A/N: This is Chapter 19 here but 20 on A O 3, as the original Ch. 19 is a NSFW chapter. Thank you for continuing to read and if you like this even a little bit, that would mean the world to me!
Chapter Twenty
"Are you certain of this?" Artania asked gravely, his hardened stare met with equal grim from the servant before him.
"Your agent said that everything written within the missive is a week old," Gaddes replied gravely, having heard aloud what his Prime Minister had read.
"I saw him standing next to General Beatrix during the accords. He looked like a courtier, not an arm's dealer. He had feathers in his hair, for crying out loud!" Erin scoffed, folding her arms across her chest, incredulous.
Gaddes inclined his head, signaling his departure as they all knew his time within the room and his absence from his duties would be noted if he prolonged his stay. Artania turned to the Regent's Lead Engineer, his face dark.
"It is precisely the fact that he was standing next to none other than the General herself that speaks so damningly of his role. What courtier would even approach the woman? And be in the midst of a war, no less?"
Erin's hyperintellent nature could not disagree yet she was having difficulty visualizing it.
"But he was so...pretty."
Cid mulled the information over in silence, trying to concentrate over every detail his agent had given them within the letter. It had been with great difficulty that the messenger had managed to secret himself within Lindblum Castle at all, given the Alexandrian forces that held the Lindblum guards and populace within it's tight grip. Everything he and his people did were eyed with weary suspicion. He could not even breathe in peace. The only reason he was allowed this measure of privacy was merely because two guards, an engineer, an aging Prime Minister, and an oglop were hardly seen as a threat.
Yet, it was not this news that had sent his heart palpitating and his mind racing. He knew the young, foreign man had a place alongside Brahne, he just hadn't known in what capacity. It was the information the messenger had imparted first. That a week prior, during their investigation within the Dali manufacturing plant, they had spotted the Hildaguard.
And aboard the vessel was none other than Brahne's weapons dealer.
Cid mulled over the conversation he had had with the young man. The inviting allure, the masked danger, his quick perceptiveness, and assured confidence.
The silver snake had sat across from him, all knowing and basking in the wealth of secrets only he had been privy to while the Regent had looked upon him, completely unaware, the fate of his beloved wife unknown to all but the man himself.
With Lindblum under occupation, what need would he have for ransom?
None. He had none.
Brahne would have used Hilda accordingly at any time prior, meaning she was unaware or uncaring of her absence.
"What is his name?" Cid asked, unable to abate the mounting fury building within him.
"Kuja, sir. His name is Kuja."
(Break)
Treno was a disgusting, sordid place no matter where you found yourself within it.
The vast slums, the peddlers, leading up to the Chess Houses, all them, completely, and utterly vile.
She had run into what patrons of the gambling halls would refer to as "poor luck" or a "bad draw" but she didn't have the patience to entertain half the cities' population who lived their lives through speculation until they starved themselves upon the streets for riches that "could have been."
Despite her humble entry into the world, she didn't steal. And she did not take more than her fair share. There was and had always been an unwavering need to work for what she wanted and above anything else, wrongs would be righted as long as she had the means to do so.
Almost a year prior, she had managed to land a job at the Knight House, polishing and assisting the blacksmith, garnering her a steady wage as well as an eye on the training arena below the grates, studying and mimicking alone after hours. Rhine and Lei, her two pseudo-siblings, had managed to pull together to surprise her with a small landen-cake in celebration by candlelight, a single bite for each of them, once split.
Yet within the past month, she had lost her situation, having been erroneously accused of pilfering missing inventory, her meager earnings all but hemmoraging the three of them. Rhine had mentioned a new opportunity broached to him to tide them all over yet the only hint of his whereabouts thereafter had been the only shirt he had ever owned floating in the drain release to the sewage system.
Lei had continued to scrape gil together by running impromptu errands before a noblemans' cart had run her down, the responsibility of the offense solely on the common girl who had chipped the golden filigree on the transportation device with her body. The driver parted after advising the child on her luck that she would not be held for compensation for damages, leaving the girl's insides bruised and bleeding.
The physician assured them that the severity of her wounds could be abated with proper recompense.
So now they were on borrowed time.
