Yeah yeah I don't own KH (because I wouldn't be here writing about it, I'd be off pysching out).
Xaldin's was hard to do because there's not so much about him, but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway. :)
III. Dilan. Xaldin. The Whirlwind Lancer.
When I was a child, I used to play with sharp objects. My father would get angry at me. What happened next was never a pleasant moment for me, no matter the punishment. Even though he was trying to make me see that it was dangerous, it soon became that it was just his rage sparking and rapidly building up. And then, he would take it out on me. As I got older, it was easy to see that I had inherited the blinding rage of my father. Sometimes, we would get in fights. More than often, we would wake up in random parts of the house, not remembering the battle at all. But it would always hang between us,a puddle of water in our path, a rock blocking the way. As time passed, these puddles, or rocks, would grow greater and greater. Before long, we never spoke, and we rarely interacted. Except for the fights. It was if we were both blaming each other for all that was wrong in our lives. My father: his troubles with my mother, and her eventual death; my own: the rage and the hardships of my life. Of course, I could easily blame my father for that. But he-me, not so much. It didn't matter. We still fought. At one point, it was unavoidable, I picked something up during a fight. I don't recall what it was. Something sharp. When I woke up after that fight, things were silent. He was no where.
When the doorbell rang, I assumed it was him. That he had woken up first and gone out for a drink, to make his slurred apologies easier to say. So I opened the door, and punched. It was the doctor. I had broken his nose. But the doctor was a kinder, older man. He said it was alright. He told me that my father had dragged himself into the street, and then...I didn't need to hear more, so I stopped him. Whether it was crushed by a car or bleeding to death, I didn't want to know. I left the house after that. We were living in Radiant Garden. Did you know that? Radiant Garden...it's hardly that any more. I hear rumors, sometimes. Just what the Dragoon Nobodies can tell me. That they're rebuilding it. But it's useless to talk of that now.
I found myself living on the street. I didn't mind. I watched others. Saw what rage could do them. What it'd be like to manipulate that blind power to my own use. One of my more brilliant plans, really.
I was in a street fight with another urchin. I had a broken spear; the other a club. I was winning too, until that fool of a man stepped in. By then, I had stopped listening to my "elders", because they often offered useless advice. At least to me. The man took me to one of his rich, pansy friends. But this gentleman was different. He always dressed nicely, and his eyes watched me. I grew a bit afraid of those silver eyes. I would, will never admit that. Or the fact that I looked up to that man as a hero. By then, I had long ago forgotten my father, and it was if this man filled up the role that I had never seen. He taught me how to fight with lances. More and more, until he gave me a brief look at what magic could do. A fellow had taught him that once, the gentleman said, a wizard. I had laughed. Wizards weren't possibly real, I knew. But what the gentleman had done. Now that was something to be learned. But the gentleman could not teach me. He could not pass on the magical ability. I was fine with that. At the moment, I could fight with three lances at a time, impressive, really. Four on a good day. At this point, I was a man.
This was, also, when the gentleman betrayed me. He took me aside one day, and told me that he was done with the sword fighting, the lances. He was going to retire. And he wanted to take me with him, to live in that high life, to never have to work with lances ever again. This made me angry. I'll never quite know why. Something happened then, a fit of blind rage. I was out on the street again. Back where I started. I didn't read newspapers, for fear that I would learn the fate of the gentleman. I grew my hair out longer, hiding my face in case anybody recognized me. They would have anyway. I have broad shoulders. But no one spoke to me. In fact, they seemed to avoid me.
A few weeks later, I woke up in my usual alleyway. But the man stood there. No, not the gentleman, the first man. Who had robbed me of my fight with the urchin. He was older now, that I could tell. He brought me to his home, and I spoke nothing to him. He cleaned me up, and before long, I could look in the mirror and see the man I had never been. The one I had dreamed of. I was one of his first test subjects, first apprentices. I could weild the lances to my bidding. He gave me thegift of wind, to whirl about and attack at my will.But I had to be careful. The man instructed the others (when he thought I couldn't hear), to watch what they said around me. My blind rage was dormant. For now. The knowledge of this rage gave me the ability to understand other's obvious feelings, to manipulate them into anger and to do my bidding. I will use that skill, even now. And then, I will forget. I will move on.
Xaldin walked in the garden, only two of his lances with him. He had them behind him, both of his hands clasping them together. His head was down as he looked at the white flowers. The garden was tucked behind the castle, walled in from the rest of the storming land. Marluxia, he had sway over flowers, so the walls were decorated with roses and he insisted on keeping the garden. Xaldin didn't particularly like any of the flowers. Except. Perhaps the roses. The scent reminded him of something. Perhaps a fragrance his mother had liked. Or, perhaps, it was nothing.
