Title: Fairytale

Chapter: 3/author not well organised enough to know how long this thing will be

Characters: Pretty much everyone

Pairings: Sephiroth/Cloud, Zack/Aerith, Tifa/Rude, mentions of Sephiroth/randoms and others as we encounter them

Rating: R overall

Summary: An angst-light fairytale about a cursed prince.

Warnings: Yaoi, het, graphic violence, language, a cavalier attitude to historical accuracy, silliness and bloody Sephiroth being an angst muffin.

A/N: Massive artistic license taken with FFVII world and its geography. Also, during that cross-dressing quest? Tifa and Aerith seem entirely too amused by it all.

Autumn was on the wane. Cloud shivered under one of Tifa's shawls; the sun was warm on his face but the wind cut like a sabre. He leaned his elbows on the ship's rail and swallowed heavily. Neither he nor Tifa had ever been so far from home, and they'd both been so excited to see the ocean for the first time. Cloud's excitement diminished rapidly when he experienced seasickness for the first time.

He breathed the sea breeze, slowly and deeply, as the mate had advised.

A week ago, Tifa's father received a response from the palace in Midgar. She was to be married to the Crowned Prince at midwinter. Cloud and his mother were the first in the village to hear; Tifa came to their house in tears and told them everything while Cloud's mother offered comforting cups of tea.

'Midwinter,' Cloud's mother said. She swirled the tealeaves in her cup. 'That's ... an inauspicious time for a wedding.'

Tifa sniffled where she lay curled into Cloud's side by the hearth. Cloud's mother gave her a soft look.

'I suppose the Prince is an unusual man,' she said, and said nothing more for the rest of the evening.

By the end of the following day, everyone in the village had heard of Tifa's engagement. A constant crowd of well-wishers and sycophants swarmed around Tifa and her father, and Cloud had to climb the ornamental willow outside her bedroom window to talk to her. While he waited for nightfall, when he could sneak in unnoticed, he took a slightly damp note from Tifa to her blacksmith. The young man responded stoically and with few words, but Cloud saw the hand that held Tifa's note trembled slightly.

Finally, the night before she was due to set out for Midgar arrived. Cloud hovered near his mother's workroom (really nothing more than a nook closed off from the main room by a heavy curtain), debating whether to ask her advice, and unsure what he'd ask. On his shoulder, he carried a satchel filled with spare clothes and his late father's hunting knife.

Eventually, he pushed aside the curtain to find his mother seated behind her worktable, hands folded in front of her as though she were waiting for him. She probably had been; Cloud's mother always knew what he'd do before he'd really made up his mind, but she always waited until he came to her. Sometimes it annoyed him. He suspected she knew that too. In front of her folded hands was a handsomely carved cherry wood box, big enough to fit comfortably in Cloud's palm. Beside it was a square of undyed linen and a sewing needle.

Cloud's mother pushed the box toward him.

'For Tifa,' she said. 'An engagement present. Tell her not to open it until she's in the palace, and then only when she's alone.'

Cloud took the box and put it into his satchel wordlessly.

'You're planning on going with Tifa?' she said. Cloud nodded.

'She'll be alone, otherwise,' he said.

Cloud's mother nodded. 'I thought so,' she picked up the sewing needle and pricked her right thumb. A bright bead of blood quickly welled up, and she pressed it against the square of linen. 'Midgar is a dangerous place, the palace especially so. This is for you,' she handed him the blood-stained linen. 'A mother's blessing. Keep it with you at all times, and it will protect you.' She sucked on her abused thumb and watched as he tucked the charm into the neck of his shirt.

'Thank you,' Cloud said. He leaned across his mother's workbench to hug her. She wrapped her arms around him below his ribcage and squeezed him tightly, her chin resting on his shoulder.

As he went to pull away she whispered in his ear, 'You can save him.'

Cloud straightened and gave her a curious look. His mother smiled softly.

'Don't forget,' she said.

Cloud nodded and left his mother's house without looking back.

Tifa wasn't expecting him; he'd made the decision to come with her to Midgar just that day, after she'd told him that her father couldn't come with her. She'd seemed so lonely and frightened, his heart pained for her. He edged as close as he could to her window and tapped on the glass with his fingertips. Moments later, Tifa pushed up the sash so he could climb in. She gave him a watery smile.

'Come to say goodbye?' she said. Her voice was hoarse and slightly muffled.

Cloud dug in his satchel and pulled out the cherry wood box. 'Mother sent you this. It's an engagement present, but you can't open it 'til we get there.' Tifa tucked the box conscientiously into her luggage, cushioned by her gowns. She wiped her eyes.

'We?'

Cloud squared his shoulders and put on his best no-arguments face.

'I'm coming with you. I'll say I'm your valet.'

