Author's Note: This actually ended up being more Jalen-centric than anything. …I don't even know anymore.
Pip, I certainly hope the ending will be good – I certainly can't wait to write it, in any case. The ending was what inspired the entire fic, so with any luck, I'll write it as well as I've fantasized about it. StoryTagger, welcome aboard! You're really on the right track when it comes to not trusting anything in this story, but the priests, at least, are genuine. …Still a good practice to have, though. As to your other questions, read on, and maybe you'll find your answers. XitaUnlucky, as I said in my reply to you, Zidane's past self is in the fic, but he's not Neirin. You might actually be surprised by who he is. Also, yes! No one died! Color me shocked! I think it's the first chapter in a while where no one died, actually.
On with the chapter!

Origins
By LeFox

Chapter Fourteen: The Crownless King

Kuja hadn't gone to bed yet, despite the fact that the bells outside had just tolled the hour past midnight. He yawned, turning the next page in his book. Where is he? He wondered, trying to fight the anxiety that pricked at him. Neirin had never come back; for all Kuja knew, Jalen had finally grown weary of waiting and had simply killed the prince outright. Surely that would have led to some kind of outcry within the temple, though? Kuja shook his head, trying to focus on his book. This was the sort of thing he enjoyed, after all; research and discoveries about the previous life cycles Terra had existed through. Indeed, it was some of his favorite material, and he'd been trying to set aside time to read this book for months now… yet now that he finally had the chance, he couldn't concentrate.

"Dammit, Neirin," he muttered to the silent library. The priest who currently patrolled the shelves glanced sleepily in his direction, but said nothing. Kuja sighed, then looked back down at the book, determined to actually read the thing. Wherever Neirin was, doubtless he was fine; there was no need to worry himself to death for Neirin's sake. The prince could take care of himself.

Outside, it was beginning to rain. Kuja heard the heavy drops pounding against the stone walls while the wind whistled, and somewhere off in the distance, thunder rolled. He thought it was… was… oh, what was that word… ominous. Yes, ominous. He frowned, struggling to focus on the book before him, fidgeting slightly in his seat. Traces of the past can be found among Terra's modern landscape, he read, gritting his teeth in concentration.

Though Terra in each incarnation resembles the world it most recently absorbed, the two worlds do not 'cancel each other out.' Traces of the previous Terra's landscape and civilization may be found, and are often documented and cherished by the Terrans who survive the merge of the dying Terra into the newborn Terra. Kuja turned the page, engrossed at last. Items 'carved in stone' are the most frequent survivors of these merges, he read. For example, volcanoes and buildings carved from stone are often seen to survive, but only if the stone involved in their creation currently exists on the new planet. Plant life will occasionally survive a merge, but few native Terran animals have been known to survive the transition from one environment to another, often finding themselves in habitats unsuitable. In order to best preserve plant and animal species native to Terra, often the new planet is selected specifically for its geographic resemblance to the previous planet. In times of desperation, though, it has been observed that the plants and animals native to the new planet nearly always survive the merge unscathed. For example…

"I'll never understand how you can be so interested in that sort of thing." Neirin's voice broke through his concentration, startling him out of the book. The prince was leaning against the nearest shelf, watching with an odd little smile on his face. Kuja sighed, marked his place in the book, and set it aside. "It's late, if that escaped your notice," Neirin continued, still smiling. "Or were you so engrossed in your history lesson that you read through the bells?"

Kuja didn't have the nerve to tell Neirin he'd been worried. "I suppose I must have," he said, shrugging. "I was reading about past cycles. Did you know that Traje was built two cycles ago?" He asked, dragging himself out of his seat. He was numb from the waist down, doubtless from sitting for so long. "And some people believe it'll be the sort of city that lasts the longest, as the stone it was built from is a…" He thought a moment. "Crystal-based structure, so it's easy to either find the stone on another world, or the stone of Traje can adjust. Oh, and Mount Gulug, too; did you know it's gone through active and inactive phases throughout all of Terra's cycles?" He was speaking animatedly now, gesturing wildly with his hands. Neirin watched, amused. "They say various civilizations – not just organizations, like Taharka's, but actual entire civilizations – have lived inside of it during its dormant phases, and oh! Some people think there might be a magic circle at the base of it-"

"It's late," Neirin cut him off, laughing. "And I'm tired. You can tell me all about all of the history lessons I never bothered to pay attention during tomorrow, but for now, I need my rest."

