A/N: I'm sorry about the wait, but moving to Uni and getting started on the course has taken up a lot of my attention and my time. I can't say updates will come more frequently now, but I will try to keep up with them this time. There will probably be more over the Christmas break, so if anyone is still reading this thing, that's something to look forward to :)
Chapter 10 - Preparing.
White silk fluttered around her ankles, moved by the breeze that blew in through the open window of the seamstress's quarters. Her hair was pulled up out of the way and a ribbon passed softly around her throat, caressing her skin. A shimmering material lay folded in a pile on the window seat, coloured pink by the sunset that disappeared below the horizon in the west. It was a truly beautiful sight, red glow glancing off the cloud strewn heavens, fading into the darkness of the trees in the distance, throwing its beams through the window glass and falling in pools all around her. The light rustle of fabric was like music in the air, breaking up the silence as the seamstress walked around and around her, holding up reams of material, sticking pins here and there, tapping a finger to her chin and reaching for the tape measure.
Quistis stood in silence on her stool, bathed in the light of the sunset and swathed in so much fabric she felt almost as though she was drowning in it. The wedding dresses of princesses were huge and cumbersome things with great bell-shaped skirts, tight-fitting corsets and huge ruffs stuck onto the collars. This was what had been worn for hundreds of years and it was unlikely to change in the next hundred, certainly not in the next week. She had said many many times before that she envied the common girls, being able to choose who to marry, choose what they wore, wear something comfortable on their wedding days…
The soft breeze was cooling on her face, its soft tendrils curling round the back of her neck to the sweat that was beginning to form from the sheer weight of the clothing she was wearing. Its sudden cold made her shiver and seeing this, the seamstress went and shut the window, closing out the breeze, the sunshine, the smell of the flowers, the rustle of the tree leaves, trapping her indoors. She heaved a sigh at the symbolism it carried.
There was a knock on the door, further shattering the peaceful illusion. The seamstress went for the door and the King entered. The seamstress curtseyed and Quistis attempted the same. Caraway looked her up and down, "You look like a Queen." He said softly.
"I am not a Queen, your Grace; I am a pin-cushion." She replied quietly, feeling far more docile now her ticket to freedom had been secured. Caraway chuckled, apparently also feeling very much more relaxed about the whole affair, though lord knew it had only been a few hours since the Khal had left the palace, preferring to sleep with his men in their little encampment outside the city walls.
Caraway motioned for the seamstress to continue her work and he took a seat on the windowsill, adopting a look she hadn't seen for a very long time, since she was merely a child. He was going to go all gushy any minute now, she could just tell. True to her suspicions, Caraway pulled out a handkerchief and mopped at his eyes a few moments later.
"You know," He said quietly as the seamstress began to pass ribbon around Quistis' arms and secure them with pins at the shoulder. "I haven't told you this very often, and I've not thought about it for a very long time, but I'm proud of you, Quistis."
"Your Grace, please," Quistis sighed, shaking her head, "You needn't tell me you're proud just because I'm finally doing something you want."
"It's not that," Caraway mumbled, dabbing his eyes again. "Of course I am very pleased that you're doing as you're told. You've always stood up to me and never done anything I've asked, but I'm proud of you for many other reasons as well. Rinoa is…" He sucked in a breath and took a glance outside, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. Well well well, the man was really going for it this time, eh? "As helpless and as clueless as a child. She needs so much attention all of the while, spending my money, travelling all over the kingdom, socialising and having a good time, falling in love with a new boy every other week it seems. She's always been this way, never really changing since she was a youngster. But you," He turned watering eyes back to her and for the first time in a very long time, Quistis began to feel a little sad as well, "You've gone and grown up without me. Before I even knew it, my blonde little girl had all grown up into a beautiful young woman, who reads books, studies musical instruments, discusses politics with foreigners, doesn't chase boys and squander her money on frivolous objects like her sister does. I've never had to worry about you like I've had to worry about Rinoa and it's only now that you're about to leave, I realise that you're not a little girl anymore, I don't have to worry about you anymore and that I've never told you just how proud of you I am."
"Your Grace," Quistis replied, lifting her chin for the seamstress to fit a prototype-ruff. "I don't need to be told you're proud of me. Having your approval has always been something I've sought for, but after 19 years of looking for it in books, music, art, airs and graces, I have settled on the idea that it is not to be found here. As much as I appreciate your pride, the only thing I want now is to be out of this dress and tucked up in my bed."