She mulled over every avenue available to her desperately, unsure of how to help. Any number of brothels would have her, she looked well enough, but there just wasn't enough time to garner the amount required. Even if she could ignore her own morals enough to pinch something, she wouldn't get a decent price for it in these markets and anything reputable would report her to the authorities.
But she knew she wasn't entirely without options. Just as everything came with a price in the dark city of night, so was there always a desire for aught. So she had proffered what she was willing to part with and to her damnation, she had been tossed aside and swindled. And when she came to, assessing her situation, she had ran home and foremost, unclear as to the amount of time she had lain unconscious on the side of a street.
And she was too late.
There was no physician, no lights, nor even lingering warmth of occupancy as the only thing left within the room was a small girl of nine bleeding from her mouth, vacant eyes staring at the ceiling littered with holes above, cold and abandoned.
So she quietly moved to her scant belongings, retrieving her rusted broadsword that had been discarded at Knights and made her way back down to the streets below.
She did not remember how it was that she had made it back into the cellar of the former ice house, all she could recall was that her socket was stinging something fierce and the last man beneath her had long been dead, but she would not stop striking at him.
"Little Miss, you're quite finished there. Even a phoenix down couldn't mend what you've done."
She could feel the blood racing faster down her cheek from her socket where her right eye used to be. She had sold it last night in her desperation and although they had taken it from her, they hadn't shelled out a single gil, costing the life of one small child and the maiming of a slightly older one.
Her breaths were coming out too harshly and she was losing too much blood. She hadn't been given any sort of antiseptic or aftercare, it was a miracle that it was only now that she was feeling the stirrings of pain. But it didn't matter. Nothing did. Everything was all but finished.
"You come down too hard on your left shoulder, a proper instructor would have righted that early on, lest you hurt yourself. You're either self-taught or just fatigued. Or both!"
She turned to the voice, having forgotten it momentarily, unsure if she could take on another after the four she had dealt with.
She raised her sword up once again, trembling hard with the effort, her vision beginning to blur.
"Come at me then," her words slurred from her mouth, the pain where her eye should be dulling again.
"What for? You only righted a wrong. With more training, I'm pretty sure you could right several," the man grinned at her, reaching a hand out to steady her.
"What's your name girl?"
"B-Beatrix," she forced out, suddenly growing very tired, unsure if she was supposed to say anything. Someone was touching her arm and she was abruptly confused about where she was and what she had been doing before everything became so very dark.
"General, her Majesty is calling for you."
Beatrix shook herself from the memory, dislodging her grip upon the railing, still aboard the Red Rose that had yet to leave Lindblum.
"Thank you," she responded courteously to her soldier, making way for her Queen's cabin, brushing her hair from shoulder as she did so.
She thought upon the man that had helped her in her youth, a simple sword for hire that pooled her in with his odd jobs of guard duty while training her in order to better their asking prices. In time, she left that endeavor to train in the main capital before tossing her lot and skills against the Knights of Alexandria. Beatrix found herself fortunate in finding things once more that she wanted to protect but all of that was crumbling before her feet yet again, on a much more dire and dangerous scale.
She knocked before she entered, already inclining her head low in respect, ready for the volatile deluge of emotions that would greet her.
"I won't do it," Brahne hissed, her fan an erratic, quivering thing fraying at the ends.
"You must. He is not loyal-"
"You speak of loyalty when you yourself have betrayed me!" Her voice was shrill with accusation and hurt, pointing a trembling finger in her General's direction.
"I told you to dispose of Garnet and yet you let her get away so that she may overthrow me! That silver-headed child has done everything I've ever asked of him and yet you tell me to do away with him! I am not your p-pawn to be shifted around by your favor. It is you who are plotting, you are the schemer!"
Beatrix waited for the tide to ebb, her voice grave as she dealt her cards closely and accordingly.
"After all is said and done, I will make amends in any manner you deem, my Queen. However, you have always entrusted those that are precious to you under my protection. I cannot harm those with such significance to my sovereigns, you and our late King. It is my duty to you to protect those things, by your command. Have I not proven that in all the years of my service?"
Brahne's chest hitched as she stared into her lap, tears threatening to spill from her eyes, emotions seeming to race across her face before she could catch them, as if there was an invisible barrier that prevented them from breaching to full lucidity.
