A/N: Recommended reading: CrimsonCobweb's "Birdsong." Relevant to the chapter at hand, short and (bitter)sweet, something I have yet to master. *cough*
Sometimes, quite frankly, she couldn't stand to look at him.
"You're leaving?"
It was a terrible thought, terrible to realize in the ashen twilight dawning over her bunk, and too terrible to tell him that morning when he approached with her cup of tea.
"Yes. There are things I wish to observe for myself--things outside Burmecia."
He didn't deserve to be shunned, especially by her. He hadn't done anything criminal. If anything, he was being as polite as possible, rapping tidily on the door and begging permission before entering (after the first year of sleeping in a communal tent with the other soldiers, she was finally afforded her own room inside the palace. She wasn't sure if she appreciated the privacy or not.) It just happened that this morning, instead of finding Freya in her robe, Fratley discovered her in full travel attire, satchel stuffed with potions and spear strapped to her back. She stood in a smoky silhouette before the single window, a vertical slit hewn from the bricks like the core of a dragon's ponderous eye.
He didn't sound wary or suspicious, just curious. "Oh? What sort of things?"
It wasn't that he was awful, or cruel, or said the wrong things--he was a perfect gentleman all the time--perhaps too perfect. He was ever striving to mend what was lost and build their relationship anew, even if that amounted to a lot of hours sitting with her and wondering what was the best thing to say. She could always tell when he was thinking too hard--grasping at the gossamer threads in the attic of his mind--by the downcast grimace and contemplative furrow of his muzzle. Sometimes he would stand in the same spot for ages with a hand to his head, a vexed pinch to his brow, and if Freya asked what was the matter he would dismiss her kindly with, "It's nothing, dear. Just a headache."
He could be very thoughtful... and Freya could be the same. She scratched her chin, considering her practiced excuse. "For one, I would like to see how the monster population has thinned out since the Mist has disappeared."
Fratley regarded her for a ridiculous while, a tray of teacups balanced in his arms while his nose crinkled with that same lost expression that tired Freya to pieces. She sharply threw her gaze out the window before her tongue lashed out instead, though all the dragon's eye could see was a palette of gloomy clouds. She'd been waiting months into years, now, for the man to make up his mind--about her, the past, anything--but the only thing Fratley seemed committed to was his knighthood. It was the only thing he could remember with any clarity, and thus it became the foundation for his whole persona.
Once Freya asked, to test him, "If not dragon knights, what are we?"
"Why, we are Burmecians," he answered as a matter of course.
"And then what?"
The man was stumped to silence for the rest of the hour. She was annoyed with his lack of response, but held her peace and allowed him all the time to forget he needed.
Finished with his bout of thought, Fratley perked his ears and announced punctiliously, "I shall accompany you, then."
"No." Freya didn't mean to say it so quickly. "By all means, remain here. Our soldiers in the city are limited, and there might yet be a call for a dragon knight. Let us not deprive the prime minister of both of us."
Unlike Lindblum, Alexandria and Cleyra, Burmecia was spared an eidolon's wrath, although this merely meant that there was more blood than rubble to clean up. An eidolon practiced sweeping destruction; the black mage army practiced meticulous slaughter. It almost took longer to dig all the graves than to restore the palace, and though there were not as many material assets that needed repair, Burmecia's reconstruction lagged behind the other nations for sheer lack of manpower. It would be generations, surely, before the population regained its strength in numbers, and until then the royal order of dragon knights would remain an endangered breed.
Fratley could be as understanding as he was thoughtful. His ears bowed in acknowledgement. "I see. Shall you be gone long?"
Freya could swear until the moon shone over Burmecia that she would return as soon as possible, lest either of them ever be abandoned again, but it sounded as hollow in her mind as it must have in his. Suddenly she felt too old for such childish promises. It was amazing how those courtyard vows of fidelity, like most things sprung in one's youth, burned passionately yet inevitably to naught.
"As long as necessary."
"Oh. Freya, I..." He paused to collect the right words.
"Yes?" She was too quick, too terse, testing him again. Perhaps it was her fault. Perhaps she was too impatient. Perhaps he was too patient. She could never determine whether they were trying too hard or not enough. The air shifted with her voice, the weight of the whole room wedging the two apart, and Fratley's dark eyes vitrified under the pressure. He always fell back on courtesy whenever she stymied him, which was despairingly often, and she could practically smell him yielding to her again.
"...I shall not hold you. I wish you well on your journey. I hope you do not for..." Fratley faltered, very nearly about to say the wrong thing for once in his life. He shifted on his feet, flicked his tail and straightened with a tall breath, brimming with some prodigal apology. "I pray Burmecia calls you home soon."
