Chapter Eleven
"If these men so much as touch me, they'll find their windpipes under my heel."
Mr. Gerrick was a scholar by profession, but his exterior did not give him away. As tall as his son in law, but sinewy, he was encased in black, his boots heavy and hard with his large steps, ice blue eyes and winter white hair atop his head and face. Even though he had only been a soldier in his youth for a few short years after being drafted in the Alexandrian and Burmecian Conflict that led to the Airship Revolution during Cid VIII's reign, some things never left a person.
Above anything, he was quiet, and it was his silent observation in all things that intimidated.
He wasn't silent now.
"You're laboring under the impression that this is a request. Produce my daughter thusly or you can forget ever having been my so-called friend when you meet the same fate as these fools," he declared with deadly finality, gesturing to the guards edging closer to him.
"Artemis, I implore you to understand that Lady Fabool is not receiving any visitors- "
"Isn't or can't?"
"As I have said," Artania was in conflict, coming close to the threshold of his composure as he was finding it difficult to allay his friend's concern with paltry falsehoods. Before he could utter another word, his Regent's voice chimed in from behind, saving him.
"It is alright, Horace. Go on. Tell him," Cid sighed, the sad little oglop trudging forward in his regal cape before his father in law, the elder blinking once, twice in mild surprise and growing alarm.
"What's this?" Hilda's father asked, recognizing the person before him but unsure of how this predicament coincided with his daughter's absence.
There was silence, only to be measured by seconds, but its weight was an agony of hours.
"Hilda is missing…"
Artania's voice was soft but the words were unrelenting. There was no delicate way to go about it.
Gerrick grew still, the air suddenly chilling about the room. Artania watched his old colleague and friend, the metamorphose of his expression, followed by movements collapsing against one another so rapidly, he could do nothing but observe it all as if it were in slow motion, unable to move nor shout, do anything to prevent the typhoon of actions that unfolded before him.
Arcing faster than a lightning strike, his fist was clenched around the little oglops neck, grinding the poor thing into the marbling of the floor, his lips slit open to reveal clenched teeth as his eyes bore into his son in law with murderous intent.
"Damn you, what have you done?!" his voiced boomed, echoing off the walls of the chamber. Guards were hurling themselves at him, dislodging his hand around their Regent's person, trying to hold him back but just as one managed to get a hold of him, they were tossed asunder.
Three large men launched themselves at him at once, holding him in place as he spat at his monarch with unconcealed contempt," This is your doing, I'm sure of it! No doubt a circumstance caused from your lecherous nature; I should have never given her to you!"
Cid was gasping for breath while trying to pull himself from the floor, Gerrick's assumption right on the mark. Had he been in his normal faculties, it would have been a fair fight.
"I'm sorry," he rasped out, not arguing the accusation.
Artania watched these events in turmoil, torn between his loyalties.
"She left, taking the HildaGuard after transforming the Regent as he is now. The ships airmen were discovered dead, but the vessel and Hilda are still nowhere to be found," Artania explained with a slight frantic edge to his voice that was so unlike himself.
Cid could feel his throat already bruising as he crawled from the floor, grasping at the leg of a chair to right himself. He turned to the source of the silence that engulfed the room and the look on Hilda's father's face lashed out and struck viciously into his heart like a bladed chain.
The blood had fled from his already pale face and his expression became lost. The guards relinquished him at the sudden lack of fight within the tall man as his body became limp and sunk to the ground, his legs bent beneath him, his arms at his sides as he looked to the floor.
"Truly?" His voice was hallowed, head lifting back to the Regent.
Artania made to kneel down to his friend, "We are searching aggressively, Artemis. The fact that the ship and Lady Hilda have not been recovered means that there is still hope- "
"That what?!"
Gerrick cut the Minister off, his voice mocking, anger resurfacing once more, looking to him, unconvinced.
"That she isn't suffering? That she isn't being made to starve? Tortured for information, raped repeatedly, if she is alive?! She isn't just anyone, Artania, the lot of you take me for a fool! And if you believe that theory, then so be you! Airships do not just go missing, they land, crash, or get abducted. Lady Fabool was on that vessel, this country's second most prominent figurehead. The proof that all your men were found dead means that compared to whomever has her, those soldiers never stood a chance!"
