Hello, my beloved readers, and thank you for waiting so patiently! I've been caught up in term paper, homework, and school in general for a very, very long time, and it's taken me an eternity and a half to update. Please accept my condolences and enjoy! :D
The King's eyes flashed as his hand swept the white cloth of the tent flap aside, and the whole room seemed to quail before his palpable rage.
…That is, all except for his insolent son, who stretched leisurely on the cushions, looking somehow lax despite his underlying weariness. Rufus glanced at him briefly through cornsilk gold strands of hair with vague distaste and continued to tinker with a small throwing dagger.
"You," he greeted shortly.
The King's fury climbed higher, and he stormed forward, seizing his son's collar and jerking him to face him.
"Do you know what you just did? You just made me look like an absolute fool, Rufus! In front of the entire thrice-accursed noble party! What will they think of a king that cannot control his own son?" he bellowed, "Are you trying to get us killed?"
Rufus's cool blue gaze never left his father's.
"I could ask you the same thing, Father," he breathed, "I have heard the rumors, you know. That you were the one who ordered the hit."
The King's mouth opened and shut silently, his ruddy complexion shifting to an almost purple hue.
"How…how dare you think that! You ungrateful bastard!" he roared, dropping his son's collar and backhanding him.
Nurse Tessa stifled a yelp of shock and fright as the force of the blow forcefully threw Rufus to the ground. His lean frame was still for a moment before he slowly gathered what little strength he had left and pushed himself to lean on his arms.
The wrathful monarch roughly grabbed his cloak and dragged Rufus upright, his gaze darkened with madness and sheer fury.
"Don't think that I'll spare you just because of your bloodline, Rufus. Do not deceive yourself. If you challenge my authority so openly ever again, I will ensure that you shall never speak again," he rumbled in a low, threatening tone.
He flung Rufus to the earth again and spun on his heel, raging out of the tent with a swirl of agitated silver plates of armor and silk tent.
Nurse Tessa rushed forward before the tent flaps had even settled, her voice tremulous with worry and strain.
"I'm so sorry…are you all right, your Highness?…I know I wasn't of any help, I beg your forgiveness for my incapability…" she apologized, stress redefining the etched lines in her forehead and at the corners of her eyes. As she turned him over, Rufus barely stirred, his cheek already starting to bruise, expression dazed. Nurse Tessa flinched at his wound before slowly trying to lift Rufus's limp form, one arm around his shoulders.
Nurse Tessa looked up at the sound of a scuffing slipper to see a gorgeous woman walk in, her long, flaxen tresses held in a fashionable butterfly shape on her head with innumerable pins, cheeks blushing rouge, flawless skin pale from lack of exposure to the sun. Large, doe-like cornflower-blue eyes blinked at Rufus once before her cherubic lips tugged up into a cruel smile.
"Milady…Queen Adeline," the nurse greeted, curtsying as best as she could with the boy leaning so heavily on her for support.
"I trust that he is doing well?" Queen Adeline smirked, a vicious smile on her face. As if Adeline had ever cared for Rufus.
Nurse Tessa knew better than anyone else how much the second wife of His Royal Highness King Shinra hated the Crown Prince. Adeline was a constant source of pain to the Prince, feigning innocence while throwing careless, malicious barbs at the honor of Camille, the first Queen.
And sure enough, Adeline's pretty face twisted completely into a contemptuous sneer, and after she ensured that Nurse Tessa saw the loathing etched into her visage, she stalked off after her husband.
Nurse Tessa shook her head.
"And she calls herself a Queen…"
The tent's entrance flapped open yet again with a snap, and Nurse Tessa almost dropped Rufus in her surprise and terror.
But the man who strode towards her was not the heartless king of Gaia, nor the vixen Queen.
Vincent Valentine wordlessly dropped to a knee, effortlessly taking Rufus from Nurse Tessa. Nurse Tessa almost protested before he turned to her, the faintest of smiles on his face.
"If it would be pleasing to you, we'll take him to the Turks for you," he murmured softly, kindly, the strange scarlet eyes expressing some measure of respect, "The tournament starts soon. You should rest."
Nurse Tessa blinked, rendered speechless by such courtesy from a noble of such high station.
"I…I…"
"The king will not return until the end of the tournament today," he added, "We have ensured this. It is safe for you to relax a little."
Vincent smiled, this time for certain.
"I'm sure you need the rest if you've been caring for the same prince that I've known for the past eleven years," he said lightly. Nurse Tessa smiled hesitantly at him and stumbled off, too thankful for words.
Vincent watched her go before exiting the tent. Outside two wolves stood silently. The small wolf, Kohaku, sneezed and walked up to him, licking his hand in a friendly greeting. The other wolf, Riku, strode up to him, gazing intently at the inert form at Vincent's side.
Riku saw Rufus's limp form and growled soft and threatening, his own way of expressing disapproval.
"The strange and monstrous ways of some humans…" the wolf growled darkly.
Kohaku's higher, more strident growl agreed. "What nonsense. Why does the Prince get himself into such trouble so often?"
"Though he may be reckless, this time he couldn't possibly have helped it. After all, one does not choose their family," Riku commented wryly, shooting Kohaku a meaningful look.
Kohaku yipped indignantly and nipped Riku. "That was uncalled for!"
Vincent repressed a smile. "Settle down, Kohaku. We're headed to the Turks. They'll prepare him for the tournament."
"Does the young master wish to join the tourney?" Riku asked, surprised.
"Not that I know as of yet," Vincent answered, shaking his head. "But a prince is a prince, and princes must be presentable in public. Not dressed like a lowlife, road-mongering brigand."
Riku smiled faintly as he saw Rufus's plain black cloak and padded off at an easy lope into the Shinra encampment, Haku following, unwittingly carrying the Valentines ever closer to the collision of trials, fates, and loyalties that lay ahead.
Sir Sephiroth Masamune atop his pale horse waited silently, wraithlike, in the hazy sunlit camp. Pages and squires scuttled about busily, squabbling, gossiping, and laughing together as they readied their masters' armor and weapons. His own squire, Yazoo, did not participate in such frivolities, cutting his way through the crowds efficiently from place to place to gather his equipment. He narrowed his eyes in satisfaction born from inbred superiority.