It wasn't right--she knew it, and she sensed that he knew it, too. He was kind enough to let her go, yet not brave enough to stop her. If not a dragon knight, what was he, then? She couldn't ask for too much; she didn't want to break him. He was trying so hard to be someone he wasn't anymore (or was he ever?) just for her sake, while she was trying so hard to accept him as he was, for his sake--it was like picking at a mutual sore, the pretence only hurting them both.
"I'm sure it shall. Sir Fratley, if you would do me one kindness while I'm away..."
"Anything."
Whatever affection developed for one another between the past and the present, Freya needed not only time to sort it from her precious illusions, but space. She needed a good excuse as well, but 'I need space' was a little too trite. Fratley didn't deserve that. Whether he deserved the truth, she had not made up her mind. It was a little too terrible.
Two years passed, and Fratley still didn't know who he was. What was he, then, to her? A knight, a friend, a companion? A kindred soul? Was she looking for a shining knight from some mawkish fairytale, to sweep her off her feet? Is that what she truly desired in her youth, above and beyond her duty? Did he ever wish the same, or was it all just a fancy? It was too much to believe anymore.
He was a worthy dragon knight, a good friend and a steady companion, but he didn't treat her like a lover; he treated her like he owed her a lover.
That was probably why, on the eighth moon following Queen Garnet til Alexandros' eighteenth birthday and a certain someone's dramatic return, she picked up her spear and left.
"...Please do not dwell too much on what is not there."
To be fair, she didn't look back.
---
It was easy going from there, like rolling down a hill. Freya left the shadow of her homeland behind and ventured the countryside, hunting monsters and rendering her services to any small village on the way. The relief and freedom were difficult to express--it was something she had missed, all the wandering with none of the Mist--although the more fond memories she dug up in her path, the more she remembered what was missing from this open, carefree lifestyle.
She went northeast, to find it again.
It had been nine months and a lifetime since she crossed North Gate into Alexandria. She was last there for the play, the grand finale and the banquet that followed. The two stars of the show sat at the head of the table while the whole country toasted to their joy. It was a perfect, bittersweet reunion, and Freya was simply glad to have played a part, however meagre it seemed in hindsight. It was nice, the people of Alexandria said, to watch their queen cry tears of joy, for a change.
The whole time Zidane and Garnet were adorably inseparable, although this made it impossible to catch either of them alone. That was probably best for Zidane, since the first thing Freya intended to do was thrash him senseless for making everyone fret over his demise. The dragon knight managed a few, pecking exchanges with her friends-cum-comrades (including the reclusive Amarant, the hot-tempered Lani and Stiltzkin, the traveling moogle), but there was no room for secrets among the group of heroes, and before she knew it the birthday celebrations had wrapped up and everyone went home.
Watching the curtain fall. Going home. Living "happily ever after." It wasn't what she expected, after all. Freya was still missing... something.
Now that enough time had passed for things to settle down, the city of Alexandria was on the threshold of normalcy. Unlike Lindblum, which could be loud and garish on the topside and louder and sootier on the underside, Alexandria retained some of the quaint, rustic fashions of its border villages. It was a hotchpotch of farmers and craftsmen, all building from the same bricks in jagged rows and on top of older, ruined establishments, and in this way the town endured to pass on to its children like a giant patchwork quilt. It was worn and disorderly, yet lively in ways that Burmecia was not, and even though Freya had passed through before, there was always something novel to behold with each visit.
Freya sauntered through the sun-dappled streets, poking around shops and sampling the dry urban flavors. She was in no hurry, following her light heart like a child's wayward balloon. She bought a lily from a flower girl, played cards with the owner of a perfume shop, ate lunch at a pub overrun with moogles, and stopped by Ruby's Mini-Theatre, where pleasantries were abundant. Freya got an earful of gossip (half of which she didn't understand through the lady's bawdy accent) before finally taking leave for the castle.
It would be nice to chat with the young queen and her "actor companion" (who was "shacked up in that castle, awl right," according to Ruby), however when the guards at the moat pressed for the intention of her visit, the dragon knight floundered. "Hmm... I'd like an audience with the queen, I suppose," she said at length, somewhat embarrassed for her lack of purpose. Did she need a good reason to see her friends?
Thankfully she was accepted, and shortly after checking her armor, spear and helm at the foyer, Captain Steiner caught wind of her arrival and rushed to grab the queen's ear. Garnet greeted her with a very enthusiastic if... less-than-royal embrace, took her by the arm and then dragged her around the castle's florid courtyards, regaling Freya with all the happy tidings of the past few weeks. Her manners were exuberant yet refined--a curious, delightful blend of two personalities, each drawn from experience within and beyond the castle. She bubbled and curtsied like a princess, yet laughed and tossed her head like a rogue, and whether she preferred to be called Garnet or Dagger depended on her mood and company. Freya was too captivated by the queen's alacrity and worldly graces to interject once, although eventually she was prompted by her busy questions.
