A Katharine Frost Production
Chapter FourThough it seemed entirely impossible, the ride back to Alexandria was more tense than the ride from it. Amarant was, again, behind Freya and Fratley, trailing, watching, trying not to notice the dual stiff postures of the Dragon Knights. He supposed Freya had filled him in on everything he had said. Fratley didn't seem to be taking it well.
Oh, and bloody hell, how he needed a drink. The whole trip to Treno had been a bad move on his part. No good bounties, and the entirely creepy image of Fratley imitating Brahne stuck in his head to boot. And the damned chocobo was tempermental. It kept rearing up on him. Last thing he wanted. He looked over at the pair riding in front of him again and wondered, idly and uncharitably, if Fratley was incapable of adopting a relaxed frame. The man always seemed so proper.
Then again, Freya was like that, too. He supposed it was a Burmecia thing, really. Stuffy little backwater rodents. He snorted. Alexandria was now visible on the horizon; Amarant breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn't take much more of them. At the city gates, he ducked away from them with a quick grunt, pointedly ignoring the harsh look Freya gave him. It wasn't his problem, really. None of his concern. He drowned the nagging bit of guilt in the back of mind – why should he feel guilty, after all, for leaving her? – and hauled himself into the nearest pub. It was too hot out to peruse them, and he needed some cool air on his sweat-sticky, leathery skin. In his opinion, chocobo riding was much more strenuous than it ought to be.
He went over to the bar and got a drink, then found a quiet table in the corner. There had been a time when he had always worn a hood in public, to conceal his face from regular humans, but Lani had discouraged him from it a long time ago. It wasn't such a bad idea now, he mused, taking in the barely-concealed hatred on the faces of the other patrons. Alexandria, it seemed, had quite the underground intolerance for subber demi-humans. He took a long swig and leaned back, his feet brushing the legs of the table, and glared at the room in general.
"I thought you were in Treno," came a voice from his left.
It was Steiner, still clad in the same old rusty mail. Amarant hid a smirk. Good old rustbucket. "Just got back," he said curtly. "Needed a drink after a day with those rats. Didn't know you go to bars."
"I'm on patrol," Steiner explained, unruffled. "It's what I do now. There isn't much war these days, of course, so I just look after the city and make sure it's safe. I wouldn't have liked doing this a while ago, but now I enjoy it. It's good to have peace, you know? And it's nice to know that having a sword isn't so necessary in these times."
"Uh-huh."
"And it's a really quiet night tonight. I haven't come across a single fight or anything tonight. I suppose having the Knights of Pluto on duty every night is beginning to deter people from getting too rowdy."
"Right," Amarant said boredly. With ninety percent of people, this was his method of conversation. Listen and throw in a one-word sentence now and then. It had yet to fail him.
"What are you doing in a place like this?"
"Drinking," he said snarkily, furtively looking around at the bar. He hadn't really taken it in before, having been drawn in simply by a swinging sign promising alcohol. It was sort of dirty, with a thick tar-and-nicotine smell that he recognized from most of the bars in Treno. "Obviously, I'm not here for the atmosphere."
"Oh." For some reason, Steiner took this a cue to sit down across from him, then the knight folded his massive hands neatly on the table and looked straight at Amarant. "You okay? I haven't seen you – since Memoria – and now I find you getting drunk alone."
Amarant swirled his drink and peered into it thoughtfully. It was watery ale, best suited for poor winos and rebellious teenagers. "Drunk?" He snorted. "It'd take me a year to get even remotely buzzed off of this Alexandrian garbage, Rusty," he said.
If Steiner was put off by the nickname, he didn't show it. "Really. How have you been?"
"Just perfect. How are you?" Amarant didn't even look up at him.
Steiner blinked at the quick and skillful turn-around, but forged on nevertheless. "I've been – wonderful is the only word for it. I know that probably disgusts you, but things are better than they've ever been. I can't seem to explain it."
Amarant smirked knowingly. Another besotted fool. "How is the General Beatrix?"
"She is fine," Steiner said happily, as if this were his favourite topic and he had been waiting to get to it all night. He leaned closer to Amarant, conspiratorial. "Queen Garnet is a lovely girl. All of my knights adore the very sight of her, half of the men in this country are in love with her, and, of course, Zidane still moons all over her. But, as for me – there's something to be said for a woman who could beat you in a fight if she ever got the notion into her head."
"Yeah—" Amarant said slowly. He downed the last of his drink and tipped a finger at the bartender, to indicate that he wanted another. He felt oddly discontented, and Steiner finally seemed to get the message, leaving him be. There was a sweet and numbing comfort in solitude, just like there was a sweet and numbing comfort in alcohol. "I am a man in love with my familiarities," Amarant grumbled to himself, and then the bartender came over with a refill and he didn't have to bother anymore, which was good because he was starting to sound like a pansy.
*
"And then – then he only screamed my name. Loudly. And that was it," Freya finished her story in a hushed tone; Fratley was asleep not five feet away from where she, Garnet, and Zidane were talking. Eiko was there, too, having just come from Lindblum that day, and dozing on Garnet's lap.
"Wow," Zidane whispered. "Just – wow. I never – never suspected Brahne." He looked sideways at Garnet, perhaps to see how she was reacting to this new revelation about her mother. Garnet, to her credit, seemed to be taking it rather well, still threading her fingers idly through Eiko's hair.
"I know," Freya said. "And now you know."
"You think it'll help?"
"Perhaps." She sighed and tried to sink into her chair.
"Why do you think they did it?" he pressed on.
