Dissidia fanfic

Chapter 4

She is…

A/N: Alright, I've done WOL and Terra in chapter one, Zidane, Tidus, Bartz, and Oni commandeered chapter two, and Cloud and Squall were cameo in chapter three. Now all that's left is Firion and Cecil... After that all the "intros" are done and we can get to the plot. Or rather throw the characters at each other and try to get to a plot out of the mess that ensues. /Takes a deep breath/ Let's see how this goes.

"Hey there little guy."

For the record, he was not the "little guy" in question, rather his companion of the moment was content to wend his way through there surroundings striking up conversations with random pieces of flora.

Having traveled with odder (or so he thought, it wasn't something as sure as a memory, just a hunch really) companions before, Cecil wasn't going to say a word.

So he didn't, he simply enjoyed the quiet and pieced together the fragments of his recollection. Trying, and failing, to apply them to the mystery at large.

He'd woken to color, a palette of reds with green threads of grass licking at each flowers flamboyant bloom. The whole of the floral encrusted mass swayed in the gentle winds, nearly choking them both in the wash of natural perfumes. A... well whatever it was he was… he'd drawn on some unrecalled resolve and endured. Eventually he'd been able to think through the all encompassing sweetness to really take stock of heaven.

For… for some reason… heaven seemed the most important thing of all.

There was no moon, so the source of the winds was a mystery. No sun either. Only a blue sky that best suited a thespians fancy rather than reality.

So, it went without saying that the clouds above were white clouds, fluffy, and inspired the idle to thoughts of chocobos.

He squinted, through the white glaze that covered the eye holes of his armor, he half sat up, ignoring the pain each motion cost him. There were other things he also had to ignore.

His companion's salutation upon his awakening… That was most definitely one of those "things".

"I've never seen a monster like you before. Wasn't sure, if you were or weren't so I figure I'd wait for you to wake before I… did anything."

He'd tried not to flinch, held back a stab of anger that the younger man's assumption had caused. The other man was a walking armory after all. A little prudence could go a long way. Much farther than an ounce of prevention, after all there was no cure for a sword through the throat… In the few second's Cecil had been awake he had spotted at least six weapons, and one reflection he was sure the man was carrying more than that.

"My name is Cecil, I am a man. Not a monster. Monsters don't have names."

"Could of fooled me."

Sheathing the blood red blade in his hands the white clad man shrugged, then as an afterthought had offered a hand to the black armored man. Cecil had taken what he was given, eyes widening in shock as he saw how badly his hands were shaking.

Acting as if he hadn't seen –though he must have- the younger swordsman smiled.

"Has anyone mentioned that armors a mite… creepy. Name's Firion by the way, and though it's probably an assumption on my part, I'll say it's nice to meet you."

"After thinking I was a monster?" Cecil grumbled.

"Well, last I checked," the man cracked a grin that was part grimace. "Monsters don't have names." Pulling his companion so he was sitting up, the younger man nearly let go in shock at the startled hiss on Cecil's part. That sound wasn't a testament to some sore spot, or a cramp, but agony. Firion skipped his initial plan of offering to pull the other to his feet and let go only when he was sure the other man could sit up without falling over. "What in Holy's name happened to you?"

"I don't know." Here Cecil had shrugged and the pain that had been throughout now settled across his shoulders. "Do you know?"

"Not a thing. Save my name, oh, and I like roses."

To that enlightening bit of knowledge Cecil had sighed. Today looked to be a long day indeed.

And it was, thought there was no sun to mark the days passing, or its stages. They seemed trapped in an eternal moment of a sunny spring day (minus the sun of course). Having looked over the field of red flowers he'd sought to journey around them taking care to mind the thorns and brambles of course. Thus, he'd talked the pathless span, keeping the bit of black that was his companion in the corner of his eye. There was no purpose to his wanderings, save that he strived to return with a grin more often than not.

Another return, another smile on the younger man's part, and that was enough to make Cecil forget his pain for a few seconds. Thus Firion returned quicker than he should of, though younger than the black clad knight he wasn't stupid.

Not by a long shot.

