so, ever wondered how kuja was recruited into the magisterium? it happens when he's sixteen. coincidentally (or not so coincidentally) this is when sayuri meets alexander.
Night 3: Evermore
"Do not be afraid; our fate
Cannot be taken from us; it is a gift."
In the long line of kings and queens of Ariavat, his role in court will be looked over. It is the best he can hope for, as the younger brother of the heir to the throne; where the noble caste will scheme and the magisters will prognosticate, he will be shunted into his sister's shadow; a mere footnote when songs will be sung and tales will be told about Yerim's future reign.
He is not as smart, not as cunning, not as strong—not as important, and so his education is second-rate, if not nothing, compared to his sister's revolving army of tutors; he is unmissed during his father's boring formal meetings; his star is dim, next to his sister's burning sun.
In any case, if he were heir, he would not be able to leave his father and sister's dusty court as much as he does. Each summer his disappearance from court goes unremarked; each summer Mameyoshi spreads his arms open and welcomes him to Jishou like he would a lost son.
And so for all of this, Kuja is beyond grateful.
Now, the king peers over his shoulder, staring at the parchment he had run his brush over only moments before; Mameyoshi's hand is laden with silver and jewels, and rests on his shoulder, gentle and light. Even here, even in Tohouku with the Jishouan royalty, there is no expectation – just the king's quiet chuckle and his voice commenting on how much Kuja had seemed to improve. The praise is said with equal measures of guidance: his brushstrokes are still too timid, and the king picks out the breaks in black ink where his hand had faltered. Yet all the older man does is smile, and Kuja takes another piece of paper and begins redrawing the character.
There is a steaming cup of tea and sweet rice cakes waiting for him when they finish with calligraphy lessons. He nestles between Sayu and Yuki bantering about the quality of Yuki's work that afternoon; Sayuri's work is fine ("of course, girls always have better handwriting!" there is a complaint) and the less said about Kuja's work, the better. Shiro says nothing, but his mouth twists into a grin from his writing desk in the corner of the room. The king settles in his own seat with a small sigh of contentment and prepares to tell them a story about the Triangle.
The sun is setting in the distance and the sky is bleeding a vibrant orange; the sliding doors thrown open let in the echoes of waves crashing against the cliffs of Tohouku. His eyes begin to wink shut from another summer day's exertions, and he leans his head against Sayu's.
He wishes he could stay here forever.
He wishes he could stay here forever, and everything is picturesque, until suddenly it isn't.
He is with Sayuri and her brothers when the first ill omen comes on a ship no one had expected to come, as if it were borne on the tides of fate. You must tour my country one day, this omen says to Mameyoshi. His name is Alexander, the Crown Prince of Caera, and he sweeps the Jishouan court off their feet with his smiles and his easy graces.
Kuja draws Shiro aside, and everyone else is too enamored with the foreign prince to take much notice of two other princes colluding in a corner. "What the hell is he doing here?" He mutters.
"I'm not sure," His friend says, his brow furrowing. "I don't like it, though."
"I don't either," Kuja grouses. But Shiro smirks at this reaction.
"Oh?" The older boy laughs. "You're really unsettled by this, aren't you?"
"Of course I am! We haven't seen the Caeran royalty in years—"
"I didn't know you paid that much attention to matters of court, Kuja."
He makes a strangled noise at Shiro's nonchalance. "How can you be so—so uncaring about this!? It could be important!"
"I'm sure it is," Shiro murmurs.
There is a peculiar feeling of alarm running up his spine. He wracks his brain why the Caeran royalty would suddenly make an appearance at the Jishouan court, after years of mysterious silence; he picks apart all he knows for why they would only send their crown prince bearing chests upon chests of precious Caeran gold.
His heart jumps into his throat when he watches Alexander sweep a handsome bow before Sayu, and he feels his jaw tighten when the foreign prince drops on one knee. He is draped in the finest silk and linen, his robes outlining his warrior figure splendidly, and Sayu giggles – actually giggles – at something that slips from his mouth.