Tifa stared at him a moment, her eyes bright and wet. Then that watery smile was back, and she shook her head.

'That's kind of you, Cloud, but they won't let me bring anyone unless- ' she stopped, staring at him again, this time her look one of tentative excitement.

Cloud had a sudden presentiment of doom.

'Unless what?' he said.

'Unless they're a waiting maid!' Tifa said. She ran over to her armoire and rifled through it. Cloud watched, bemused and with a growing feeling of dread, as women's clothing sailed haphazardly to the floor behind her. 'Another woman would be allowed to come into the palace with me, and you'd be given a room near mine-'

'Tifa?'

'- probably have something that'll fit you, you're not very big, after all -'

"Tifa!'

Tifa looked around at him, a gown of pale yellow painted silk clutched to her chest.

'Hmm?'

Cloud chose his words carefully. 'You know I'd do anything for you,' she nodded and beamed prettily at him. He took a deep breath. 'I don't think I'd make a very good woman.'

Tifa waved a hand at him dismissively. 'Of course you would! I mean,' she elaborated as Cloud glared at her, 'you've got quite an androgynous face, and you're not bulky. Svelte, that's what you are. I think with a nice gown and maybe doing something with your hair you could manage.'

Cloud, whose hand had unconsciously flown to his ponytail, gave up at that point. People always said he looked like his mother, and that was when they were making an effort to be kind. Besides, it seemed Tifa had given a (slightly worrying) amount of thought to what he'd look like in a dress.

'What if someone comes into my room unexpectedly?' he said.

'As long as you don't take all your clothes off, you'll be fine. You can have one of my nightgowns,' Tifa turned back to the armoire, a thoughtful frown on her face. 'You'll need a shift as well, and a corset, a petticoat or two...'

She trailed off to mumbling as she rummaged. Cloud sank down on her bed, his satchel between his feet. He somehow doubted it would hold all the ...things Tifa said he'd need.

The following morning saw Tifa and Cloud, one blushing, one teary and both sleep-rumpled at the early hour bumping along in a carriage that would carry them to the nearest port town. Having given Tifa her engagement gift and strapped his father's hunting knife to his thigh, Cloud had stuffed his satchel in the bottom of the trunk Tifa loaned him. She'd stolen it from that attic, 'at great personal risk', she informed him.

As the day wore on and they both became more aware, Tifa tried to explain to Cloud the complexities of women's clothing, etiquette and other feminine arcana she thought he'd need to know. Poor Cloud had thought the worst part was the corset Tifa insisted he wear. After three hours of lecturing, he saw that he was wrong.

Three days in the carriage and a further three on the ship found Cloud where he was now; shivering and sick on the deck while Tifa 'freshened up' in their cabin. He still wasn't clear on exactly what that meant, and was in no mood to think too deeply about it in his present state. It was strange, he thought, how differently everyone treated him now. Deferentially, but with a distinct note of condescension. It was beginning to grate on his nerves.

'Afternoon, miss.'

Cloud started and looked around to find the mate leaning against the railing by his elbow. That was something else he hated about being a woman; being flirted with. It didn't seem to bother Tifa. She'd blush becomingly and demurely turn away their advances, without a hint of irritation. Cloud's flushes were mostly suppressed rage. He didn't want a hand up his skirt, and he thought the aloof attitude he'd affected made that perfectly clear. What was wrong with these men?

'Good afternoon,' he replied, voice soft to hide its pitch.

'How are you this afternoon, miss? Are you feeling better?' The mate laid a solicitous hand on his elbow. Cloud managed not to grimace.

'Yes, thank you,' he said. 'Will we reach land soon?'

The mate thumbed the brim of his hat and looked out over the sea in a posture he obviously thought heroic.

'The winds are fair, miss. We should make land within the hour.'

For a moment, Cloud forgot his distaste for the mate and squinted out over the sea, trying to make out the vague shape of land on the western horizon. It was very pretty at this hour: the lowering sun tipped the waves in gold and turned the sky rose. He could almost forget how very ill it made him.

Almost.

An ominous gurgle was the only warning he received before he vomited again, black bile bitter on the back of his tongue. At least his illness got rid of the mate, who hurriedly made his excuses and left.

An hour, he thought weakly as the spasms stopped. Just one hour, and then he could pass out in an uncomfortable carriage, safely back on dry land.

Tifa hadn't slept at all on the last leg of their journey. When Cloud woke up from an exhaustion-induced sleep just before dawn, she was curled up in exactly the same position she had been in hours ago, chewing on her thumbnail. Her eyes were wide, the skin around them darkened. He stretched the stiffness out of his muscles and moved to sit beside her. Neither of them said a word as he wrapped his arms around her, rocking gently back and forth and muttering soothing nonsense. She clung to him like a limpet.

