Author's Note: So yeah, the site crapped out last week, but I hope all of you got to see the chapter, all the same. Midnight the Black Fox, welcome to the fic; I hope you continue to enjoy it! And yes, Pip, Taharka is both ballsy and backhanded, and yes, Kuja's curiosity is probably going to get him into some fantastically wonderful places.
On with chapter four!
Origins
By LeFox
Chapter Four: A Mother's Unrest
"Exile," Neirin spat, pacing furiously up and down the hallway outside his own bedchamber under the watchful eyes of his Guardians. He had been pacing for the better part of an hour now, following the events in the throne room. "The bastard wants to carve out my intestines, and she exiles him!" From where he sat, tucked into a branching hallway, Kuja simply watched in silent shock. He wasn't completely sure he understood what was happening, but no one saw fit to explain it to him. Indeed, it rather seemed as if everyone had forgotten about him completely – he'd only followed Neirin and his guardians because he had no further desire to stay in the throne room, but no one had acknowledged him. He supposed that might be a good thing. After all, everyone else was angry now, and it would do him no good to have that anger turned on him.
"You mark my words, he'll be back within a month, and he'll be right back to his old schemes. Killed on sight my left foot; he's too damn sneaky to allow himself to be seen; we won't know he's around until he's carving me out-"
It was Lich who cut him off. "The queen must have had some reason for choosing exile over death. Did it occur to you to ask her?" Something told Kuja the prince didn't speak to his mother very often; the expression on Neirin's face suggested that no, it hadn't occurred to him to ask her. He hadn't spoken two words to her before storming out of the throne room, and if he'd wondered about her reasoning for doing as she had, he certainly hadn't asked her. Neirin looked away guiltily, and as he did so, his gaze settled on Kuja. Instinctively, Kuja ducked his head, hoping to avoid being noticed.
No such luck.
"Well, look who tagged along," Neirin mused aloud. "It seems I'm off to visit my dearest mother, and I do hate to call on people alone. Come along…" He floundered for the name a moment. "Kuja. Yes. Come along, Kuja. I expect the queen will have all manner of questions for and about you, anyway."
xxx
Her chambers were lavish here, though she preferred the simpler elegance of her rooms at the castle. Queen Bellanna stood before her mirror, plucking out the glittering nonsensical decorations her maids liked to weave into her hair. She allowed them to put the silly things in, but she enjoyed the right to take them out herself. They sat on the table before the mirror, shining – jewels and feathers and silver, all put toward making her look like a shining beacon of something or other. They made her look younger, or so her maids told her, and Bellanna chose to believe them. It might even be true. She had good blood, after all, and she wasn't old at all in truth, and the years had been kind to her… but the death of her husband and the weight of the kingdom's affairs sat heavily on her and dragged her ever more toward old age. And so she accepted the use of glittering hair ornaments as a way to make her look younger, though internally she felt so much older than her age. Now more than ever.
"He'll understand someday," she assured her reflection, when all of the ornaments were gone. "Neirin will understand someday." Her hair was silvery, and she wondered how much of that was from the stress of ruling, and how much of it was still her natural silver hair. Well. She smiled privately, and admired how different her reflection looked when she smiled; she did look younger then. Well. In only a few years, Neirin would come of age, and she would no longer need to worry about the stress of ruling – Neirin would take over the responsibility, and Bellanna could go back to the life she had enjoyed under his father's rule. Despite being of royal birth, she had never longed to hold the throne, herself, and so she had married early.
The life of a queen while a king held the throne was one of gaiety and frivolity; Bellanna had been a fashionable young queen with the newest and best of everything, and the women of the court had scrambled to keep up with her changing styles, for whatever the queen wore was the style of the day. And she could go riding again; she had missed it – either on a dragon or horse, it made no difference. She had taught Neirin to ride, and for the longest time, they had gone on dragon-flights together… but then the king had died so suddenly, and Bellanna found herself with no time for excursions.
And no time to talk to her son.
Not that it mattered, of course, for Neirin made little effort to talk with her, either. She loved him as much as she ever had, of course, for a mother's love never fades, but Neirin himself had become distant after his father's death. And that was confusing, for though the king had been proud of the boy, they had never been close. The father had been too busy for the son, and the son had been too carefree to trouble himself with the father, and so they had never bonded… so why had Neirin distanced himself from her? Was she, too, too busy for him, as his father had been? Perhaps it was her who was doing something odd; perhaps she had distanced herself without ever knowing she did so. But she was a good mother, she was sure of it. Neirin, for all his careless, flighty nature, was a good boy, and when he grew up and matured a bit, he would make a good king. He had turned out well. Bellanna was a good mother. Perhaps she just wasn't as good a mother as she should have been.