"So, how is everything in Burmecia? How is Sir Fratley doing?"
Freya's ears flickered as she hid her gaze behind a veil of white hair. "Fine. Both are fine," she replied, Garnet never minding her subdued tone. She nodded and indicated some shrubs behind a latticed fence. "I wish we could borrow some of that rain. The flowers desperately need it. Summer's coming early this year, isn't it? It's scorching already. I hope the roses don't all wilt. They were my mother's favorite."
"Hmm," Freya nodded, agreeing to change the subject. A joke tugged the corner of her lips while a shadow tugged the corner of her mind--Garnet was in an awful hurry to talk about everything under the sun except... "Speaking of rotten vegetables, where is that oaf, Zidane?"
"Oh!" Garnet tittered and covered her mouth, at a comic loss. "Of course, you'd want to see him, right? Zidane is, well..." She scanned the yard, long hair swishing against green satin, and looked as if the boy were bound to spring from the bushes at any moment. "Zidane is hiding around here somewhere--the gods only know where. He likes to make himself scarce these days." She then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gave a tiny, forlorn sigh, staring into some far-away clouds. "Sometimes I worry..."
Freya was disturbed by this crack in her chipper facade. "Is something wrong?"
Garnet shook her head, clasped her hands over the front of her dress and answered neatly, "Oh no, nothing's wrong, really. Zidane has been wonderful company; I'm glad he's decided to stay here. I had missed him dearly, and was truly happy to have him come home. He was so happy, too..." Something about the past tense rang oddly, but before Freya could give it a name Garnet's sedate laugh distracted her. "It hadn't been the same without him, you know?"
"Yes, I think I know what you mean," Freya conceded, and she crossed her arms over the squeamish inkling in the pit of her stomach. "What is the matter, then?"
"It's just..." Another sigh broke her composure, and the eloquent queen was reduced to unfinished sentences. "He's stayed here nine months, now, but it doesn't seem like he's adjusting very well to... It's hard to explain... I never really expected him to, because he's not... He didn't grow up in a place like this. I know I don't get away from the castle much--there's so much to do--but it's just, sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't be better for him if..."
Freya watched her tie her fingers into an abject knot, an achingly familiar regression, and a frown crumpled the Burmecian's countenance. "If what?"
Garnet shrugged off Freya's empathetic look with an abashed smile. "Oh, never mind. He would say I'm being silly. I don't know what's come over me. I hadn't confided those things to anyone." She tilted a coy glance up to her friend. "There must be something honest about you."
Freya didn't know how to accept such a compliment, so she graciously stammered, "Oh, well, I..."
She was spared the effort when a maid wheeled up to the pair. "Your Majesty, a summons to--"
"Oh! Right, I positively forgot." Garnet stood on her toes and bestowed Freya a friendly kiss on the cheek. The dragon knight appeared suitably ruffled while Garnet excused herself with a very Dagger-ish grin. "I have to go--a queen's work is never done, after all." She then bustled away behind the maid, shouting back, "You will stay for dinner, yes? It's good to see you again, Freya!"
Freya waved impotently after her. "Ahm, yes, it's..." Too late, Garnet was around the corner and gone. "...Hmm. Haha, she certainly has changed."
Left to her own devices in the gardens, Freya explored the flowerbeds until her nose was merrily acquainted with all the springtime flora Alexandria had to offer. After a particularly intoxicating brush with a patch of pungent purple flowers (the name of which Freya would have to gather from Garnet later), she stepped onto a patio and nearly stumbled over her missing friend, sitting supine upon a park bench and snoring to the high sun.
Freya approached on silent, padded feet, appraising the sleeping boy with musing mischief.
Well, that label no longer seemed fair. Zidane wasn't technically a boy anymore. He was... what now, eighteen? Nineteen? When they last met, Freya figured he still had some growing to do, but apparently not. He would never have the muscle or girth of some of his "bros," nor would he ever be as tall or shapely as his "brother." That wasn't necessarily a bad thing (she didn't want to picture him in a thong--that was too much for her imagination to handle.) It just made him look... unique, boyish. Like he would never grow up.
Despite living in luxury, the castle didn't make him any softer in the meantime--just a little more pale and thin than Freya remembered. He was dressed in a simple white shirt and denim breeches (almost too plain for his bombastic self) and looked well-washed (a commendable victory on Garnet's behalf.) Even his normally dingy tail was now a clean, flaxen color. She couldn't tell if he had lost his healthy tan or if that's just how white his skin looked with all the dirt finally washed off, but something between Iifa and Alexandria must have sapped some life out of him. A Zidane without the street-grime and foppish lace seemed all too... unnatural.
(What made her stop and wonder more than any of that, though, were the dusky smudges under his eyes, and how thin his skin seemed where the sun touched his collarbone...)
