Author's Note: Holy crap, is this chapter ten? This is chapter ten! Wow, I can't believe I've actually made it this far. And a new reader! XitaUnlucky, welcome to the fic, and thank you for the review; I do try very hard on characterization. Elia41, if you ever do write a past!fic, by all means, link me – it's the sort of thing I love reading. Pip, yes, it is a very good thing that they're getting more comfortable with each other, because they're going to be stuck with each other for quite some time yet. And last but not least, JessRangel, yay for their persistent stalker, who fortunately is less dangerous than their other stalker. And wow, you guys, that was four reviews on one chapter, and one new story-stalker! You guys make me turn dangerous shades of "Oh, my, you shouldn't have!" red. On with chapter ten!

Origins
By LeFox

Chapter Ten: Old Friends, New Foes

"What do you mean you haven't found him yet?" Taharka's voice was deceptively calm, but his eyes were murderous. The cultists before him flinched, but he found he couldn't manage to feel remorse for them. Three days. Three days, and still no sign of Neirin. Taharka could be infinitely patient, but only if he knew his next step – and he always knew his next step. Until now. They had no definite knowledge of which direction Neirin may have gone after leaving Belapest, and no witnesses they could trust – some claimed to have seen a pair of boys fleeing from the east gate; others claimed to have seen the same pair heading north. No one could say with absolute certainty that the boys they'd seen were covered in blood. It had been dark, after all, and blood was a common sight in Belapest.

Taharka had needed to capture Neirin in Belapest.

The city was, indeed, a crossroad. There was no telling where the boy might go after leaving it; Taharka had known this was perhaps his last chance to catch Neirin himself; he didn't trust his followers' competency in the matter. It should have been simple. He'd worn the stone; Neirin was powerless. Taharka had been fortunate enough to discover a local barkeep who followed the teachings of his order, and when he'd explained the situation, the man had been more than happy to help out. Taharka hadn't mentioned, of course, that the boy he was attempting to capture was the prince, but the man hadn't asked many questions. He had mentioned that he had a friend, a beggar who lived in the alley behind his tavern; a friend who might be willing to steer their intended target in the right direction. Taharka had thought it was all a sign: everything falling so easily into place, everything going so smoothly in his favor. It was a sign; it had to be. A sign that he was meant to succeed; that he was doing the right thing. He and the barkeep had hidden in the old auction house, waiting until nightfall. The beggar hadn't failed them: early in the evening, Neirin had plucked his way into the building.

It all should have been so simple.

Taharka hadn't counted on the child.

He remembered Neirin's little pet, the brat who had made a laughingstock out of him. He'd believed the boy had died, like everyone else, at the castle. He had assumed Neirin was traveling alone and unarmed – Neirin was nothing if not arrogant and naïve, and he seldom thought of himself as anything short of infallible, all of which would have only served to help Taharka capture him. But the child. Orphans were uncannily good at surviving, and this one was no exception. Had he not been there to see it, Taharka might have never believed it. The boy couldn't be even ten years old, yet he'd managed to bury a jagged piece of wood deep in the barkeep's arm, and of course the idiot had let Neirin go. Covered in the wet, rotted curtain, Taharka could only watch in helpless rage as Neirin had vanished into the night, the blood-covered boy close behind.

It had taken him a full hour to free himself from beneath the filthy curtain, by which time the barkeep was nearly dead from the loss of blood. The fool hadn't even tried to free himself from the curtain; perhaps if he had, he might have survived. Taharka might have helped him had he only kept his mouth shut.

"Wasn't that the prince?"

The words still infuriated him. Taharka rose from his seat at the head of the cavernous room (the cultists flinched back again, but this time, he ignored them) and stalked off toward the nearest hall. Wasn't that the prince? The man had balked at the thought of hunting down the prince, no matter how many times Taharka had tried to explain that it was necessary. In the end, the barkeep had threatened to turn Taharka in to the city authorities. Impotent as these so-called "authorities" were, it wasn't a risk the cultist was prepared to take. The barkeep had to be dealt with. Taharka had killed him fairly easily; he hadn't expected the attack. Afterwards, Taharka had killed the beggar, as well, to cover his bases – he hardly needed the man to tell anyone about the conspiracy they'd laid out that night. Naturally, beggars and whores died constantly in Belapest, so no one questioned the beggar's death. The barkeep, though, found in the previously-sealed auction house… that had roused more suspicion than Taharka had hoped.

Thus far, no one seemed eager to suspect him; of course he had no reason to kill a random bartender. The popular theory seemed to be that thieves had broken in. But no one connected the two boys and the murder, so the authorities seemed unconcerned with hunting them down. Taharka almost wished he'd thought to make it seem as if Neirin and his brat were guilty of the man's murder. It would have been far easier to hunt him down if there were others hunting him, as well.