Sephiroth's malachite eyes landed on a particularly animated scuffle at the edge of the camp, and his lip curled as he recognized the lanky man with red hair, the short, jumpy girl, and the calmer, bear-like squire. The squires of Coryn Valentine, no doubt.
"…you idiot Reno! You stupid tomato! You ruined his chain mail! Now how's he supposed to live through even a single jousting round, huh?! Do you want him to get impaled on someone's lance?!" Yuffie shrieked, flapping her arms about. Reno danced away from her, yelping his strangled apologies.
"I didn't mean to! Besides, all I did was smudge it a little! It's not like 'Ryn's gonna keep it super-clean anyhow—" Reno pranced out of the way of Yuffie's swinging club. "Hey! No need to make such a fuss! The lances are blunted, too—"
"That's NOT THE POINT!"
"Calm down, guys. Simmer. Remember—we actually have stuff to do today!" Zack intervened, a fiercely cheerful smile on his face. We need to cooperate!"
The three tussled briefly and halfheartedly one last time and eventually settled, bustling about.
"How the mighty Valentines have fallen," Sephiroth noted to himself, eyebrows raised, "Such disgraceful squires."
Speaking of squires, however, Kadaj and Loz had yet to return from their search for information on Coryn Valentine. Sephiroth's features took on a look of slight dissatisfaction. Both knew that he needed them to return if he wanted to execute the plan as they had spent years perfecting.
"Masamune."
Sephiroth's horse jerked at its bit in sudden horror as a huge white wolf with golden eyes padded up silently next to them, bearing Vincent Valentine in full armor. After quelling the horse's fear with a snap of the reins, Sephiroth acknowledged his fellow noble silently with a nod.
"Good morning to you, Valentine."
Vincent nodded this time. Sephiroth noted that Vincent completely dressed for battle looked much the same as the Vincent dressed for everyday work. The only noticeable difference were the black breastplate and greaves strapped on under the cloak. Sephiroth appreciated (with a practiced detachment) the practical and conservative uniform of the only truly working noble family.
"How goes the business in the North?" Vincent queried softly, gazing over the hubbub roused by the squires in the town.
Still as well-versed in small talk and discreet flattery as the other nobles, though, Sephiroth noted.
"Prosperously, thank you. I trust that Lady Valentine is well?"
Was that a glance that Vincent shot his way? The movement had been fast enough that Sephiroth could barely tell if it had actually happened or not.
"…Yes. She is well."
Vincent shifted and drew out a scroll with the official Shinra seal waxed onto the edges of the curling paper. Without so much as a look at Sephiroth, he handed it over.
Surprisingly, even after Sephiroth accepted it without comment, Vincent did not ask of the contents of the scroll. Sephiroth's lips pulled into a wry smile. These Valentines—so bound by their precious loyalty that they would die with their lips pressed together, not knowing what they had died for. Invaluable, that kind of loyalty.
Sephiroth released an inward sigh. It was a shame that they were so dead set on wiping out the Valentines, too. Such obedient servants could have their purposes, too.
But then, as Sephiroth discreetly studied Vincent's utterly placid expression, he saw again why the Valentines had to be destroyed. The reason was writ in every self-assured feature of the noble's face. Sephiroth could tell, just by looking at Vincent, that, unlike the other nobles, the Valentines would never be bribed, bullied, or beaten into submission. They would be slaughtered down to their last man, and fight until their entire family branch had been wiped off the face of Gaia—but they would never, ever surrender.
"Damn them, their thrice-accursed loyalty and their stiff necks," their leader had said more than once. "If there's a force we need to be really careful of, it's the Valentines, Sephiroth. They're like foxes—they'll fight bitterly, and then disappear from the public eye for a while before retaliating even more powerfully than ever. We need to make sure they go down first, and stay down the whole time."
Sephiroth cracked the seal and unrolled just the top part of the scroll. It seemed unlikely that anybody would be able to approach him in the nobles' tents unnoticed, but then again, in his world, paranoia was simply another way to stay alive…
Sephiroth re-furled the scroll and turned to Vincent, satisfied at his brief survey of the parchment.
"Alas, it seems I have business to attend to, Sir Valentine. Hopefully, I shall see you soon. I assume you will be partaking in the tourney?"
"Unfortunately, that will not be possible. I have a…previous engagement as well," Vincent replied, "However, I'm sure you've heard of our young prodigy, Coryn. He, not I, will represent the Valentines in this tournament."
Was it just a trick of the light, or did Vincent's unnerving crimson gaze suddenly grow sharper?
Sephiroth nodded curtly. Though he'd never admit it, Vincent's eyes, with their strange hue, were…unnerving.
"He's gained even more sympathy since we last met, Valentine. Much of which can be attributed to his saving Prince Shinra," Sephiroth noted off-handedly. His brilliant malachite gaze, however, watched Vincent's reaction with a perceptive steadiness.
"…Yes. That is…true. Coryn saved the prince…and the only heir to the throne."
Sephiroth had to suppress his sudden caution. Was Vincent's allusion to Rufus's status a mere coincidence…or did the Valentine family suspect more than they were letting on…?
"Regrettably, Sir Masamune, I have other business to attend to. I should hope to see you again soon before our families clash in earnest for the gold in the Tournament," Vincent murmured, nodding to Sephiroth. Again, Sephiroth thought, his suspicion rising, again Vincent worded his sentences oddly…as if to warn me against any foul play. 'I should hope…' Does he mean to say that he does not hope to see us, though he should? Clash in earnest? Is it possible that Valentine…?
"May your swords stay sharp," Vincent said, interrupting Sephiroth's thoughts. Without waiting for the customary reply, he murmured to the wolf, and the duo trotted off, huge and daunting in the full glare of the sunlight.
Sephiroth narrowed his eyes as the wolf ambled deeper into the Edge.
"Problems, sir?" Yazoo materialized at his side, cool and calm as a sheet of ice.
"…No, Yazoo. Have you finished the preparations for the tournament?"
"Yes, sir."
Sephiroth turned slightly to Yazoo and lowered his voice. "And what of the…other preparations?"
Yazoo dipped his chin once.
"Very good, then. Has there been word from Kadaj or Loz?"
Yazoo shook his silver head, scattering the sunlight playing on the pale locks.
