A/N: FFdotnet never adds my breaks no matter what format I use and Ao3 keeps inserting random breaks in sentences, ughhh, I'm so sorry! Uwu
Chapter Fourteen
His boots collided against the ground with a metallic snap.
Brushing hair away from his face, he looked above at Nova, the dragon's eyes locking onto his own before slithering away into it's own quarters of the Auction House's grounds, never a complaint about the laborious hours it's wings had endured.
The Terran shrugged the fatigue from his shoulders as he headed to the main complex, not surprised by the amount of windows that still burned with light despite the hour. As he entered the mansion and up to his private residence, he instructed a servant in passing to send a hard drink to his room and to inform their Lord that he was staying for what remained of the night.
His orders were executed with precision as he had merely settled into a chair just moments after entering his room before he heard a knock at the door, a long bottle of crystal filled with dark liquid and a glass brought forth to the little table next to him. Kuja barely spared a glance at the man as he thanked him distractedly, his hands already working to uncork the decanter before the servant had a chance to close the door. He had been awake for almost twenty four hours and he was rattled with emotions he was finding difficulty in naming.
He began to pour, pausing for only a breadth of a second when he could sense the silver serpent relaxing into slumber within it's quarters among the complex, it's thoughts calming within the abyss.
Thoughtlessly, his other hand brushed at the feathers at his crown, the physical part of him that gave evidence to their connection.
As the prototype to the genome schematic, he had been an experiment. And Garland needed source materials readily available in order to design a creature such as himself. Terra's dragon's were one of the few biological organisms still roaming the planet, meaning there had been DNA aplenty to splice.
When he had been eight, he had become accustomed to exploring far beyond the stretch of Bran Bal, and had learned a hard lesson after finding himself within a den of silver beasts gnashing their fangs in his direction, metallic poison dripping from their mouths as he burrowed further within a cave, failing at containing a wide gash at his arm, bleeding out dangerously. He had only meant to get a closer look at the animals, his small self completely mesmerized as he watched them glide about the air effortlessly, their crimson-tinged wings the brightest things among the barren land.
He was well-accustomed to fear but it now ate at him like never before, his communicator without signal, unable to call to his Master for help. He didn't know how to reconcile with his probable expiration until a ear-splitting screech had him throwing his palms to the sides of his head, sending him to his knees with it's resonance. And only when it had stopped could he see light again peering from the opening of the cave, the beasts that had hungered for him long-gone but one. A solitary serpent with claws digging into the edge of the wall, it's neck outstretched into the cavern, silent and waiting.
It took him ages to overcome his dread enough to weigh his options, telling himself that logically, any experienced pain or suffering would be shortened by consumption rather than starvation.
He would have cried had he known it was acceptable for one so young.
Instead, he trembled with unsteady feet toward his demise.
And as he reached toward the opening, the dragon dropped hard from it's perch before him, sending pebbles kicking at his shins, before turning to it's side in invitation, lowering it's right wing.
Get on.
They were no words spoken but he had heard them none the less.
Perplexed and so heavily frightened, he began to climb atop the feathered thing, slipping and falling several times before he dared to grasp at the plumage for purchase, finding success in the action with no consequence.
He thought of Bran Bal, of home, and off they went, taking to the sky, as great gusts of wind bolstered them in the air.
On arrival, he had fallen from the serpent, barely conscious as he struggled to take in air within his lungs, a pair of midnight blacks boots that could belong to none other than his creator, walking in his direction.
He awoke later to find himself healed, unsurprisingly, but he then found himself curious as to the why and how of his return.
When he eventually found it within himself to tread on the outskirts of the desolate city once more, he had been alarmed and worried to find the creature resting at the edge of it, as if waiting for him.