Taharka sighed, willing himself to calm down. There was nothing to be done about it now. They could only hope to track Neirin down again, somewhere along the line. There was no need to hurry, he assured himself. Haste would lead to mistakes, like the one in Belapest. As long as Garland was created before Terra's fall, all would be well.

"You know, you shouldn't think so much. People who think too much never get much done." The voice sliced through Taharka's thoughts, and he scowled at the interruption. He had decided, having lost Neirin twice already, that perhaps hiring mercenaries skilled in tracking people might be to their advantage. After two days of enduring the mercenaries, he already regretted the decision. Most of them were loud, brash, and, in the case of this one, intent on seducing every female member of his order. In only two days, the bastard had apparently found his way into the beds of no less than five women, in one case being discovered with two at once. It was disgusting.

"Jalen," Taharka said, trying to convey the contempt he felt with one word.

It wasn't effective. "Aw, you remembered my name?" The man grinned, stepping out of the shadows. Jalen – of course he remembered the useless bastard's name – was short in stature, but made up for it with a personality that was easily twice his own size. He was from the southern region, of course, and he had the blond hair, blue eyes, and lightly-tanned skin to prove it, with none of the humility that was supposedly bred into the citizens of the south. Jalen was quick to smile and laugh at everything, always ready with a jest. Taharka despised him.

"You haven't started looking for Neirin." The sooner he started, the sooner he would be gone. "None of you have."

Jalen shrugged. "You haven't exactly told us where to start looking. We're trackers, sure, but we're not miracle workers, and we're not mind-readers." He leaned against the wall again. "All you've said is that you're looking for the prince, and you think he left Belapest three days ago. That gives us, at best, one city to search. At worst, we could search the entire damn countryside and never find a single track. You know it's been raining, don't you? Tracks get washed away in the rain."

"So you're saying you're useless."

"Not useless." Jalen smirked. "We just need somewhere to start. Somewhere definite. I'll tell you what. Tomorrow, four of us will go to Belapest and start looking around by the gates. Eventually a clue will turn up. Does that sound adequate?"

It would have to do… for now.

xxx

Following Tiamat's declaration, silence settled in the room. Kuja sat up, looking at Neirin with trepidation. Leave the continent? His heart pounded so loudly he was sure the other two must be able to hear it, but they didn't look at him. They stared at each other. Tiamat's expression was carefully guarded, but Neirin's was anything but. The boy watched as the prince's face shifted from shock to confusion, and then from confusion… to defiance.

"I will not leave the continent," Neirin said flatly, his slender fingers curling into fists. "This is my continent. I am the rightful king of this continent. I'm not going to flee just because Taharka thinks he can scare me."

"But you are scared!" Kuja blurted, remembering the surreal morning when he'd woken up covered in blood to find Neirin shivering and terrified, telling him that he'd saved the prince's life. Neirin's fear had almost been tangible; there was no denying it. Still, he wished he hadn't said anything. He looked away, afraid to see the prince's reaction – he would be left behind for sure now. At least he had decent shoes now, he thought absently, chewing his lip. But Neirin was scared. Kuja wasn't blind. He'd seen the fear in Neirin's eyes when he realized he couldn't call up any magic, there in the auction house; he'd seen it when Taharka and his man had emerged from the darkness.

"I am not scared," Neirin half-shouted, and Kuja flinched, keeping his head ducked. "And I will not be chased out of my own kingdom by some witless, terrorizing heretic. I'm armed now, and I'm ready for him at every turn – he'll never catch this prey unwary again!"

Tiamat listened, his expression unchanging. "Do you have a plan?" he asked blandly, and Neirin faltered. "I think your guard dog has more sense to him than you do, king." He threw the title back scathingly, and Neirin had the grace to look just slightly embarrassed. "Taharka's cult is fairly widespread, so he has eyes, ears, and knives everywhere on the continent. He's put any city that might raise an army for you to the torch. He has more resources than we do, at the moment. How were you planning to survive staying on the mother continent, exactly? You know he's looking for you. He could be in this village, right this very moment. If he was, he could march right up to you and kill you, and quite frankly, there's not a damn thing you could do about it."

"That's not-"

"You forget who trained you to fight, boy?" Tiamat's eyes narrowed. "You're useless with a blade; you rely on magic, and magic can't save you from that pretty rock Taharka wears around his neck. The boy-" He jerked a thumb in Kuja's direction. "-is better in a fight than you are, and he isn't even armed. I was able to pluck that shiny little toy right out of your hand, wasn't I? And I wasn't even expecting a fight. Taharka will be, from now on. I wouldn't be surprised if he tries to kill your little guard dog." Kuja looked up sharply, his eyes wide with shocked terror. Tiamat didn't seem to notice or care. "And if he does, no one's gonna save you. My guess is Kuja would be better with the blade than you'd ever be, and he hasn't had a day of training in his life." Kuja was still terrified by this line of discussion, but intrigued by the thought that he might get a weapon of his own.

Neirin looked like a thundercloud. "I can learn," he said bitterly. "Just because I was never any good at fighting stuffed dummies hardly means I couldn't fight if my life depended on it. I learn quickly. Lich always said as much."

