A Katharine Frost Production
Chapter TwoYou had to walk a goddamn mile just to get a goddamn drink in Alexandria Castle. Amarant stalked through the halls, utterly sleepless and at a loss as to where to find the kitchens at five o'clock in the morning. Why did the corridors have to be so bloody labyrinthine? There was a staircase leading down at his right. That was a good bet. Kitchens tended to be on lower floors. He wasn't lost, of course. Certainly not lost. He was just taking the longer route.
The bottom floor was just as bad as the upper – more red carpeting and probably about eight thousand doors. He was wondering if he would be able to find his way back to his room if he gave up when he turned a corner and found himself staring at a face he hadn't seen since Zidane's theatrical return. Freya Crescent. He also realised, quite belatedly, that he had stumbled into the kitchens.
She was looking at him with mild surprise. "Fancy meeting you here," she said dryly.
"Hello, Freya." Amarant didn't mind her so much. Zidane had always lumped them together for some reason – perhaps an imagined demi-human connection on their leader's part – and she was slightly more tolerable than the rest of the band of do-gooders that had somehow attached itself to him. He actually had to stifle a laugh when he saw that she was in the process of slicing a rather large brick of cheese. "What are you doing here?"
"I couldn't sleep and I was hungry," she explained pointedly. "I might ask the same."
"Thirsty. And, the strangeness of you being awake in the castle at this ungodly hour notwithstanding, I meant – why are you in Alexandria?" He leaned against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. This stance was so habitual to him that he barely noticed it anymore.
"Why is it odd for me to be up and not you? I've been living in the castle for some time now," she said shortly, and pressed down the cutting knife she was holding with a resounding whack. "You would know that if you ever cared to check in on us. I – I don't think I'm quite ready to live in Burmecia alone quite yet."
The words were mournful, the tone was not. "First of all, I'm not much for deep sleep. Never know who's watching you. And alone in Burmecia?" he asked, with genuine surprise. "What about Sir Forgetful? He not with you anymore?"
She glared at him angrily. "Fratley is his name, you inconsiderate nit. He is still with me." Amarant waited for her to elaborate, but she didn't; she only continued slicing with unnecessary force. "And why are you here?" she asked without looking up at him.
He lifted his hands briefly, as if to say who knows, and then folded them across his chest again. "Garnet and Zidane invited me to stay. I accepted. I'm leaving tomorrow – well, today, I suppose."
"Ah." Freya didn't look happy. She started to eat the little slices of cheese she had stacked up, and stared down at the long wooden table instead of looking up. He got the sense that she was straining to be civil. "What have you been up to?"
"Not much. Making money. Gambling and collecting bounties."
She made a disapproving sound. "How distasteful."
Amarant mentally took back what he had thought a few minutes earlier about her being slightly more tolerable than the rest of the group. She was just too priggish. "Excuse me," he said loudly. "I wasn't aware that my lifestyle offended you so deeply."
To his surprise, Freya didn't come back with a sharp barb. He fully expected it. She was an irritable and easily angered woman; he had known that ever since he'd made the mistake of crossing her path in Alexandria, the first time they had met. Bloody stubborn, just like a woman. But instead of voicing a quick retort, she just put her head in her claws. "I do not want to fight with you right now."
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
She chuckled at that. "I just came here – to think. That's all."
"Why?"
"You say that as if thinking is the worst thing in the world, you know." She leaned back and appraised him carefully. "If you must know, I don't know what to do now. When I was young, I spent my life working to become a dragon knight. When Fratley vanished, I spent my life searching for him, hoping that he was alive. Then, finally, I decided to help Zidane and the others, after I saw what had been done to my homeland. But now—"
"You don't have a purpose," Amarant finished.
"No – maybe." She wrinkled her nose. "It's not quite that. I do intend to work on the restoration of Burmecia." Having finished eating, she cleared off the table and wiped the dishes clean. "And tomorrow afternoon Fratley and I are leaving for Treno. I have some business with Doctor Tot. It'll be a shame to miss Eiko and the Regent, though – I hope they are here yet when I return."
Amarant's ears pricked up at that. If there was anyone in the world he couldn't stand, it was bossy little Eiko Carol, former mud-dwelling wild girl of Madain Sari, present princess-or-whatever-one-calls-the-daughter-of-a-regent of Lindblum. "A shame." He coughed into his hand. "You're going to Treno? I'm headin' there myself tomorrow, to check on some bounties Lani told me about."
"Really," she said neutrally.
"Really," he retorted. Did she have to be so obnoxious? "I'll come with you. Need to get out before the brat gets here, and Treno's a dangerous place, even in the middle of the afternoon."
"Are you implying that I cannot take care of myself?" she asked sharply.