In time, the two solidified their bond, the source of loyalty and companionship a mystery to him until years later, when he had unceremoniously shoved Mikoto to the floor while she had been reviewing his genetic coding, curious about his own construct. And it was there he had unintentionally found the reason for his and Nova's strange affinity toward one another, a draconian inset within his bioengineered formula. And from all the Terran reptiles roaming among the land, he concluded that it bore reasoning that it was Nova's DNA he shared.
When Kuja's concentration resurfaced to his hands, the glass was almost overrun. He put the decanter down, bringing the glass slowly to his lips before downing it's contents in one go, more to dull his senses rather than to quench his thirst.
He raked a hand trembling with frustration through his hair before he poured yet another, the liquid easing down his throat just as smoothly as the first glass, his eyes focusing on the container, as if willing the alcohol to take it's course that much quicker. But it couldn't blind him to his mind's eye that recalled uneven gilded tresses around a smallish face consumed with large, sharp eyes etched in royal blue; eyes that watched him wearily with suspicion, directed by a clever mind capable of deviousness when necessary, no doubt itching at the opportunity to set him alight. And beneath such lovely, wretched things were a pert nose and proficient mouth that could do with some shutting up, preferably by way of his own.
He rubbed at his eyes, overly tired and beyond addled.
Everything about the way he felt was wrong and distracting. There was no place for these unwanted emotions within his new world, no order or reasoning that served his purpose, that would-
And like a spark, the obvious laid out before him, he paused, quietly reconsidering.
Surely…
Surely it would stand to reason that a sovereign such as himself…
His mind paused briefly, considering the new turn to his thoughts.
It would not be untoward to welcome a suitable…empress…
"Hnn…"
The room was quiet save for thoughts secluded in careful consideration, the cogs ever turning and turning…
Who better than an experienced Chief Advisor who had no qualms about sullying her small hands for her monarch? A born commoner that had rose above the ranks of nobility to rule over those that had once been stationed above her, not unlike himself.
The more he thought upon it, the surer his confidence within his decision began to solidify.
Hilda was experienced in changing regimes to her suit with practiced dexterity, a skill set most suitable for himself. She would be more than able to serve him as she had served the Regent.
And unlike her esteemed husband, the silver-haired man would treasure her, recognizing such a rare find for what it was.
He would appreciate. And appreciate. And appreciate…
There would be no woman above her and he would more than encourage her to crush the lady who dared to think it. He would leave her without doubt as to her place within his kingdom and within his heart.
His mind dismissed the future in favor of the present, recalculating and reorganizing in order to align his desired outcome.
His fingers spun the glass about the table slowly, his eyes not seeing what was before him, heavy in thought.
Black Waltz Three could not be allowed to live. There was much for Hilda to still fear and if she were to remain at his side, she would need to overcome them one by one. But the Third had touched something that belonged to him.
And he would not forgive the thing for it.
His head then snapped to the door at the warning knock that proceeded his ally as the man craned his head within the room, smiling.
"I was a little surprised you called for me. I expected you would still be within the capitol," King murmured, shutting the door behind him before making his way to the little table before his friend, taking a chair opposite of the young man," Surely a hiccup hasn't arisen this early on?"
Kuja stopped toying with the glass, looking at the decanter for but a moment before deciding against another drink, his mood now softened with his new resolve.
"No, just a minor inconvenience, but everything is still well underway. I'll be resting here but for a few short hours and will be back on my way to the Elephant's side."
King watched his companion curiously for a time, always sure to mask any emotions that would think to surface upon his handsome face.
"Speaking of, how is her majesty?"
"Bloated with arrogance and self-praise," Kuja replied snidely, too tired to play neutral, "Your books should be teeming with the amount of orders for Black Mages she has requested."
"As long as she is unaware that I am the fine recipient of such proceeds," the nobleman averred.
"Hnn," the mage mumbled once more, chewing on his thumbnail absently before assuring the other man," After the rats are eradicated, I'll be amiss. She's leaving little time between their destruction and Lindblum's, and I'm not complaining."