"Quistis…"Caraway wiped his eyes again and stood up from the window seat, scrunching the handkerchief up in his hand. "I have always been proud of you, for searching hard for the answers you need, for keeping yourself safe from harm… I will always be proud of you for doing this for your country, for me."
"Your Grace, I'm not going to my death, don't-"
"Quistis, stop calling me 'Your Grace'," Caraway said, hopping out of the seamstress's way as she circled Quistis' waist with another loop of white silk ribbon. "I'm your Dad, not your King."
"I'm sorry, Your Grace," She sighed, shaking her head, "You haven't been my Dad in a very long time."
Horses; the sweet smell of them, the hay they were feasting on; the sounds they made as they snuffled away in their food, stamped their feet, nickered to one another. They were graceful creatures with long legs, long necks, long tails, big, dark oval eyes and small quick ears. A mixture of stupidity and wisdom all in one, unable to read or speak words, but experts at survival, avoiding the darkness, the frightening, the unsafe. Graceless and course, Fuujin emulated their behaviour regardless. She trained herself up not to fear the things an ordinary woman would. She practiced night and day with all manner of weapons so she was not afraid of the darkness. Nothing was more dangerous than she was nowadays. But this was frightening her. There were some things she knew she could not overcome, numbers were one of those things, and today the Vaes were out en masse.
Her hands were sweating inside her gloves even though she felt cold, goose bumps rising underneath her armour. She had squared her shoulders before she even left the barracks early this morning and had kept them squared all the way out of the city and down the hill to the Vaes camp, now her shoulders hurt and her neck ached something terrible. Striding through the encampment in search of the golden-haired Khal only made her feel more and more nervous, no matter how confident she looked. She had been specifically requested before, certainly not by any foreign dignitaries; she wasn't aware they were even aware of her existence. It honestly scared her.
It didn't take her very long to find the Khal, it wasn't hard to distinguish between the rough looking dark-skinned, unshaven men and the neatly sheared, caramel skinned, bright-eyed young man sat on a tree stump, sharpening his sword on a wetting stone. He looked up on her approach, looking her first up then down, before returning his attention to his sword. She tucked her chin in and threw a salute; apparently she was going to have to take the initiative.
"SER FUUJIN. KING'S GUARD. REPORTING."
He gave a brief nod and tested the edge of his sword with his thumb. People had begun to crowd around them now, intrigued by the armoured woman confronting their Khal, forming a circle around the pair. Fuujin stood as still as she could, getting – for the first time in many years – the urge to shuffle her feet. The waiting made her feel nervous, as well as the scrutiny being afforded by the gathering men. Their gazes were a mixture of intrigue, distaste and appreciation. She scowled.
The Khal gestured one of the men forward, he slammed a fist into his own chest in greeting – like a big monkey or something – and the two exchanged a few words. Glances were thrown at her, the monkey-man blushed and scratched the back of his head, seemed to stumble over his words and – after one last glance at her – started giggling and digging the toe of one boot into the dirt. Really? Rumour would have her believe these were warriors… The evidence said otherwise.
"Well, Fuujin," The Khal stood up, watching the monkey-man from the corner if his eye with a worried expression, "I trust you've been informed of your situation here?"
"YES."
He gave her a look. "I've been told you can wield a sword."
"CORRECT."
"And other weapons?"
"CORRECT."
"Do you have a speech impediment?"
"NO." She said, turning her nose up. Behind the Khal, the monkey-man was gathering himself together again and had assumed a somewhat professional look. He grinned when their eyes met and waved. She rolled her eyes in response.
Seeing the exchange, the Khal gestured to the monkey-man, "This is Raijin, he is my second in command and will be your superior officer after me." Fuujin nodded, Raijin… She thought he had looked a little familiar, he was the man she'd elbowed into the ground yesterday afternoon. "Raijin is the man you will go to with questions, he will give you your orders and you will report to him. It is also your duty to protect him, as it is your duty to protect every man you stand beside." The Khal fixed her with a look. It was a look that made her insides feel cold, frozen even. Those eyes were feral, half wild but kept under wraps by something. They reminded her of a snake's eyes as it fixed its prey. "Do you understand?"
"YES." This Khal was scary, much more frightening than the King or anyone else she had ever encountered and what was worse, she would probably have a hard time killing this one, he wasn't the Khal for just any old reason…
"Fight him."
She raised an eyebrow. "FIGHT?"
"Yes," The Khal said, sheathing his newly sharpened sword. He waved Raijin – who had lost his sappy expression – forward, "Everyone must have a use, you say you can wield a sword, prove it."