Sephiroth clenched his fist more tightly around his reins. Another few days. He would give them until the semifinals for them to respond…and then the plan would have to go on, with or without them.
"Let us return to camp. Call the council. The Masamune have matters to discuss," Sephiroth commanded with an imperious wave of his hand. He pulled the reins, and the horse briskly stepped towards the Masamune camp, where the silver angel of their emblem gazed gravely down at the world, its calm expression belying none of the secrets its beautiful eyes beheld.
"Arghh! I officially hate you, Cloud!"
Yuffie braced herself against the floor again and pushed viciously with all of her strength—and moved it all of three inches. Reno choked back a chuckle.
Yuffie, Reno, Zack, and Cloud had been polishing Cloud's armor for the past few hours. With much screaming, frustration, and releasing of stress through the various mistreatments of Reno, the three of them had managed to oil the greaves, gauntlets and arm bracers, scrub the miniscule rust spots off of the breastplate, and polish the helm—but Cloud's heavy chain mail had thwarted their every effort to clean it. Even with their considerable experience at cleaning armor, none of the squires had actually cleaned chain mail during under the late Coryn Valentine; the old man had never dirtied the mail enough so that it needed cleaning.
Finally, Reno had snuck out (at the threat of being defenestrated otherwise) to peek in on how others cleaned their chain mail. With his bright red hair and loud voice, Reno had been spotted and quickly chased out of the Highwind camp while Cid's family flung horseshoes, anvils, and ear-screeching (and surprisingly creative) curses at 'Reno and all of Reno's ancestors down to the last dog'—but Reno still saw the Highwind squires placing the mail in a barrel full of wood shavings and oil.
Hence, Yuffie's current valiant attempt to move a massive keg of oil the three of them had "borrowed without asking" from a temporarily stopped Valentine supply wagon. ("Technically, we're entitled to it," Reno had said rather loudly, almost awakening the peacefully slumbering sentry. Yuffie had then felt 'entitled' to shove Reno's head into a box full of enema bags.)
"It's not working," Cloud sighed, waving for Yuffie to stop. Yuffie gratefully paused for breath, leaning heavily on the barrel.
Reno frowned, thinking fast. "Well, other than the fact that we need this oil in this barrel—" Reno tapped his finger on an empty barrel "—we also need to find wood shavings. Where could we find that?"
"Carpenters?" Cloud suggested.
"Unless you have a friend I don't know about, which I highly doubt, we don't know any carpenters," Reno quipped. Cloud scowled at him.
"Carpenters, woodworkers…maybe blacksmiths?" Yuffie listed, recovered from her exertion.
A light bulb practically lit up over Zack's head.
"Oh! Of course! How could I have not remembered it?" Zack yelped. The other three stared blankly at him.
"Aerith!" Zack exclaimed excitedly. Cloud, Yuffie, and Reno relaxed again, disappointed.
"Yes, Zack, we're very glad that you are finally having your epiphany. We know you like Aerith, Zack. We've been through this already. But we actually have a bit of a predicament on our hands, remember? You know, like, Cloud's armor?" Reno reminded Zack, none too gently.
"No, no, no, you don't get it! Aerith Gainsborough—Gainsborough. The Gainsborough family owns practically every blacksmithy in Gaia—it's what their entire fortune comes from, for heavens' sake. They monopolize blacksmithing," Zack explained.
Reno's eyes widened with understanding. "Ohh, and since we know Aerith, we can go ask them for the wood shavings…and instructions on how to properly clean chain metal."
"Exactly," Zack said proudly, nodding.
"Wow, Zack. I'm impressed. You actually had a good idea for once," Yuffie said, but teasingly. "We should head over there before it gets too late."
"Hang on, only Cloud and Zack should go," Reno said. "We need to groom Aryn, clean the swords, wash the tunics—we can't afford to have everyone go. We should stay here and finish cleaning."
Yuffie grumbled a little, but conceded.
"Okay, then. Zack, let's go." Cloud and Zack turned to leave, fluffy blonde and black spikes bouncing side by side as they strode out of the barn and into the sunlight.
Reno released a low whistle as he observed the messy pile of tunics and breeches, the worn and scuffed saddle, Aryn's dust-filled coat, and the large piles of horse manure in the stable. "Well, then. We have our work cut out for us."
Yuffie smirked. "Oh, no. You have your work cut out for you. I am going to go take a nap, to help recover from stealing that barrel." She pretended to swoon and promptly fell onto a haystack, crossing her legs and getting ready to relax.
Ah, the indignities of being a mere underling. Reno sighed and rolled up his sleeves. "Come here, Aryn. Let's see that pretty horse face of yours."
This was going to be a very long evening.
"Are you sure that the Gainsborough encampment is this way?" Cloud asked doubtfully for the sixth time, glancing around at the marketplace they were weaving through. Stalls selling everything from good luck charms to Banora apples vied for their attention, each colorful poster competing with the others. It reminded Zack comfortingly of the marketplaces he had visited during his time as a deliveryman.
"Yes, Cloud, I'm sure," Zack reassured for the sixth time, slapping the hand of a petty thief as it reached for a ring in a jewelry stand. The owner of the stall, a young, pretty woman wearing a yellow dress, smiled with relief and admiration at Zack.
Zack sighed.
"Cloud, how do you think I could get a noble girl to look at me the way that other girl just looked at me?" Zack asked resignedly, sticking his hands in his pockets. "As if she actually liked me?"
Cloud glanced thoughtfully back at the girl, whose gaze still lingered on Zack's retreating form.
"Well…Hmm. For that girl, her wares were her most valuable items. What would be most precious for a noble?" Cloud reasoned, looking curiously at Zack, "Why? Is it Aerith?"
Zack gave another hopelessly lovesick sigh in response.
"Ah." Cloud noted monosyllabically. They both walked in silence, troubled by their reflecting predicaments, taking solace in each other's empathy.
"Sir Valentine? Squire Fair? Wherefore do you wander?"
Cloud's heart skipped a beat as he heard Her voice query them gently. Zack and he both turned.
Sure enough, it was Lady Lockheart, donning a long, dark blue evening dress. Her midnight-black hair glimmered in a shimmering braid. Zack nudged Cloud with his elbow, prompting the suddenly dumbstruck blonde to speak.