"You're always so blood thirsty," King teased, not bothering with decorum as his slid the magician's glass toward himself before pouring himself a drink," And with Regent Cid reduced to a filthy insect, as you suspect, and his lady having gone off to who knows where, I doubt the state will stand a chance. All the things those three had spent years building, gone within the blink of an eye," he mindlessly quipped with a snap of his fingers, sipping at the rim of the glass.
Kuja shifted his posture slightly, the words striking an uncomfortable chord within him.
She would need to get over it, he mused to himself.
No doubt she would be…troubled…when she knew what had befallen her beloved city. But he would give her all of Gaia to rebuild.
However…for now he thought it best to keep such information to himself.
He had initially called upon King to relay their plan's status and an explanation to his sudden arrival but now that he had had time to reconsider certain possibilities, he was in need of a few favors.
"I require for some things to be sent to my private residence," Kuja's eyes caught Kings, a gesture the older man was all too familiar with.
"That's not unusual. What is it this time?" King replied, unconcerned.
"Something for protection. Something that can be worn. You can charge my accounts for anything that is pulled from auction, with interest."
"No need," King waved, taking another drink," Our business is such that a request so small wouldn't put a dent in our books. What in the way are you looking for? Boots, belts, weapons?"
"Something small. Something for a woman," Kuja answered quietly, a serious calm within his words.
Their eyes met, King's set wide, the look very much unlike himself.
The nobleman only allowed himself the slip but for a moment, blinking away his shock before setting his glass down to clear his throat.
"Then a bracelet would surely be suitable," he supplied, looking to his "friend", the mage nodding in agreement to his suggestion.
King knew it was best not to question his ally, knowing how close to a lifetime of ease and unquestionable power he was about to come into. Yet his mouth ran away from him.
"I would appreciate it if you would refrain from eliminating me on the spot, but you do realize how very dangerous it is to hold anything dear to yourself this late in the game?"
Kuja chose to ignore him, looking away from the man, determined.
"And as for my other requests…"
. . . . .
Hilda awoke to the scar upon her ring finger throbbing incessantly. And even though it was well into morning, she could hear the uproarious thunder above, a raucous echo against the walls.
Lying on her stomach, she sighed into wakefulness, sliding her hands to the sides of her chest before heaving herself up and making her way to her small tub. Mumbled incantations filled the basin with spine-chilling water followed by an arcane-heated palm that slipped within the glacial liquid to set the thing alight with a pleasant warmth that would not offend so.
Stepping in to sink down, she sighed at the heat, a welcomed comfort, unbothered by the scarred tear at her hip or the maddening, hacked length of her once beautiful hair.
She leaned back with closed eyes, undisturbed for once in her solitude, reminding herself not to nod off lest she go under.
Preceding the current storm had been a din of antlions calling out within the night, their trilling screeches reminiscent of things hellish and cursed, keeping her wide awake when she had only wished to do nothing but sleep, her interactions with the palace's lord still leaving her flailing in bewilderment and uncertainty.
When the rain had come, she had all but sobbed in thankfulness, the deluge forcing the creatures back into their many burrows to be hidden away like deadly, ravenous secrets.
Only then had she found temporary reprieve as her mind had shut down into complete darkness, it's embrace space-less and appreciated.
Hilda spent a good hour in a soak before the water began to cool, standing to let rivulets course down her hips and the curvature of her legs. She dismissed the liquid matter altogether, the water evaporating within the air instantaneously, the room becoming humid and slightly fogged with it.
Her dressings took time, her fingers working over her fastenings and chords, tugging and looping until there was nothing left but her hair. She sat as she brushed the mass into submission, the only thing she could do, given it's sorry state. To place an ornament in it would only look tragic.
Making her way out of her room and down to the kitchen below, she knew without a doubt she had missed any offerings of breakfast, having opted for a long bath instead. Unbothered, she reached the top of the grand staircase and paused, the puppets below carrying trunks from what she assumed had been the dock, gathering five of them in total to the floor below.