Raijin gave the Khal an apprehensive look and was about to say something, a complaint no doubt, but Fuujin didn't give him the chance. It wasn't that she was particularly disposed to beating people up, but she had been told by the King to follow the Khal's orders until she was told otherwise. She drew her sword and smacked Raijin round the head with the flat of it. He crumpled without resistance only seconds before nearly a hundred swords were drawn simultaneously.
For his part, the Khal appeared quite calm, relaxed even. He still hadn't stood from his stump, hadn't drawn his sword and didn't even seem remotely concerned about the fact that his second in command was now an unconscious, crumpled mass at his feet. He was looking at Fuujin with a sort of… grading eye, as though he was evaluating her work. There wasn't really anything wrong with Raijin, she hadn't killed him, just hit him really hard in the head. It wasn't even as though she'd attacked him out of the blue either, she was only following the orders that were put to her-
"Welcome to the Khalisaar." She took the proffered hand and shook it. He had a firm grip, a sign of confidence. She matched the pressure in his fingers. The surrounding men exchanged looks, a few shrugs and then slowly the bristling wall of knives was sheathed and crowd began to disperse. She let go of the Khal's hand as soon as regulation would allow, then took a roll of parchment from her coin purse and held it out. If that was – as she suspected – her initiation over, then these were the King's instructions as to what to do with her from now on. Specifically that she was to eat, sleep and live with the Khalisaar from this moment on. She had no home in the palace barracks from here on out.
The Khal gave it a brief skim over, then nodded. "Fair enough, take Raijin away and don't bring him back until he's conscious and able to speak like a human being." He said, standing up and stuffing the roll into his belt. Fuujin nodded and stepped forward to grab one of Raijin's arms, slinging it over her shoulder and heaving. He was a lot heavier than any of the other men she had shouldered in the past, a daunting testament to just how much muscle mass this guy was made up of and how much damage he could do if so inclined…
Seifer grinned as he watched Fuujin staggering away under Raijin's weight, his feet dragging on the ground and various pointing fingers directing the new warrior in the direction of Raijin's tent. The change taken over the big man at the mere sight of Fuujin was startling, worrying in fact – if he was going to have the two of them fighting alongside him he wanted to make sure Raijin would be in a fit state to watch his back, not be busily going goo-goo eyed over some silver vixen – but he wouldn't be being a good brother if he didn't at least allow him to indulge in his fancies. Certainly waking up to Fuujin nursing him back to health would put Raijin in an excellent mood! At least make him a little more appreciative of Seifer's understanding nature anyway. He chuckled as he considered what he'd just done. He liked Fuujin, she was tough, regimented; she was going to fit in like a dream here.
He picked up his wetting stone and tossed it up in the air, catching it and repeating the action. He needed to find a gift to present to the Khalissi, a wedding present. It needed to be something she would like – something pretty or perhaps intellectual – something that would be useful for a life on the move – a Horse or a weapon – and something he could get his hands on quickly, within the week – erm… Nothing really springing to mind… To be honest a Khal would normally have quite a long time to think about a wedding gift, all that time spent courting the woman of his choice would have allowed him to get to know her more and hence form an idea of what she would like. Seifer was out of the loop on that one though, having had very little time to get to know his Khalissi and having fought with her for half of that.
He thought about it as he wandered towards his tent, tossing his wetting stone into the air. From what he could gather, Quistis was a pragmatist, into thinking rather than dreaming, she was the sort to study thoroughly, read up on something she was unsure of – hence the Vaes 'N Taal – but there were still things she had interests in above all else. Things like philosophy, the North, preserving her-
The North! The wetting stone landing in his hand with a definitive smack. The North. She wanted to go to the North after they were married, in fact it was one of the first things she demanded of him, it was as important to her as Edea was to him. But did he have anything Northern? He ducked into his tent and went straight to the trunk full of his possessions, throwing open the lid and beginning to pull things out, tossing them aside. He was pretty sure he had some Northern things stashed away somewhere, some weaponry he thought or a piece of jewellery…
The ground around him was becoming slowly more cluttered as bits and bobs were dragged out of the way, strips of leather, gems, various pieces of weaponry and armour, an old broken shield he was planning on fixing at some point… A tankard he had no idea he had… A bottle of something once fit for human consumption but now a murky brown colour he wouldn't want to touch with a barge pole… More armour… Spare hides… and a dagger. He turned the dagger over in his hands; it was an odd shape, like a root, or an antler with branches of metal sprouting from one thick stem. It was obviously something that had once sat atop a spear – something he had observed when he'd first found it a few years ago in Trabia – although when it had been transformed into a dagger he had no idea. It had an inscription on the blade – or should he say blades? But he had no idea what it said, he could read basic Trabian, it wasn't so very different from the Tongue they used now, but the words on the dagger were of a much older dialect. He shrugged, it probably wasn't all that important, and set the dagger aside. He needed something else, something that was either pretty or intellectual… He looked around his tent for anything inspiring.
