I'm baaaaaack! *sighs* I have a feeling this fic is going to take longer to write. For one thing, it's more complex, and for another, writing it is very draining. Writing from first person projects Quisty's emotions onto me rather forcefully.
Which brings me to the next thing: I'm upping the rating on this slightly. There's still nothing in here that minor's can't read or anything, but I'm noticing this piece is considerably darker, and I won't rule out the possibility of very bad things happening in later chapters. This part mentions a few courses of history en passant, so use this as a guide. This could go different ways, and I make no promises, so... I guess I'm just saying check your maturity level, okay?
a'kh is a title similar to a count or an earl-- the highest noble after the king. I invented my own because using either of those seemed to break the mood.
Not mine!
----------------
_In Dreams_
----------------
The sudden pounding of feet outside my door is the first clue that something is going on.
The castle is chilly in the winter, wind and snow seeping through the stone and mortar despite carpet and fire. I've been cheating with Firaga spells, even considered borrowing Ifrit from Zell. I love cold, but this persistent damp and chill is a far cry from the peaceful, cleansing icy temperatures I favor.
I've only been able to cheat because my junctions came with me, and it's lucky they did, too, for magic is rare and the ability to use it rarer. I was appalled to learn that the ability to cast was considered a rare phenomenon. They seem to believe that the ability to use magic is indicated by involuntary cast at a young age. Only people with the highest affinity for magic-- colored mages, wizards and sorceresses-- could manage that without any training. They have not yet learned that the ability to cast is inborn and can be drawn out in almost all cases with a sufficient amount of help. Here, mages make up only 1% of the standing army, and the king's champion possesses the kingdom's single GF.
I haven't yet met him.
The army's been gone for months, now, fighting the tribes in the north. Before that, he had spent a year in training at his home manor of Airin.
But it looks like I shall get a chance to meet him now. The army's to remain at the castle for the winter, along with many of the principal nobles of the realm. With my coming out in this time just passed, I am not fooled as to the reason.
The sudden exodus of pages and hostlers indicates that this is probably them now.
I slip on a thicker pair of velvet slippers and dash from the room.
I know the castle well, now. I recognize faces and tapestries and imperfections in the masonwork floor. This place is as much my home as Garden, now. I know the details of the treaty we're negotiating with the Kashkabad Empire as well as I still know what you can mug from a Marlboro.
Living two lives came so naturally. I kept saying, at first, that I would wait just a little longer. Just enough to find out when, and where, then I'd go talk to Squall or Cid and find some way to make it stop. But then I stopped *wanting* to make it stop. I started caring about their problems. It helped that they cared about me.
Am I trying to make up for some childhood innocence? It truly sounds like a fairy tale. I am a princess. I have a father, who although distant, loves me. I will soon be married to a no-doubt-handsome noble, warrior, or both in one. My ability to use magic has marked me as prized above all delicacies.
I am wanted, loved, desired. I am special.
//////////
They'd probably say I'm experiencing some kind of escapist dream, if I told them. Haul me to the infirmary, dose me with pills, pry me with counseling, try to keep me away.
Addictive. I stay.
I keep my mouth shut.
Sometimes I have to pull myself up short. Once I was asked for news. The first thing that came to mind was that we'd finally convinced the Duke of Dollet to sign a non-aggression pact. We need it, desperately. Our army is besieged by tribes within our own borders and the world outside is none to friendly. Galbariand to the north is making territorial noises again, and we're only one off from first in line. Pacifist Timeb won't hold out long, it's certain.
In the first few days, before I settled in for the long haul, I developed a sudden reputation for being a history buff.
In for the long haul. What happens when I die here? When I die there?
The former is far more likely to occur first.
Living the rest of my life in the past isn't as alien a prospect anymore. Nor is it unpleasant. How many people would truly miss me? How many would I truly miss?
My siblings. Yes, I'd miss them, but what else is new? I've been missing them since we defeated Ultimecia. As soon as she was gone they didn't need me anymore. Absorbed with each other.
