A/N: Unlucky Chapter Thirteen, what misfortune could possibly befall poor Hilda here…
Kuja sat upright with a polite smile on his face, one knee crossed over the other with a wrist across it, his fingers languidly opening and closing as he listened to the tactician's suggestions to their majesty as they huddled over a large map, the Queen's brows furrowed in concentration.
He didn't know why she bothered with the facade; everyone in the room, including himself, knew that the stoic General with the pert mouth had the final say. Any command given from the elephant woman in regards to military action was governed and swayed solely by Beatrix herself and even Brahne would never be so bold as to question her most loyal soldier's decisions.
How fortunate for her Majesty. It would be a credit to any ruling party to have such a warrior for one's self, so fierce and rare was she.
He tried to school his features, feeling the urge at the corner of his mouth to twist into a grin as he couldn't help but feel a small thrill at noticing the wide berth the General had given him, his peripheral vision catching the attention she was paying him, although he didn't dare to look at her directly.
His disposition has smoothed over the course of sleep but he imagined hers had only darkened with each passing hour. No doubt, she was certain her spy was lost to her and could only imagine what had befallen the unfortunate soldier.
It was her fault.
She only had herself to blame.
And knowing her in the way that he did, he assumed quite rightly that was her course of thought. Part of him wanted to prod her wounds of humiliation and guilt but the other side of his twisted personality delighted in her ignorance and fretfulness of simply not knowing.
Deciding it best to ignore her lest he give in to his spiteful and teasing tendencies, he concentrated on the Queen's advisors huddled around her once more. They were outlining plans to invade Burmecia, their lack of knowledge on the country layout superseded by the unprecedented surprise his black mages and Mistodons would surely have on the populace. Beatrix's Rose Guard would follow suit only to quell any Dragoon's that managed to survive the wave of puppets that descended upon them.
"Kuja!" Brahne suddenly called out, looking up at him from the map, "What say you on this tactic?"
Beatrix's eyes narrowed at him, not liking this turn of events, the grasp on the hilt of her sword firm as always.
He honestly didn't have anything in the way of input, the plans swinging into motion already falling within his design unbeknownst to the others within the room. All of them were succumbing into his tide of machinations and they merely thought of him as gentry and a businessman; their lovely and always smiling weapons dealer.
"I don't think Kuja's opinion merits the tactical prowess to advise on such a matte. He's merely a supplier," Beatrix calmly interjected, her tongue quietly slaying.
He couldn't control how quickly his smile evaporated at her barb, the back of his neck heating slightly to his humiliation.
She said supplier but he could hear it for what it was.
She insinuated commoner.
He talked himself down, displeased at how quickly he had allowed the woman to agitate him.
The mage reminded himself that he shouldn't take exception to the General's, or anyone else for that matter, words, as in short time, they would all come to realize how illustrious his "merits" were and in the numerous ways his "prowess" would be defined.
"I can concur with "Lady Rose," he looked to Brahne, withholding a sneer, "yet if your Majesty wishes, I shall avail myself to you in any manner that may assist. As always, I'm here to serve."
Brahne nodded primly, snapping her fan open, whether unconcerned or unknowing of the silent feud between the two, she didn't let on either way. Her large, ring encrusted fingers gestured for him to rise and come to her side as she continued to gaze down onto the map laid before her.
He stood, walking needlessly close to the General as he passed her, his smile only deepening despite never looking her way, his fingers rising to his chin as he reached the sovereign, gleefully accepting her invitation.
The tall man listened as her advisors prattled on, his eyes roving over the sketches of ink that marked the terrain. Brahne's eyes flicked between the men and her silver haired companion in interest behind her fan.
His head titled to the side as he pondered how Hilda and Artania might handle such an undertaking. He had no doubt that they would employ an impressive armada but with their advancements in technology in regards to the rest of the Mist Continent, he was curious as to what other surprises the Regent could design and how the Chief Advisor and her Minister would utilize them in a full on battle.