"Er – no." It was true. She was probably the only woman in the world who might beat him in a fight, possibly except for Lani. There was presently a dangerous sort of glint in her eyes; he stepped back without realising it. "You bloody well can," he added, thinking about the painful-looking pike she almost always had on her.
She muttered something to herself. He couldn't quite hear it, but it sounded something like stupid git. Amarant grinned a little. Chalk up another woman that hates me. It was obvious that she was in a bad mood. Sir Forgetful had probably said something stupid to her earlier; he seemed like the dense type.
Amarant realised he had forgotten his original intent in coming to the kitchens. He found a pitcher of lemonade, and, while it was certainly not his first choice, it would do. He leaned sulkily – not intentionally, his manner of leaning was sulky by default – and drank, intent on ignoring Freya.
"Arse," she said, with debatable good humour. He thought she sounded like she was laughing, a little. She got up, brushed past him, and made to walk out of the kitchens, but paused for a second at the door. "See you tomorrow."
*
As it turned out, in late afternoon, Freya found herself riding a chocobo alongside Fratley on the way to Treno, with Amarant lagging about a hundred paces behind them. The distance was suitably Amarant – close enough to be seen, but far enough away so as not to have to talk to anybody. Just like when they had all travelled together. There was something indefinable that she liked about the silent and unfriendly man; perhaps it was simply that, in his presence, she felt considerably less messed-up by comparison. She hid a smirk under the brim of her wide hat. Amarant would throttle her if he knew she was thinking of him so unfavourably.
Fratley, however, was worrying her even more. He had not said much to her since coming into Alexandria Castle the previous night, save their arrangements to come to Treno; it had been his silence that had driven her down to the kitchens early in the morning. She had been lying next to him, hearing him breathe in and out and feeling nothing, and noting the contrast between that and how it had been before, when she had loved to listen to the soft rise and fall of his breathing. Presently he was riding his chocobo with a look of stony concentration on his face. It was like interacting with a rock wall.
Her hands tightened on the reins.
They arrived in Treno in early evening. She wasn't sure of the exact hour – it always seemed to be dusk in the city. The three of them left their chocobos outside the city limits, far enough from potential thieves but close enough to summon back with a loud call or whistle. Treno was, as always, busy. Freya had always thought it a funny sort of place, with the way the nobles and criminals could be found on the same streets, in the same buildings and stores, mingling but still distanced by class and snobbery. She craned her head back to check on Amarant; he was following them surreptitiously, his eyes darting around occasionally. There was no longer a bounty on his head, she knew – that had been cleared after he had come back from Memoria – but she supposed his old habits died hard.
Doctor Tot's house wasn't far into the city, and they managed to avoid the thieves for the time being – the pikes of the two Dragon Knights and the general threat of Amarant's hulking frame were likely responsible for this. Freya stepped up in front of the two men and knocked at the door, briskly and loudly. There was a faint sound of fluttering and then the door opened to reveal a very-surprised looking Tot.
"Hello, there, Mistress Freya!" he called cheerfully, flapping his wings in excitement. "Come in, come in! What brings you here?" He paused suddenly while ushering them in, and raised his eyebrows. "There isn't any more trouble, is there?"
"No," Freya assured him quickly. "I only want your medical and – er – scientific expertise." Burmecians had never been much for science. "I thought perhaps you could help me. If you're willing."
"Of course," he said graciously, adjusting his too-small glasses. "We'll go upstairs. It's much cosier, I should say." He started to hop up the stone steps, motioning for them to follow. Amarant slouched behind briefly, but soon all four were settled neatly on cushions in Tot's extremely disorganised laboratory.
"You know Amarant," Freya said, with a cursory wave in the man's direction, and, then indicating Fratley: "And this is Fratley Irontail of Burmecia, whom I believe you don't know. It's because of – er – him that we're here—"
"Fratley Irontail!" Tot exclaimed. "I've heard of you, of course; you're only the most famous Dragon Knight to come out of Burmecia. What is the problem, after all? Should you be off defending things?"
"I have lost my memory," Fratley said evenly, robotically.
"He can't recall a thing about his past. Not even fragments," Freya supplemented. She was annoyed to hear that he own voice sounded small and disgustingly fragile. "Almost his entire life is erased. I thought that perhaps you might know something about his condition – information, anything."
Tot's voice was exceedingly gentle. "Amnesia – loss of memory – is a difficult matter,
Freya. I am flattered you came here, yes, but I do not know how much I can do. There is no solid known cure. It's been some time since I've read anything on the subject, but sometimes people live out their whole lives with no recollection, and sometimes it all just comes flooding back, so to speak."
"I see," said Freya, and her voice cracked. Was there nothing he could do? She did not like leaving Fratley's fate to chance; she needed some element of control over the situation.
Tot had turned to Fratley. "There are different sorts of amnesia, really. The brain is a complex organ, and nobody really understands it much, not even the academics in Daguerreo." He blinked owlishly. "I should like to try to help, however. Might I question you?"