Her head fuzzy with pollen and the element of surprise still intact, Freya paced around him. Once her gaze lighted upon the red tie in his hair (the very same she gave him, perhaps) she found her game. She stole it back, feather-light fingers unraveling his ponytail, and then Freya found his monkey-tail threaded between the slats of the wooden bench. All she had to do was tie the furry limb (oh-so-carefully, lest he wake up) to the back leg of the bench, and the trap was set. What a devilish scheme! If only he should wake up with a start, trip and fall on his face--then he would taste how awful it feels to mess with someone else's precious ribbon.
Freya was about to stoop to that very thing when she bit her lip and held back. That was rather spiteful of her, wasn't it? Besides, they had already paid each other back for that transgression; she could not forget that rainy day in a million years. However amusing the image of Zidane tripping on his own tail, Freya changed her mind about the prank and let him go. She wasn't very good at practical jokes, anyway; they required a malignant brand of craftiness that Freya lacked.
Nonetheless, she was infected with a silly itch, and to work it out of her system she started to play with his hair, combing out silky-gold tangles with the fine tips of her claws. Zidane stirred under her attention, fingers and nose twitching as he purred in his sleep. Freya clamped down a grin, driving the word "cute" out of her mind. She developed a weaving pattern to her strokes, his hair so thick and soft that her fingers sank in to the hilt, and she reckoned it would be fairly easy to braid...
Disappointingly, Zidane woke up before she could put that notion into effect. He shakily flexed his knees and elbows and murmured, "Mmm, baby, that feels good... Did you grow your nails out?"
Freya smirked. "No, I'm fairly sure I've always kept them this long."
Zidane's eyes snapped open--wild and crystallized blue--and alarm dilated into surprise once he twisted around to meet her. "F-Freya!"
"Surprise, monkey boy. You need to cut your hair again," she snipped.
"Eheh, yeah..." He rubbed the back of his neck, drowsy and bemused. "Wow, I didn't know you were coming to visit."
"It was an unplanned excursion, you might say." She strolled around the bench and took a seat next to him. He followed her the whole way with a wary, evaluating look, eyes roving from her uncovered head to the ribbon on her tail.
"Cool. So..." He licked his lips and drummed his fingers on his knees before coming up with the best opening. "...What's up?" She was grateful that he didn't ask about Burmecia or him right away, as others did, although his next remark made her want to hit him just as well. "I know my studliness is too great to resist, but you didn't have to come all this way."
She tipped her nose and scoffed, "Oh, please. Like I'd have to leave home to be able to see your colossal ego, rearing up over the Aerbs Mountains. It's big enough to make Atmos gag."
He leaned back with a snicker. "Ouch, sharp as ever. I knew I missed you for a good reason."
"What, to cut you down? I suppose somebody has to do it." She crossed her legs and propped her arm on the back of the seat, likewise getting comfortable. "So, you've been living here in the castle, I gather."
"Yeah. Got my own room and everything, right down the hall from Dagger's."
"I see. Includes free board and conjugal visits?"
He wagged his eyebrows. "You better believe it."
"Scandalous," she remarked, carrying the laconic conversation. "I'm surprised the captain and general haven't raised six levels of hell over the impropriety of it all."
"Oh, I know how to give Rusty hell, believe me. If I so much as mention General Beatits I get him right where I want him."
"You're going to give that man a heart attack one day."
"Hey, it'll make him more interesting."
"Zidane!"
He chortled. "What? I'm kidding."
"That is an awful joke."
"Heh..." He rubbed his nose and glanced aside, dismissing it. Then he turned and asked, "Seriously, what are you doing here?"
The sobriety of the question paused her. There was something in his trenchant stare that drew Freya too close to the truth, and she shied away. Did he suspect...?
The first answer deep enough to convey her feelings was, "Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all."
Whether he believed her or not, Zidane rolled his shoulders with a yawn, easygoing nature settling cat-like over him again. "What a coincidence--me too."
"That's because you're a lazy bum," Freya quibbled.
The irony tickled him. "Oho, and what does that make you?"
"I am..." She rolled her wrist, conjuring some poetic title to cover her heart's unease. "...a wandering spirit."
"Really? And what about your boyfriend?"
Freya wasn't sure if that was the figurative last straw or if it was just Zidane who could rub her the wrong way, but it wasn't just fine anymore, and she snapped, "He's not my boyfriend," like she'd meant to say so all along. She couldn't even joke about it.
Zidane looked struck. "Is it that bad?"
Why did he have to have the gall to ask, as if it were any of his business? Girlfriend, boyfriend... those labels never suited her and Fratley. She once thought they were better than that, but not... She didn't know anymore. Returning home--even over the brief course of her mind--only dampened her spirits. "I'd rather not speak of it."
"Oh, okay..." Zidane gave up his strange, scrutinizing look with another shrug. "Whatever floats your boat, babe."