"Kuja goes off in all manner of directions, to people and places we know nothing about. We had not even heard of him until a year prior, Your Majesty."
"He is from Treno. Everyone in court can attest to it!"
"He is not from Treno," Beatrix couldn't help but bite out, her red eye hard on her Queen. A man like Kuja never goes unnoticed. His prominence within the dark city bore only a few short years, his origins still unbeknownst to any of them.
"The weapons he has created for us…what else does he have hidden within those sleeves of his? And for whom is he creating them? He is a man of enterprise and due to the nature of his work, wouldn't it benefit him most to sell to the highest bidder? It is not loyalty that binds him to you but your coin."
Her voice was damning. She wasn't holding anything back. Beatrix didn't fear for her head at this rate, her sovereign was not herself and it was her duty to steer her in a manner that would keep her safest. And she was quite certain that wealth wasn't even in the equation for the sorcerer but she had to use the cards she was given.
"He has been a part of our inner court for over a year now as well as attended all of our tactical sessions. He is aware of every aspect of the workings of our army, information that any of our enemies would pay handsomely for."
Brahne snapped her fan closed and brought the misused instrument down hard upon the back of her chair in outrage.
"What enemies?! I have no enemies! They've all been brought to their knees!"
"Do you think anyone who could create an army of obedient, powerful golems is content with smiling in the shadows?"
The General had not delivered this damning statement with the severity she had used before. Now her words were like a fearsome dreadnought, wading through treacherous tides to instill the impending doom that was sure to befall them, bodily mimicking the very stance in which she always physically held herself before those that had yet to come to terms with what was upon them.
Beatrix merely watched as her Queen stilled, her eyes suddenly coming to focus as the deadly implications came together. The fan fell to the floor with a dull thud as the rage and anger began to peel off of it's owner.
"No one would," Brahne whispered, grabbing onto the back of her chair as she lifted her head in her General's direction, voice no longer filled with the bloated confidence it had held merely moments before. In its place were the tell tale markings of trepidation and what was beginning to sound like fright.
"No one would be satisfied like that."
(Break)
He turned a page, the worn out drawings of eidolons now long gone making him curse under his breath at missed opportunities. Had he recognized his creator's fear as the door to his salvation earlier on, he would have found a means to stow away a horde of summoners beneath the scientists' sleepless eyes.
Something moved within his peripheral vision and he looked up to see Hilda murmur softly as she turned in her sleep, her golden hair at the back of her head catching the light of the fire, warm and gentle.
He closed the book atop his weathered desk and leaned back in his chair, slipping his hands within the large sleeves of his robes as he crossed them over his chest, contemplating.
The nation of Burmercia was no more and Cleyra was all but decimated. Lindblum was now undertaking occupation through their surrender. Brahne now had three of the crystal shards required to summon Alexander. But where in the damn lie the fourth?!
He withheld the impulse to slam his fist against the surface of the furniture, for fear of waking his mistress. Sighing, he withdrew his arms to lean against the desk once more, his fingers plucking at a correspondence from King, stating that the Dali workers had abandoned the factory due to lack of materials, resuming their work on their farms, however due to neglect of the lands, they were demanding compensation to last through the year.
Kuja dropped the paper with a derisive click of his tongue, knowing the only reason King had bothered to send the missive was that he found the whole situation hilarious. The people of Dali had served their purpose, they wouldn't be getting anything more from either of them. With the amount of funds he had incentivized them with, they should have been well off for years. It was only their greed bolstering them thusly.
And that was the root of everyone's demise around him. It was almost always the very thing that had or had yet, to bring those above him down to their knees.
His eyes flashed back to his bed appreciatively at his consort, who's back rose and fell delicately in her slumber. All excluding her. Hilda's intentions were always to the benefit of those beneath her care. She had and would sacrifice her morals to continue to serve them. Even when she had to take from those she deemed unworthy to give to the many in need.
But not him. He would take anything by any means if it would ensure his existence. And as such, he felt it was time he relieved Brahne of her coveted Bahamut.
He wanted Alexander. Yet until he was able to discern the fourth shards location, he would settle for the dragon.
Kuja thought of Garnet and the monsters that she had housed within her. Ruinous, protective, calamitous, loving things. He thought onto a few days past, as he watched her from the shadows, questioning her mother's intent, her voice somehow respectful while reproachful.