His blood is running cold. Shiro is muttering to himself.
It's almost smug, when Alexander does bother to introduce himself to him. His grin is too wide and too easy and far too charming, and Sayuri is watching both of them, so Kuja bites back his suspicion and forces himself to be polite. "And you must be the Prince of Ariavat," He utters, "Ali, right?"
A reluctant "yes," is all he can manage, before the Caeran prince turns his attention back to Sayuri and the king.
There is no fanfare or warning, but it is some time when another omen comes to him, a letter arriving from Ariavat. It's from his father, and as he's unfolding the letter and hastily scanning its contents, Shiro wordlessly stalks into his borrowed chambers.
"He wants to marry her."
Kuja lets the paper fall from his hands. Disappointment and hurt and surprise burn through him, too fast for him to really understand, but he knows with that single utterance of her that Shiro is referring to Sayuri. Of course, what else could it have been? Alexander had come to Jishou alone, which was bold of Caera to do, but he had come bearing riches aplenty as if they would easily buy Mameyoshi's favorite daughter.
It's foolhardy, but the frown on Shiro's face worries him—worries him more than the message his father had sent. "And what does the king say?"
"I don't know. He's considering it," Shiro says. "My own sister. Sayu. That bastard wants to marry her. I don't believe it."
As the days had passed they had both watched Alexander perform a dangerous dance. Sword competitions and hunts and horse races there had been; each time the Caeran prince had outdone everyone, his prowess and worthiness proven multiple times. He had drawn the king for private talks, and traded intimate smiles with Sayuri—and they watched it all unfold, but Kuja suddenly couldn't stomach the idea of his deepest, oldest friend being whisked away, much less by a man that had more arrogance and good looks than any heart at all.
It shouldn't happen. That Mameyoshi is even considering it is preposterous—
"Does she know?"
"No. She doesn't." And it's at this that Shiro comes up to him, his hands coming to grip his forearms. There's desperation etched into his face, and his features twist in on itself to form a pained grimace. "Kuja, I know she has to marry someone. I know she has to, eventually. But I don't want it to be him."
Kuja blinks. Him, Alexander—
It doesn't have to be him.
Of course, he thinks. It's all so simple.
Then he scrambles out of Shiro's hold, rifling through his drawers and desk for ink and parchment. When he finishes jotting a response to his father, he looks up at his friend. "I'll fix this," He promises.
Of fate, he knows what everyone in the Triangle knows: that life follows a path, and at the end of life, all will return to the rukh. And as the magisters say: one day, the rukh will return to life, and on and on the cycle goes; there is a time and a reason for everything, and this reason is fate. It was fate's hand that brought Alexander to Jishou, and here now is fate's hand beckoning him to Ariavat.
It is the first instance in which he cuts his summer short just to return home. Mameyoshi is loath to let him go, but when Kuja insists, tightly explaining that his father had ordered him to rush home at once, the king huffs fondly, and arranges passage for him across the sea.
To Sayuri, he leaves behind his armband; "I'm sorry I have to leave, but it's for a reason," he says as he slides the trinket down his arm to let it rest in her pretty little fingers. It is an heirloom, worn only by the princes of Ariavat, but the wonder on her face when she accepts the gift makes handing the thick rope of gold as easy as anything in the world. If anything, his armband would be a pittance compared to all he would have to offer her later—
"Come back, okay? So I can return this to you."
Her smile is so sweet, her voice soft and expectant; it is that perfect image of her that his mind chooses to preserve in the long years that come after.
What he finds at home is the end to everything he has known.
For once, his father is smiling at him, with a sumptuous meal laid out for his return. Kuja pushes past his surprise and jumps straight to business, coming to kneel at the knee of his father—"I know why you called me back, father, and I want to say, I found it suspicious too—"
The king stares at him down his nose, setting down the wine cup he'd been drinking from. Then he barks a laugh: "Suspicious! Why would you be suspicious? This is a momentous occasion, the greatest honor! What is this about?"