Kuja paused. "What have you been doing this whole time?" He asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "You left to speak to Jalen hours ago." He looked Neirin up and down, looking for any signs that he'd been fighting with the mercenary, but found only that his knees seemed to be dirty, as if he'd been kneeling somewhere. There didn't seem to be any injuries, no, but Neirin did look exhausted, as if something had left him utterly drained. Or perhaps he was only tired because of the late hour? Yes, that seemed reasonable enough, didn't it?

Still…

"I… had something to discuss with Zenabri," Neirin shrugged. "I'll tell you more in the morning." When it's all over. "Now, get to bed. We might be leaving tomorrow, and you'll need your rest."

Oh. Kuja's green eyes widened slightly – he hadn't expected they'd actually be leaving this time. They'd talked about it before, but… "Fine, fine," he muttered, stretching. "You get some sleep, too," he added, frowning up at the prince. "You look tired, for all the discussing you say you've been doing."

"Stop being perceptive," Neirin sighed, shoving him toward the exit. "It's truly beginning to irritate me."

xxx

Jalen leaned against the chapel wall, watching the pale, grey morning light creep in through the oculus over the magic circle. He'd never been an especially religious man, but he had to admit, there was peace to be found in big temples like this. In a place like this, with the room lit by white candles and the sun struggling to peek through the clouds overhead, with no sound to be heard but the priests chanting the morning prayers in the next room and the rain starting to fall again outside… it was easy to believe in things like an all-seeing god, or any god, for that matter. The mercenary eyed the high priest, who was busy lighting the last of the ceremonial candles (they carried the smell of herbs and the like, leaving the room unnecessarily fragrant). The man didn't care for Jalen overmuch, that much Jalen knew, but so long as the mercenary caused no trouble, the priests could hardly cast him out.

"I'm not surprised you wished to watch," the priest – Zenabri, Jalen recalled – said, not looking back at him. "This was your scheme, wasn't it?" The old man's usually-gentle voice carried a bite, and Jalen flinched involuntarily. Zenabri lit the last of the candles, then banished the small spell-fire in his hand. It vanished with the faintest of crackles. He turned to face Jalen, his face carefully expressionless behind the lines and wrinkles that crossed it. "If you deliver him to Taharka, Terra is doomed. I've seen it in my dreams."

The dreams again. Jalen was constantly hearing about this old priest's dreams, and how they supposedly came true. "Terra goes up in flames if Garland is created. So you've told me." He sighed, rolling his eyes skyward. "Did it occur to you that I might have my own ulterior motives in the matter? I hardly want Terra to be wiped clean for the sake of Taharka's mad schemes. I never intended to deliver Neirin to Taharka." That, at last, seemed to catch the priest off-guard. The man's eyes widened. Jalen smiled. "What? I'm not a complete bastard. Terra is my home. You think it's escaped my notice that if Taharka wins, we all die for the sake of his Genome project? Garland controls the Genomes, Taharka controls Garland. That's what he wants. I'm not having it."

"So you want to play the hero," Zenabri said, bitterness creeping in to his voice… but something not unlike admiration was there, as well.

Jalen shrugged. "A little something like that, I suppose. That was my original plan," he added, wistfully. "Play the hero. Find the prince, capture him, hold him captive for two years. Get him crowned. Lead a citizen army against Taharka, and be named heroes, all of us – my friends and I. None of it went according to plan…" He sighed, closing his eyes against the renewed pain of the memory of his friends, dead now for two years, dead in only an instant. "Things with Neirin seldom seem to go according to plan, or so Taharka seemed to believe, last time I saw him." His gaze slid toward Zenabri, and he noted the man's skeptical expression. What, you don't trust me? He wanted to ask, but stifled it. "And… now you're wondering why I still want to see him crowned, anyway," he guessed.