"Did you…" and there was something that sounded volatile and repressed in the young girl's words that drew his interest, before she paused to remove all emotion from her voice.
"Is it true that you are responsible for the destruction of Burmecia?"
Her eyes were a regal onyx that had the ability to pressure an answer or action from those around her, like any rightful sovereign could. However, such an ability was lost upon her mother at this point, so far gone as she was.
"Oh...well no wonder you look so concerned," Brahne said slowly, her eyes narrowing icily on her child.
Kuja leaned against a wall at the entrance, looking on in the shadows curiously.
He looked on at the two women in the Queen's chambers, wondering what it was that Brahne saw in the princess. Did she see a phantom of what the original daughter would have become? Or was she satisfied with the surrogate?
The silver man looked to the obsidian girl aloft the stairs above, thinking at how perfect actors the two of them were. The pair of them outlanders assuming new roles for themselves in foreign places. Although she held no memories of her former identity, like him, she too, albeit unknowingly, played at being entirely human, even to a physical extent.
Where once her lovely head had held a majestic horn given to those who commanded the creatures of Gaia's crystal, he hid his tail and displayed the feathers within his hair as farce, merely a play at fashion.
He observed the women once more, the falsities dripping from Brahne's mouth like the crumbs of her beloved Qu pies.
"I'm sorry Mother," Garnet replied contritely, hanging her head in concession. Whether she had truly believed her mother's lies or not were hidden beneath ink-like tendrils that fell around her cheeks.
Brahne's voice was conciliatory in turn, Kuja taking the "resolution" as his cue to enter. He was almost atop the stairs within the Queen's chambers before Garnet had noticed him. And it wasn't until he spoke that Her Majesty did too.
"May I also play a part in this act?"
He leaned on one hip, crossing his arms low and loose around his waist.
If Garnet was surprised by his entrance, she had skillfully hidden any reaction she could have given upon his intrusion. It endeared him to her all the more.
"Act?" Garnet asked, her words coming forth low with unmasked suspicion.
She may not have been aware of his role within her mother's kingdom but she used her voice purposely in a manner to indicate that she did not approve of him in any capacity.
He unfolded his arms as he turned to her, giving her his admiring and rapt attention.
"Yes, an act from a beautiful play…"
He held both hands out to her, smiling dreamily, invitingly, clearly entertaining himself.
"There is a knight on a white horse...and a beautiful princess. It is a tale of tragic love."
He moved forward with his right boot onto another step, his arms falling back down as he lowered his voice, the theatrics of it all more than he could resist.
"Overcome by grief, the princess must sleep for a hundred years…"
"You…I've seen you before…"
The way her dark-sided eyes made to cut him down had him holding back the urge to shiver in pleasure.
He drew his hands through the feathers within his hair, the tactile sensation of the draconian element within him grounding him back to the task at hand. She looked to her mother but Brahne was looking to Kuja, clearly interested in his game.
"It appears we were destined to meet again," he chuckled low in his throat as he made his way up the remaining steps, startling her, finally causing a reaction out of her that was almost more than he could bear. She made to run from him then, stoking a delicious urge to chase her in turn. With nowhere to go, she made for her mother but something in the sovereign's unyielding features gave her pause, Garnet's features trying to mask the alarm and dread that had momentarily riddled her face.
He lunged forward before she had a chance to move again, grasping her at the waist with his left arm as his other hand ran through her coal-colored hair at her temple, midnight silk that slipped between his fingers.
She no longer tried to conceal the horror that she felt as her black eyes met the deep oceanic blue of his. He leaned closer as his voice softened, tendrils of silver locks slipping over his shoulder to entangle with the obsidian breadths of hers.
"I will take you to a world of dreams," he breathed.
He released her silken hair and raised his hand over her fearful eyes, casting a sleep spell so deadfall and deep that she would never awaken no matter how terribly her eidolons begged her to.
It was instantaneous and she couldn't fight it no matter how much she wanted to. She became warm and limp in his arms, making him gather her closer to him lest she fall.
"She is beautiful, even in sleep," he admired softly.
"Hmph, impudent little girl," Brahen sniffed loudly, unimpressed.