The part that hurts the most is that it truly wasn't intentional.
It happened anyway.
The kingdom's dying. Oh, it's true; no one likes to speak of it but you can tell if you look hard enough. Through no fault of our own. Why is it that everything I build always falls apart? Why is it that nothing I love endures? I have come to love the past, and not entirely for the virtues it accords me. For the peace. For the security. For the knowledge that I can come to it, and be loved for who I am, not for what I have done or may do again.
They don't expect me to do anything beyond marry well.
Part of me still recoils from the sexist ideals embodied within. But I am so worn down, broken; the offer of protection that I would once have scorned I now reach for longingly.
In my more lucid moments, I despise myself, my weakness, how pathetic I have become.
My head is never empty anymore. Chaos enfurls me.
I'm falling apart. I know it.
I want to much just to sleep, to sleep forever, and waken only when I am pure again. After the blood and the death and the confusion have been washed away by someone who truly loves me.
I only lose more when I admit that in neither time is that a possibility.
I'm falling farther in.
History tells me the Lihallans were destroyed by the Galbariands, overrun, fallen upon and slaughtered or enslaved. I've read enough dime store romances in my lonely nights to know what my fate would be at their hands. A beautiful alien princess-- oh, they'd dream of me, and use me, and kill me after I was too broken to be of any further pleasure.
But the date is uncertain, and no names survive, of Lihallan rulers or nobles or princesses, or their Galbariand murderers. Oh, I combed the library and the computer systems. In none of them could I find mention of Naltaeri of Lihalla.
Whether that indicates my father's reign passed without incident, or that it was obliterated beyond any record, is beyond my power to know. Lihalla could fall in my lifetime. It could fall a century later.
The future has never been something I'm comfortable with. SeeD or princess, I live only for the day.
It's not like the future really holds anything different. Whenever I am.
//////////
They're back.
I emerge breathless in the main hall. The bulk of the troops are already dispersed to the stables or the barracks. The Lord-captains and Knights are preparing dispatches to their lands and fiefs. Only a few officials stand before my father's throne. The War-Minister, the Exchequer, and the Guards-General stand silently aside, here to listen to the Champion's report.
He's who I'm most interested in. I've heard the stories. A noble by birth, the younger son, orphaned a year after coming to the palace to train for a knight. Their holdings are among the largest, and between them they are the most powerful men in the kingdom. The champion is never known to use that influence, focusing solely on the warrior's life, and despite his characteristic silence he is beloved of the people, for his skills have kept our country together despite barbaric rebels and attempted invasions from Centra and Altara. He uses magic, and junctions to our kingdom's one GF. They don't know Quezacotl and Doomtrain live within me. Can he sense them?
I speculated, of course, but it was only a few days ago that I made the connection.
Walking past the servants' quarters I heard chambermaids gossiping. The latest tidbit is the question of my future husband. They were listing everyone from the sixty-one-year-old Knight-Lord of Naxen to Tion il'Chital, who just came of age. Each name more ridiculous than the last, until the cook suggested Lord Lykouleon, the champion. In between gasps of laughter one serving-girl who thought much of her wit suggested he could then be called the "Ice Prince". His supposed frigidity in bed soon occupied much of their conversation, but I had heard enough to guess who our Champion was, and would be.
As he straightens from his bow, guantleted hand pressed to his chest, I get a good look at his face.
I'm not listening as he launches into his report.
The abrupt chill of Shiva's presence only further confirms what I already know.
Tempest Lykouleon il'Airin finishes his report in a calm, clipped tone. I wait for him to bow and exit, but he doesn't, only steps to one side.
From behind a pillar, in the shadows, steps a second man.
My breath catches in my throat as flickering firelight catches on golden hair.
"Your Majesty," he bows, the exact degree required from the highest-ranking noble to the king, and no more. Oh, he's pride enough, that one. A new face, yet I have no problem seeing past the subtle differences to recognizance. Pride, and ambition.