She squeaked at his flippancy. "Hmph! Regent Cid was right about you--still have the manners of an oglop."
Zidane cocked an eyebrow, only interested in the first part of her statement. "You've been talking to Cid?"
"He's written me once or twice." Freya reached over and pinched his ear. "Which is more than I can say for you, you illiterate scamp. Why haven't you sent a letter?"
Zidane batted her hand away. "Ow, okay, sorry!" He rubbed the side of his head and said sulkily, "I meant to... I've been distracted!"
"I would love to know how a shiftless bum with nothing to do but ogle Her Majesty's royal assets can be distracted."
"Sheesh, I said I'm sorry! You are so mean today." He fell into her side with a cloying flutter of his eyelashes. "Why, have you missed me that much, my darling?"
"Oh, shut up! You are awful." Freya smartly punched his arm, though this didn't push him off.
"Hehehe."
Freya sighed, enduring him, and they lapsed into a placid spell. She let her arm fall over his shoulder, listening to the boy's relaxed breathing and the happy trill of songbirds in the surrounding gardens. The sun was bearing strong on the mica-slate cobbles of the patio, and flecks of refracted pink and cerulean splashed the red and yellow blossoms clinging to the side wall. Freya considered taking off her coat, but she was much too comfortable to upset their position, and before she could reconsider a new scent grazed her nostrils. It was warm, delicious, familiar, and--she had to lean closer to be sure--coming from Zidane.
She stuck her snout in his hair, rooting through the alluring aroma while her mind toiled over its ingredients. It had an artificial tang to it, which was reassuring because there was no way the monkey could smell so nice on his own, but there was still a heady, natural quality about it that drove her mad--mulled her senses and made her heart skip a little faster. Freya couldn't rest until she figured it out, and her hand rooted in the boy's ribs to hold him still while she sniffed his scalp all over.
Zidane, just waking up to her nosiness, heartily objected, "Whoa, cool off there! Doesn't this strike you as a little intimate?"
"What kind of shampoo do you use?" she belted out.
He froze, nonplussed. "Huh? The hell?"
"Your shampoo, Tribal," she reiterated sternly. "What am I smelling?"
"Geez, I dunno what's in it," he said defensively, like a child caught by a schoolmistress. "It's just some stuff off the shelf in a glass bottle. Dagger makes me use it."
"It's absolutely delectable. Where can I get it?"
"I can ask Dagger to give you a bottle. You gonna let me go now?"
She hummed into his nape, "Mmm, not yet. You smell so good, I can't resist."
"Man, I wished the stuff worked this good with Dagger."
Freya continued her investigation. "Is that camomile and honey? Camomile is positively my favorite."
His tail corkscrewed, clearly agitated. "I don't know, woman! You're not gonna eat me, are you?"
"Ahaha, am I making Zidane Tribal uncomfortable? Perish the thought. Besides, if I were trying to be intimate, I would be more like this..." Freya released him only long enough to sit up, slide into his lap and fasten her arms around his neck. Even sitting down, her tall, lean shape dwarfed the boy, and Zidane made a petty, disarmed noise as he accommodated her weight. Freya licked the rim of his ear in response, relishing his frustration almost as much as his newfound scent.
He shuddered beneath her, his breath suddenly taxed by something more than the dragon knight's heaviness. "Whoa... You are seriously screwing with me, aren't you?"
Freya grinned wickedly and brushed his bangs away from his eyes, curling a blonde lock around one finger. "Such a contradiction. If you were one with whom I would indeed wish to 'screw,' how could I possibly go about it seriously, hmm?"
"I have no idea what you just said, but either you're drunk or I've just discovered cat-nip for rats."
Not denying either, she quipped, "You could make a fortune." Freya surveyed the vicinity for any prying eyes before resuming her olfactory indulgence. Zidane did an admirable job of holding his ground while she buried her nose in his hair, although eventually he protested, "Hey! How long do you think I'm gonna sit here and take this?"
Teasing him was becoming quite a sport; Freya didn't want to give it up just yet. "Hmm, I don't know... It's been a long time since I've had you all to myself..."
His eyes widened in a flash of mock panic. "Oh gods, you ARE going to eat me. And all this time I thought it would be Quina." He paddled his feet and tossed distressed looks around the patio, shouting, "Quick, somebody HEL--"
She smothered his outcry with a hand. "Oh shush, you fool." At his helpless grimace she relented, pulling her hand away and shifting her hips so that the bench absorbed most of her weight. "I'm only playing--and I just mean to say I missed you. I'm allowed to get sentimental once in a while, aren't I?"
Zidane fidgeted with his Burmecian burden, overwhelmed by her honey-herb humor. He was always the one "playing," so this reversal must have been too alien for the boy to handle. "Sure, I guess..." he acquiesced, though he really lost it when she started grooming his hair with her tongue. "H-Hey! What are you doing?!"