Fratley turned to Freya. "Is that all right?"
She bit her lip. Why did he feel he had to ask her permission? "Yes. Of course."
"It should only take an hour or so," Tot said kindly, reassuringly. "You and Mister Amarant may go. I like to do my research in private. It's a bit of a quirk of mine."
Freya nodded, guiltily finding she was relieved to be able to leave Fratley, even if only for an hour. It was like, she realised with a twist in her stomach, leaving a child with a matron. "Thank you, Doctor," she whispered. Amarant, who had not spoken or shifted throughout the entire exchange, followed her out.
*
Tot was unsure as to where to start. There was a twinge of anticipation in his stomach; it was not every day he was presented with a scientific case of such interest. And he remembered the sad look in Freya's eyes, and the defeated slump of her posture. Quite a contrast to the proud, dignified woman he remembered. He wanted to help her, and dearly. Fratley Irontail was watching him with a guarded curiosity. He realised that he had been quiet for too long. "What is your earliest memory?" he asked. As good a first question as any.
Fratley's answer was prompt. "I was in a forest. I woke up and there was patch of sunlight above me, and it was so white and so brilliant that I had to shield me eyes. I didn't know where I was. I remember standing, looking at my feet, my claws – thinking, yes, this is my body – but I couldn't think of my name, not for the life of me. I had a weapon, a pike, and I knew what this was called, just as I knew that the garment I was wearing was a jacket, and that the plants all around me were called goodoaks – is this helpful?"
"Indeed."
"I knew things, the names of things, the functions of things, but I could not recall my name, nor anything about myself, or even how I happened to end up in that forest. It turned out to be near Lindblum – I recognized Lindblum, if that's important – and so I went into the city. There is – nothing – before that."
Tot tried to imagine it. Being born again, sort of, as an adult with no knowledge. At least Fratley's amnesia seemed to be the most common type – the kind where the victim can't remember anything after a certain incident. "What did you do then?" Tot asked softly.
"I stayed in Lindblum. I worked—" Fratley rubbed his ear, contemplative. "Different things. I did the beast hunt one year, but I lost. I wonder if Freya would have found me, had I won. My name certainly would have gotten out." There was humoured twist to his face that Tot found distinctly strange. "It was about fourteen months of living in the Industrial District, doing whatever I could. The people there were nice to me. The children all knew me as the man with no memory. Then I decided to leave. I – I got restless. I needed to know where I was from. You can't just live on not knowing, you know. It would have driven me mad. If I had stayed—" Fratley left the thought unfinished and hanging in the air.
"And how did you finally find out who you were? Your name?" Tot was curious. It was, after all, a fascinating tale.
"Chance, I suppose." Fratley laughed, minimally. "An obnoxious little Burmecian boy ran after me one day, screaming the name Fratley over and over. I didn't know he was referring to me, at first – how could I have known? Turned out he was the prince of Burmecia. Turned out I was a Dragon Knight."
*
Freya was quiet until they got outside of the house and to the entrance fountain. Amarant watched her warily from behind. She seemed quite distant, as if her mind were somewhere far away from her body. "Freya, I'm going to check on the bounties," he said tonelessly. "Come with me, if you like."
"All right," she said loftily, as if she hadn't really heard him. She looked extremely lost. He wrinkled his brow with nervous irritation. You couldn't just walk around Treno looking all daft and faraway, someone would deprive you of your possessions. "Amarant, do you think Tot can help?"
Amarant sighed, thinking that she must be feeling really far gone if she was looking to him for knowledge. Why was she asking him? He was not some bastion of comfort; all could give was brutal honestly. "I think all you can do is wait and see what happens."
Freya looked at him crossly. "You could be more optimistic."
He suddenly felt sorry, and the emotion was so alien that he felt like choking it out. It wasn't like she was his friend, really. They had just been companions in a war of sorts, once. People really did have the most dissatisfying habit of forming attachments. He looked at her furtively; her face was composed and her posture rigid, but he could tell from the overly bright sheen in her eyes that she was close to tears. Tot was probably her only hope. He silently willed her not to cry. If there was anything he hated, it was a bloody wailing woman.
"Never mind," she said suddenly, yanking the brim of her hat down to shade her eyes. Only the slight quaver in her tone gave her away. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."
He bristled at her words, unwillingly to admit that they stung a little. "And why not?"
"Forgive my prying, but have you ever loved anyone?"
"Not really."
"See my point?" she asked callously.
"I suppose," Amarant said wearily. He reminded himself to be patient with her. Her mood was brought on by stress, and he supposed she really didn't mean to snipe at him. He felt an odd and not-quite-crushable obligation to make her feel better, even if such a notion was fleeting and ultimately meaningless. And, besides, he really needed to see if there were any good bounties at large. "I don't want to stand here and argue you with about my personal life," he said shortly. "It's none of your concern."