From what he knew of them, Regent Cid represented the progressive strength of his nation while Lady Fabool and her Minister were his daggers in the shadows.
"Our main concern is that even with successful suppression of the Burmecian monarchy, Prince Puck is still missing. After our attack, this could inspire malcontent and a possible rebellion from the Prince and his would be supporters if we do not find him," one advisor interjected, looking to his Queen.
"There's no need to waste the effort," Kuja slipped mindlessly, his attention distracted on the map rather than the conversation at hand, for once letting his inner thoughts speak aloud," There's nothing for him to look to reclaim if there is no kingdom to rule."
Brahnes eyes crinkled at the corners, hinting at the smile behind her fan as she nodded in agreement, pleased.
Beatrix stood firm and un-moving. Only she could feel how very cold and dark the room had suddenly become.
Everyone within the War Room began to exit quietly, veering and pairing off in various directions, the conversations hushed and hurried. Burmercia's days were numbered and everyone was quick to mobilize, however, the tall mage's attention was caught by an attendant down the hall gesturing to him. Kuja looked on, observing the man's trained posture and reserved features before giving him a nod in acknowledgement before walking in his direction to meet him. He looked over his shoulder once to see the Queen exiting into one of her favorite gardens before turning back to the man.
"What is it," he asked, brushing hair from his eyes, his mind still in a slight fog from the nature of his thoughts.
"A retainer has arrived, explaining that you have sent for him," the man replied smartly, his hands within themselves, waiting.
The silver-haired mage's attention sharpened and he nodded, following in the servant's wake. They turned a corner down another hall, almost empty, except for the thing at the end.
Black Waltz Three.
Its eyes glowed like a deep burn within a face of nothingness, thick wings tucked upon his back as he straightened himself away from the wall, unfolding his arms.
"You can go," Kuja quietly ordered over his shoulder to the man, not bothering to look in his direction.
The servant was but too happy to leave, the only thing keeping him stoic being his steadfast dedication in service.
When he could no longer hear the attendant's footsteps, his posture relaxed as he crossed his arms over his chest, assessing his creation. Indeed his design was far more superior to the Queen's jesters' and with any luck, he would not be needed for this particular mission, yet they could take no chances.
"Two Waltz' have been dispatched to locate the princess. I need you to also follow in the event they do not succeed. "
The thing nodded in understanding, ever obedient, "They are not necessary if they fail," he added ominously, his roughened voice that of a discontented soul from the dregs of mist.
"Dispose of them however you wish if that becomes the case," Kuja replied disinterestedly, unable to
control his wayward imagination. His eyes took in the fearsome Waltz, fantasizing how the little Canary would perceive such a creature as him. Even with the sudden spark of her courageous streak, he doubted greatly that she could muster up the strength to stand against the thing.
Part of him fantasized to see it.
Every aspect of the Third that he took in, the more he could imagine Garnet's delicate, lovely face twisted in terror. His eyes continued to appreciate the care he had taken in the things design until his gaze paused at a delicate braid of silken gold that hung from one of the creature's belts.
"Where…did you get that?" Kuja asked quietly, his words almost monotonous as his eyes fixated on the out of place token hanging from the thing's person.
The Waltz blinked, following his master's gaze, gloved fingers slipping around his small trophy.
"Ahhh. Something unnecessary got in my way," he recalled, stroking the soft braid. He thought to himself of how he had whittled away the time waiting for his master when he arrived. The braid was a promise. He wouldn't leave the job unfinished when he returned to the Desert Palace. He-
His train of thoughts collapsed onto themselves as he gasped, his very being cracking under pressure at the strength bearing down upon his being, trying to snuff him out.
"M-Master!" he choked out, his gloves wrapping around the silver-man's sleeves as he tried to gain purchase, his eyes fizzling.
Kuja had lashed out, his hand darting within that darkness beneath the mages hat, willing the mist within to disintegrate. As his magic bore down onto the things soul, he could feel a fracturing of the creature's body, his fury rioting, his lips peeling back with his teeth clenching.
"You touched something of mine!"
"I-I exist…only to…kill!"