There was no sound argument to rebuff the man as some of the fallen men had been killed with devastating black magic before they had been tossed overboard.
His head fell into his hands, his fist clenching, grinding into his sockets as he bent over, wounded," Of all the damnable things I now wish would befall unto you, they are still too good for what you deserve," he despaired.
His anguish was palpable.
Artania dismissed the guards, sensing their presence was no longer needed, looking to his defeated friend, his own feelings a discord he could never let another soul be privy to.
Hidden away within the recesses of himself, cloaked beneath his friendship and loyalty to Cid and his position as the country's Minister, were his own feelings of wretched turmoil and agony, calling out for a woman that had enslaved him years ago, her girlish ambition turning into that of a polished woman of tactical prowess; determined, formidable, and beautiful.
What had started out as respect and gratitude turned to something more forbidden; he was the same age as her father. And although he had initially deemed her husband a fool, he learned in time that in regard to his duties and ingenuity, he was far from it. His heart ached for her through all the betrayals and had he been twenty years younger, he told himself time and time again, he would have found the means to take her from him.
He was just as much of a fool as her husband was.
He looked to his Regent now, the small quiet creature observing his father in law in silence, helpless. And although he could not read the expression of an oglop, he was quite convinced that the feeling of futility and all-consuming fear were mutual.
She had awoken to a breeze against her face, the window open to air out the room.
She blinked at the stream of sunlight, her body warm and half covered. Naked, she rose to wince at the soreness of her hips and throat. Bringing her hand to her head, she looked to see that she was alone. A borrowed robe had been thrown at the foot of the bed and she donned it gingerly, quietly extricating herself from the bed, her legs wobbly, muscles overused.
She didn't look at herself in the mirror. She didn't dare to.
A small knock sounded at the door and clumsily she opened the thing to be greeted by the tiny proprietress, a towel and sliver of soap given to her in offering.
"The baths are this way, if you don' mind," she smiled sweetly, her accent almost endearing.
Hilda gave a small smile back, her ingrained mannerisms too deeply rooted to snub the woman.
They made their way downstairs, the dwarf helping Hilda every now and then as leverage, smiling knowingly. The baths were communal but luckily for her, they were empty as it was so late in the morning. The innkeeper informed her that her companion had left hours ago and that she would have her clothing he had purchased for her waiting in the changing room.
There were three baths, rectangular and enormous, with open stoned windows that let in the sunlight, the steam billowing above the water. Disrobing, she sat first, clinging to the ledge while slipping in, not sure how deep the pools were. The water was warm, comfortable and she found she could sit without treading water. She brought her knees to her chin, hugging them, the water cresting at her lips. After several moments, she finally allowed all the thoughts she had put away the night before to flood her mind.
Bigamist, she called out harshly in her head.
Adulterer.
Whore.
If there had ever been a chance of her returning home one day, how was she to do it now with her head held high?
Sinful.
Disloyal.
Harlot.
There were many names that followed as she called them upon herself one by one.
Damningly, she could see purple bruises on her hips through the water as well as the red ones on the inside of her thighs and breasts. He had invaded her inside and out and she had been a willful recipient to all of it. His appetite had been all consuming and carnivorous, taking everything while seeking out his own pleasure.
She admonished herself for being so easily seduced, no better than the women that had followed the crook of her husbands' finger. Why had this man, this 'genome', been any different? She had had her fair share of offers throughout her career, young and older alike, secreted whispers and forbidden notes and never not once had she entertained any of them, fastidious in her ongoing loyalty to Cid.
Why had she given of herself to him when she couldn't even give it to her husband?
To her mortification, not once had she ever been capable of pleasing Cid.
He would never admit as much but she wasn't a girl, she knew the way of these things. He had offered time and again to please her in any manner she desired, smiling, coaxing, open. But the results always remained the same. During their time together within his bed, those wretched thoughts and speculations of past lovers would take from her what should rightfully be hers, her mind a turmoil of anxiety, inadequacy, and self-deprecation.
The more she thought upon it, the more she championed Cid's indiscretions, and the tears burned heavy trails down her cheeks and into the water.
Damn Cid.
Damn Kuja.
And damn herself.