She looked away from the mirror, weary of her own face. She wanted to leave this manor, as she used to – on the back of a dragon, soaring high above the forests of Bran Bal, racing ahead of her harassed guards, letting the wind whip through her while she laughed through watering eyes. What had become of that free spirit? Bellanna reached for her now, and found her missing. The free spirit now wore a crown, and for all the authority that crown afforded her, it came with heavy chains, as well. The queen's heart sank, and her brave smile faltered. Even when Neirin sat the throne, she knew, she would still be bound by those chains. Terra's eyes had turned to her now, as they never had before. If she acted like the foolish pretty child she so wanted to be, they would notice now where they had never noticed during his father's rule, and as a consequence Neirin's rule would be tarnished by her behavior. She would sooner die than blemish her son's credibility.
But what if she had blemished it today?
"He will understand," she repeated to the quiet room, but her voice sounded less certain to her ears. She would have gladly executed Taharka for threatening the life of her son, but the cult he led was vast, and growing in popularity. Even if Taharka fell, another just like him would rise, if Taharka hadn't already begun training his own replacement. Bellanna felt she understood the cultist's methods. She would much sooner tangle with a threat she understood than have to adapt to a new threat – and with Taharka banished, the cult could take root far away from the mother continent, securing Neirin's safety. Let them carry out their mad, demonic schemes and experiments. As long as Neirin remained unharmed and unthreatened, Taharka could keep his life. It was meaningless enough, anyway.
"Mother?"
The voice jolted Bellanna out of her reverie, and she gasped with surprised joy. "Neirin!" she exclaimed, overjoyed that he had come to visit her at last… only to remember somewhat belatedly that it was entirely likely that he was wroth with her. He would ask her to explain herself. She drew herself up, going over the words in her head. She would win him back now, she had to. Neirin was still her son, she was still his mother, and that was a bond that could never be severed, and once he heard her reasoning, surely he would understand everything. He would understand. He would understand.
Neirin stepped into the room, and Bellanna was startled to realize he wasn't alone. A young boy of perhaps eight or ten trailed after him, standing awkwardly in the doorway. The boy from the throne room, the queen realized. She'd wondered where he'd come from. Indeed, she still wondered where he'd come from. The boy simply stared at his toes, occasionally glancing curiously up at her.
"I expect you know why I've decided to pay you a visit," Neirin said, folding his arms over his chest and glaring at her. Bellanna did not flinch under that glare. She was a queen, and there was iron at her core. She had expected this, and she would not appear uncertain or intimidated.
She drew a deep breath. He would understand. "We know what Taharka is after now. We can block him at every turn. If we execute him, how much time will pass before another leader like Taharka arises, perhaps a more dangerous one? If we allow the center of his cult's power to remain on the mother continent, how long will it be before it dominates us? Better to exile him, to put him out of view of the people of this continent. Let him rot far from us. But even if he remains here, we can block him, Neirin. If he can't get to you, he can't use you, and the royal city is secure. He can't reach you there." Her voice held steady through it all, and she remained strong – no matter how she may question herself, Bellanna was not weak, not when strength and decisiveness were necessary. "And if he's found on this continent, you will have your wish; Taharka will be executed. But I will not risk a worse enemy in exchange for one we understand."
The hand was played, but how would Neirin take it? Bellanna fought the urge to beg – to beg him to understand; to beg him to come back and be her son again; to beg him to see that all she did, she did for him. His face remained unreadable, and to her credit, so did hers. Neither of them showed any sign of weakening, but the queen felt her resolve crumbling.
"It'll work if he actually leaves the continent." Bellanna blinked, looking toward the boy standing in the doorway, who was now looking right at her. He had bright green eyes, she noticed absently – there was an old wives' tale that claimed green eyes signified the ability to always see the truth. She'd never put much stock in it, but now, she rather hoped it was true. She gestured for the boy to come to her. At first, he balked, ducking back as if he expected Bellanna might strike him, but then, he inched forward slowly, like an uncertain animal approaching a human for the first time. What an odd boy.
When he'd finally reached her, Bellanna knelt, studying him more closely. He was dressed poorly. An orphan, most likely… but what was he doing in the manor? "Hello," she said simply, and he flinched, before quickly sketching out a sloppy bow and stammering a greeting of his own. The queen looked up at Neirin; she certainly wasn't going to get the boy to talk, terrified as he was. "Neirin. Who is this?"
"An orphan from Bran Bal." He shrugged. "His name is Kuja. He might not look particularly impressive, but he tried to save me from my own guardians and nearly died for it. Besides," he added. "He's passing clever. I'm sure you noticed how he toppled Taharka for a moment."