"You dared to destroy-"
"What's going on?" Beatrix called out from behind, pulling him from his rage.
The sorcerer released the Waltz, his fingers turning curling into themselves, his nails biting fiercely into the palm of his flesh as he turned toward the General, the mage behind him bent over and gasping loudly.
The soldier watched the two of them, an eyebrow raised, clearly catching Kuja off-guard.
"Do all your weapons receive special training or am I witnessing an isolated incident?"
"Mind your own business," he barked back despite himself, his emotions volatile. He was struggling to rein them in, even in her presence.
"Anything that happens within this palace is my business," she replied dryly, unyielding.
"…hurt…didn't kill…only hurt…" he could hear the Third behind him wheeze, causing something inside the Terran to unfold within his chest, as if he could suddenly breathe, unlike his creation.
"What is he muttering over there?" Beatrix asked, coming closer, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword.
Hurt.
Not dead, only hurt.
His mind began to race, his thoughts disjointed between the Waltz behind him, the General before him, and a wounded little politician hidden away within a faraway continent.
"Leave," he commanded, his voice strengthened with control.
"Excuse me?" Beatrix asked with deadly calm, her stance widening.
"Not you," Kuja replied, his scheming mind calculating and elsewhere, "Continue as we discussed," he dismissed the black mage, not bothering to see if the order had been acknowledged.
He didn't need to; the creature would never dare to harbor a thought otherwise.
The Third nodded his head obediently and turned to leave from where he came, confused and slightly alarmed at the harm he had endured. He needed to excel beyond his Master's expectations if he was to redeem himself, he thought internally. He would retrieve the princess. And decimate all those who stood in his way. With these affirmations, he left to do as he was bid.
Kuja passed Beatrix, his mind racing with calculations, not bothering to impart his attention upon her.
She watched the armor plating at his broad back shift with each step as he walked off, ever curious as to the shift in his sudden and strange behavior.
"I could…try again…"
"Hmm?," Hilda turned her face up from her mending, looking to the rolly-polly man in front of her with a broom handle resting in his grip, staring at her.
"Your hair," he added, his voice having hardly any inflection to it, "But…my hands are...big…I don't know if I will do it well…"
She didn't want to be warmed by his offer but she couldn't help herself as a small smile upturned at the corners of her mouth, placing her sad efforts down. The hems of her dresses were coming apart in tattered frays and she believed she might have waited too long to try to repair them. That coupled with
her unskilled hand, she had a mind that she might indeed be making them worse altogether.
"You need not bother," she assured, knowing she could do no better. Not with the way her hands trembled as she had grasped the shears herself, memories much too recent flooding her mind, preventing her from keeping them steady.
He didn't bother to nod in acceptance nor argue, turning away to resume his chore. She had not noticed before, so immersed in her stitching, that now as she gazed upon him, she detected a small tremble in his right hand every other brush of the broom.
She watched for a few minutes to observe the small twitch before calling out to him to pause, her skirts ruffling noisily in the quiet room as she crept closer to him.
"Have you hurt yourself?" she queried gently, pointing at his glove. She could see no blood as an indicator but that didn't mean anything in the way of a creature such as himself. She wondered just what it was that was contained beneath their humble clothing. Perhaps a depth-less darkness made up of matter unknown, much like their faces.
He stopped, looking to his hand and back to the small woman before speaking, his words ever plain and halting.
"I fell…from the ladder…dusting."
His eyes dissolved into a warm fizzle before reigniting as he blinked.
"Can you not heal yourself?" she couldn't help but wonder aloud, her hands slipping behind her back. Surely with as powerful as they were, a curative spell would mean nothing.
"I'm built…for black…only black…magic," he supplied. Had he had it within him to understand more common gestures, she imagined he would have shrugged.
"Does it hurt?" she reached lightly in his direction, palm up, in offer.
"Does…it matter?" he sounded genuinely puzzled and in his confusion, she took it upon herself to gingerly grasp his glove, taking note of the wince in his eyes as she did so.