"I…uhh…I mean, we…umm…Prithee, we search for the…encampment of the Gainsborough family…?" Cloud replied haltingly, trying to recall the meager nobility's vocabulary that Vincent had taught him.
She smiled encouragingly at him, but a question remained in her eyes. Cloud stared at her. What was with these women? She had been mad at him before, refusing to tell him her full name—and now was suddenly smiling at him like a friend. Had something happened?
"We're searching for the Gainsborough camp, Milady Lockheart," Zack cut in, shooting an exasperated look at Cloud. "Would you know where it is?"
"The Gainsborough always house next to the Lockheart, Squire Fair. Would this be milord's first tourney abroad?" Lady Lockheart said, a note of confusion entering her voice. Cloud panicked. Vincent hadn't gotten around to teaching them everything they should know as members of the Valentine family…
"Yes, in fact, it is. Thank you so much for the information, Lady Lockheart. I pray that we shall see you soon," Zack said hastily, snatching Cloud's arm and dragging him off.
Cloud moaned as soon as he was around the corner. "Zack, how do I get someone like her to look at me like that girl at the stall? Like she actually likes me?"
Zack patted him on the head consolingly. "Oh, the troubles I've seen," he commented sagely, echoing Reno. "We may as well start heading towards the Gainsborough camp."
Cloud pined the whole way to the Gainsborough camp, and by the time they had arrived at the Gainsborough camp (whose flag was signified by a pink ribbon wrapped around a white flower on a gradient-green background), Zack was irritable, Cloud was still distraught, and they still had no new developments.
"Please state your purpose in coming here, Sir Valentine." The guards at the camp's entrance were clad in white and silver, holding javelins, with swords sheathed at their sides. They were polite, but resolute.
"We come to ask the Gainsborough about an internal matter," Cloud responded, deliberately deflecting the question.
"As per our lord's wishes, we must humbly ask Milord Valentine to disarm before entering our camp," the guards said in unison. "It is Sir Gainsborough's wish to remain as peaceful as possible in these troubled times."
Cloud exchanged glances with Zack. What "troubled times"? Zack shrugged.
"We consent," Cloud agreed, beginning to disarm. He pulled Buster Blade from his back, two daggers from his boots, a small hunting knife from his belt, and pulled off his gauntlets. The guards looked questioningly at the gauntlets that Cloud added to the pile of weapons.
Zack obliged and applied pressure to a particular spot on the palm of the steel-and-leather gloves. Vicious-looking black spikes burst suddenly from hidden slits on the sides of the gauntlets. Cloud smiled as he remembered that the gauntlets had been a gift from Vincent and Alex.
The guards gave Cloud an odd look, but nodded and allowed Zack and Cloud to pass.
"You kept your dagger," Cloud murmured out of the side of his mouth as they moved away from the entrance and into the mass of pitched tents. Zack only smiled and winked at Cloud.
"They asked you to disarm. Not me," Zack pointed out cheerfully.
"Well, do you expect the Gainsborough to attack us or something?" Cloud growled, refusing to acquiesce.
Zack rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. It's just a…contingency plan, that's all," he answered. "Just in case?"
Cloud grumbled irritably and walked towards the Gainsborough stables.
The Gainsborough barn was a huge, homely brown construct smelling comfortingly of leather, clean straw, soap, and warm horsehide. Strangely, none of the horses had closed stalls—most of them wandered about freely, nibbling on hay or sticking their heads out of open-air windows installed in the walls. The horses bore an astonishing array of colors, from chestnut-roans to black-and-white paints. The horses glanced curiously at the two humans as they walked in, but showed no other sign of interest.
Zack scanned the area and whistled. "They've have a whole army of horses in here, Coryn. I wonder what they're all needed for."
"And yet, there's not a single stable boy or groom here," Cloud noted doubtfully. "No blacksmiths, either."
"Maybe there's a blacksmithy nearby. There usually are. The people there will probably be able to help us, don't you think, Zack?" Cloud said, turning to consult Zack.
"Eh, I suppose," Zack replied rather shortly.
"What's wrong?"
Zack's eyes darted back and forth, and he turned to look at the entrance to the stable.
"I keep feeling like there's something…wrong here," Zack said, softly enough that only Cloud could hear. His intense blue eyes kept panning over the landscape beyond the barn door.
Cloud looked around. "Well, I don't see anything really out of place. Maybe it's just the nerves getting to you."
"…I guess," Zack replied, mustering up a smile. "So are we going to go look for that blacksmith?"
Cloud nodded and exited the barn.
"Hey, look."
Zack pointed at two guards standing watch over the largest tent in the camp.
"Maybe they can give us some directions," Zack suggested.
"Good idea."
Cloud and Zack started walking towards the huge silk tent. As Cloud drew close, he stepped ahead of Zack, shooting his friend an apologetic look. Even now, it chafed at Cloud to assume any superiority over his friends. Zack only grinned and shooed Cloud towards the tent.
Cloud began speaking as he got closer to the tent's guards. "Excuse me, sir, but would you happen to know of—"
Cloud's question died in his throat as the guard's body slumped down at his touch, green eyes empty, mouth slightly open in surprise. Zack tentatively touched the man's neck and flinched back. No pulse.
Cloud stared at the husk in horror. "What the…?"
There was no mark on the body to indicate cause of death. It was as if his heart had just stopped beating of its own accord.
A distinctive clash of metal came from inside the tent, and a furious roar.
Cloud and Zack looked at each other. Cloud gritted his teeth. He himself was unarmed—and Zack had exactly one small punch dagger hidden in his sleeve, outfitted specifically for extremely close combat.
The dagger slid smoothly out of Zack's sleeve and into his palm, and Zack fiddled with it for a moment, deliberating. Cloud immediately understood his intention and opened his mouth to protest.
"Zack, don't," Cloud warned. "I'll go back and get the weapons and stuff, we can call the others, and then—"
Zack brushed past Cloud and sprinted into the tent, slipping past Cloud's outstretched fingers. Cloud swore a hot oath (coincidentally one that he had learned vicariously from the Highwind family) and followed right on Zack's heels, growling curses after his impetuous friend through gritted teeth.
"Zack, I swear to the one and holy God, what is the matt—"
Cloud paused mid-sentence as he saw a man calmly wiping the blood off of his sword on the cloak of a form collapsed on the floor. Zack stood nearby, drawn and white, but mercifully intact.