It doesn't take much intelligence, with my 18th birthday not a month gone, to surmise why the most powerful man in the kingdom has left his comfortable manor in winter to attend court.
"My elder brother," Tempest introduces with unnecessary formality. "a'kh Syran li'Airin."
Dark jade eyes, lit by a confidence that would border on arrogance if it were not tempered by compassion, regard my father with calm and understanding. The firelight must have chosen that moment to play tricks, for it looks as if my father looks him over briefly, then nods tacit approval to a question unvoiced.
Unasked feelings well up in me, and shadows swallow me up as I whirl and run on soft, winged feet into the darkness of the inner castle.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
^^ and now, let's break this depressing mood, shall we?
seifer angel: thanx *happy*
Quycksylver: actually I don't know how mine are going to end... ^^;;; the curse of the muses, I guess. Right now I'm so busy falling apart that I don't know enough calc to pass tomorrow's quiz, much less think straight or sleep. And I would suggest you keep running dedication line as usual. You've got plot and originality! Just, maybe, change the title a little. ^^v
DragonLadyKira: Hey, if you could figure it out you're a step ahead of me! *laughs uneasily* I'm sure I'll explain everything... once I understand it, that is.
MashiMaro-chan: You're a fan? o.O I have supporters! *happy dance* I hope you liked it... got to please my fans... *poses dramatically*
Quistis88: You're back! Wai! Hope you don't mind I didn't explain much... my advice is 'be alert'. I'm not going to come right out and tell you anything until I've dropped at least three clues and beaten you over the head with a fourth. :)
seyanaidi: *throws her graphing calculator too* at least we call it that... not that I can use it on tomorrow's calc quiz, oh no. I *knew* I should have studied. On the other hand, avoiding work promotes inspiration!
Vanilla Tiger: cool name, btw. And I can't see a Zuu working either: that's exactly why I want to write one. I love a challenge. This fic is another. How am I doing so far?
*deeeeeeeeeep breath*
RRRREEEEEVVVVVIIIIEEEEEEWWWWWW MMMMMEEEEE!!!!!!
^_____________________^
*passes out from lack of oxygen*
Which brings me to the next thing: I'm upping the rating on this slightly. There's still nothing in here that minor's can't read or anything, but I'm noticing this piece is considerably darker, and I won't rule out the possibility of very bad things happening in later chapters. This part mentions a few courses of history en passant, so use this as a guide. This could go different ways, and I make no promises, so... I guess I'm just saying check your maturity level, okay?
a'kh is a title similar to a count or an earl-- the highest noble after the king. I invented my own because using either of those seemed to break the mood.
Not mine!
----------------
_In Dreams_
----------------
The sudden pounding of feet outside my door is the first clue that something is going on.
The castle is chilly in the winter, wind and snow seeping through the stone and mortar despite carpet and fire. I've been cheating with Firaga spells, even considered borrowing Ifrit from Zell. I love cold, but this persistent damp and chill is a far cry from the peaceful, cleansing icy temperatures I favor.
I've only been able to cheat because my junctions came with me, and it's lucky they did, too, for magic is rare and the ability to use it rarer. I was appalled to learn that the ability to cast was considered a rare phenomenon. They seem to believe that the ability to use magic is indicated by involuntary cast at a young age. Only people with the highest affinity for magic-- colored mages, wizards and sorceresses-- could manage that without any training. They have not yet learned that the ability to cast is inborn and can be drawn out in almost all cases with a sufficient amount of help. Here, mages make up only 1% of the standing army, and the king's champion possesses the kingdom's single GF.
I haven't yet met him.
The army's been gone for months, now, fighting the tribes in the north. Before that, he had spent a year in training at his home manor of Airin.
But it looks like I shall get a chance to meet him now. The army's to remain at the castle for the winter, along with many of the principal nobles of the realm. With my coming out in this time just passed, I am not fooled as to the reason.
The sudden exodus of pages and hostlers indicates that this is probably them now.
I slip on a thicker pair of velvet slippers and dash from the room.