"Sometimes you should speak aloud how you're feeling so that others might assist you," she murmured lightly, twisting his wrist delicately, believing it to be sprained.
"Who would…assist…me?" his head tilted to the side, suddenly interested.
That motion caught her attention. She doubted he even realized he was doing it.
Dark blue eyes sharpened slightly, her curious nature getting the better of her.
"Simply friends, sir. Friends to help where strangers cannot, "her voice ended in almost a whisper.
"To be indebted…to someone?" he pressed further, not catching on, "sounds….troublesome."
She wouldn't dare to chuckle lest she hurt his feelings although she pondered whether that was a possibility or not.
"I am cloth…and mist…and magic. What would…I-I have need…for a friend?"
To have ever heard of such a sad, sorry thing was truly heartbreaking, she thought to herself.
"Friends provide comfort and joy. They can be solace and kindness."
He stilled, his head shifting to the side as he replied.
"I don't have that...that feeling...you're talking about," he murmured.
Where normally she might have patted such a person on their shoulder in comfort, she merely gestured to a chair, asking him softly to be seated.
He looked about himself, blinking thoughtfully, before doing as instructed, almost jumping as she clasped his large, gloved palm within her own once more.
She whispered a small curative spell into the room, her eyes almost glowing in concentration as the air around the quiet man's palm was set alight. His hand twitched in response, a small intake of breath audible as he looked back to the little woman and toward his hand, turning his wrist loose from her to move it about.
"You…do not help yourself when…when you are…hurt," he quietly observed, clearly confused.
"It was only the smallest of cures, truly, by the tiniest of measurements. I would not have succeeded in anything beyond this," she lied, twisting her hands within themselves.
She was quite surprised herself. She did not think she could execute any kind of restorative, so uneducated within the craft as she was. Yet somehow she had managed to go beyond her means and expectations.
"Well then," she remarked lamely, patting his hand somewhat awkwardly, desisting altogether when the man gave her an equally awkward look in turn.
"Since none of you have taken to a name, would it bother any of you if I were to give you one?" she thought to change the mood, unsure of how to connect with such a thing as he and still curious as to how far she should tread within that territory.
"What for?" he asked in his almost monotonous voice, still twisting and studying his wrist.
"It would be an indulgence...so that I might tell you apart." She didn't want to offend but surely they didn't even know what such a feeling entailed.
He turned his attention away from his hand and back to her, his ember eyes giving away nothing.
"Alright…"
He stood, returning to his task so smoothly and seeming mindlessly, it was almost as if he had forgotten she was in the room with him.
"Then I think Atlas would surely suffice as a good name," she commented aloud, sitting once more to take up skirts within her hands, needle in hand.
"For who?"
She jumped at the voice, so sure had she been that he had been paying her no mind. The puppet wasn't looking at her, still busy collecting the ever invasive desert sands, hard at work.
"It is your name, if you find it agreeable enough," she averred, setting her sights upon her sorry stitching.
He paused, seeming as if to consider her proposal. And with a firm nod, he continued about the floors, unaware of her eyes watching invisible muscles move against the clothing of his back.
Such strange conversations she seemed to find herself ensnared within these past months.
The two continued about their work in silence and all the while, she silently told herself stories, recounting things frivolous and fantastic; her father's books coming to life within her mind's eye. And after she recalled one, she would call forth another in turn until she exhausted her fingers to their untrained limit.
Idly, her gaze roved about the room, her ears unconsciously following the sounds of the bristles of the broom as it brushed brusquely against the marble of the floor. So quickly did the desert sands pervade this hidden fortress, like a soundless invader, creeping along the crevices of the ceiling and the walls. There were many a brooms to be had by the servants of the palace, the single task alone of extracting the intruding grains never-ending.
The lamps within the room hummed lusterless with their light and she wished to turn from them, her lids becoming heavy. She rubbed at them, understanding that within the time of her incarceration and the lack of exposure to natural light, her vision was beginning to dull. She wondered how one could possibly cloister themselves within such a place for long periods of time without having to eventually turn to the aid of spectacles.