The tent was spacious and bedecked tastefully in mainly white and green tapestries and rugs, befitting the high status of the Gainsborough's leader. Curiously, though, several huge maps lay strewn across the surface of a mahogany desk nearby, along with a couple of quills and inkwells. Cloud felt a little surprised—accurate maps were rare, not to mention extremely prized (there was a joke amongst squires: 'Nobles treasured their maps as much as their family lineages, and slightly more than their squires; for, after all, the squires, as useful as they were, could be replaced, while 20,000-gil maps were most certainly not.').
The Gainsborough knight turned to face Cloud. His youthful features—high cheekbones, imperious malachite eyes, short, wildly tousled brown locks, and delicately handsome face—practically screamed his noble status.
"Sir Valentine," the young Gainsborough greeted calmly, sheathing his sword and sweeping into a perfect half-formal court bow, "'Tis a pleasure to see thee for mineself."
Cloud involuntarily froze, his tongue tangled around the proper response. After all the lessons he'd had with Vincent and Alex, cramming his head full of "thee"s and "thou"s, Cloud still believed in the back of his mind that nobles talked like the commoners of Midgar. Hearing the garbled, archaic dialect flow so smoothly from this teen's mouth startled Cloud and brought his face-to-face with the truth: nobles were almost a race apart from the common folk of Cloud's hometown.
Cloud fumbled painfully with his response.
"I…that is to say…"
"Or perhaps, if you are willing, Sir Coryn, we could drop the pretenses and speak in Common," he grinned slightly, as if sharing some joke with Cloud. When he smiled, he suddenly looked very young, and Cloud couldn't help wondering what his age really was.
Common? What's common? Cloud panicked momentarily before remembering: the nobles referred to the peasants' everyday syntax as "Common", as if it were a different language.
"I would be most thankful," Cloud replied gratefully, releasing an inward sigh of relief. At least the Gainsborough didn't always speak in Proper.
"I believe an explanation is in order, but first let us ensure that your squire sees the night through," he said in a softer tone, turning his head to Zack. "If I am not mistaken, he took some injury in aiding me."
Cloud felt an internal spike of concern, but restrained himself from rushing over to his friend. The distance between seemed to stretch to miles as he forced himself to walk measured steps to where Zack stood.
"Are you alright, Zack?" Cloud said with as much indifference as he could inject into his voice, almost radiating unspoken worry. Zack cradled his right arm a little awkwardly, and Cloud glimpsed a patch of blood slowly soaking the makeshift bandage wrapped around his forearm.
"Fine, Sir Coryn. Just a scratch,"
"Though not many nobles subscribe to this belief, there is an age-old adage among the Gainsborough: To see the true character of knight or lord, first look at those who care for his sword," the young noble said softly, nodding towards Zack, "And I must say…I am deeply impressed."
Cloud had to stop himself from outright pumping his fist in the air, though Zack probably understood the idiotic grin suddenly splashed across his face. Zack snorted in return.
Cloud suppressed his scowl and returned his attention to the young noble before him. "May I ask what happened, Lord Gainsborough?"
"I do owe you a full explanation, but to my deep regret, I must say this is probably not the best time," he sighed, casually furling up the maps scattered along his desk. Cloud didn't miss the movement. What do you have to hide, Lord Gainsborough? "Perhaps we should—"
The tent flap whipped open and a woman with fierce green eyes and long, braided brown hair burst into the tent. Dressed in a pink dress, with a long pink ribbon in her hair, she looked extremely familiar to Cloud, and Cloud's brows wrinkled as he tried to recall her name.
And, alarmingly, a bright nimbus of green energy sheathed her right hand.
"Alessandro, are you alright?" she demanded, eyeing Cloud suspiciously, her hand half-raised. Cloud swallowed hard; during one of his lessons, Vincent had told him that female mages who could throw even half-decent spells were a major threat to anybody, knight or peasant. This woman held her power like she knew exactly what she was doing with it.
"Relax, Aerith, he's a friend," the nobleman sighed, and Cloud thought he detected a hint of annoyance in his youthful tone. "I can take care of myself, you know." Of course, that's Aerith! Cloud almost smacked himself in the forehead.
But wait…Aerith is…a spellcaster? Cloud's eyes flickered towards Zack, who suddenly sat completely still.
"Well, you certainly have an interesting way of proving your ability to take care of yourself, Ales," she said, releasing the gathered energy and raising an eyebrow as she glanced at the dead assassin on the floor. An almost palpable wave of liberation spread over the room as the power's potency retreated into Aerith's skin.
"I'm whole and healthy, am I not?" Lord Gainsborough protested. "No need for drastic measures…"
"After what happened at Shinra's encampment, I think that I'm allowed to feel a little protective of my baby brother," Aerith replied primly, smoothing down her dress.
"Oh, for the hundredth time, Rith, I am older than you! And for Jenova's sake, please don't call me that when there are other living beings present," Alessandro said, his voice almost a groan. Cloud grinned. Under Aerith's care, the Gainsborough leader suddenly seemed quite young.
And then the full gravity of the situation hit Cloud. Wait, Aerith is the Gainsborough's…heir?
"I suppose you should introduce me to your acquaintances, Ales," Aerith said, magnificently ignoring Alessandro's complaint. She swept into a perfect court bow, just as Lord Gainsborough had. "Welcome to our humble abode."
Aerith came out of her curtsy and met Cloud's eyes for the first time.
"Oh…Sir Coryn," Aerith struggled to recover the placid look on her face. "'Tis fortunate for us to meet again so soon."
"It is good to see you as well."
"You already know him?" Alessandro looked confused.
"Yes, I met him at King Shinra's meeting yesterday," Aerith answered, scanning Cloud carefully. Cloud had the strange feeling that Aerith was shrewdly scrutinizing him behind those pretty green eyes.
After a few more moments of eye contact, Cloud decided it was safer to talk to Alessandro than have a staring contest with a sorceress. "Lord Gainsborough, I apologize in advance, but my squire still needs treatment, and the Valentine camp is a fair distance from here. If we may take our leave…?"