"It would be of greater profit to you to turn in a crowned king over a prince." Zenabri stepped into the center of the magic circle, carved with the emblem of Terra itself (surprising; Jalen would have expected the All-Seeing Eye's own emblem, but perhaps the two were one and the same, in the eyes of the priesthood), and eyed the mercenary as the circle lit with power around him. Jalen wondered what the idea behind this display was; perhaps it was merely to remind him of where he stood, and the consequences of what might supposedly happen to him if he dared to betray Neirin and his brat's claim of sanctuary. It was… effective. Jalen knew little enough of these magic circles, only that they served to amplify innate power, and were used in rituals, ceremonies, callings… and bindings.

Jalen had no intention to be bound to anything.

He took a step back, just to be safe. "And in the end, I'd still find myself dead, just like everyone else on Terra," he snapped, folding his arms. "Don't think Taharka's so fond of me that he'd let me live, especially when I couldn't be arsed to tell him where Neirin's been hiding this whole time. It would've been easy for him to march into Astrula and burn the city and temple to the ground, and there wouldn't have been a damned thing you lot could've done about it. Have you heard about his pretty necklace?" Jalen asked, tapping his chest as if Taharka's stone were there. "It's a binding stone, designed to suffocate magic. He made it with the queen's own blood, did you know that? He told me all about it. Slit her throat and let the blood saturate the stone."

"So that's what became of poor Bellanna," Zenabri said quietly, looking away. "Neirin often wonders."

Not to be interrupted, Jalen pressed on. "No spells get by that thing. Not even Neirin's, and I've seen him kill four people in one shot, as if they were nothing at all. If Taharka came here, don't doubt for a moment that he'd lay waste to this city in an instant. But I never told him Neirin was here," he emphasized. "Because I don't intend to see Taharka's Garland project become a reality, any more than I want to see Terra in flames, if your dreams are so damn accurate."

Fortunately, there was no time for the priest to retaliate; Neirin picked that moment to arrive. The prince hardly looked like what Jalen imagined most princes looked like on the day of their coronation – far from triumphant and regal, Prince Neirin of Terra simply looked… tired. Still impressive, of course; Neirin could hardly not be impressive, but the cracks in his façade were more obvious than they'd been the day before. Jalen felt a twinge of regret, but it was too late now: he'd been fortunate enough to get Neirin to agree to this; he hardly needed to take it back now. Still… there was no denying that the prince looked less like he was about to be crowned, and much more as if he was about to be beheaded.

"You are ready," Zenabri said, and Neirin nodded, casting only a cursory glance in Jalen's direction. The mercenary went back to leaning against the wall as the priest led Neirin toward the magic circle. A pair of priests stepped into the room, dressed in robes that were far more impressive than the near-rags the prince himself wore. Jalen imagined that if this were done properly, there would be thousands of people present, with an air of excitement. And of course, the prince would be dressed properly; befitting his station… and his guardians would have been present, as well as his family. And the boy. Jalen was surprised to see that Kuja wasn't present. Too early for the boy, I imagine, he thought, eyeing the dawn sky overhead. Rain was falling, dripping through the oculus, but neither Zenabri nor Neirin seemed to notice or mind.

A silence settled, broken only by the sound of rain.

Jalen wondered if he should leave, out of respect.

He did not. This was his doing, after all. He had to see it through.

"I have no crown to bestow upon you," Zenabri murmured quietly, almost too quietly for Jalen to hear. "No proper rites to recite, no guardians to swear into renewed service…" The man sighed heavily. "This is more of a farce than a coronation. You have my sincerest apologies."

Neirin waved it off. "If I can call myself a king by rights when it's over, that's all that truly matters, isn't it?" His voice sounded hollow to Jalen's ears, and he found himself wondering just what it was that he was forcing on the prince. He looked away, trying to recapture the sense of peace he'd felt earlier, but found it was just out of his grasp. None of this sat well with him; he wasn't as confident in this course of action as he had been earlier – it would be easier to locate resources, transportation, and so forth if Neirin was the king as opposed to simply a fugitive prince, even if his "citizen army" dream had fallen through – and he wondered if perhaps it was all due to his own selfishness.