His confusion almost stops the words in his throat. "I—weren't you referring to Sayuri Jie's marriage?"
"That girl?" His father's brows furrow, in genuine disconnect. "What marriage? To whom?"
"The prince of Caera! Didn't you call me back to make a counterproposal?"
"Bah," The king muttered. He waved his hand. "That's good for Mameyoshi; he's finally getting rid of the women in his line. Three daughters is too much to have—"
Kuja shakes his head. "Father!"
He has never yelled at the king before. He would never have even dared, but his father is babbling about—about nonsense, and he doesn't even see that he could lose his best friend, her, the only person to make him actually stop and consider some kind of future that wasn't boring or bleak at all but instead makes him feel hopeful—
He wanted it, he had realized when Alexander planned to take her away. And now he wants it so bad he doesn't even know where to begin.
"I—I wish to marry her," Kuja says, his head bowed so low he could see nothing but his father's feet. If he knew it would help him at all, he would even get down on the ground to kiss them as he begged. "Her, Sayuri. Please—please, let me offer her my hand."
"You? You can't! Her mother's line is barren of any magic!" His father's face is crumpled and red with fury. He storms from his seat, the wooden chair thrown to the floor. "No child of mine will marry into any bloodline so inferior, royal or not! I forbid it!"
The rejection stings, and some part of him had always known it would be impossible. But he had hoped—
"Ah—is this the boy?"
His father's face smoothes itself, and Kuja's head raises itself in shock—that voice—it couldn't be.
But to his horror, it is; from nowhere a woman steps in view, as if a great typhoon descending upon a rainforest, a wind shuddering through the palace. She is recognizable anywhere, especially in Ariavat, where her appearances can be as sudden as it is now, or as anticipated as the stars aligning.
Still on his knees, Kuja presses his forehead to the cold alabaster floor. For all the inattention his actions receive at the Ariavatan court, he never forgets his courtesies, especially those paid to the most revered magicians of the Triangle. "Grand magister," He breathes.
"What's this talk of marriage, now?"
His father is quick to answer. "Mameyoshi's eldest daughter."
"Ah. Sayuri. To the Caeran prince, yes? What was his name? Alexander. We expect much of the two."
She—she shouldn't be here. There could only be one reason why she was here, and yet Kuja couldn't bring himself to accept it—after all this time, why now?
And of all the people, why him?
Like every other instance in his life, he wishes it is his sister being offered this honor—once more, he pleads—he is nothing but the younger brother; the unimportant second child, and yet—
It would be foolish to wish for anything else.
Everything happens for a reason, and that reason is fate. This is the true reason why he was called back; this is the hand of fate. It is just as the magisters say.
A weathered finger is lifting his chin up. The grand magister's face is young and ancient all at once. She smiles, though she makes no move to wipe the stray tear running down his cheek.
"As I understand it, the life of the inferior second-born is not very enviable," She says. It is amusement and pity and guidance all at once. "But anything can be learned, and from there, everything gained. You have much greater things ahead of you; what is a girl compared to eternity?"
Notes:
The "Discontinued" tag on both Pale Fire and 1001 Nights, I suppose, is just for show. What surprises me is even after all this time of not updating, people will write the nicest things about my fanfiction - so this update (and return to writing) is dedicated to those people. Chapter 18 of PF will be up in a couple of days.
(1) Today's summary is from Dante Alighieri's Inferno.
(2) "Her mother's line is barren of any magic" - that's referring to Sayuri's mother. Ariavatan marriage custom was mentioned at about Chapter 5, and this entire oneshot is just the explanation of the conversation Shiro has with Koumei in that chapter.
(3) This is, technically at this point in time, not the first mention of the grand magister. I toy with the idea of fate and destiny here, obviously, and a bunch of other ideas we don't really talk much of in PF. It's not spoilerrific if we'll talk about it eventually in PF...right?
I guess this'll be the last oneshot I'll write with Kuja's POV in entirety? He's obviously an older, wiser, and really different person now, and he knows way too much for his own good, so...