Smiling wide, a chuck of white rock in his hands, Firion waved his find about like it were precious.

"Look, I found something!"

It was the sixth "something" thus far, or perhaps it was the seventh "find" today.

Cecil grunted his acknowledgement. He'd stopped articulating greetings with words the second one in. And could his face have been seen under his helmet's guard Firion would have seen what he suspected. The other man's pale face was pallid, his brow was slicked with sweat.

A rock, too smooth and perfectly square shaped as a square. Had he not been amongst this proverbial bed of roses (save there were no roses about, merely flowers that seemed akin to them) he'd of suspected it to be a brick. But bricks were the province of houses, castles perhaps, and vanities like paved roads.

Here, there were no roads, certainly no castles, for though not perfectly so the land was a mite… flat and its rises and falls were tame things.

"You know what I think?" Firion asked, still smiling.

And as expected, for this was a game, between the two of them, a curious one that they'd both agree on all accidental.

"What?" The Dark Knight nipped the bait before him.

"I bet this is.. it's…" A pause the boy's face crinkled and the beads that dripped from the edge of his his turban-ish hat twinkled in the light. "It's a ruin, from a castle. Some great capital… a city of light and…"

And Cecil closed his eyes, listening to conjecture and theory that was utterly unfounded. Such was the living dream he found himself in, that he took up fancy, listened to it as if it was real, hoping... praying… that it would summon something. Something more than a vague sense of "Oh that's right" or… as was more often than not the case… a flash of amusement that wasn't attached to anything deeper than the moment.

"Hey!"

A thud as the stone fell from uncaring hands, a sense of falling. He was falling, ah well, he'd half anticipated this when the earth had become so treacherously tilted last tale back. He was jarred from his apathy by hands. Arms wound about him. Warmth all about him, not from above.

He cracked open an eye, the view was curiously blurred.

"Seriously Cecil," A grunt the arms shifted so they held his back better. The world no longer was listed to the side, all drunkenly. "You have to say something when you're gunna clonk out on me, alright?"

"Alright…"

But it wasn't this was… repentance… salvation… There was something familiar about pain, freeing, being freed from it?

The details, the whys of why such a sensation was so familiar, so vial were another mystery within this mystery.

There came on odd sound, a soft "shink" as a blade was drawn then stabbed into yielding earth. His eyes opened wide at that though with his helm the boy… no young man… could never have seen the difference. Another sound more of a "chink" as a spear was stabbed into the earth.

"Sit up a little longer on your own, alright?" Firion ordered.

Loyal… duty... honor… One of those must explain this odd… feeling. This odd… obligation. He'd been asked, so he would, there were no other options.

So he sat up, for a while.

Rope was wound between the two imbedded weapons, a passable chair with the earth as it's seat. He was eased back then, a gentle push and the task of support was taken off his shoulders and he reclined for a while. White eyeholes tipped to the side, ads his head lolled just so. He stared without seeing for the longest time into a red mirror of sorts. He smiled as realization came to him then, though the boy'd never see it.

Child… takes good… care of… his sword.

Very good care, though red it was polished. Though old it was cherished. It gleamed with a mirror finish and for a while Cecil stared at himself, for a while really realizing what he was seeing.

Then he saw, and stiffened.

"You alright?" Firion asked, almost dreading the expected response.

The clipped, terse, but oh-so proper "Well I think I'm dying, you should run along so I can do so privately now…"

But that never came. The expected. Hand shaking, the man traced the edges of his helmet with a black gloved hand, wondering at the steel and its attendant barbs with one digit. Cecil was acting as if he'd never seen it before.

Or wasn't expecting it to be there.

Finally, after the silence went on for a long time, and the shaking got much worse…

"Help me…"

Firion just stared.

"My… reflection… I'm not… I want…" A sigh, akin to a man's last breathe but it wasn't.

Thank Holy for that.

"I want to see my face, without this thing. Like my reflection… I want that… to be true, just once."

Firion nodded, beads glinting like gold in the steady light from above.

"I... not as a monster, I don't want to look like one, not anymore."