"Absolutely not," Alessandro stated firmly. "Your squire incurred injury on my behalf, and the Gainsborough shall take full responsibility in his healing." He turned to his sister. "Aerith, if you'd do me the favor of taking Zack to the Healers, it would be deeply appreciated."
If Aerith was surprised to see Zack sprawled behind Cloud, she did an excellent job of hiding it. "Certainly, Ales." She nodded again to Cloud and stepped to attend Zack.
Aerith knelt and smiled at Zack. "Well, hello again, Zack Fair." Cloud didn't miss the new warmth in her voice.
"Sorry if she acts a little cold to you at first," Alessandro sighed, drawing Cloud's attention back to the young noble. "Aerith doesn't trust other nobles as easily as she trusts…well, actually, any other class. She claims that nobles lie whenever their lips move." Alessandro rolled his eyes. "She also tends to forget that she's also a noble."
Cloud grinned. "I think that I agree with her, though."
Ales smiled, but his expression was hesitant. "I wonder, though…would it be too much to ask if I requested your utmost silence on this matter? The Gainsborough, much like the Valentine, treasure privacy greatly, and Aerith has chosen not to divulge the presence of her gift with others…"
Vincent did say that it was uncommon and sometimes problematic when it became known that certain noble family members held magic at their fingertips, Cloud recalled. It's still strange, though, to see such confidentiality in practice.
"Of course," Cloud conceded. It would be hypocritical to say 'no', anyway, seeing as how I'm also relying on the discretion of others to keep my own secret.
"Thank you, Sir Coryn," Ales replied emphatically. A previously unnoticed tension left Ales's shoulders. I wonder if he's glad because the Gainsborough name was just saved, or because he genuinely happy for his sister…
Cloud blinked as he reconsidered his last thought. Wow, I'm getting cynical.
Attempting to shake the unfounded suspicions sneaking up on him, Cloud abruptly changed the subject. "Do you think it's okay if I leave Zack with her?"
"For all her talk, Aerith is one of the most gifted, compassionate Healers around. Zack will be perfectly safe in her care," Ales assured Cloud. He turned his bright gaze on Cloud, and he seemed to sober. "However, I would like to…discuss something with you, Sir Valentine."
Cloud sensed the atmosphere taking on a more serious tone. He turned his total focus to the young Gainsborough.
"The Gainsborough…have heard some things about you, Sir Coryn," Alessandro said slowly. Cloud's heart suddenly stopped—and then began pounding a frantic beat against his ribcage. XIII…had he or she told the Gainsborough about his identity?
"Oh?" Cloud tried to sound nonchalant.
Alessandro leaned in slightly, as if to exclude Aerith and Zack from the range of hearing. "I would simply like to…confirm something with you, Sir Coryn. We've heard some troubling rumors of—"
The tent flaps flew open, admitting a small black-and-white streak, and Cloud's hand instantly jumped to the Buster Blade's hilt. Another assassination attempt, so soon after the first?
A black figure tumbled down from a white wolf's back and onto its feet with a solid thump.
Alex threw back her hood, out of breath, her hair sticking wildly out of her whipping braid. She already held a strange, transparent sword in her hand. Reflections of the candles lit in the tent danced along its invisible cutting edge.
"Ales, are you okay?" she demanded, scanning the room.
Ales sighed. "Why does this always happen to me? Yes, I'm fine, Alex. Please sheathe your weapon. I feel like the damsel in distress instead of the damsel-in-distress-saver."
"Since your rather crippled sense of humor is still intact, I'm going to assume you're okay," Alex snorted, rolling her eyes and complying. She turned to Cloud. "And you, Coryn? Are you well?"
"I am well, thank you Lady Valentine," Cloud returned smoothly. Something like approval flashed over Alex's face before she turned to Zack.
"And I can see that you've gone and injured yourself, Zack," Alex sighed. "How is he, Aerith?"
"The damage is mostly superficial, and I've cleaned the area—he'll recover as long as he gets adequate rest and keeps the wound clean." Aerith shot Cloud a sharp look. "I believe that a break from squiring duties may be in order, Sir Valentine."
Cloud was startled at her instant disapproval. "Of course." Ales really wasn't kidding when he said that Aerith doesn't like other nobles.
Aerith seemed taken aback by Cloud's ready acquiescence. "Oh…very well then. Alex, would you allow us to borrow Sayuri to carry Zack to the Healers' tent? I'm afraid their camp is rather difficult to approach by foot, and time is still of the essence."
"Gladly." Sayuri trotted over and knelt, helping a progressively paler Zack onto her back. Alex turned to Lord Gainsborough and Cloud as Aerith settled behind Zack.
"Can I trust the two of you to play nice and not kill each other?" she asked, only half-joking.
"Alex, despite your persisting distrust of my intentions, I feel only obligation to the Valentine family. We are still indebted, after all," Ales replied.
Alex's seemed to appraise Ales briefly, dark eyes inscrutable.
"…Right." She leapt up onto Sayuri's back and addressed Cloud, completely ignoring Ales's presence. "I know that Alessandro looks harmless, Coryn, but watch your back. He's just as devious as the rest of us."
With that, Sayuri padded out of the tent, tail waving a wafting farewell.
"…She's kidding," Cloud finally decided aloud, smiling back at Ales. Or, at least, I hope. "And I do trust you, no matter what she says."
Ales looked startled, but grateful.
"Thank you, Coryn. I know that there's no great love lost between our respective guilds, but it is…a great honor to receive such tolerance," Ales replied formally, slightly inclining his head to Cloud.
Cloud panicked.
Wait…did the Valentines ever have a falling-out with the Gainsborough? When? Why didn't Vincent tell me about this? Cloud twitched, remembering what Vincent had said during one of their conditioning sessions.
"I'm not perfectly sure how other families operate, but it's an unspoken rule that what one Valentine says, the entire Valentine family will support."
Cloud felt a sinking sensation. Did I just bind the Valentines to an alliance with their enemy?
"…eh…Sir Coryn?"
Cloud woke from his daze and turned to Ales. "Oh, yeah, sorry. I missed what you said."
"I had actually rather wished to speak to you about that…other matter, Sir Coryn," Alessandro repeated patiently.
Cloud stared blankly at Ales. "…Another matter?"