The ceremony was a simple affair, and Jalen found he wasn't paying attention through most of it. Zenabri would say something, and to that, Neirin replied by either repeating the old man's words, or saying that yes, he swore to whatever existential nonsense he'd been asked to swear to. The other two priests were, as far as Jalen could tell, meant to be witnesses – as he was apparently not a suitable witness, having coerced the prince into this affair in the first place. Jalen might have felt insulted, had he not agreed with the sentiment.

After some time, at last, Zenabri said, "Then before the eyes of the people of the mother continent and He-Who-Sees-All, I name you King Neirin of Terra." Neirin let out a long sigh, thanked the priest, and without further ceremony, he simply turned and walked out of the room. Jalen considered stopping him, but the look on the boy's face suggested he was having none of it, so he thought better of it.

"So it is done," the high priest murmured, turning his attention to Jalen. "I pray it was for the better."

Jalen didn't have the nerve to admit that he, at least, had his doubts.

xxx

The day dawned rainy and grey, of course. Kuja yawned, rolling blearily out of his cot after only an hour or two of sleep – he'd found sleep to be horribly elusive, despite how weary he'd been when he'd finally gotten into bed. His mind had been racing; he'd been thinking of all of the things he'd have to bring if they truly did leave today. Somewhat absurdly, he found himself hoping he could at least manage to bring along the book he hadn't managed to finish. After all, if they traveled as they had previously, they weren't likely to find any other books along the way… but then again, if they traveled as they had previously, they weren't likely to have time to read. Kuja stretched, looking around the little cell that had been his bedroom for the past two years. It surprised him to realize he might just miss it.

"You're awake." Neirin's voice at the doorway came as only a mild surprise, and Kuja glanced over. It didn't appear as if the prince had gotten any sleep.

"So are you," he observed. "And you look like you shouldn't be."

Neirin laughed, but it was an empty sort of laugh, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I've had a long morning. I said I'd tell you about it, and I suppose now is as good a time as any." Kuja eyed him for a moment – what was this about? – before taking a seat on his cot and gesturing for Neirin to do the same. The prince waved it off. "This morning, I…" He hesitated. That wasn't a good sign. "Well. Yesterday, as you know, I spoke with Jalen. He… made it clear that he would be willing to serve me, were I to be crowned king."

"And you agreed," Kuja realized, eyes widening. "You agreed to something Jalen suggested?" He'd known Neirin was occasionally reckless, but to be so outright stupid…

The prince – king, now, Kuja guessed – sighed, nodding. "It made so much sense at the time. And it's hardly as if any real damage will be done, after all-"

"No real damage?" Kuja rose, staring incredulously. His voice was shrill, which he hadn't counted on. "What if he delivers you to Taharka? It'd make sense, wouldn't it? You killed his friends; of course he wants you dead; what if he just… just… gets us out of the temple and stabs us on the temple stairs? Once we leave this place, we have no protection – and what if this whole time Taharka's just been sitting out there, waiting for us? What if-"

Neirin stepped forward and placed his hands on the boy's shoulders, shaking him just slightly. "Kuja. Please don't assume I'm enough of a fool not to have considered all of this." Kuja fell silent, but he felt himself glaring up at Neirin, all the same. "If I were still in Traje, I'd have been crowned by now, anyway; it's my birthright. It was my choice to put it off this long, and my choice to… trust Jalen, I suppose, enough to finally get it over with." Neirin sighed, brushing a stray lock of hair behind Kuja's ear. "Now stop scowling like that; you'll ruin your face. Gather your things; we're leaving as soon as Jalen arrives."

xxx

It felt odd to be setting out again. Kuja hesitated at the temple entrance, blinking in the sunlight, trying to convince his pounding heart to settle down. Neirin seemed calmer, albeit still tired… and impatient. "Where is he?" The freshly-minted king drummed his fingers on a nearby column, frowning into the street before them. "He ought to have been here an hour ago." Kuja had already suggested three or four times by this point that perhaps they ought to leave without Jalen, but Neirin was having none of it, and Kuja was tired of suggesting it. He simply sat down, watching the sun move overhead. Soon, it would be noon, and by the time they set out, it would likely be even later. He was in no rush to depart, no, but…

…it would have been nice to get it over with.

