Disclaimer: Chrono Trigger doesn't belong to me. If it did, Flea would be a main character. It belongs to Square and their creative minds. I'm not making any money of this. Don't sue, please?

Author's notes: This is Yaoi! Male/male relationships, that is. Also contains some graphic violence and sexual acts. Hints at non-con sex as well. This isn't beta-ed. Oh yeah; Magus might seem a bit OOC. I was trying to portray his inner despair over loosing Schala.

/……/ = Flashbacks…

A Trial of Hearts

By Shaded Mazoku

Part 7: Remembering


When he first brought Flea to live with him, Magus thought it would be a hell. Now, a week and a half later, he knew it. The Mystic was going out of his way to be troublesome, never giving him a peaceful moment to study his books or work on his magic. If it hadn't been for the spell that bound Flea's life force to his, he would have had to worry about attacks, also. He'd forgotten how downright vicious Flea could be when he felt like it.

Unlike most Mystics, Flea wasn't much of a bully. Instead, he was sneaky, cunning, and surprisingly stealthy. While Ozzie had been the general leader, and Slash had been mainly in charge of the army, Flea had his own little group, composed of Naga-ettes, Vamps and Jugglers. The group had been immensely loyal to Flea, who was a very good leader. They had been responsible for the intelligence work, an effective and organized spy network. It had surprised him when he discovered just how Flea had risen to such a high rank. The Mystic was an actor, after all, and a good one at that. He had everyone believing he was a ditz. Even Magus had been fooled.

/A meeting was being held and Magus hand his three Generals were collected around a table. Ozzie was eating, and rather noisily, too. Slash was explaining what the troops were practicing. Flea was looking dreadfully bored, and was occupying himself by painting his nails a shimmering silvery pink; ignoring the looks the three others sent him. Magus wanted to kill all three of them. "Why can't they ever pay attention? Are all Mystics inheritably stupid or something?" he wondered briefly. "Do any of you have any useful information?" he asked, but his question was being ignored because Ozzie and Flea had started arguing. Growling, Magus got up and left.

Later that night, Magus encountered Flea in the library, which was an unusual occurrence. The Mystic was reading a book about dragons, for some reason. Magus decided to ask Flea what the point of ruining the meeting like that was. It wasn't the first time it had happened. "Flea? What was the point of that display earlier? I know you started it. You're both idiots, but compared to Ozzie, you're a genius." Flea yawned slightly, and battered his lashes cutely. "He was being disgusting…" Magus growled, furious that the Mystic could be so incredibly dense. "Give me one reason not to kill you right here and now!" he snapped, and expected a reason like "I'm too pretty" or something like that.

Flea rose from his chair, and looked up, straight into Magus' eyes. "Because, Sir Magus, I am the only one in this castle who can tell you exactly what is going on in Guardia. As we speak, the two most trusted of my 'followers' are in disguise at Guardia Castle, one as a handmaiden to Leene, and the other as a colonel. The rapport to me everyday, in order to keep me updated. That is why you shouldn't kill me. I do command some respect, you know." Magus stared at him. "Why on earth haven't you told me about this before? This could be an important advantage for us!"

Flea looked at him, lips curved into something that could only be described as a wicked smirk. "Because, Sir Magus, it is my insurance that you will not get rid of me. I know I'm no match for you physically, magically or mentally, but when it comes to dealing with people, I am the best. I have people loyal to me many places, Sir Magus, even several here, in the castle." He smirked wider.

"You, Sir Magus, are a lot of things, but you are not a Mystic. And even if you were, you'd still be mortal. If you decide to kill me, you might just find that one day, something you eat will be poisoned. There is this poison, derived from a very rare flower, that comes in two parts, one from the petals and one from the roots. Apart, they're harmless, but together, the kill in a ten minutes. And it hurts like hell, too. If anything were to happen to me, you might find that your food is nice, and your wine is excellent, but together, they can kill you…" Flea's voice trailed off, and he smiled again, a knowing little half-smile, before he left. /

That had been when he realized that there was far more to Flea than flirting and yelling. The Mystic had learned how to survive by using his own skills, and even if it was a sly and sneaky way to live, it was somewhat admirable. Magus guessed it was the only way a physically weak Mystic like Flea could get a position as a General. The Mystics, despite what many humans thought, were not really evil. But they were firm believer in survival of the fittest. He had believed, as had most others, that the only reason that Flea had lived to adulthood was his looks, but obviously, he was wrong.

That didn't mean that Flea was any less annoying, though, and Magus gritted his teeth in order to not storm off down the hall and strangle the Mystic as revenge for all the nasty things he had been forced to endure that week. He was about willing to swear that not only was Lavos easier to deal with than Flea, he also made far more sense.

Flea looked around himself, a small smile appearing on his lips. It had taken one and a half week, but the room Magus had given him was finally starting to look proper. He might feel miserable but he would not let himself and his surroundings reflect that feeling.

The bed had been the first to go. There had been an old, musty bed with a solid headboard standing in one corner. It had looked at lot like the bed he had been tied up on when his captors didn't need him. Once Magus had left him alone in there, he had panicked and set fire to the bed by accident. A canopy bed, with beautiful red velvet cloth, was now standing in its place. The last pieces of cloth that was left from making the canopy had been used to make curtains for the two windows in the room.

Other items he had added included a black marble desk, a large bookshelf, a full sized mirror and a large wardrobe. He had also gotten a fluffy crimson and pink carpet for the floor. Some flowerpots and vases had been added here and there just for decoration. Flea was fond of flowers. They were so beautiful, and most of them smelled wonderful. He liked beauty. He always had. When he had been one of Magus' Generals, he had surrounded himself with it. He had trained the prettiest of the Naga-ettes to be his personal helpers, although all the Naga-ettes had been members of his little crowd.

Flea was, in fact, quite intelligent. He wasn't nearly as brilliant as Magus or that human girl, Lucca, but he was cunning and sly and had quickly learned that he had a gift when it came to dealing with people, even without his extraordinary ability to charm. During his years of working as a Magician, first for Norz, then Ozzie and finally for Magus, he had established a network of spies, informants and safe houses. They had always served him well. It had given him advantages over just about anyone. He knew things about people that they themselves did not know.

He had known that although the king of Guardia loved his Leene, he was like putty in the hands of pretty girls. He had known that Leene was a bit too partial to sweets, and that a cake was seldom left for long in the castle, a handy thing to know if he ever needed to poison her. He had, although it had taken time to find anything on him, learned that the oh-so-admired Sir Cyrus was in love with that little green-haired friend of his. That, however, was something he had never passed on to Magus. Love was not something that should be twisted by anyone.

Love was, to Flea, worse than torture. It left one weak and vulnerable. It was a state he nearly had succumbed once, and he would not let it affect him again. He let his hand slip down to his back, tracing invisible scars that should have been there, but weren't. Had it not been for love, he would never have been caught, never used as a toy by those other Mystics.

He picked an orchid out of a vase on his desk, and twirled it in his hands. His mother had compared him to a flower, and she wasn't the only one. Flea snorted in disgust. Flowers were beautiful and decorative, true, but they were extremely fragile. And no one would call Flea the Magician fragile. Not if they valued their lives.

-TBC…


Author's note: This chapter nearly drove me crazy. That's what I get for writing while listening to Kefka's theme…