"Isn't that the privilege of royalty?" he asked in jest, trying to ease the scowl from the woman's face.
"Not where I am concerned. I may have elevated her to be a princess, but none are my equal," she spit out contemptuously.
He felt an utter disgust pool within his stomach. There was no love lost on his part, the creatures around him were merely instruments to be used to better his own situation. However, it reminded him of just how easily it had been to turn mother onto daughter. It had merely taken a year of whispered suggestions for Her Majesty to gaze at her beloved daughter with the same sentiment she carried for a pestous insect. The genome wanted to throw it in her face, lord it over her, but it was still too soon for that.
Which brought him back to the present and his current predicament. Brahne had served her purpose. And now it was time for her to exit the stage.
"What are you doing?"
The voice shook the man from his darkening thoughts, regal yet drunk with exhaustion.
His pulse quickened and his eyes softened. He stood and pushed his chair back and away before padding barefoot in her direction.
Hilda raised herself with her arms, looking about the massive bed sleepily.
"You've changed the sheets…" she announced in quiet surprise.
"I'm clean…" she added, looking down at herself before twisting in the bedding, looking at him with a raised golden brow.
Kuja perched himself on the edge of the mattress, looking pleased as he sat down.
She had been entirely slumberous as he had held her against him in his lap with a cloth in his hand and a basin beside the bed as he had cleansed her with care and guiltless pleasure. The effort had been languid and tired yet he did not begrudge the ache of his muscles through the course of his self-designated chore, humming softly to himself the Tides of Eros from one of his favorite theatrical acts in Treno. He had lazily and lovingly ran the cloth across limbs and body, his tail unconsciously encircling one her thigh as he worked the wetted fabric over her.
"Would you have preferred to wake up in your former situation?" he teased, his grin akin to a fox.
"I suppose this is suitable," she responded in kind, her own grin smaller and pert but equal in meaning.
"Do you think you can stand?"
"Not even if you paid me in pearls."
He laughed aloud at that, crawling toward her on the bed.
The genome scooped her up in his arms, swinging his long legs over the bed before standing. She tightened her grasp around his neck in alarm before settling into the security of his hold, a sheet tangled about her. He brought her to a vanity, where a set of fine, sharp scissors lay before her. Hilda reached forward to touch them before she stilled at the sensation of a brush combing through her hair.
Her eyes turned to his reflection in the mirror as she watched, his concentration solely on the task at her head. When he had straightened the mass to its poor state, he made for the scissors and brought them to her hair.
Their eyes met in the glass and a silver brow raised in query. With mild fascination, she nodded in acquience, and he made for the ends of her hair, straightening and mending with quick snips what one of his vilest creations had wrought, the sleeves of his robe pulled up to his elbows.
He thought of the many years of solitude in which he had performed the same task upon himself before he had the means to live in wealth, years of practicing what Mariko Carol had once done for him.
With all the length that had been severed during her altercation with the man-made madness that had been his Waltz, it was as if the months of her captivity had all been cut away. At least in a physical sense.
"...It looks exactly as it did when I arrived here," she murmured quietly, turning her head as he set the tool down.
Hilda stared at her reflection, the resemblance to Lindblum's Chief Advisor blinking back at her.
"...How much longer must I remain here?"
She stroked the newly cut edges of her hair, the length comfortable and commonplace.
"Your time here is almost at its end…"
She turned to him, opting for the man rather than the reflection.
"What does that mean?"
The question was several, all tied into one, and she looked to him with gravity in her stare, despite her nakedness beneath the sheet wrapped around her small self.
"It means abandoning your state and it's ungrateful ruler to assume your rightful place at my side, in the open."
Did that mean a life alongside him in Treno? What ever would she even do there? Hilda didn't think she had it within her to live so aimlessly. And she couldn't see how she would. Not with his creations in the floors below or his seeming involvement with the Alexandrian nobility, despite lacking titles himself. There was so much yet to be divulged that she dared not lull herself into a sense of false honeymoon.
Kuja held his arms out for her again and she reached for his neck, wrapping her arms through his hair behind his head as he lifted her once more. He turned her over to another chair, albeit this one at a small, circular table where water, crackers, and dried fruit sat amply in supply. He sat across from her, not nearly as disheveled but hardly better dressed, grabbing an empty teacup and opening a small container, scooping loose leaves within the fine piece. It was nothing but a hint of a whisper for him to heat the water, pouring the piping, steaming stuff atop the leaves.