As luck would have it, the instant Kuja sat down, Jalen appeared. He was panting, having obviously run to the temple from He-Who-Sees-All knew where, and grinning like a fool. "Hate to be late," he said, by way of apology. "I had to secure… transportation for us." He gestured for them to come down the temple stairs, and after only a moment's hesitation, Neirin took the first step. Kuja protested quietly, but he was utterly ignored, and after hesitating just a bit longer, he finally forced himself to move. If Neirin wasn't smart enough to know this was a mistake, well, it would be up to Kuja to protect him, wouldn't it?

At the base of the steps, Neirin stopped, still a fair distance away from Jalen. Now armed, Jalen looked a great deal more like the enemy he'd been two years ago, and that was enough to raise the king's guard. "Transportation?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "What sort of… transportation?"

Jalen's grin never flickered. "Follow me," he said, then ran. Neirin glanced back at Kuja, who shook his head. Don't follow him, the boy thought desperately. He's leading us into a trap, I know it! But Neirin simply shrugged, sighed, and hurried after the fleeing mercenary. Kuja growled aloud, casting one last glance back at the temple before hurrying after his idiotic, headstrong companion.

He thought he was beginning to understand how Neirin's guardians felt.

Kuja was surprised – and not a little dismayed – when they caught up with Jalen outside of a dragon corral. The beasts – which were of various sizes, colors, and breeds – snorted warily in their direction, fanning out their wings in a glorious display of feathers and scales. Neirin, of course, was beside himself with joy. "Dragons?" He asked, practically giddy. "You got dragons?" For the life of him, Kuja couldn't even muster up a smile. He had his own memories of dragons, and none of them were particularly fond ones; he'd rather hoped he'd never see one again, much less ride one. He almost wished Jalen had been plotting to betray them. Almost. He looked up at Neirin, though, and saw the king smiling, really smiling, for the first time in almost two years. He was, he supposed, alright with riding a dragon again, just this once.

"Just two," Jalen replied, as a stablehand brought out a pair of harnesses. "I couldn't afford a third, and the boy's still small enough to ride with you, I expect."

Neirin didn't particularly seem to mind, and Kuja felt relieved to know that at the very least, he wasn't expected to fly his own dragon… yet, anyway. Jalen gestured for the two of them to follow him, and together the three of them trailed after the stablehand until they at last encountered their very own dragons.

They weren't silver dragons, naturally; this corral didn't seem to have any of those. Likely, Kuja realized, because they cost too much to tend to. "The breed is mixed," Jalen said, as Neirin examined the larger of the two dragons. "But they're built for travel and, in case we need it, speed. Best of all, they're trained to hunt, so we won't have to worry about dragging around extra food, and I for one have no interest in carrying around raw meat on a journey of indeterminate length." The dragons were medium-sized; larger-boned than the silver dragons had been, but easily half the size of the Crested Royals Kuja had experienced his first flight upon. Or perhaps he was simply bigger now. These dragons were blue-green, covered in the feathers Kuja had come to expect on dragons. They had rather docile-looking faces; rounded with shallow-set blue-grey eyes. Their claws, however, easily canceled the charming effect the dragons' faces carried; the claws were easily each as long as Kuja's forearm.

"They'll do," Neirin said happily, quickly locking the harness around the beast with surprising ease. Even Jalen stared at him a moment, and Kuja simply gaped. The king looked between the two of them, smiling. "What? Not what you expected? You learn things when you grow up with dragons." He tugged once more on the harnesses, ensuring that they were strapped tightly in place, including the passenger-harness for Kuja. And then, without waiting, he swung himself up into the harness and quickly fastened himself in. Kuja blinked, still stunned, but managed to scramble his way up onto the beast's feathered back. Jalen, meanwhile, was struggling with putting his own dragon into harness.