Freya was having more fun making him squirm than anything (although she began to suspect the influence of some certain purple flowers.) "Mphb, hold still. You almost taste as good as you smell."
"What?!" Zidane turned a shade of pink she'd never seen before and began to struggle. Freya easily secured him, flipping the boy across her lap and holding him snugly to her bosom. "Mmm, I've forgotten how little you are. You're so light and easy to hold."
"Someone help!" he pleaded to the outside world, thrashing his skinny limbs like a drowning rodent. "She's gone crazy!"
"Mphln," she chided him between mouthfuls of honey-hair, "I said shush--you're making a scene."
"That's the idea!"
They must have truly made a sight by the time Beatrix arrived from the covered walkway adjoined to the patio. She ambled up to the benched pair, head tilted to an intrigued degree and hand braced on her sheathed sword as if to intervene by force, although the look on her face rather suggested she just walked in on a pair of rutting chocobos.
"...Lady Freya? What's going on?"
Zidane stuck an arm out of the swamping red coat and waved frantically. "Beatrix! Help me."
Freya merely picked her chin up out of the mop of disheveled monkey and stated in her defense, "He's delicious. I'm not letting him go."
The general's eyebrow disappeared into her hair. "...I see. Well give him back in time for dinner, understood?" she warned wryly, and then walked out the way she came.
Zidane sputtered, "Gah-wha--hey!! Okay, don't help me out--I see how it is. I won't forget this, Beatrix!"
Freya assumed the villain's part, her rich cackle resounding through the courtyard. "Ahaha, no one's coming to save you now."
"Ack, you witch!"
"You wastrel."
"Having a nice vocabulary doesn't make you any less of a wi--oh, ah! Really Freya, that--aaaa--tickles!"
"I guarantee this'll be easier for both of us if you cease your resistance."
The Genome accepted defeat with a whimper, falling slack in her clutches. Unfortunately it wasn't as fun once he quit fighting back, but that didn't keep Freya from sopping up all the tasty shampoo she desired. After a few minutes Zidane's embarrassed muttering took on an odd, husky pitch; she was close enough to feel the rumbling in the back of his throat. "Ah, uhm... If you don't cut it out I might start to enjoy this, if you know what I mean."
That finally made Freya hesitate. She pulled back to study his flushed, earnest complexion, only grasping the consequences of her 'playing' for the first time. "...Oh." She set the boy upright, replacing him where he sat earlier. "Now that would be a shame."
Zidane smoothed down his besieged hair with a flustered wince (and without success--several tufts stood out like wayward reeds, making his head look like a bird's nest.) "Gee, ya think?" he squawked, although the unoiled hitch in his voice insinuated that he might not have minded those consequences as much as he ought. "What's gotten into you, Freya?"
"Oh, I don't know..." she confessed with a gusty sigh. "Flowers, perhaps. My head feels rather fuzzy today. Or maybe I was bitten by a silly bug." It had been a long time since she had done something utterly ludicrous just for the hell of it (such as rough-housing a queen's consort in her royal gardens), and Freya didn't want to admit it so plainly, but it felt good. She winked and poked her tongue out at him. "Or maybe you're just a rotten influence."
Zidane offered an impudent grin. "Hey, I'll take credit for that."
"You would." She pulled the boy close again, not quite ready to part from that balmy scent. "Mmm, just let me sit and enjoy the flowers and your lovely shampoo while I can."
"Mmm...kay," Zidane obliged, and they sat peacefully, cooling off and watching lemon-leaf moths flit between the cultured vines. It was nice to have something warm and real in her arms for a change--a little slice of the sun--rather than getting hugged by cold iron and kissed by wet clouds.
Fratley kissed her, once--since his return, that is. It wasn't characteristic of him because he had never done it before, even when their relationship was fresh enough to set butterflies loose in her stomach every time she saw him (among other romantic clichés. Gods, did she really make such a feeble teenager?)
She couldn't remember what prompted it--she thinks he was trying to be impulsive, and it worked--it caught her off-guard, at least. If Freya had been in a more prepared state of mind she would have returned the gesture, but in her moment of surprise he bowed and sidled away, as if ashamed of his own boldness. She forgave him the incident because it was, well... cute of someone who was supposed to be a strapping dragon knight, and that wasn't a word Freya tossed around lightly.
A brooding sigh must have betrayed her, because Zidane's next query was, "Uh... you alright?"
She shook her head. "Nothing... Just feels good to get out of the rain."
A baffled look crossed him, and he held a hand to her brow. "What? Do you have a fever or something? It hasn't rained all month."
She brushed it away. "Oh, cut it out. I am fine," she bluffed, relieved to be brought back to the present. "Please quit ruining the moment."
He snickered. "I wasn't aware we were having a 'moment'."
"Does it bother you?"
