This story is rather short and it's an AU, no shounen-ai, but there is suggestion, but only suggestion it is. Changes will be made as time goes on. Enjoy, I hope.
Cause and Effect
The Beginning of the End
Panic. I awoke, consumed with an intense feeling of panic. I tore my eyes wide apart to look around me. Vines, roots, tree branches and trunks were all that were there, surrounding me completely on all sides. Just cold, ignorant foliage, oblivious of this life that lies beneath. The panic subsided as my mind was overcome with pain. I was still too tired to have been capable of registering both sensations at once. I shut my eyes again, trying to block the pain. It did no good; my head hurt, my legs, arms, stomach, my very being hurt. "Hurt" wasn't even an accurate term to use. The horrid pain seemed to be eating at my flesh, literally consuming me. I opened my eyes again, the sensation was so real. Oh god...what happened to me? My tattered, bleeding body laid limply before me. The question repeated in my mind until I found an answer. Zidane. The little fool had somehow overpowered me. And what had happened next? I had cast Ultima and suffered the backlash that I knew would be existent. But I had ignored that. I had been so full of rage, I had completely ignored that factor. Oh, how ironic.
I tried to move, but intensified pain was the only result. I, instead, turned my head to get a better view of my surroundings. It hurt, even to do that. It appeared that I was laying on a platform, made from a large, strong leaf, jutting off a vine. I let out a painful sigh. Now what was I to do? The only answer was to wait. And so I did.
I think that I eventually fell asleep. When I awoke, I felt strangely receptive, in a way that I'd never been before. I knew there was a battle. How odd. I knew the outcome of it was very important...how important, I couldn't put a measure or a comparison to. My heart felt heavy and my stomach churned with the importance. As if I was in the battle myself, my stomach whirled with the nausea of the fight. How very odd. The next sensation that hit me was one that caused me to look around me, the feeling so real and at home. Zidane survived the battle. I was sure of it. But if something was not done, he and his friends would be killed in the resulting disintegration of their foe. With a pained groan, I focused my mind on the group of eight, and set a transportation spell into place. A shocking wave of pain and relief rushed me as I felt Zidane return. But I couldn't be sure of the others. I had focused most of the pitifully small amount of energy onto Zidane. I cared little about the others. But why I cared for Zidane in the first place created a question in my mind that wouldn't be answered.
And now he was leaving, not physically, but his mind was tugging away. He was going home. Leaving me alone. I couldn't leave it like that. So, with this new reception I had access to, I spoke to him.
"...Farewell Zidane..."
I heard no answer. I didn't hear it; I felt it. I felt a negative response to the contact.
*****
"Ah, dammit..." Zidane cursed under his breath as a thought occurred to him, a thought that he knew, somehow, that he couldn't argue with. It was Kuja. He spoke to him. He's dying. Damn. He kicked the ground grudgingly. The others were just about to board the airship that had just arrived, piloted by Regent Cid. They all saw his expression, they all came back. He tried to explain to them the importance of the task ahead of him. But they simply didn't understand. They argued for several minutes, until Regent Cid ordered them aboard, and finally they left. They only relented out of respect though, not understanding.
Zidane now stood at the edge of the ravine, looking down at the roots of the majestic, but deadly Iifa Tree.
"Kuja! Can you hear me!? I'm coming to get you!" Zidane yelled over the howling wind as the vines writhed angrily, hungrily below him.
There was a pause. Then: "You still have time, forget abut me and go." The words hadn't been spoken, so they hadn't been "heard," in the common sense of the word. They had been felt. Just like the knowledge he felt before hand.
"Just shut up and stay where you are!" Zidane yelled back.
"...I don't understand you." But then again, Kuja never had any hope of understanding Zidane.
With a few arm stretches, Zidane watched the mass collection of thin, but strong roots slither towards him, faster and faster, until they appeared to be riding the winds. There was an explosion of rock and earth behind him, and he whirled his head to look over his shoulder. Roots had burst from the ground behind him, and now sailed through the air at him in an arc. It was a frightening sight. Turning to face the ravine, Zidane jumped.
*****
"Hey! Are you alright?" Zidane carefully jumped onto the platform that Kuja's limp, but living body laid on.
Obvious surprise and a firm reprimanding tone mixed with Kuja's cold, accusatory voice. "What are you doing here? I thought I told you to..."
But Zidane cut him off. "Wouldn't you do the same for me if you knew I was dying?"
Kuja had no good answer to that. He had, after all, saved Zidane and his company from being destroyed in the ending battle. The silence lengthened.
"...Never mind."
"Your comrades were able to escape?" Kuja asked carefully, as if trying to seem not to care.
"Yeah...I knew you had something to do with it." Zidane looked at Kuja and smiled at him. It was weird to look at his brother-rival...and genuinely smile.