"I'm not certain," Freya answered heavily. "It's possible that Brahne was planning to attack Burmecia for a long time, even before she was influenced by Kuja. She wasn't well-liked in Burmecia, you know – many called the Queen of Alexandria a hater of demi-humans." Freya caught Garnet's eye, to make sure she hadn't crossed the line, but Garnet's face was impassive. "Sir Fratley was Burmecia's Knight Captain. Perhaps the Queen simply meant to eliminate her biggest obstacle to victory – why, after all, would he have defended us if he had no memory of any allegiance to his country?"
Zidane nodded. It made sense. "He was pretty powerful, wasn't he?"
"He is yet," she said quietly, folding her hands in her lap. "Could – could I be left alone now, Zidane? It's late."
"Of course. Er – Freya?"
"Yes?"
He regarded her solemnly. "I'll help you as best as I can."
"So will I," Garnet chimed in softly.
Freya was shocked to feel her eyes burn with gratitude. A little smile touched her face as she took in the three of them; she was glad of their kind friendships. Even with Fratley, in many ways, she was much luckier than most. "Thank you."
When the three had trailed out of the room, Garnet carrying Eiko in her arms, Freya went to change into bedclothes, and then to stand over Fratley. She had always loved watching him sleep. She sat down on the mattress, beside him, idly threading the hem of her nightgown modestly around her knees. This was stupid. Why did she feel shy about it? They had curled against each other in the same bed for years, made love hundreds of times, and yet she felt like a guilty child, just sitting and watching him sleep, his face slack and vulnerable-looking. She had once thought it beautiful in sleep, his face, unguarded and masculine and all for her. Tentatively, she put a claw out to lightly stroke through his fine hair.
Freya was surprised when her stomach lurched painfully. Her eyes grew hot and teary, and she was only sitting and touching him in his sleep. She had forgotten touch, really. Certainly they still hugged each other, and gave physical comfort when it was necessary – but this – this was different, this sort of contact where she was allowed to touch him anytime, in any manner, and vice versa, as if they belonged to one another.
There was a mirror across from them, propped up on an ornate wooden dresser. She caught her reflection in it. Her unencumbered appearance never failed to surprise her these days; without her hat and jacket and pike, she just looked tired and worn. She lifted a claw to trace the hollows under her eyes. They seemed deeper than they should have been, blue against her white-grey skin.
She couldn't get what had happened in Treno out of her mind. She patted Fratley's sleeping face and stood up, pacing the room. It was her habit to pace when restless, or worried, or both. She wondered, fleetingly, if she would be happier were she the one stuck with amnesia. But, then again, memory was worth the pain – at least to her. It looked to be shaping up as another sleepless night.
"F-F-Freya…" Fratley was murmuring, whispering in his sleep.
She went back over to him. "Hush," she whispered, "hush, now." He was quiet again. She felt oddly like a parent, and wondered what he had dreaming about – it might have been something sad, judging by the tone of his voice.
There must have been some sort of magic, or possibly a relic, that Zorn and Thorn had used to erase his memory, before they had tortured him and left to die in a forest. She thought guiltily of the newer scars that were on his face and arms, the ones she had not yet marked as her territory—
Oh, don't, Freya – I don't want you to kiss my scars.
I want to.
—how had he gotten them? She needed to think. She pulled a heavy robe over her nightclothes and left the room, making sure to close the door slowly and quietly so as not to wake Fratley.
Alexandria Castle was a good place for one to walk about in with something on his or her mind. The lights were always low, fiery torches, which, Freya thought with a touch of dry amusement, were perfect for brooding. There were probably passages in the castle no one had touched for a hundred years – and then she froze mid-step. The torture chamber – the one Fratley had been in – wasn't it possible that it was in the very same castle?
"Where d'you think you're going?"
Freya turned around. It was Amarant, arms folded as usual, but there was something odd about him. His body seemed to be reeling a little, as if it had lost some degree of equilibrium. She looked at him reproachfully. "You've been drinking."
He stepped towards her, then swayed about a bit before finally having to lean against a wall for support. "Yeah. Not so very much drunk, though. And don't knock it 'til you've tried it."
"I have tried it, thank you very much. I, however, know the meaning of temperance."
"But you apparently don't know the value of getting some goddamn sleep." He blinked a little, and paused, as if trying to work out the words. "You're runnin' yourself ragged. Look at your hair – it used to be shiny – you've got to – where're you going? You didn't answer me." He slurred these last words, but paradoxically he seemed quite aware of what was going on.
"Fine." She glared. "I'm going to the dungeons."
"Kinky."
She ignored this and turned her back to him, striding forcefully down the hallway.
He caught up to her. "Sorry, sorry," he said insincerely, holding up his claws palms-out as a peace offering. "What can I say? I've got a knack for pissing off women. Why're you going to down the dungeons, really?"
Freya sighed. He really was drunk, she hadn't heard so many words out of him in the whole time she'd known him. "I want to examine the torture devices."
"I take back my apology."
"Watch it." She glared at him, then softened a little. "I wish to see if they are still there, and then I may take Sir Fratley there. There is a good chance that this is the castle where Brahne and her minions tortured him. It might – provide me with some clues. Now, if you don't mind—" She started away again, but he just kept walking beside her. "Excuse me?" she said sharply.
"I'm coming with you," he explained.
"You most certainly are not, you idiot sot," she retorted. "You need to go and drink some water and then put your sorry hide into bed."
"Then I'm going to take a leisurely stroll. Through the dungeons. Coincidentally."
She felt like throwing her arms up into the air and shrieking, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. "Fine." She grabbed his wrist roughly and dragged him down the corridor, then shoved him in front of the entrance to the basement. "You're going first. Oh – and don't forget, there may still be monsters down there." There weren't, but she felt like irritating him.
"You're the one who's currently unarmed," he said snidely.
"Oh, just go in."
*