I know the castle well, now. I recognize faces and tapestries and imperfections in the masonwork floor. This place is as much my home as Garden, now. I know the details of the treaty we're negotiating with the Kashkabad Empire as well as I still know what you can mug from a Marlboro.
Living two lives came so naturally. I kept saying, at first, that I would wait just a little longer. Just enough to find out when, and where, then I'd go talk to Squall or Cid and find some way to make it stop. But then I stopped *wanting* to make it stop. I started caring about their problems. It helped that they cared about me.
Am I trying to make up for some childhood innocence? It truly sounds like a fairy tale. I am a princess. I have a father, who although distant, loves me. I will soon be married to a no-doubt-handsome noble, warrior, or both in one. My ability to use magic has marked me as prized above all delicacies.
I am wanted, loved, desired. I am special.
//////////
They'd probably say I'm experiencing some kind of escapist dream, if I told them. Haul me to the infirmary, dose me with pills, pry me with counseling, try to keep me away.
Addictive. I stay.
I keep my mouth shut.
Sometimes I have to pull myself up short. Once I was asked for news. The first thing that came to mind was that we'd finally convinced the Duke of Dollet to sign a non-aggression pact. We need it, desperately. Our army is besieged by tribes within our own borders and the world outside is none to friendly. Galbariand to the north is making territorial noises again, and we're only one off from first in line. Pacifist Timeb won't hold out long, it's certain.
In the first few days, before I settled in for the long haul, I developed a sudden reputation for being a history buff.
In for the long haul. What happens when I die here? When I die there?
The former is far more likely to occur first.
Living the rest of my life in the past isn't as alien a prospect anymore. Nor is it unpleasant. How many people would truly miss me? How many would I truly miss?
My siblings. Yes, I'd miss them, but what else is new? I've been missing them since we defeated Ultimecia. As soon as she was gone they didn't need me anymore. Absorbed with each other.
The part that hurts the most is that it truly wasn't intentional.
It happened anyway.
The kingdom's dying. Oh, it's true; no one likes to speak of it but you can tell if you look hard enough. Through no fault of our own. Why is it that everything I build always falls apart? Why is it that nothing I love endures? I have come to love the past, and not entirely for the virtues it accords me. For the peace. For the security. For the knowledge that I can come to it, and be loved for who I am, not for what I have done or may do again.
They don't expect me to do anything beyond marry well.
Part of me still recoils from the sexist ideals embodied within. But I am so worn down, broken; the offer of protection that I would once have scorned I now reach for longingly.
In my more lucid moments, I despise myself, my weakness, how pathetic I have become.
My head is never empty anymore. Chaos enfurls me.
I'm falling apart. I know it.
I want to much just to sleep, to sleep forever, and waken only when I am pure again. After the blood and the death and the confusion have been washed away by someone who truly loves me.
I only lose more when I admit that in neither time is that a possibility.
I'm falling farther in.
History tells me the Lihallans were destroyed by the Galbariands, overrun, fallen upon and slaughtered or enslaved. I've read enough dime store romances in my lonely nights to know what my fate would be at their hands. A beautiful alien princess-- oh, they'd dream of me, and use me, and kill me after I was too broken to be of any further pleasure.
But the date is uncertain, and no names survive, of Lihallan rulers or nobles or princesses, or their Galbariand murderers. Oh, I combed the library and the computer systems. In none of them could I find mention of Naltaeri of Lihalla.
Whether that indicates my father's reign passed without incident, or that it was obliterated beyond any record, is beyond my power to know. Lihalla could fall in my lifetime. It could fall a century later.
The future has never been something I'm comfortable with. SeeD or princess, I live only for the day.
It's not like the future really holds anything different. Whenever I am.
//////////
They're back.
I emerge breathless in the main hall. The bulk of the troops are already dispersed to the stables or the barracks. The Lord-captains and Knights are preparing dispatches to their lands and fiefs. Only a few officials stand before my father's throne. The War-Minister, the Exchequer, and the Guards-General stand silently aside, here to listen to the Champion's report.