So the boy amused Neirin. It was just as she'd expected; Neirin was always taking in odd pets, though this was the first time he'd taken in something that wasn't an animal. Bellanna fought the urge to groan. It was easy enough to release an animal back into the wild when Neirin grew bored of it, but it would be far less simple to deal with a child. She supposed she could find him a place among the castle servants, but if this were done against the boy's will… it would be no better than taking a slave. But she could hardly release a child into the wild; orphan or no, she could not abandon a child. Perhaps… she would simply have to wait and see. Perhaps Neirin wouldn't grow bored with the boy. She'd always intended to give him a brother, after all. Maybe this was fate's way of giving her what nature could not.
"Kuja, then." She smiled at the boy, who continued to appear completely terrified. Bellanna was, of course, the first queen he had ever seen, and of course he didn't want to end up in the crossfire between the queen and Neirin, whom the queen supposed the boy idolized for taking him in. She tried again. "Kuja, my name is Bellanna. Allow me to welcome you personally to my manor." The boy looked up at her then, startled. It was a start. "We'll leave for the royal city in two days, but in the meantime, you are granted full freedom of the manor. You may go wherever you wish." Technically, he'd always had that right (he was no prisoner, after all), but she thought it might help ease his terror just the slightest bit to hear it.
Neirin laughed. "Did you hear that, boy? You're free as a bird." With that, he swept the queen a quick bow, then left the room. Kuja stared after him a moment, then dashed after him, fleeing from Bellanna as if she might devour him if left alone. The queen sighed, smiling. She would have to convince him she was harmless; who knew what Neirin had told the poor boy?
It wasn't until several moments later that Bellanna realized Neirin had managed to weasel out of the room without truly accepting her explanation. She looked at herself in the mirror and shook her head. He was a good boy, but he would never admit he was wrong; he was as stubborn as his father had been. It didn't matter. As far as the queen was concerned, his silence and the lack of a continued argument meant he had accepted her explanation. Neirin would carry a grudge forever if he thought he was in the right – and he did so often enough. It had been clever of him, though, to bring the boy with him. He must have known she'd be distracted, distracted enough for him to slip away without ever so much as acknowledging her plan.
But I'd have never noticed the boy if he hadn't spoken up, she mused, frowning. Perhaps Neirin had known that, too. Kuja seemed to have a habit of speaking up at opportune moments. Bellanna laughed quietly, shaking her head. Whatever the heavens had in store for Kuja, it was sure to be an interesting road to get there. She only hoped she'd get the chance to see it before Neirin grew bored of him.
"Your majesty, a message." Her handmaiden swept in, carrying a letter, folded and sealed with wax. Bellanna frowned; she didn't recognize the seal. Still, she took the letter and broke the seal, unsurprised to find she didn't recognize the hand in which the letter had been written. The words were brief, clearly written in haste, but they nearly stopped the queen's heart, all the same:
Your Majesty the Queen Bellanna:
Your son's life remains at risk. I can offer you aid. Come to Traje's theatre at midnight, five days from today. Come alone, for I would not have my identity compromised, nor yours as you travel. Ask for the Paragon and you will be led to me.
- A friend
"'Your son's life remains at risk,'" Bellanna whispered. Could it possibly be that Taharka hadn't yet left the continent… or perhaps he didn't intend to leave at all? 'A friend,' she thought, staring at the signature. I can only hope this 'friend' can help. Or that they were who they claimed to be. Bellanna was not so naïve as to assume anyone who called himself a friend was a friend, simply by virtue of saying so. But if there was a chance, any small chance, that she could have an ally in this 'Paragon,' then…
Five days would see her in the royal city of Traje, and it would be easy enough to escape from the castle unnoticed, but Bellanna had no interest in going alone; that was idiocy. If this Paragon wasn't what he claimed to be, she wouldn't be caught off her guard. Besides, as was true of all Terrans descended directly from the First Kings, Bellanna could wield powerful magic, however little practice she had at doing so. She was no delicate flower, powerless in the face of a threat. Perhaps she didn't hold the same control over the elements as her ancestors once had, but should the situation demand it, she could defend herself. Maybe, just in case, she ought to carry a weapon of some kind – a small knife would do. And yes, she would bring guards with her. Only two, so as not to "compromise her identity."
All that remained now was to wait for the return to the city. Bellanna sat on her bed, eyeing her mirror. Ask for the Paragon, she thought. All I ask is for safety.
Author's Note: Who is the Paragon? Where the hell were the Guardians during the second half of this chapter? What fun awaits Kuja in the royal city of Traje? Tune in next week, when I may or may not answer some or none of these questions!