And the resulting words were equally peculiar. "...I'm glad they made it." The smile on Zidane's face made Kuja feel almost as if everything he had done, everything he had broken, destroyed, annihilated; all of it was forgiven. Zidane had forgiven him.
"Yeah, well...it's our turn to get movin'," Zidane said somewhat brightly as he looked away from Kuja again, looking to get ready to jump to his feet.
Kuja said nothing for several seconds as he studied Zidane. "...I don't deserve to live after all that I've done." Even if he had received Zidane's forgiveness, the fact still remained. "I'm useless to this world."
Zidane's voice came like a light in a dark, endless tunnel. "No one's useless... You helped us escape, remember?"
Again, Kuja had no answer. Speechlessness was something Kuja had not often been faced with. So, he attempted to explain his reasoning instead. "After you guys beat me, I had nothing left...nothing more to lose." His speech was devolving. The end was coming; he could feel it. And it scared him. Very, very deeply. "Then, I finally realized what it means to live..." His breathing began to quicken with fear. "I guess I was too late."
They say that one never lies in their final moments.
Zidane chanced a glance over at Kuja with a saddened expression, lit only by the hope that Kuja could start over once they got out of here. But when his eyes fell on Kuja, his eyes widened with alarm. He was just in time to see the older man's head gently relax to the side, as if finally falling into a deep, peaceful sleep, desperately needed after years of relentless fighting. Urgency rang in Zidane's call. "Hey! Don't you go dying on me, alright?!"
The shattering sound of broken earth filled Zidane's ears as he whipped his head up to witness a writhing group of long, green, sickly fingers extend from the brush above. Zidane's eyes and mouth opened wide with horror. The vines sped down to the platform, tiny compared to the vines themselves. He reacted quickly and threw himself over his brother, mere seconds before impact. He put his face next to Kuja's, and whispered in his ear. "You're not alone this time, Kuja."
*****
I've put my trust in you.
Pushed as far as I can go.
For all this, there's only one thing you should know.
*****
Kuja stares up at the vines with panic, but with no way at all to react. He feels so helpless and frightened, for the first time in his entire life. But, he doesn't feel alone or deserted. Zidane's golden strands of hair float between his eyes and the vines, lacing the horrific vision with courage. Oh, how he fell so hopelessly in love with that boy and his words, just at that instant of physical contact. How ironic that this first instance of contact would be the last.
*****
I kept everything inside, and even though I tried, it all fell apart.
What it meant to me will eventually be a memory of a time I tried so hard.
The Beginning of the End
Panic. I awoke, consumed with an intense feeling of panic. I tore my eyes wide apart to look around me. Vines, roots, tree branches and trunks were all that were there, surrounding me completely on all sides. Just cold, ignorant foliage, oblivious of this life that lies beneath. The panic subsided as my mind was overcome with pain. I was still too tired to have been capable of registering both sensations at once. I shut my eyes again, trying to block the pain. It did no good; my head hurt, my legs, arms, stomach, my very being hurt. "Hurt" wasn't even an accurate term to use. The horrid pain seemed to be eating at my flesh, literally consuming me. I opened my eyes again, the sensation was so real. Oh god...what happened to me? My tattered, bleeding body laid limply before me. The question repeated in my mind until I found an answer. Zidane. The little fool had somehow overpowered me. And what had happened next? I had cast Ultima and suffered the backlash that I knew would be existent. But I had ignored that. I had been so full of rage, I had completely ignored that factor. Oh, how ironic.
I tried to move, but intensified pain was the only result. I, instead, turned my head to get a better view of my surroundings. It hurt, even to do that. It appeared that I was laying on a platform, made from a large, strong leaf, jutting off a vine. I let out a painful sigh. Now what was I to do? The only answer was to wait. And so I did.
I think that I eventually fell asleep. When I awoke, I felt strangely receptive, in a way that I'd never been before. I knew there was a battle. How odd. I knew the outcome of it was very important...how important, I couldn't put a measure or a comparison to. My heart felt heavy and my stomach churned with the importance. As if I was in the battle myself, my stomach whirled with the nausea of the fight. How very odd. The next sensation that hit me was one that caused me to look around me, the feeling so real and at home. Zidane survived the battle. I was sure of it. But if something was not done, he and his friends would be killed in the resulting disintegration of their foe. With a pained groan, I focused my mind on the group of eight, and set a transportation spell into place. A shocking wave of pain and relief rushed me as I felt Zidane return. But I couldn't be sure of the others. I had focused most of the pitifully small amount of energy onto Zidane. I cared little about the others. But why I cared for Zidane in the first place created a question in my mind that wouldn't be answered.
And now he was leaving, not physically, but his mind was tugging away. He was going home. Leaving me alone. I couldn't leave it like that. So, with this new reception I had access to, I spoke to him.