She thought back to her father's books and the stories she had recalled fondly just moments ago, things that had once seemed so wondrous but now was long ago and so very far away.
"She's always sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. As if she's the cleverest player in the room," a snarky voice she would recognize anywhere quipped.
But who could he possibly be speaking to, she couldn't help but think to herself, trying to rouse herself
from her sleep, her lids heavy.
"She usually is. She cannot help it, she comes by it naturally."
The secondary voice caught her immediate attention.
She opened her eyes and sat up to see her captor sitting aloft with his chin resting on a fist, her husband sitting across from the man with his devil may care grin that could still make her heart leap.
"I'll be more than accommodating to take her off your hands if she's so much trouble," Cid offered, his boyish grin widening as he stroked his chin. His playful attitude was part of his charisma, it was a rare individual indeed who couldn't find themselves to like the man.
"Hnnn," Kuja remarked, not to be brought in by the tide of his companions' mood.
Hilda drew her hand up in front of her and proceeded to bend her middle finger backwards until the pain was more than she could bear.
And yet her surroundings did not change, the two men in front of her continuing to speak, as if she wasn't even within the room. She decided there was nothing more to do than to observe, the strange occurrence beyond her, much like everything else within her life.
Cid's expression transformed then, his brows furrowing in concern, the cinnamon shade of his eyes darkening as he focused on the young man across from him.
"If anything, you endeavor to keep her safe until she is returned to me."
Kuja met his gaze, his blue eyes unyielding, giving away nothing.
And from his mouth, he elicited nothing, bearing his will against the Regent's, quietly dominating while leaving the monarch in uncertainty.
Cid's voice drew out almost in a growl, the sound roughened with an emotion she didn't recognize.
"She is an unyielding thing. Her loyalty is unquestionable. If you dare to indulge for one moment that someone such as yourself could-"
"Regent. You sound...worried," Kuja mused quietly, his voice like softened threads cast out upon a halted storm, ensnaring an unknowing victim. He didn't even bother to look at the man, deigning to stare at the floor instead, immersed within his musings,"Perhaps you've pressed your luck too far? Would it be too unkind to allow her to set her heart upon another?"
Hilda could feel the corner of her eye twitch slightly at the melodramatic theatrics dripping from her captors tongue but dared not assign them to frivolous whimsy, so intense the sound of his voice was.
"You're not worthy!" Cid bit out, fist clenching within his lap, looking as if he would rise any moment.
Kuja peered at the man then through his hair, his words damning
"Then I suppose I find myself in good company."
And she saw something within her husband break, his eyes widening imperceptibly, shimmering with something she could not fathom, could not even believe despite the evidence before her. But it happened. Quietly and tragically, a lone stream cascaded from her husband's right eye as he stared at the silver man before him, unable to refute the quiet words that fell from his lips.
Her heart hurt, his pain so very heart-rending that her lungs could not breathe. She could not help but want to console him, although she did not know if she could find it within herself to give him the words he might have wished to hear. She was still very much locked within her own heartbreak. How would she find it within herself to calm the torment of his own?
"Cid…"
Kuja halted, his hand outstretched toward the sleeping woman before him, the tips of his fingers slipping from his sleeves only a hair's breadth away from her cheek.
Something about that word.
The way it had crested on a whispered sigh.
The rise and fall of her chest, as if pulsating with emotion.
His fingers curled within a fist, clenching hard enough to feel the bite of his nails within his palm for the second time within the same day.
As if sensing him there, her eyes opened, blinking several times to adjust her vision.
And then her body jerked within her chair, her heart palpitating in a panic as she broke from her dream with eyes wide open, the garment within her lap slipping to the floor.
She made herself still, slightly embarrassed by her reaction, reaching down to retrieve the fallen skirts beneath her.
"Are you alright?"
His voice was quiet yet something within it shouted out a warning to her.
His gaze wasn't directed at her eyes but somewhere upon her person.