She welcomed the sight, the thought of something warm and soothing to ease the ache in her throat seemed heavenly. He did the same for himself, watching her drink until he seemed satisfied before he ignored his cup entirely, opting to continue where he left off.
"I've already told you in vague terms that I am not from the Mist Continent, that I am from a place called Terra. As brilliant as you are, you most likely assume that this is either a state or town on this or another continent on Gaia. However, that isn't the case at all."
He didn't need to assess her face to deduce her confusion as her silence that beckoned him to go on sufficed.
"Terra is a planet. Although you would perceive it as Gaia's secondary, red moon."
He watched her still minutely as he gave pause, giving her a few spare moments to absorb the fantastical information. She didn't confront him in shock nor disbelief. He had shown her so much within half a year that he knew she would take him for his word. It might take her time to process the scope of it but she would not deny his claim, not his. The genome reached for her hand across the table, entangling his fingers between her own, stroking the delicate skin at the back of her hand.
"We spoke before about your parents and my lack of. And the reason being that I was not born as you were. I was created."
"...For what purpose?"
She didn't ask how, as she was quite certain that understanding the method was beyond her. Yet she had an inkling that his conception might not have varied so vastly by comparison to his own creations.
He was unsurprised once again at her quiet acceptance as well as her probing. It was almost the definition of her nature. He need not remind himself that across from him was not merely some demure courtesan but a cunning politician with the spine of a serpent, adaptable and ever moving.
"To use my body as a vessel for souls that should have long since perished."
He didn't conceal the hostility in his voice and even though she remained silently, inside, she was quaking. This felt so very wrong, whatever it was that he was imparting to her and yet she knew without a doubt, this was merely the beginning of what he meant to tell her.
"But surely you're not the only conduit? You mentioned you had siblings?"
If she had been shaken by his revelations, he didn't detect it within her voice. He reached for a strand of her hair, wanting to bring it to his lips had the furniture between him not impaired him so.
"Our creator insists on calling us such, but what even is a sibling by such a feeble definition?"
He let the strands slip from his fingers, before his voice turned derogatory.
"My "brother" is not so much a brother as he is my replacement. Our creator found me unsuitable for his designs, so Zidane was made. And when he was no longer an option, he made a "sister", Makoto."
He cringed inwardly at the thought of his "sister". She resembled Garland more than any of them. Except everything she did, she did in silence. Sentient and all-observing, quietly calculating.
Whatever soul she had been given, it was a thing to be weary of. The way she had openly monitored him and studied him when he had still been allowed on Terra made his skin crawl.
"There are only three of you collectively? And yet even that small number needs to be reduced? Since you mentioned that each consecutive sibling was a replacement."
"There are many of our kind; however only three of us have received a soul. The rest are dormant drones, waiting to be given one as well when the time is right. The planet is a dying, withering husk of a thing and the souls of its former tenants have been placed in stasis. Genomes are new, thriving, able body hosts waiting to receive these souls so that the Terran civilization might live anew. Yet as I mentioned, Terra itself is hardly viable, it's ecosystem and biospheres have almost entirely died out. Our creator has been looking for a new environment to support the populace, so he needed a genome that could think intelligently and logically in order to further those goals and develop such a place. Yet his discontent is bred from creatures that want to be the master of their own fate."
He said the last part with evident contempt and open bitterness. Garland was unaware of what his precious Zidane had been scheming before Kuja abandoned him on the Mist Continent, yet two of his three creations had rebelled against his ambitions.
"What do you call him? This creator of yours."
"Garland," he all but sneered.
Hilda considered the creator he had mentioned, immediately deducing him something lesser than a 'god' with the derision and lack of respect with which his creation spoke of him. And it was telling, and most damning, that Kuja was mimicking these very actions with his black mages.
"If Terra is failing it's populace in sustainability and you're here…what does that mean for those already on Gaia?"
He looked at her pointedly and she swallowed, pooling dread filling her as she prepared for more revelations on a scale that had been beyond her imagination.
A/N: Next chapter, Kuja continues to scare the bajeezus out of Hilda, yayyy!