"...Farewell Zidane..."
I heard no answer. I didn't hear it; I felt it. I felt a negative response to the contact.
"Ah, dammit..." Zidane cursed under his breath as a thought occurred to him, a thought that he knew, somehow, that he couldn't argue with. It was Kuja. He spoke to him. He's dying. Damn. He kicked the ground grudgingly. The others were just about to board the airship that had just arrived, piloted by Regent Cid. They all saw his expression, they all came back. He tried to explain to them the importance of the task ahead of him. But they simply didn't understand. They argued for several minutes, until Regent Cid ordered them aboard, and finally they left. They only relented out of respect though, not understanding.
Zidane now stood at the edge of the ravine, looking down at the roots of the majestic, but deadly Iifa Tree.
"Kuja! Can you hear me!? I'm coming to get you!" Zidane yelled over the howling wind as the vines writhed angrily, hungrily below him.
There was a pause. Then: "You still have time, forget abut me and go." The words hadn't been spoken, so they hadn't been "heard," in the common sense of the word. They had been felt. Just like the knowledge he felt before hand.
"Just shut up and stay where you are!" Zidane yelled back.
"...I don't understand you." But then again, Kuja never had any hope of understanding Zidane.
With a few arm stretches, Zidane watched the mass collection of thin, but strong roots slither towards him, faster and faster, until they appeared to be riding the winds. There was an explosion of rock and earth behind him, and he whirled his head to look over his shoulder. Roots had burst from the ground behind him, and now sailed through the air at him in an arc. It was a frightening sight. Turning to face the ravine, Zidane jumped.
"Hey! Are you alright?" Zidane carefully jumped onto the platform that Kuja's limp, but living body laid on.
Obvious surprise and a firm reprimanding tone mixed with Kuja's cold, accusatory voice. "What are you doing here? I thought I told you to..."
But Zidane cut him off. "Wouldn't you do the same for me if you knew I was dying?"
Kuja had no good answer to that. He had, after all, saved Zidane and his company from being destroyed in the ending battle. The silence lengthened.
"...Never mind."
"Your comrades were able to escape?" Kuja asked carefully, as if trying to seem not to care.
"Yeah...I knew you had something to do with it." Zidane looked at Kuja and smiled at him. It was weird to look at his brother-rival...and genuinely smile.
And the resulting words were equally peculiar. "...I'm glad they made it." The smile on Zidane's face made Kuja feel almost as if everything he had done, everything he had broken, destroyed, annihilated; all of it was forgiven. Zidane had forgiven him.
"Yeah, well...it's our turn to get movin'," Zidane said somewhat brightly as he looked away from Kuja again, looking to get ready to jump to his feet.
Kuja said nothing for several seconds as he studied Zidane. "...I don't deserve to live after all that I've done." Even if he had received Zidane's forgiveness, the fact still remained. "I'm useless to this world."
Zidane's voice came like a light in a dark, endless tunnel. "No one's useless... You helped us escape, remember?"
Again, Kuja had no answer. Speechlessness was something Kuja had not often been faced with. So, he attempted to explain his reasoning instead. "After you guys beat me, I had nothing left...nothing more to lose." His speech was devolving. The end was coming; he could feel it. And it scared him. Very, very deeply. "Then, I finally realized what it means to live..." His breathing began to quicken with fear. "I guess I was too late."
They say that one never lies in their final moments.
Zidane chanced a glance over at Kuja with a saddened expression, lit only by the hope that Kuja could start over once they got out of here. But when his eyes fell on Kuja, his eyes widened with alarm. He was just in time to see the older man's head gently relax to the side, as if finally falling into a deep, peaceful sleep, desperately needed after years of relentless fighting. Urgency rang in Zidane's call. "Hey! Don't you go dying on me, alright?!"
The shattering sound of broken earth filled Zidane's ears as he whipped his head up to witness a writhing group of long, green, sickly fingers extend from the brush above. Zidane's eyes and mouth opened wide with horror. The vines sped down to the platform, tiny compared to the vines themselves. He reacted quickly and threw himself over his brother, mere seconds before impact. He put his face next to Kuja's, and whispered in his ear. "You're not alone this time, Kuja."
I've put my trust in you.
Pushed as far as I can go.
For all this, there's only one thing you should know.
*****
Kuja stares up at the vines with panic, but with no way at all to react. He feels so helpless and frightened, for the first time in his entire life. But, he doesn't feel alone or deserted. Zidane's golden strands of hair float between his eyes and the vines, lacing the horrific vision with courage. Oh, how he fell so hopelessly in love with that boy and his words, just at that instant of physical contact. How ironic that this first instance of contact would be the last.
I kept everything inside, and even though I tried, it all fell apart.
What it meant to me will eventually be a memory of a time I tried so hard.