He bent toward her, his tall figure towering over her, as the tips of his fingers grazed the edges of her hair. She was momentarily confused by the action, trying to wade through her disjointed thoughts.
"Y-you're back…" she muttered lamely, unsure of what to say, still reconciling her strange dream with the shock of her captor before her as she watched the way his eyes roved over her, above her, his hair slipping around his face and almost over her own, a fine sheen of silver encapsulating them both.
His eyes then slashed toward her own, his fingers twisting in her hair without tugging, the air filling with a sense of will and dominance.
"Are you alright?"
"Merely startled by the onset of your unexpected presence yet I suspect that isn't the answer to your query. I suggest you be more specific," she practically spat at him, the hazy cloud of slumber that had fogged her attention long absent.
She slapped away at his grasp, annoyed with the interlude altogether, trying and failing terribly at discerning what she had done now to be rewarded with his displeasure.
His hand flew to the air in reaction to her strike, his eyes narrowing upon her, taking in her small frame; eyes that stared defiantly back at his own, still masked within the shadow of his much taller stature.
"Your hair...what did he do to you?" he stepped closer once more, devouring every space she dared tried to put between them.
"Why ever would you need such a foul thing!" she called out, a deluge of irritation and anger rising forth to eclipse her fear and self-preservation, backing away further and slipping behind the chair she had been resting on, the furniture now between the two.
"That thing was not created for protection nor servitude," she continued, her mending discarded,"Do you know what he said? 'I exist only to kill.' And he did! Your servants were slaughtered and for what? He made to come for me and this," she grasped at her wretched hair, her chest starting to choke with anxiety," He held me aloft from the ground. I had to cut myself away before he could finish me. And you knew he was capable of such a thing! You would not have sent me that missive had it not been a possibility."
Tears were beginning to burn at the corners of her eyes and she damned herself for them.
"I have never deluded myself to ever dare think you would have any feelings that resembled something remotely lukewarm in regards to myself so why is it that you play the charade of a caring fellow? What errand are you upon that you just happened to fancy a diversion in the way of checking in on me?" You cannot-"
Her high voice hushed to a dreaded silence as the chair between them was sent flying, hurtling against the marbled floor at their side, the barrier now gone.
"I came only for you."
He stepped intently toward her once, and then again once more before the metallic detailed spines of his boots brushed against her skirts.
The sudden violence had her volume quelled but she looked away from him and to his feet below, not wanting to bow beneath his anger nor rush headlong into it, knowing she would be doomed.
His hand at her chin almost stopped her heart, dispelling both theories at once.
Her turned her face up to gaze at his own, the dim light in the room creating highlights of lavender in his hair as it always tended to.
Kuja couldn't find it within himself to placate her with lies.
Normally he would assume the role of a gentleman and assuage her fears with riddled untruths, playful, charming, and warning but the lips at his mouth wouldn't even twist to form the words he would have given anyone else.
He couldn't help but to continue to stare, absorb, immerse himself in the fragile little woman before him, the mere sight of her allaying all the fears that had rested within his chest as he had willed Nova faster to her. His other hand unknowingly reached for her own, his thumb running along her knuckles, the feel of her flesh reassuring him as a rush of possessiveness the likes he had never known engulfed him.
She was here. She was safe. And as long as she remained so, she would be his.
He didn't like this.
He didn't like the uncertainty of it.
Attachments were hindrances and he refused to allow anything or anyone obstruct his path.
And the uncertainty within his chest was reflected within her eyes as she looked to his face, watching his reactions carefully, unsure.
He needed to leave.
He couldn't think straight within her presence.
"I've come only to ensure your safety. Now that I have, I must go."
He released her hand and stepped back.
She reached for him then, a breath trapping within his lungs in response as he paused.
Surprised by her own action, she quickly pulled her arm back toward herself, turning away from him, the atmosphere awkward and strange.
"I find it hard to believe that you would abandon whatever it is you are doing for such a thing," she whispered quietly.
"As do I."
Her head snapped back up, his direct and curt answer the only thing he left her with as he exited the room, leaving the palace entirely.