Unnoticed, she gingerly walked down to see just what it was that had arrived, wondering quietly if their master had also returned. She deduced that would be most improbable, seeing as he had left mere hours before but she knew that much stranger things had a tendency to occur within this residence.
Upon reaching the floor, she slipped her hands behind her, looking to the trunks in open curiosity before one of the mages noticed her.
She was met with a nod, the servant gesturing to one of the chests with an open hand.
Her head tilted to the side, unsure as to his meaning, "What are these?"
"They're yours," he replied bluntly, coming closer to tap one of the pieces softly with his glove.
She looked to the trunk and back at the mage, perplexed, but interested none the less.
There, upon one of them, was a sheave of paper, folded in half. She eyed the men around her before plucking it within her fingers, opening the missive to handwriting that was unfamiliar and tidy.
"Lady", it was addressed plainly, leaving no official name or title in regards to whom it was addressed to, "within these chests are ready-made dresses from the finest modiste in Treno. With apologies, measurements are not approximate but have been fashioned under the given description of "small beyond compare". Please adjust accordingly and know the fabric is of the highest quality."
Her head whipped back and forth between the letter and the trunks at her feet, her eyes roving over the words once more. Signed at the bottom was "King", leaving her to run through her knowledge of Treno nobility. She could only recall a lord that bolstered his wealth and reputation with an auctioning house but why ever would he send her such an extravagant gift?
The politician was quick to deduce that Lord King knew not who the recipient was, with his lack of address in his note and the heaps of trouble he would be embroiled in if it came about that he was in on her whereabouts.
However, he was an acquaintance with her captor and that was information she found pertinent. Although, extending such luxuries to an anonymous receiver surely strained the simple bonds of friendship. This led her to believe that it was more appropriate to assume that the fox was so far deep within the hen house of the nobility that she was not his only hostage, by far. The idea was disturbing, to say the least.
She bent a knee and crouched down to the floor, finding a comfortable posture before slipping her fingers over the latches of a chest. Unlocking the mechanisms, she lifted the lid as far as it's hinge would allow before sinking her fingers into the cloth within. The fabrics were indeed sumptuous, fine brocades and stiff fang boning, the kind of materials that she was accustomed to.
She didn't know what to think of it all and part of her felt a little embarrassed, her cheeks heated as she looked to her donned garments by contrast, the cloth on her body over-worn and faded, hem's frayed and ill-repaired.
"P-please, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, could you take these to my room?" she asked sheepishly, knowing that her companions would never spare a thought in regards to her current state.
They nodded collectively, helping one another to load the burden's upon their backs before making their way up the stairs she had come down upon.
She followed in turn, curious despite her misgivings, wanting more than ever to be rid of the dress upon her. It wasn't vanity but propriety. While her captor had been enshrouded in superior materials, she had been scurrying about the fortress like a ruddy little mouse.
Internally, she admitted the metaphor was a little over-exaggerated but she had not realized the extent onto which her clothing had become. Surely Kuja meant this "gift" as a slight. It wouldn't behoove him to do anything but.
When they reached her rooms, she was mildly alarmed when the lot of them continued on, as if they all had missed the door altogether.
Surely they had not forgotten where she resided?
Yet onward they continued, as if in silent agreement. She pursued, wondering as to what it is they were on about, climbing another set of stairs before stopping before a door she had only looked upon in passing. She watched quietly as they unlocked the entrance, the hinge creaking slightly as it swung open, all of them filing in.
Following inside, she couldn't help but be impressed by the grandeur with it's high painted ceiling, the space five times as large as her own room. As exotic and intricate as her residence was, this chamber borrowed from that aesthetic and elevated it. The bed alone could surely sleep five and the curtains were gathered along the posts in a manner that resembled sheer weightless clouds, as if buoyed by air alone.
There was a large standing mirror aloft etched in iron-wrought leafs, reflecting the decadence of the room in un-needed excess. So entranced had she been that she hadn't realized the puppets blinking quietly at her in waiting.