He wrinkled his nose. What on earth would be inspiring about a bed roll, a dirty plate, a pile of discarded belongings and a dirty pair of foot wraps? Nothing. Certainly not anything that would inspire a princess. He didn't have access to things like books or ancient scrolls; he owned no dresses and certainly no jewellery. Those things would only be found in a woman's tent and he had already sent all the women ahead to the Narrow Sea…
Sitting back on his bum, he observed the dagger again. It would be handy knowing what the inscription said; it would have more meaning to it if he could tell her what it meant… None of the other weaponry he had was going to be any good either as most of it was scratched, bent or blood-stained and he was willing to bet a bollock she wouldn't want any of that. He heaved a sigh and lay back among his scattered possessions. Never in a million years would he have thought he'd be agonising over finding suitable gifts to present to a woman… Gone were the days of flowers and a nice leg of horse…
Hey, that was a thing! Did she have a nice horse? He got to his feet and ducked out of his tent, trotting over to the Ramada. Any horse she would have was likely to be the decorative type, perfect for sitting on and looking pretty as you strolled about the courtyard, but no good over ruddy terrain, running for miles in a day, scrambling over the mountains, surviving for days in the frozen wastes of the Trabian tundra. Only the hardiest of horses could make that journey. He walked between the horses, running his hands over their sides, their backs, grabbing handfuls of the downy fur they were covered in. He wanted a kind tempered one, pretty to look at, but with lots of fur so it wouldn't be hindered by the rough winters. It needed to be sure footed, a solid build with a good straight back, strong shoulders… Something that would keep her safe without him having to handle her with kid gloves… Finally he found what he was looking for, more or less. It was a pretty little thing with thick golden fur, brown mane and tail, shaggy feet and dark twinkling eyes. It wasn't much smaller than his own horse and when he inspected it, he found it to be a mare. Perfect. It was going to be strong, warm and steady, just what he wanted. And what was even better was the fact that it currently had no owner! The tribes had a fondness for decorating their steeds with beads, feathers, earrings sometimes and on one occasion he'd seen a horse whose owner had actually fashioned it a necklace of horse hair, bone and glass beads and a solid-gold pendant.
He took a handful of its mane and began to lead it from the Ramada; it followed him obediently and quietly. As he was walking to his tent he spotted Nida peeking to Raijin's tent. He stopped next to him and took a peek as well. Raijin was sat up, wringing his hands and blabbering on about Fuujin's 'metal dress' "ya know". Nida was sniggering at the sight and Seifer felt the corners of his mouth beginning to turn as well, but he hooked the back of Nida's tunic anyway and yanked him away from the tent. Nida yelped and turned to stare at his attacker. Seifer fixed him with a disapproving glare. "Did Raijin make a joke?"
"Err, No, Khal," Nida shook his head, blushing. "Raijin's speech is strange. I thought he could speak the Common Tongue well."
Seifer resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. As though that wasn't the understatement of the century. Instead he stepped to the side and indicated the mare that stood patiently behind him. "This is the Khalissi's horse. Find her some tack and a rug."
"Yes, Khal." Nida nodded, thumping a fist to his chest before taking hold of the mare's mane and leading her off towards his own tent. If everyone in the tribe had their strong point, then Nida's was horses, or more specifically their tact, he was an expert at crafting tack, altering tack, fitting tack and destroying it – many an enemy scout had found themselves and their tack deposited unceremoniously on the ground whilst their horses scampered off without them.
Seifer took one last look into Raijin's tent – the big man was now waving his hands furiously and apologising for some dire misunderstanding – then, shaking his head in amusement, headed off towards his own tent to do some tidying up.
A/N: So, what did we think? Everyone looking forward to the wedding? I'm not... I can't decide how to write it... From Quistis' POV or Seifers? Shall it be a celebration like in the actual books and TV show? Should I make it a little different? Should I stir things up a bit or let them settle down? When in the heck do they consummate the marriage?! If they do it at all that is... I feel as though I made Seifer a bit soft in this chapter, so I'm going to toughen him up in a bit, no fear, he won't be OOC for long, we just need a little something to push him towards his ol' self again... Any ideas?