His quiet, thoughtful reply surprised her. "...No. Not really. It's kinda nice."
All this sunshine was nice, but it wasn't home, was it? Freya wondered if she would ever miss the rain again.
Zidane yawned, relapsing into drowsing, and Freya was reminded of something she should have asked from the start.
"What's been troubling you?"
He blinked back, the shadows around his eyes more prominent in his indolence. "Huh? Nothin', why?"
"You look like you've been losing sleep, is all."
"Oh." He chuckled dimly and self-consciously scrubbed his eyes. "Heh, is it that obvious?"
"You were taking a nap on a park bench in broad daylight."
"Hey, I can sleep wherever I want, thank you very much!"
"Obstinate as ever, aren't you? At any rate, you look exhausted. It's written all over your face."
"Heh... Can't put anything past you, huh?" He reclined on her arm and mumbled, "Mmrm, just tired. Been thinking a lot."
"About what?"
His tail flicked once and his shoulders slightly tensed. "...Stuff."
He didn't elaborate, and before she could ask he spoke again, sounding more alert than he appeared. "Things have really slowed down for us, haven't they?"
Freya had never thought of her current lifestyle in terms of speed, but "slow" did seem terribly fitting. It was amazing how simple a warrior's life became in the absence of war or strife. She would never wish to relive any of those battles, much less shed another drop of blood, but now that the long struggle was over, all that was left to do was... go home.
"True... I never imagined it would be like this." She didn't have to explain--he knew what she meant. She read him too easily: the pale skin, the plain clothes--he even seemed to have lost weight, which was absurd for a guest of royalty. He was tired, and it wasn't just from lack of sleep. The dark circles under his eyes were a mirror of her own discomfort--her own restlessness. Freya figured it might not be long, now, before he either broke or broke free. Nothing could hold Zidane forever--not queen, country or even love.
'Not even giant imploding trees.' "You never did say how you survived, back at the Iifa Tree."
He sat up and passed her an inscrutable look, eyes sharp yet cloudy like shattered quartz, and she would never be able to decipher what was behind them in a hundred lifetimes--sometimes not even Zidane was simple. His carefree guise was back in an instant, though, and there was no mistaking that wily grin. "Maybe if you come with me, I'll tell you."
She frowned, vexed by his elusive answer. "Go with you? Where?"
Zidane hunched over the edge of the seat. "I've been thinking... 'bout taking a little trip. I'm going to go find Choco again."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, it's been a while... Probably gonna take him out to some lagoon--middle-of-nowhere, you know... See where the road takes me. Who knows, maybe I'll find where Amarant's been hiding out all this time and pester the hell out of 'im. That guy knows how to stay lost."
Freya sniffed, holding back an amused smile. "Sounds like another of your mindless adventures."
"Heheh, yep." He seemed satisfied with this assessment.
She didn't really mean to, but Freya had to ask. "And Dagger?"
"What about Dagger?" he responded testily, his tail slapping the bench with a louder crack than Freya credited the fluffy appendage, and she recoiled in shock.
The boy shrank from his outburst with a strained sigh, tail tucking under his knee as guilt skittered over his features. He ran a hand through his hair and retracted, "I didn't mean it like that... She just can't come, is all. She's busy, being queen and all… I don't--I mean, we've been getting along great, but... I'm useless around here." He looked up and away. "This is something I want to do on my own."
Freya folded her arms, retreating to her pensive space while he fell quiet, sullenly contemplating the sky.
'There are things I wish to observe for myself--things outside...'
'He was so happy, too...'
'...I shall not hold you.'
'...sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't be better for him if...'
'You smile the most when you're lying.'
Suddenly she understood more than she wanted to. "I see... So that's how it is. I'm sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry about," he said frankly--then, with a pang of what sounded too much like regret, "...'s just funny, how things work out. Life isn't always that simple."
Funny too, how he seemed to have grown, perhaps a little, in ways that belied his childish looks. "The open road can be a lonely place, you know."
"Yeah. I mean, I'll have Choco, but..." Just like flipping a switch he perked up, tail arching over his back and eyes lit with bygone mischief. At a glance he looked too much like a thirteen-year-old boy she met on some dusty road so many years ago. "You wanna come with me?"
She lowered the most incredulous look she could muster. "You can't be serious."
"You know me. I'm always serious!"
She ignored that contradiction. "Just the two of us."
"And Choco!"
"Just the two of us and a bird."
"Actually..." he explained shiftily, "A little moogle told me about this place called Paradise."
"And you actually bought it?"
"Hey, it could really be out there! Who knows, maybe in some remote corner of the world nobody's thought of exploring yet. Boss says there's no more treasure in this world, but what does he know? There's always something more. I mean, some of us didn't even believe Terra existed until we went and found it."
"So you plan to go looking for this figment of some moogle's imagination? Where would you even begin?"