"I'll help." Firion murmured. Bending down, he reached and finding the straps of leather belts that held the helmet so close, it surely smothered. Even as he loosened and worried at the steel that bound it all together, the weapons master had to wonder how the man breathed. The fit was that tight. "All you had to do was ask.

One click, another, a tug. He pulled up and felt something give way.

Silver hair fell haloing a man so pale, with features so fine they seemed celestial.

"I…" Firion swallowed. "I'm guessing you're not from around here." He whispered. Looking down at the man before him he suddenly, violently, hated the bitter features, those warped monster faces, that were stamped over the mans' breastplate and shin guards. The contrast, between angel and devil, was just that wrong.

"I don't really know, can't remember." Blue eyes glinted, some of their pain abating, amusement caused the man's lips to curl into a smile. "Does it matter?"

"We go to a place with a lot of pretty girls, yes it will. You'll have the better "been there done that" stories than me. How'll I get a date with you as competition?"

Cecil laughed, and with a grimace Firion set the helm aside, checking the impulse to throw it aside.

"Let's get the rest of this junk off… See where you're hurt. You have to be hurt and I'm not gunna hear a word against it." Lifting a limp hand, cradling it in his own Firion snorted. "Imp faced arm braces? Were you trying to say something when you got this forged?"

Loosening the metal bracers he pealed those off, noting the flesh underneath looked raw and irritated. Not infected, thank goodness. Working his way down he pulled off a gauntlet that really didn't want to come off, and struck by an odd impulse he pulled off the glove under the gauntlets as well.

Gold glinted about the man's finger, middle finger… A wedding ring.

"You… you're married?"

Cecil was sitting up on his own then, eyes wondering, his hand flexed as if trying to grab a thought. The gold about his digit glittered.

"I… I guess I was…" His face furrowed. "Her name… her name... was…" He fought, bereft of sword, magic beyond him, fatigue his only companion, he fought and his face broke out in a soft sheen of sweat as he shook under the duress of his battle.

"Cecil, don't you-" Firion pulled back, the man was shaking, and shaking in a bad way. "You need to calm down!"

"Name.. her name was… is.." He gasped the last, hand fisted; tears pooled, glimmered for one moment like liquid crystals, and then fell. "Is. Her name is Rosa."

And, wonder of wonders, the black about his frame shimmered, shivered, and melted away like mist before the dawn. Between one moment and the other, one blink and another, the black armor and its attendant monsters were gone. In its place…

He looked like… like a paladin, like a holy knight smack out of legend… There was no dark about him, cool sky blues and lunar inspiring silvers. And to that sight, that fitting sight, Firion smiled.

The other man's shakes had stopped, and that was the best thing to happen today this far.

"Feel better?" Firion asked, smiling wider. He already knew, but what the hell, he'd ask anyways.

"Tired, but… a great deal better, thank you."

"That armor's bad stuff, probably cursed." Firion warned.

"Probably." Cecil sighed.

"So," Blue eyes that had been closing roved up, and Firion widened his smile. Forgoing manners and the like he just plopped on down, took a seat in front of the recuperating man before him. Didn't want the guy to get a crick in his neck and all that. "What's she like?" Only the helm remained, a black bur on the side of a perfect spring day. Well there were ways about that. Firion kicked aside the offensive metal and stretched, leaning forward even as Cecil reclined back on his impromptu seat. "Your Rosa?"

"I don't remember, not all the specifics..."

Unsaid, but certainly not unfelt, was a sentiment. All the more reason to try to remember. And, it gave hope, hope that he'd recall something wonderful.

"Just one line, one thing about her..." The man took a deep breath, a knight now, truly, without even a stroke of dark about him. Firion decided he liked that look the man wore. It was soft, gentle, and complimented his small smile so well. More important than a look, he liked the man before him. No real reason, just a hunch they'd get on well and a desire to make the hunch into reality.

Seeing the bait, it was Firion's turn to nip, rules of the game and all.

"Well, what line?"

"She… she was the inspiration of all those silly sayings. About perfection and angels and the like. She was the reason they were ever made."

"Sounds like she's some girl." Firion whistled.

"I… She is." To that truth Cecil smiled, and it was like the sun coming up.