He stopped at a bush in the corner of the garden. The rare shafts of light poured from the stormy clouds above, and one such stream filtered through the clouds to dance among the leaves of the bush. A rose bud grew, twisted and shut in the center of the bush. He reached out to touch its silky texture. It seemed almost to...wilt at his touch. He pulled back immediately, and replaced his hand on the lances behind him. Xaldin looked at it carefully. Strange that all the flowers were white. Then again. Perhaps not so strange. He waited, watching the flower.
He heard something behind him, and he turned around. There was no one else, only the odd breeze whispering throughout the bushes. It was sort of a lonely noise. Using his gift, h epushed the breeze to continue; it at least created noise in the silent garden. He couldn't tell...if this feeling inside was disappointment, or just...acceptance. He turned back to the bush. Xaldin, confused, could only look at the bush hopelessly at the bush. He had felt, he had known that there had been someone there. Everyone at the Castle, even among the Organization, had someone they trusted, or at least were friendly with. One hand from behind his back, still clutching a lance, went up to lean against the wall, and he pressed his face against that cloaked arm, his other hand still clutching a lance behind his back.
He always seemed to be...alone. He buried his face farther in the folds of his cloak, pushing his hand harder against the white stone wall. He heard another noise behind him. This time, it sounded one more like a suave swish of the wind. But he knew that sound. He pulled his face away from the wall, and turned to look.
It was a Nobody.But not a higher up Nobody, just a Nobody. A Dancer Nobody. One of Demyx's. In the way of the Nobody, it's whole body seemed to be flowing , to be...whispering, almost. Even as it stood still. It was one of the more...feminine looking Nobodies. It's pale, creamy orange cap was tilted, as usual, blocking any sort of eyes it might have, and a seemingly stitched line was all that showed of a mouth. But the line would part slightly, letting out breaths that, for Nobodies, flowed into a language.
Checking on you.
Xaldin shook his head. He didn't know how this one had got in, but they weren't usually allowed in the castle. How did you get in here? he answered. Even though no one else conversed with their controlled Nobodies, Xaldin knew that even though he was always...alone, he could always speak to these..."people". They were just like him, only their souls hadn't been strong enough to form them into something greater, like he and the rest of the Organization members.
Good at getting things. Getting places.
Xaldin smiled...a little, anyway. He wondered who this Nobody used to be. Wondered if it remembered at all. Never hurts to ask. You have memories of before?
He was sure that he had seen it, the stitched line moving into a smile, for a moment. He was almost sure. Though, if the higher ups could "feel nothing", then did the same apply to the Nobodies? No one seemed to research them any farther. Perhaps he would.
Dance. I danced.
He figured that this one, a she presumably, had danced in places of...questionable morality. It was almost as if this had leaked from him and the Dancer Nobody had caught wind of this.
Misunderstand. The Nobody swirled gently through the air, in a way that reminded him of the ballroom dances that he, as an urchin, had seen through the windows of the large homes in Radiant Garden. Ah. A noble lady, perhaps. Dance.
How?
Simple questions were easy for all the Nobodies to understand. How...how did you change? And before...well...before the losing of the heart.
The Dancer's head swayed from side to side. Xaldin couldn't tell if this was a lack of remembrance, or a lack of wanting to tell. How? the Dancer responded. Memories surged through his mind, ones that he had locked away in a box that was never supposed to be opened. And this breaking of the dam let in a new flow, from ones before that. The fencing academy. The streets. And...something was clouding his vision, another episode that he would later wish he could forget. Unlike all of his other memories, he could not put away the times when the rage would take him, mixing with a feeling that he was being whipped by severe winds. When he stopped...he saw one lance lying in a bush, and the other clutched tightly in his fist. The Dancer Nobody was gone.
As normal thinking returned to his mind, he realized he could feel. At least...sadness. Did he...push the Dancer from all existence? Or had it run away as he started flinging his lances? He sighed. Perhaps he could ask Demyx...or not. He turned back to the bush in the corner. The lone rose bud stood out clearly from the otherwise bare bush.
You and me, he whispered in the Nobodies language, as though there was someone else to hear. We're alone. Destined, eh? Perhaps it is time for us...not to be alone. I cannot ... be...forever. Some day. Some one will defeat me. And perhaps, I should have someone with me. For a change. He effortlessly swung the lance forward, cleanly slicing off the bud at the stem. It fell into his hand, and it bloomed there. He held it up carefully in the light, turning it over in his hand. Perhaps...if he hadn't hurt the Dancer, then he could...well...perhaps after dinner.