She was idly looking to wares from the few open vendors littered about the open hall within the main structure that made up the town, having been informed that most shopping was reserved for the 'Night Market', alluding to a custom that contrasted greatly to a folk who's culture was vastly influenced by the light of the sun.
Ambling about in a frail attempt to uplift her somber mood, it was only darkened by the looming shadow that casted itself over her own, like an ominous bird of prey. Unmoving, her eyes followed the mass to two metal-encased feet at her right, waiting.
She didn't know what to say in the way of a greeting. She didn't know if she could find it within herself to meet his gaze. She imagined for a moment to liken him to one of her former enemies, Sir Elix perhaps. But just as quickly as she had conjured the idea, she banished the thought, recognizing the fruitless endeavor for what it was. He was like no other. And neither friend nor foe from her past could even compare.
She finally called forth the courage to look up at him, her chin rising in almost outward defiance. What she saw were two crystallized, damning things in place of eyes. His face gave away nothing, plain while obscure. Normally after such a night, in regard to a semblance of a normal occurrence, one would expect affection or perhaps shyness in place of a lover's sentiment, yet he was unaffected while internally she was howling in mortification.
"Are you done here?"
His manner was polite, impersonal, and business-like.
Her head tilted in query, momentarily confused. Were they not here on his business alone? Perhaps he had concluded whatever it was that he had been trying to do. She dared not enquire about it, lest his mood sour.
"I think I've managed to explore anything that might have piqued my interest, if that is what you're asking."
His eyes turned beyond her shoulder to the vendor behind her, scanning the wares with minute interest before meeting her gaze once more, a hand at his hip.
"After we return, this will most likely be your last opportunity to be outside."
Understanding drew her brows together and she couldn't help but to suddenly look about her, eyes darting across the hall at the other vendors splayed askance, people she knew not having conversations that she needn't be a part of, lives being led that had nothing to do with her. To call it momentary freedom was a farce, she was just as much of an outsider here as she was within her new dwellings. No one here could return her to the life she desired and to even prolong her time outside was merely a distraction.
"No, I think I'm quite done," she replied softly, her hand curling against her chest.
His brows rose in question but he said nothing further, asking her if there was anything she needed within their room before they left.
She thought to that damnable dress, the only thing within the room that had been hers. She didn't need it. She didn't want it. Let it remain in this strange land among these strange people on a foreign continent long forgotten. Perhaps it could reside hidden along with her sins.
When they had arrived at the dock above the Desert Palace, he silently dropped her matrimonial ring gifted to her by her husband within her palm and wordlessly walked away down toward the transportation sigil without a glance in her direction. And when she hadn't seen him in the two days that followed, she chanced upon the dock to see that the ship was gone once again.
Any paramour would surely have felt stung by what could possibly be perceived as a slight or in the worst of circumstances, abandoned. Yet as she was not such, she merely felt relief. She had cloistered herself within her cabin during the duration of their journey back to the Kiera Desert, fearful of any encounters with her captor and what they might entail. She could envision him relishing within her weakness, prodding at the newly blotted stain upon her person, inviting her to recall how easily she had allowed herself to be seduced. For all his knowledge of her and in all the ways he could do harm upon her, she had willingly given him a trump card. And that condemning piece of fact bled outward from within her very veins and was set upon her mind like poison. She felt as if she were pinned beneath rubble at the bottom of the ocean, the weight of the water flooding her mouth much more heavily than the perceived debris upon her body. And try as she might, she could not lose consciousness nor could she perish. She could merely linger and wallow within that feeling, her chest burning as her mind screamed, her emotions an array of screeching, volatile, and alternating things, so quick were they to metamorphose and evolve into deeper more mercurial deviations of their original forms.
And more frightful than anything was her recollection of their silent exchange within the little kirkboat in that tiny, almost insignificant village. There had been a moment where she could feel a sort of vicious possessiveness from him, as if conjured almost telepathically. And the actions that had followed had solidified that terrible feeling. To know of him, it would not be hard to connect the permanent scar upon her finger as one of his mean-spirited personal quips rearing its head once more, but this seemed different. She couldn't quite sort through the myriad of events that had unfolded during their ceremony but something about the entire exchange made her feel that she might be in much more danger than she could ever perceive.