"What?" she asked lamely, never sure on how to communicate or approach them.
She noticed the trunks on the floor next to them, her confusion mounting.
"Why have you taken these here instead of to my room? " she asked suspiciously, her inner predictions seeming fantastical but evident.
"This is…this is your room…now," one of them explained, hand held out for understanding," We will bring your other things…here," he waved out toward the room.
Her hands found one another and began to twist in apprehension.
"This is your Master's order?"
They looked to each other and began to nod before looking back toward her.
One among the group stepped forward with his hand outstretched, a simple parcel resting in an open palm.
"For you…"
She didn't want it. She didn't like what was happening.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for it, plucking the thing from his hand before opening the small satchel, shaking the item out. In her own palm fell a delicate bracelet and a secondary note, again in what she assumed was King's handwriting.
"It was also relayed to me that you are advised to wear this at all times for protection. Mythril seeks out the heart to allay your fears and will act as your barrier in times of danger. Such treasures are rare."
Her fingers clenched around the metallic piece hard, her skin protesting in pain.
Despite the many bodies within the single room, there was nothing but silence among them.
There was no need for courtesy as she ignored the men, locked within a decadent palace removed from society.
This was not a spiteful jab as she had surmised just moments before. Her circumstances were being elevated. She was being treated with…care. It would not be unfathomable for a hostage to assume that perhaps they would be returning home soon by way of ransom, a captor needing their commodity to look well-treated in regard to the most profitable trade.
But the room…
She had by no means been residing within a dungeon, her former quarters almost comparable to those within her home. No, moving into the impressive splendor around her spoke of…permanence.
A savage dread began to invade and creep beneath her breast, it's talons biting, it's weight like stones.
She…was never going home…
She looked about the room, not registering the men around her, refusing to let panic overtake her.
The pillows upon the bed screamed of the upmost comfort, the carved posts and headboard beyond decadent. There was room enough for a proper waltz, had she had a mind to entertain one.
Gifts so overflowing with lavishness, what did it mean?
What was her new role here from here on out?
Who or what was she becoming?
"What…" her voice came out breathless, the words lost in the effort as she bent over slightly and placed her hand against her abdomen. She tried again, willing herself to firmness, refusing herself the temptation to weakness.
"What other orders has your Master given you by ways of my person?"
They all blinked, looking to one another collectively before turning back to her, clearly confused.
She gritted her teeth in ire, knowing she needed to speak more plainly for them to grasp her meaning.
"What else has Kuja told you to do?"
"These are…all our instructions," one of them spoke, it's head tilting to the side, as if hopeful their explanation was satisfactory.
"Get out…" she quietly commanded, her voice softly unrelenting.
If her words bothered them, they didn't let on, filing out single-mindedly as they always did.
When she heard the sound of the door closing behind her, she threw her head back, sucking in a ragged breath before breathing it out in a tremble, coming to terms with her situation.
Hanging her head back down, she allowed herself several minutes of calm before turning her eyes to one of the five trunks, thinking to the fabric within it. Reflecting on how the exchange of her old gowns for the ones contained therein had been welcoming but now proved damning. Because now, she imagined that dawning any of the finery locked within would be akin to her captor engulfing her body within his embrace.
. . . . .
She would have liked to have spent some time in seclusion, cloistering herself within her new rooms, but it wasn't to be, the servants milling in and out quietly with all her property, her meagre belongings a symbol of finality, sealing an uncertain fate unto which she hurriedly wanted to meet, in order to be done with it and no longer in turmoil about what it all meant.
Yet she was certain she knew.
Something about her had shifted within her captor's interest and she wasn't sure on the why, how, or when.
But she had felt it when he had come the night before, claiming he needed assurance of her safety and wellbeing. And again, solidifying his mystifying actions with the token at her wrist, a new dress hanging in her lap that she had yet to bring herself to try on, and the beautifully heavy and damning walls that now surrounded her.