"You see, Sir Coryn…" Ales's young face was abruptly solemn. "A few weeks ago, before the tournament, the Gainsborough—as well as the Highwind, the Wallace, the Lockheart, and your own venerable family, I'm sure—received a very…peculiar call to arms."
What's a 'call to arms'?
Cloud opted for (what he hoped was) an impassive silence.
Ales spoke slowly, choosing his words with care. "As you may have been informed, Sir Coryn, this…summons came from the Masamune family, led by the honorable Sir Sephiroth Masamune."
Sephiroth? What could he possibly want from the Gainsborough?
"If you've read this note, Sir Coryn, I'm sure you realize that it alludes to some…controversial themes. I also trust that you, of course, have formed your own valued opinions on the content of these letters."
What letters? Cloud had visited (and been utterly astounded by) the Valentine camp exactly once to receive his upgraded gear from Vincent. Vincent hadn't said anything about mail…
"If I may be so bold, Sir Coryn…I'd like to ask you to deliver a message to the Valentine family leader, his honorable Sir Vincent Valentine," Ales said, every syllable precise and measured.
"Yes?"
"I know there are differences between our families, but please…" Ales met and held Cloud's gaze steadily, some unidentified emotion roiling behind Ales's sweet façade. "Let us put them aside, if only for the sake of chiaroscuro."
Cloud blinked. "Chiar…oscuro?"
"Vincent will understand," Ales murmured, more to himself than to Cloud, already collecting his relaxed demeanor around himself again. He brightened with every passing moment, and Cloud sensed that some great burden had been lifted from him.
"Now that that's said and done, perhaps, Sir Coryn, would you grant me the honor of leading you properly around the Gainsborough grounds? It's quite beautiful here normally," Ales suggested, putting on another flawlessly dazzling smile.
How do they do it? Cloud wondered, amazed at Ales's abruptly refreshed and enthused demeanor as they left the head leader's tent. How can they stand holding their feelings behind those masks…and acting as if everything's perfectly alright? How does it not tear them apart?
"Coryn?" Ales was staring curiously at him, noticing Cloud's conspicuous silence. "Are you well?"
"Wh—oh, I'm fine." Cloud slapped a fake smile onto his face. Please be fooled please be fooled please be fooled—
"Actually, Sir Coryn, now that I think about it…what was it that you visited our humble abode for?" Ales queried, studying a tall mare that trotted by. His attention seemed entirely unfocused.
Good. He didn't notice. Cloud released a sigh of relief. "My retinue and I came to visit because of our lamentable lack of experience in cleaning armor."
"Your squires do not know how to clean armor?" Ales's head snapped around, seeming completely flabbergasted by such a notion, his placid noble features arrayed in the bizarre expression of empathizing horror.
Cloud suppressed a smile at the unjustified magnitude of Ales's sympathy. "My squires' former master had no need for clean armor, and this is my first time entering any event that requires presentable equipment."
"And the other Valentine do not help you?" Ales now sounded righteously angry. "Surely they will assist you, even if you are not a main family member—"
"Oh, no, the Valentine are delightfully cooperative. We—I live separately by choice," Cloud replied, almost tasting the sweet delicacy of the bizarre noble language on his tongue. Yechh. It's so wordy. How does Vincent talk like this everyday?
Ales looked confused again and politely attempted to clarify. "Then…you simply prefer our advice?"
"Zack suggested that, perhaps, as the most influential blacksmithing noble family, you might have a better idea of how to clean armor," Cloud hastily supplied, trying not stumble over his words. It's so hard to talk like this!
"Ah. In that case, please follow me to the blacksmithy," Ales said firmly, taking a turn. "The Gainsborough are eager to help the Valentine in any way."
"Oh—oh, if it is not—too much trouble…" Cloud was surprised by Ales's fierce adamancy. Why is he so set on helping me? I'm not even that important within the Valentine family…maybe he still feels guilty about Zack.
Before Cloud could say anything more to reassure the other knight, Ales continued his monologue. "The Gainsborough representative in this tournament, our majestic Sir Remiel, was eliminated in the semifinals in Junon. Therefore, as it stands, Sir Coryn, the Gainsborough are here purely for spectating and repair purposes. We do not currently have a knight championing the family in the king's tourney…"
Ales stopped and turned on his heel as if to inspect Cloud, a small, mischievous smile forming on his face. Cloud felt a slight panic—he'd seen that dangerously impish look before on Zack, Reno, and Yuffie…and what had ensued was never pleasant.
"Sir Coryn…would you mind terribly if I requested a favor of you?"
Normally Cloud would immediately have agreed. Ales's conniving expression made him falter—and with good reason.
"If…if I may be so rude as to ask what that favor is…" Cloud said slowly.
Ales beamed as cheerfully as if Cloud had answered affirmatively. "Well, you see, Coryn, my honorable sister Aerith actually has quite a deft hand in synthesis sorcery…and a few months ago, she'd been experimenting with some of her spells on the metal when she discovered…"
…
Ales and Cloud arrived at the blacksmithy ten minutes later, and Cloud stood there, goggling at the mounds of iron and tools.
"So, Cloud…what do you think?" Ales concluded, finally wrapping up his speech. His piercingly green eyes were gauging Cloud's reaction very carefully.
Cloud hesitated. Well, what could go wrong?
"I…I'd be honored to," Cloud answered, keeping his face neutral.
As Ales turned his back, Cloud grimaced, listening to Ales calling orders and animatedly chatting about prospects of the tourney.
"What could go wrong?" Famous last words.
Kadaj splashed a boot moodily in a puddle on the ledge below before scowling up at the sky.
"Three days of nonstop cloud cover, and then a torrential rainstorm," Kadaj complained from atop his perch on one of the library's stone lions. His warm, spell-laced gray cloak repelled moisture as the droplets fell thick and fast, but Kadaj still hated the rain. "No wonder the prince sneaks out of Junon whenever he can."
A raindrop snuck under the rim of his hood and jumped gleefully onto his nose with a gratified splat. Kadaj released another hefty sigh and pulled the cloak tighter, absently surveying the strangely quiet and empty Junon streets. He was sneaking a quick break from the stuffy interior of the huge Shinra Library, leaving Loz alone with the mound of books.
Kadaj snickered. Loz always looked constipated when he was trying to read, his brow furrowed, a permanent glower affixed to his visage.