His sudden absence afforded her the isolation she desired to overcome her kaleidoscopic emotions and to collect herself henceforth. By the fifth day, she had reconciled that what was done was done and if there were to be any consequences suffered from it, within the present or future, she would tackle them head on, whatever they may be. And like many other treacherous tides she had crested throughout her short life, she decided that this too would be overcome, one way or another.
She left the kitchens with a proffered turnover from a silent servant, eventually heading up the winding staircase that lead to the hall her room resided in. Unthinkingly, she opened her door and closed it, turning round with her mouth suddenly agape, the pastry falling to the floor as she watched another one of her captor's servants rifling through one of her drawers. She meant to make no sound, fearful of any deviation from their habitual norm as she had seen the consequences should one of their brethren "malfunction." Her fingers slid quietly against the latch of her door, willing the hinges to deadened silence as she made to exit before her presence was noticed. The little roly-poly man suddenly stopped what he was doing then, straightening himself in one smoothened movement before turning to look directly at her, his eyes a smoldering burning flame within the darkness.
He was bored.
He had been in Alexandria for a week at the Queen's request, arriving with another shipment of black mages from Dali to add to her armada, Brahne switching from delighted satisfaction to sniffing arrogant primness much to his rising displeasure. Now he was playing as one of the many guests in another of her frivolous festivals in celebration of the princesses' birthday. Tonight was the second party held in a three day celebration, tomorrow's finale culminating in a theatrical act performing Garnet's favorite stage play.
Among the city were commoners dancing in the streets, singing loud and laughingly into the night as the hours passed, the square alight with ribbons and musicians. Within the confines of the inner castle ballroom were elegant displays of waltzes and intrigue, whispered rumors frivolous and delicious as they passed from lips to lips somewhat intimately upon the dance floor.
Kuja had watched among the shadows, leaning languidly against a marbled pillar as the so-called ton of society flitted about like glittering insects. It made him miss Treno all the more, the city of perpetual night much more perverse and yet refined in its seductive energy, the atmosphere remaining sophisticated while un-judging, unlike the aristocrats of the capital who held themselves too high in self-esteem, despite their childish backhanded gossip and haughty arrogance.
There had been but one among the dull lot that had taken his attention however now she had proven to be just as ill-appeasing as her peers.
He leaned back with his head titled, watching, sitting at the edge of the bed in his private chambers as her head bobbed unskillfully between his legs. He plucked a strand of her long dark sable hair, studying it, the only aspect about her person that had made her stand out amongst the rest. And what had begun as initial admiration began to wither as he unconsciously began to consider that perhaps someone with fine, golden hair would have made a better choice. Pale locks surrounding dark blue eyes and a pert mouth that could set a man alight in, as well as out, of bed.
Losing interest at the girl between his knees, a young countess, he believed, he wordlessly began to adjust his clothing, dissatisfied with the entire endeavor.
"S-Sir?" she queried, confusion tinged on the precipice of her stutter, her hand swiping somewhat awkwardly at her mouth in embarrassment.
He made for the door and when he reached it, he smiled cordially, his charm ever intact as he gave her a sweeping bow.
"I think that will be all, thank you. Perhaps with a bit more practice and experience, in the future we could entertain one another?"
Her eyes widened and his head tilted in turn, curious to her reaction.
"I'm married!"
"Oh," he replied, sounding genuinely surprised, "Then please give my regards to your husband," he couldn't help but mock mean-spiritedly, closing the door to what became an angry muffled shout.
Tedious.
What a waste of time.
He knew he needed to return to the ballroom below before her majesty realized that he was amiss. If he was gone too long, she would no doubt send Beatrix to come and collect him which would be irritating for the both of them.
He only had but a day. One more day and then they could finally extract the summons from the princess and everything could finally take momentum. His fantasies had become ever darker and more warped the moment he had returned to Alexandria, the image of Brahne's body broken and breathless before him. Something to be tread upon. Something to be easily forgotten.
Only those worthy enough would remain in existence.
Hilda stood frozen, the breath within her chest unmoving, as those eyes before her looked onto her person in recognition, turning fully toward her before pausing.
The dread she had experienced before resurfaced, her memory calling forth the images of his brother as he had summoned scorching hellfire within his palm to disintegrate herself and his master. She couldn't quell the shudder than racked her spine, her mouth suddenly becoming dry in panic. The sun had started to sink against the horizon long ago and there was little light left to be cast around her ever-darkening room, making his fathomless eyes all the more aglow.