The mages paid her no mind as they worked around the quiet woman seated at the side of the bed as she watched the wall before her.
Her grip upon the dress began to wrinkle the material and she released the stuff.
She watched for a time, the little rolly-polly men coming and going, picking up on one that was amiss.
And when their chores finally seemed at a finish, one of them stepped in front of her, as if speaking on behalf of them all.
"Do you need anything…anything else, Mistress?"
Her heart stopped.
"W-what did you call me?"
"…Mistress," he repeated quietly, his brother's nodding in agreement.
Making her suspicions come to stark light.
She was Mistress here.
And there was no other way to define what that meant but one.
The scar upon her finger began to throb once more and she twisted her marital ring above it, suddenly coming to the conclusion that it might be within her best interest to hide the thing from now on.
"Where is Atlas?" she asked distractedly, trying to focus on something other than what was befalling her, thinking as to how the named mage was the only one she had not seen within her room.
"He is expiring," his brother supplied plainly, the other's hat's bobbing in confirmation once more.
Her head snapped back up to attention.
"What?"
"It has been…one year. It is…time," he offered, as if evident.
She didn't understand what he had meant by a year but she could imagine what he had alluded to with "expiring".
"Take me to him," she demanded, heading for the door.
They assembled quickly enough and guided her down stairs, through the portal, and to the cavernous docks. The thunder became louder now that they were outside, the rain pelting down in the desert beyond most dreadfully, darkening the sky with it.
Sitting against a boulder, as if he had been assisting his brother's in unloading their burden from the ship and suddenly became tired, was Atlas, his gaze down-turned, his shoulders relaxed.
Knowing otherwise sent her heart into a pitiful thrumming. Leaving the mages behind her, she walked several yards toward the little man, lightning striking in the air beyond.
He never looked up as she reached him, bending down upon her knees to look into his eyes, those fierce torches now weak and fizzling out, as if struggling with each blink.
Understanding, like ice cold water poured upon her thoughts, brought clarity to her questions. These men were manufactured and despite the impossible spark of life given to them, it came with a limit. The tragedy of it all was a silent shout. How terrible. How incomparable.
"Atlas," she whispered softly, taking a hand to his shoulder, squeezing softly in comfort.
Recognition in the way of a flickering of his eyes had him turning his head up at her, his voice slow and slack.
"You…here…why…?"
"Because that's what friends do," she quietly explained, smiling weakly in turn.
"Oh….oh…," he said, his head casting down, as if considering her words, trying to patch them with a memory, something she had told him once before.
"It…feels," he remarked tiredly, a little wonder in his voice.
"A good feeling or a bad feeling?" she asked, her fingers massaging the cloth, unsure if she was soothing him or not.
"…Good…yes…goo-…," he faltered, his words dying in the mist he had been constructed from, the light of his eyes fading out, the clothes upon his body sinking to the ground as if there had been no one there to fill them.
Hilda took all of this in with practice, the experience a little exceptional, but still within the parameters of her job in Lindblum.
She gathered the sunken garments, folding them gently onto one another with care, before turning back to the mages that had remained near the portal.
"You are to make a marker here and to place these before it," she instructed them, assuming that with her new title came some form of authority.
She was not wrong.
"Yes…but why?"
They all looked at her in confusion, obviously undisturbed by what had just happened.
"To remember him by. And should either any of you expire, you are to accompany one another in that time just as I have. Is that understood?"
They nodded haltingly, looking to each other, before meeting her gaze once more, leaving her with no doubt that her orders would be carried out just as she had given them.
She walked away from them and into the portal, the rush of her former self returning to her feeling electric down her spine.
It was a small comfort by way of all that had transpired today but she would take whatever she could get.
A/N: I don't know what to say, I'm literally just imagining Kuja cutting out paper dolls of Hilda and dressing her up. Thank you for commenting, it is literally what keeps me going.