

He yawned and stretched, tail curling upward like a snake emerging from beneath a rock. "Well, I'm bushed. Let's throw down our weapons and call it a draw, eh? We can save this battle for another time. Budge up, I wanna get some sleep."

Garnet snorted. "Oh please. Get back down there."

"Gods, I thought you'd never ask!"

"What's that supposed to mean? Oh, I don't want to know. Please return to your bunk, Zidane Tribal, before I'm forced to summon Ifrit to remove you from this continent completely."

He threw a few more desperate attempts at her (all of which were effortlessly parried) before finally assenting and hopping from top to bottom bunk, gratuitously leaving the quilt at her disposal, which she rearranged it into something more accommodating before settling down for the night.

"You sure you don't want some company?" a little voice drifted through the mattress.

"Come up here," came the reply, "and you'll wake up without a tail."

"Point taken. Sweet dreams, princess. And try not to talk so loudly tonight. I want to get a good night's sleep."

"Ooh, you!" But Garnet's quip lacked spite because she'd just realised that her quilt now smelt of Zidane. She sighed happily, snuggled into the knot of blankets and knew she was in for a good night's sleep.

I'm glad I don't talk in my sleep. Though if I did I'm sure my boyfriend would be asking 'Why do you keep talking about tails and monkeys? And where is this 'Mount Tribal' you keep talking about?' Hehe.

Just quickly, the quote from 'Luciano' was actually an Oscar Wilde quote, and Zidane and Garnet's dialogue while Zidane told his story was directly from the game.

Anyway, I'm worried that this chap was a little OOC for Garnet, but it was fun to write. Those two compliment each other so well. Conde Petie here we come…