She instantly doubted there was a source of help she could run to in the way of seeking assistance from any of the other soulless dolls that mindless toiled away throughout the palace.
The shadows collecting about her room seem to surface ten-fold, almost as if they were coiling about her intruders' very shoulders in a welcoming embrace. His eyes blinked in what she could only describe as a soft ember dying out before instantly reigniting, the gesture soft and at the same time haunting.
She thought her best option was to try for the door and bolt after it, however, just as her slight hand began to re-clasp the latch behind her back; a soft voice gave her pause.
"Hello."
Hilda knew she had indeed heard a voice but she questioned herself as to where the voice had come from. Never not one had dared to have ever spoken to the likes of her.
He merely blinked again, waiting, leaving her to surmise that the voice could only have come from the other inhabitant of the room.
"Are you speaking to me, now?"
She eyed him warily, unconvinced by circumstance and past accounts to be taken in so easily to assume that she was now on speaking terms with one of these creatures.
He blinked again and then inclined his head slightly in the almost dark room, his chest rising and falling gently.
"Yes."
"W-why?," she cursed herself as she stammered, her constant irritation at herself for always being in fear chipping away at the edges of her sanity.
"Master said it was alright now."
That was…interesting.
"You were given instructions to not communicate with me before?"
He gave a firm nod, his explanation seeming simple to him but mind-boggling to her.
"Do you perhaps know why he changed his mind?"
The man shook his head, the collar of his shirt brushing against his coat with the motion.
She could surmise as much herself, however. No doubt, her captor did not want her prodding his servants with questions that could possibly give her any information he was unprepared to relinquish. And the fact that now he saw no harm in her conversing with them meant that he no longer saw her as a threat.
"Why were you in my room, if I might ask?"
His hands slid behind his back and an air of nervousness permeated the space around them.
Strangely enough it was coming from him, not her.
"The flour cutter is missing from the kitchens."
Her brows almost flew off of her forehead, so taken aback was she by his way of explanation.
"Why ever would I have taken such a tool?"
Even as a means of a weapon, had she been foolish enough to do such a thing, surely a knife would have been a much better choice?
"You are unpredictable," he supplied plainly, his gaze seeming forthright.
That definitely gave way for pause. She knew not quite how to respond. It was them that she found to be so different and so very very strange and to yet have one of them described her as unpredictable almost left her speechless.
"How so?"
"You're given instructions…but you do not heed them," he replied, his voice quiet, his speech almost without inflection.
She tried to understand his meaning, unclear whether he thought that she was to take to task in a similar fashion as the rest of them or if he was implying something else entirely.
"Instructions?"
"Master says…to not go to certain places. But you go. He says to not do things. But you do them."
The features on her face smoothened from confusion to understanding then, recalling her trips to the basement and the dock, and the number of other hard lessons she had learned when she first arrived.
"I thought…something was out of place. You are the only variable. Perhaps it was you who took it," he further explained, bringing his hands forth, palms up, the gesture almost gentle.
Her attitude softened, but only slightly. She couldn't allow herself to forget the erratic behavior one of his kind had displayed in the past.
"No sir, I did not take your tool. You will not find it here."
He watched her for a moment but then gave way to a nod, suddenly becoming animated in one fluid motion as he came walking right at her. Alarm begun to run electric through her veins, but then she realized it was the door behind her he was after, not herself. She almost fell out of the way as she stepped aside and he left without another glance in her direction, displaying no emotion as he did so.
It was only later in reflection that she thought that it might not be within him to think that she might have lied. Did he, did they, know what an untruth was? How far did their emotional depth run, if they felt emotions at all? When they were not busy about their tasks, what were they on about?
Her mind whirled long and hard into the night, so late was it before she was able to finally rest. She was filled to the brim with questions and possible observation scenarios that would only be realized come morning. Filled with fear and curiosity alike, the two emotions waged war together throughout her dreams and carried on within her when she awoke.
A/N: Finally time to get this story in motion in regards to aligning it with the actual FFIX timeline. Thank you to anyone taking the time to read this, if you enjoy it even a little, then that makes me extremely happy.