He's who I'm most interested in. I've heard the stories. A noble by birth, the younger son, orphaned a year after coming to the palace to train for a knight. Their holdings are among the largest, and between them they are the most powerful men in the kingdom. The champion is never known to use that influence, focusing solely on the warrior's life, and despite his characteristic silence he is beloved of the people, for his skills have kept our country together despite barbaric rebels and attempted invasions from Centra and Altara. He uses magic, and junctions to our kingdom's one GF. They don't know Quezacotl and Doomtrain live within me. Can he sense them?
I speculated, of course, but it was only a few days ago that I made the connection.
Walking past the servants' quarters I heard chambermaids gossiping. The latest tidbit is the question of my future husband. They were listing everyone from the sixty-one-year-old Knight-Lord of Naxen to Tion il'Chital, who just came of age. Each name more ridiculous than the last, until the cook suggested Lord Lykouleon, the champion. In between gasps of laughter one serving-girl who thought much of her wit suggested he could then be called the "Ice Prince". His supposed frigidity in bed soon occupied much of their conversation, but I had heard enough to guess who our Champion was, and would be.
As he straightens from his bow, guantleted hand pressed to his chest, I get a good look at his face.
I'm not listening as he launches into his report.
The abrupt chill of Shiva's presence only further confirms what I already know.
Tempest Lykouleon il'Airin finishes his report in a calm, clipped tone. I wait for him to bow and exit, but he doesn't, only steps to one side.
From behind a pillar, in the shadows, steps a second man.
My breath catches in my throat as flickering firelight catches on golden hair.
"Your Majesty," he bows, the exact degree required from the highest-ranking noble to the king, and no more. Oh, he's pride enough, that one. A new face, yet I have no problem seeing past the subtle differences to recognizance. Pride, and ambition.
It doesn't take much intelligence, with my 18th birthday not a month gone, to surmise why the most powerful man in the kingdom has left his comfortable manor in winter to attend court.
"My elder brother," Tempest introduces with unnecessary formality. "a'kh Syran li'Airin."
Dark jade eyes, lit by a confidence that would border on arrogance if it were not tempered by compassion, regard my father with calm and understanding. The firelight must have chosen that moment to play tricks, for it looks as if my father looks him over briefly, then nods tacit approval to a question unvoiced.
Unasked feelings well up in me, and shadows swallow me up as I whirl and run on soft, winged feet into the darkness of the inner castle.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
^^ and now, let's break this depressing mood, shall we?
seifer angel: thanx *happy*
Quycksylver: actually I don't know how mine are going to end... ^^;;; the curse of the muses, I guess. Right now I'm so busy falling apart that I don't know enough calc to pass tomorrow's quiz, much less think straight or sleep. And I would suggest you keep running dedication line as usual. You've got plot and originality! Just, maybe, change the title a little. ^^v
DragonLadyKira: Hey, if you could figure it out you're a step ahead of me! *laughs uneasily* I'm sure I'll explain everything... once I understand it, that is.
MashiMaro-chan: You're a fan? o.O I have supporters! *happy dance* I hope you liked it... got to please my fans... *poses dramatically*
Quistis88: You're back! Wai! Hope you don't mind I didn't explain much... my advice is 'be alert'. I'm not going to come right out and tell you anything until I've dropped at least three clues and beaten you over the head with a fourth. :)
seyanaidi: *throws her graphing calculator too* at least we call it that... not that I can use it on tomorrow's calc quiz, oh no. I *knew* I should have studied. On the other hand, avoiding work promotes inspiration!
Vanilla Tiger: cool name, btw. And I can't see a Zuu working either: that's exactly why I want to write one. I love a challenge. This fic is another. How am I doing so far?
*deeeeeeeeeep breath*
RRRREEEEEVVVVVIIIIEEEEEEWWWWWW MMMMMEEEEE!!!!!!
^_____________________^
*passes out from lack of oxygen*