Freya sighed, then nodded. "You're right."
The bounty hunter's library – as it was facetiously called by its underground patrons – was located in one of the seedier corners of Treno, in the basement of a bar that made the one he had been in previously – the one in Alexandria – look like a regal palace. Amarant descended the stairs into the library first, followed by Freya, who seemed faintly repulsed. "This is where you spend your free time?" she asked.
"I need to make money," he said curtly. The poster-board was full of mugshots. He smiled sardonically to himself – there was one of his old partners, the one he'd worked with before Lani had inexplicably formed an attachment to him. The bounty on his head was only five thousand gil. Amarant snorted. Before he'd been cleared, the price on his head had been an impressive thirty-eight thousand. The list of current bounties, however, held nothing near so profitable. "Disgusting," he muttered.
"What's disgusting?" Freya was standing behind him, looking distinctly out-of-place.
"There's nothing even worth going after. Hard times." He scratched his head thoughtfully. "Suppose I had better stick with gambling for the time being," he added, mostly to nettle her. It didn't seem to work. She wasn't really paying attention; instead, she was taking in the library with open distaste. "Come on," he said, oddly gentle in spite of her uppity expression. "Let's walk."
"All right."
They strode together in peaceful silence. It was late, but not exceptionally late. The streets were uncharacteristically empty of people. There was probably a big auction going on or something, Amarant reasoned. It was oddly pretty, he realised before he could berate himself for a such a sentimental thought. A near-empty city of winding and warm brick pathways and dim, glowing lights, blanketed by the night sky.
They passed by the card tournament and abruptly the reason for the city's emptiness became clear – there seemed to be some sort of recreational card festival going on. Tables were arranged neatly out on the street and shaded by large umbrella, like the outside of a small restaurant, and people of all persuasions were laughing and playing. It seemed pointless to Amarant – it didn't look as if any money was being wagered.
"Do you want to play?" Freya asked.
He turned to look down at her, surprised. "You play cards?"
"Not very often, but yes. I'm fairly good," she said, without a trace of pomposity.
"Oh. Not as good as me, though."
Now Freya wore a bemused expression on her face. She lifted up her hat to show him the gleaming doubt and amusement in her eyes. She looked like the Freya Crescent he knew from fighting. "Want to play me, then?" she offered carefully. "If you're as good as you profess to be, then it should be an easy victory for you."
"I don't play unless I can win something."
"That's a rather sorry philosophy, Amarant Coral." She looked away, peremptory, as if to dismiss him, but her voice was not without humour. "Then we'll have to make a bet."
"How much?"
"Hmm." Freya began to circle him, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "No money, I'd say."
"Then what?"
"Something a bit more fun. If you win," she explained with a hint of a smile, "I owe you a favour. Anything within reason, to be called upon at any time you wish. If I win, though, you owe me a favour, to be called upon at any time I wish. Sound fair?"
"Within reason?" he queried.
"Yeah." She nodded vigourously. "I mean, you couldn't ask me to, say, knock off somebody for you. No dirty work. Things of that sort." She rubbed her claws together, mock-maniacally. "There will be a certain perverse pleasure in making the great and unmoving Amarant Coral do something at my command."
Amarant considered for a moment. It did sound harmless enough – it wasn't as if she was going to win against him, anyway – and her face did seem a touch more cheerful. Not that it mattered. "Agreed."
Freya extended her claw. "Shake on it."
He did so, and they took an empty table and the game began. He started out with a Namingway – a good solid starter card if there ever was one. She appeared to be pondering her move for about a minute, and she placed her card a cautious distance away from his. "Not touching that one," she murmured.
She turned out to be a admirably decent and studious player. Her cards weren't particularly stellar, but she used them cleverly, and the game soon was tied with only two moves remaining – first his, then hers. Amarant played his last card, a built-up Nova Dragon, which flipped over three of her cards in a skillful combo. He saw a pained expression flit across her face. "Don't feel too bad," he said archly, not sorry at all. "No one can beat me."
Freya glanced up at him, and then a devious little smirk took over her mouth. Slowly, agonizingly, she played her last card. Deliberately, she kept it covered, and languidly drew her hand away, as if just waking from sleep. A rare Blue Narciss. Four of his cards changed from blue to red in a heartbeat. Another combo. "Spoke too soon," she said lightly, triumphantly. "Six-four. I win. You'd better start preparing yourself. I might be calling in that favour anytime."
"Best two of three?" Amarant offered.
"Not a chance."
Amarant stared down at the cards laid out, his eyes narrowing. Losing was a difficult thing for him to accept, even in something as paltry and unimportant as a game of cards, and especially to a little snip like Freya. "Let's get back to Doctor Tot," he grumbled.
*