"Oh, I won't argue with that," Tiamat shrugged. "You pick up lessons and little magic tricks the way most boys your age pick up girls, but you don't have a head for blades. Not that I'm not glad you picked one up. Even you know to stick 'em with the pointy end, and when it comes down to it, that might be all you need to know. Taharka might not expect you to be armed. If you catch him off-guard, be sure that knife ends up in his heart."

"I know that," Neirin spat, scowling petulantly. This conversation was obviously not going according to plan. Kuja glanced anxiously between the two, wishing they'd stop. This wasn't the sort of reunion he'd been hoping for.

Fortunately, Tiamat seemed to be finished. "Well? Do you have a plan? If not, I'm dragging you by the hair to the next port city and tossing your ass on the next ship to whatever continent the captain so chooses." Kuja knew he ought to be surprised by the language, but Tiamat was easily the least-reverent of the guardians… and the boy didn't doubt for one minute that the man was completely serious. He looked back at Neirin, wondering. He personally had no desire to leave the continent – he'd barely managed to dredge up the courage to leave the castle – but… it would be an adventure. In the stories, people were always traveling to new lands. All the same, he hadn't really seen all that this continent had to offer, either.

Neirin glared defiantly for a moment longer, then slowly, unbelievably, he relented. "You have a valid point," he said simply. "I don't have a plan. And I suppose… we can think of a plan for the new continent while we're on the way to a port. The nearest one would be… what, Jaranesa? About two days' walk from here, if I remember my geography."

Tiamat eyed him suspiciously. "More or less."

"And you're coming too, I expect?" Neirin crossed the room and sat down on the other bed, folding his hands gracefully in his lap. "You wouldn't leave me so soon, surely."

"Of course I'm coming," Tiamat replied, turning around now that his back was to Neirin. "I'd like to send word to the others, but there's no way to manage it without risking interception. They'll have to find out for themselves. I expect Kraken'll find out you didn't head her way pretty quickly, though, so she might get lucky and find her way to this town in time. I could leave a message for someone matching her description, I suppose… or the other two, but the chances they'll come here are next to nothing. I doubt Kraken will find us with any real haste, though; she's got a liability tagging along."

"Liability?" Kuja perked up, curious. Could it be…?

Tiamat seemed not to notice the hope in his voice. "That servant girl. You know the one; the one who dragged you to the throne. That… Alissa?"

"Elisi!" Kuja was overjoyed. She was alive! He'd been so sure she was dead; he had struggled to convince himself not to think of her. There was nothing he wanted so much in that moment as to see her again, just to reassure himself that she was alive. After all, she'd saved his life.

Tiamat nodded. "That sounds about right. She wasn't in good shape, but she'll live. Seems like the bolt missed everything important. My guess is, though, Kraken'll drop her off as soon as she finds a good spot, then she'll try to find Neirin. Hopefully she'll make her way here. The best I can do is leave a message for her." He shrugged. "Leave a message, and hope for the best. We'll be long gone by that point."

xxx

They spent the night in the village. Tiamat arranged for the tavern keeper to hold a message for a woman matching Kraken's description. The note was necessarily vague – it said only, "He's alive, we've left, T." Kuja wondered if there was any sort of code in place for this sort of thing; if "we've left" would let Kraken know they had left the continent. He also wondered if Elisi would be with Kraken when she came to this village, or if Tiamat was right, and she'd drop the girl off at the first reasonably safe place. Logically speaking, he knew the latter was more likely, but he was still allowed to hope, and he hoped Kraken would come to the new continent… and bring Elisi with her.

Neither of the two others seemed particularly keen on sharing their beds, so Kuja slept on the floor. He found himself wishing he'd gotten at least a bit of sleep while he'd had the bed mostly to himself earlier, but the floor was still a safer place to sleep than, say, a meadow or valley. At least it was dry. He drifted off comfortably, dreaming of nothing in particular. In the morning, he told himself, they would begin a new journey: a journey to a new continent, one that likely hadn't yet been fully explored. What an adventure that would be…

Sometime just after midnight, he found himself being shaken out of his dreams. "Wha…?" he managed, blinking blearily in the darkness. He'd thought this would be the one night he didn't have to get up before dawn. To his very mild surprise, he realized Neirin had woken him. "Neirin, what-"

"Hurry and get up," the prince whispered. "We're leaving." Kuja's gaze slid to Tiamat, who didn't seem to be awake at all. Indeed, he was snoring. "He's not coming. We're not going to Jaranesa. I'm not leaving this continent."

And so it was that they snuck out of the room, past a sleeping guardian, and stalked out into the night. Kuja didn't bother asking where they were going. Neirin, however unlikely it seemed, appeared to have had a plan all along.

Author's Note: And so ends chapter ten! Again, thanks for sticking with me through ten chapters – I hope the rest of the fic is great, too.