And now I have to report back to Sephiroth, Kadaj thought with a groan, the smile sliding off of his face. He's not going to be happy with us…
Kadaj unwillingly pulled the shard of mirror from his pocket and threw it into the air. The piece stopped mid-revolution and hung frozen in the air an arm's breadth from Kadaj, impossibly still despite the wind and rain.
He traced a charm under his left eye with one gloved black finger and then reached out, touching the glass. "Aurum oculus."
Kadaj's left eye blossomed into a coin gold as the charm reached through space, searching for its partner. Kadaj closed his right eye with a grimace, shutting out the gloomy panorama of grays and blacks. I always forget how distracting it is to see different things with each eye.
Kadaj left eye blinked and he jerked back as the charm linked and the vision in his left eye suddenly telescoped in on the image of a furry neck of a huge white horse. Geez, Yazoo, what are you doing?
//Oh, it's you.// Yazoo sounded distinctly annoyed across their mental link. //Well, it's about time. Sephiroth's ticked off. He practically killed someone today for forgetting to rub down the horse.//
As if he ever liked Tyro, Kadaj grumbled. Anyway, Loz and I still haven't found anything. Pass the message on.
//Hah-hah, funny joke. You can tell him yourself,// Yazoo answered. Yazoo turned away from the horse, and Kadaj saw the camp passing by through Yazoo's eye. As Yazoo prowled swiftly to the main tent, Kadaj noticed someone in the crowd.
Was that Blackjack? Kadaj exclaimed.
//Yep. Sephiroth called him back from the Northern Reaches just for this tournament. We're hiding him for now since he is, in fact, a wanted criminal in every city in Gaia,// Yazoo informed, his tone even more severely irritated. //Although there's only so much you can do to hide a seven-foot-tall, fire-breathing horse and a knight that carries a lance that dwarfs most trees.//
Lemme guess, Sephy put you on babysitting duty? Kadaj chuckled, imagining Yazoo's aggrieved expression at trying to guard the mostly-mute and questionably insane Blackjack. Isn't Blackjack taller than you?
//Shut up, Kadaj.//
Kadaj was still grinning to himself when Yazoo drew aside the tent flap leading to Sephiroth's living quarters. The inside was Spartan and bleak, with a few black-upholstered silver chairs and sturdy wood-and-steel tables bending under the weight of heavy tomes and mounds of parchment or lambskin scrolls.
No bed, huh? I wonder where he sleeps, Kadaj mused as Yazoo surveyed the area. Yazoo huffily refused to answer, still smarting from Kadaj's earlier jibe.
"…Yazoo?"
Yazoo whipped around, reflexively placing a hand on the hilt of his sword. Sephiroth stood behind him, his sleek noble features inscrutable. His cat-like green eyes narrowed as he studied Yazoo. "So Kadaj has finally decided to report in."
"Yes, I…" Yazoo settled further back in the mind link, allowing Kadaj's thoughts to translate directly into verbal speech. "Loz and I have yet to find anything about a Sir Coryn in Valentine records. As I am sure you are well aware, the Valentine family is a very old and extensively branched establishment."
"How much longer do you estimate you will need?"
"For a full examination, a week, perhaps. We've just finished looking through the main branch genealogy, and we're starting on the maternal side of Vincent Valentine," Kadaj/Yazoo stated.
"We are pressed for time," Sephiroth said decisively. "You have three days to finish, Kadaj. Three days, and return, with or without the knowledge."
"Sir, I was thinking we could bring the book back with us, so that Loz, Yazoo, and I could study it further," Kadaj/Yazoo said. Kadaj sensed a sudden burst of discontentment from their mental link. //Hey, hey! I didn't volunteer for that job! Do not drag me into this, Kadaj!// Kadaj ignored Yazoo.
"As much as I would like to do so…" Sephiroth's lip curled. "Unless you have visited the Shinra library before and have an identification card to check it out, Kadaj, you will simply have to leave without the book."
Kadaj was puzzled at Sephiroth's reticence. "Sir, I am capable of stealing the book."
One elegant silver brow arched. "Kadaj, at the risk of sounding as if I doubt your skills…have you met the head librarian?"
Kadaj remembered the doddering, sweet, grandmotherly librarian who had asked him if he had needed any assistance.
"I…yes?" Kadaj/Yazoo replied, still befuddled.
"Her full name is Gwinvere Renoma Valentine. She is two hundred and seventy-three, appears as if she's twenty, and happens to be one of the most highly celebrated mages ever to be born in Gaia. At the Battle of Ferr Leon, also known as the Battle of the Iron Lion, she was the one who single-handedly crushed the fortress's defenses and ultimately led to Shinra's success in the final duel by deflecting an arrow that would have otherwise killed the king."
"Respectfully, sir…she didn't look twenty," Kadaj/Yazoo said. More like twenty million.
A rare smile touched Sephiroth's lips. "She's also renowned for her astounding skill at holding long-term illusory disguises."
"…Oh."
Kadaj resolved to be more careful around the librarian next time.
"She's one of the most famous tutors in magic in Gaia, despite the general public's stigma towards magic and magic-users. Along with teaching the everyday peasants blessed with small amounts of power, Gwinvere has trained several prominent noble members who wield considerable amounts of magic—including the current leader of the Valentine, Vincent Valentine. Such a task is a daunting feat. Detecting the loss of a single book…" Sephiroth's smile grew wider. "…well, you can imagine that she would notice." He concluded, amused by Kadaj's surprise.
Kadaj gaped uselessly for a few minutes before finally stuttering out: "I…I understand, sir." Twenty? TWENTY?
//For Jenova's sake, Kadaj, of course that's what you get hung up over,// Yazoo sighed. //Get outta my head. My turn to drive.//
As Kadaj drifted back and relinquished control, Yazoo respectfully completed a full bow to Sephiroth before heading out of the tent and back towards the stables. //Anything else you wanted to say, Kadaj?//
Kadaj pretended to think deeply. …How much you wanna bet she's a total hottie?
Yazoo didn't even bother to reply to Kadaj's laughter before cutting off the connection.
So the newest chapter is finally revealed! I finally had Kadaj and Yazoo involved in some witty repetoire as I've been dying to do for so long...yay!
Please review (if you have the time)! Even a few lines are encouraging!