"How do you attach these things?" The mercenary grumbled, removing and re-attaching the harness for a third time. "It's all buckles and no direction; I swear…"

Kuja felt the tiniest bit of smug satisfaction with the knowledge that Jalen was, at least, not nearly as proficient with dragon-flying as Neirin was. That was something. Neirin, meanwhile, simply laughed. "You've got it backwards," he pointed out. "Honestly, if you're going to fly a dragon, you ought to at least know how to harness one, you fool."

"I'm a fighter, not a flyer," Jalen shot back, turning the harness around. "You didn't hire me for my skill with dragons." As if to underscore the point, as he was re-attaching the harness, one of the dragon's feathers got caught in the leather, and the beast looked over its shoulder and roared at him. Startled, Jalen fell backwards, whacking his head on a nearby bucket. Even Kuja had to laugh aloud at this. Jalen glared, staggering back to his feet. "And now the child laughs," he grumbled, but a smile pulled at the corner of his lips, all the same. "I suppose you're a master dragoner, too, aren't you? Maybe I ought to fly with the king, and you can have your own beast." That put an end to Kuja's laughing, though he couldn't help snickering, all the same.

"That reminds me." Jalen reached into his pocket. Kuja felt Neirin tense up behind him, doubtless expecting some kind of weapon. And indeed, it was a weapon – a small knife, likely incapable of doing a great deal of damage, but sharp, nonetheless. Jalen tucked it into a leather carrying case, and handed it up to Kuja. "If you're going to be my fellow guardian, it only seems right that you ought to be properly armed."

Kuja took the little knife out of its case and studied the blade. "I could do more damage with a book," he pointed out; the blade was only approximately the length of his index finger. It was likely a cooking knife, given to him for a lark. His green-eyed gaze slid toward Jalen, and he smirked. "I brought a book, you know." It was true; he wasn't about to give up the book he hadn't yet finished.

Jalen threw his arms in the air, and turned back to his dragon. "Don't buy presents for children," he muttered. "Ungrateful brats!"

"Not bad," Neirin murmured in his ear, grinning. Kuja returned the grin, feeling rather proud of himself. Still, he tucked the knife away – if he could find a use for a book, doubtless he could find a use for this tiny knife. Meanwhile, Jalen finally managed to secure the harness on his (obviously agitated) dragon, and he took a step back to admire his handiwork.

"Any ideas where to go next?" The mercenary asked, glancing up at them. "I was thinking we'd keep to the west. Sure, it's risky – most of Taharka's cult is concentrated in the area – but if we're smart about it, it's the last place the old bastard'll think to look. And he hasn't been as eager to burn down his own cities," Jalen added, pulling himself up into the dragon's harness. "So if we're careful-"

"Lisre," Neirin said quietly.

Jalen frowned. "Well, yes, there was that, but we don't know why he-"

"No, I want to go to Lisre," Neirin clarified. "I want to find out why Taharka destroyed a city that was loyal to him. And maybe… maybe I can find out something more about the projects he's been working on." He scowled dangerously. "And maybe I can start planning my own revenge."

Author's Note: Dragons! Revenge! ...Hey look, a page full of random Origins trivia, which will be updated frequently, if I remember to do so! For the trivia page, check my LiveJournal, which should be listed as my webpage on my profile. As of right now, it is the third entry on the page. If you're coming late to the story and can't find it within the first few entries (it is labeled "Origins"), either:

1. Mention it in a review here, and I'll PM you the link
2. Search for "fanfic" under my journal tags
3. Comment on my most recent LJ entry (and yes, anonymous commenting is allowed on my journal), and ask for the link

Enjoy! I'll try to update it at least once a week with whatever information strikes my fancy or whatever questions are asked in the reviews (I'll still write personal replies to anyone who asks questions, though). See you all next week!