"They say only chocobos can find it. I'm gonna use Choco as a guide."
"Who is 'they'?"
"Well, actually, just Mene--"
"Who?"
"The moogle."
Freya threw up her arms. "For goodness's sake! I can't believe you're gullible enough to buy such a fairy tale."
He clucked disdainfully. "Tch, won't even give it a chance. Choco's an excellent treasure hunter, I'll have you know--he's a Class A Chocobo. But hey, I'm not twisting your arm."
She couldn't believe it. She was considering it. "...For how long?"
Zidane shrugged, leaving it open-ended, as if setting a date would ruin the spirit of the enterprise. The way he made it sound, he might be content to never come back. He peered at her through aquamarine and slivers of gold, unspoken treasures lurking behind an evocative glance and a foxy smirk. He was ready to go--she only had to say the magic word.
"Wha'da you say?"
To go or go ahead. Rain or sun. Freya never expected the past few weeks--no, her entire life--of avoidant wanderlust to come down to a simple yes or no, but that was Zidane: making everything simple. She could say yes and never find herself again... but what would she do if she said no?
Go home. Live 'happily ever after.' It was easy to shrug and say life wasn't that simple. It was harder to smile and tell the truth--to say why.
She recalled standing in a field under dipolar red and blue, the stars as her witness, and wondering which path would give her life meaning. Perhaps she had not taken the wrong path after all; perhaps she had been walking the right path for the wrong reasons. Perhaps it was impossible to atone for everything--perhaps there was nothing to atone for at all. Maybe trying to fix everything--Burmecia, Fratley, the world--wasn't going to fix her life, in the end. All she knew for sure was that she was tired of the doldrums, of waiting to live her life. She was going to do something for herself for a change.
She clapped her hands on her knees decisively. "Sure, why the hell not. When are we leaving?"
He brightened, the tip of his tail wagging like a tired old dog's. "Really? You serious?"
She had to size him up. She had to know for sure. She felt like she was on the brink of doing something reckless and stupid.
Zidane just had that effect on people.
Not even he could anticipate her next move, especially when she turned towards him, pinned his shoulders to the back of the bench and straddled his lap. Freya then grabbed him by the collar and pressed her mouth to his, silencing him with her long, supple tongue before he could articulate his shock.
Fratley kissed her, once. It was a slippery clack, like striking wet flint, with an almost perfunctory recoil. It was a courtly gesture, retracted as swiftly as it was delivered.
Zidane would do nothing of the sort, never too modest to pull out of a kiss, especially when it was offered by the lady rather than the other way around. At first he cringed all over, as if doused in icy water, but then he thawed out and leaned into it, grabbing back and sucking vigorously. It was like striking a match, a rough, muted swish that burned hot and down to the quick, scorching lips and fingertips.
Perhaps it was too 'intimate,' as he put it, but Freya knew he honestly didn't mind, else he would have pushed her away long before now. She knew how slick Zidane could be when he really wanted to get away (he was a self-proclaimed escape artist, after all) and here he wasn't even putting up a fight. He took whatever was thrown at him in stride, improvising as he would on a stage. Today he was getting kissed by a Burmecian, and he filled the role like an expert, not one finger rising to stop her.
His hands tugged on her hips and his tail wrapped tightly around her ankle, making her toes curl, and Freya's last cognizant thought was hell, if they were going to elope, they might as well do it properly.
They didn't fit well, like a couple of obtuse puzzle pieces, and he was getting bothered and just anyone could have walked up and seen them and she knew it and didn't care. It was a challenge, just another contest, and Freya gladly poured herself into the task. Her thumbs traced the soft line of his jaw, claws itching to delve deeper, and she thrilled at his struggling huffs, hot breath searing her muzzle. She didn't dare quit, not even when greedy hands pushed aside her starchy coat and rode up her flank. She felt, smelled and tasted him all at once--he was warm and hard and light, a slice of the sun--a fickle ray, as brilliant as he was transient, leaving the dazzled and confused in his wake--not terribly unlike his brother, except Zidane's magic was the kind that melted the soul.
He slipped a moan into her mouth, a racy plea for more, but she cut him off there, pulling back to savor the taste of his surprise. He was blushing like a sunburnt babe and could hardly catch his breath, but there was no objection and no excuse--just quicksilver eyes gauging her back with a spark of a grin and an arrogant kink to his lips, as if it were his idea all along.
Eventually he found the nerve to speak. "I don't know who you are or where you put the real Freya, but you can leave her there."
If Zidane was going to be this cocky and cheeky the whole way, all the better; he was going to need that energy to keep up with her. Freya tossed her hair over her shoulders with a smug harrumph and nailed him with a straight look.
"You know me. I'm always serious."
A/N: Not over yet! Follow-up chapter coming very very soon. Expect the content rating to go up...