Eventually, Tifa fell asleep with her head buried in Cloud's shoulder. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, still murmuring occasionally as he watched the sky outside grow light. The countryside, slowly being revealed to him by the rising sun, was strange to him; flat and tamed, with gentle hills where the country he knew jutted aggressively, savage in its beauty. A pang of fear, the first he'd felt in a long time, ripped through his gut.

Carefully so as not to wake Tifa, he disentangled their clasped hands and brushed his fingertips over the bodice of his borrowed gown. He'd tucked the square of linen his mother gave him into it, beneath the neckcloth that hid his lack of breasts. The rough-woven fabric chafed against his chest, as comforting to him as the weight of his father's knife strapped to his thigh.

Tifa jerked restlessly in her sleep. Cloud rocked her and hummed a tune from home.

As the carriage passed through the gates of the city, he had what he suspected was a very stupid idea.

With his usual lack of respect for rank and breeding, Zack lounged on Sephiroth's bed, watching him button his waistcoat. Aerith sat beside him with more dignity but also with the garland of roses she'd threatened.

'Don't look at me like that,' she said when his eyes lingered on her flowers. Yellow, how he hated yellow now. 'They're for your fiancée.' She sniffed disapprovingly. 'Nobody else seems inclined to make a welcoming gesture here.'

She was right: Sephiroth's brothers' attitudes toward his marriage ranged from indifference to contemptuous (and oddly focussed) disinterest. Sephiroth viewed the whole arrangement with mounting dread. And Jenova, despite being the one to order to the marriage in the first place, seemed ... angry for some reason.

'I am,' said Zack. He looked Sephiroth up and down. 'You need to relax. You look like you've got a stick up your arse.' He grinned.

Aerith, feeling a double entendre coming on, interrupted him.

'I liked the other waistcoat,' she said. 'The red one. And you should tie your hair back.'

Sephiroth stared at her for a moment, before he stripped off his waistcoat - jade green and embroidered with silver - and exchanged it for the one Aerith preferred. It was a deep crimson, deeper than blood but brighter than wine. She nodded approvingly.

'Much better. Brings out the colour in your cheeks,' she said.

'He must be nervous,' said Zack. 'He took fashion advice from you.'

'At least she didn't recommend anything pink,' said Sephiroth. He shoved Zack's feet out his way, sat down on the end of his bed and began to braid his hair.

'What time is your fiancée supposed to get here?' Zack asked.

'Half past eleven,' said Sephiroth. 'Assuming fair weather on her journey.'

'Poor thing,' said Aerith. She watched Sephiroth's hands weave through his hair. 'Whose idea was it to make her come all alone? And all the way from the Eastern Continent?'

'Jenova's,' said Zack. 'Naturally.'

Sephiroth tied the end of his braid in place with a black velvet ribbon. 'The Queen,' he said 'felt that a woman from across the sea wouldn't have heard the rumours about the monster prince.'

Aerith and Zack traded a glance that Sephiroth couldn't decipher. Zack didn't like the Queen, which he understood, but Aerith treated her like a deadly snake. He'd asked Zack about it once, but his explanation didn't make any sense.

'Aerith's sensitive,' he'd said.

Sephiroth forced back his irritation. He stood, tossing his braided hair over his shoulder, shrugged on his jacket and quirked an eyebrow at Aerith.

'To your liking?' he asked.

'Very dashing,' she said. 'Are we allowed to come with you?'

Sephiroth mentally reviewed the protocol for such an occasion. Zack had often expressed envy that he could do so without having to consult a manual.

'Zackary could,' he said. 'As you're not married, you couldn't, though.'

Zack lazily threw an arm around her. 'We'll wait in your parlour, then,' he said. 'Once Her Majesty's through intimidating the poor girl no one's going to care about protocol, anyway.'

Sephiroth couldn't argue with that.

'Have you considered that I may want to get to know my fiancée without your interference?'

'Yes, but then we considered that you'd be lost without us,' Zack leapt to his feet and clapped Sephiroth on the shoulder. 'A fiancée is a little different from a one night stand, you know.'

'I know.'

'Just checking.'

As Sephiroth turned to leave, Aerith called out to him. 'Good luck! I'll leave the roses on the pillow, shall I?'

His fiancée was late by half an hour. It wouldn't have bothered him so much if he hadn't had to spend that half hour with his mother and brothers. Especially his youngest brother.

Kadaj. Jealous, proud and spiteful Kadaj. At least he was being quiet today.

Jenova stood at Sephiroth's side, glittering in the sunlight. She was dressed as the Queen today: majestic pale gold gown sweeping behind her and held up by two silent maids, diamond jewellery dripping from her throat, and a high collar framing her long neck and stern face. She did look intimidating, Sephiroth thought. She could probably crush a small person to death with the weight of the gown, too.

'I thought I asked you to wear the green waistcoat,' she said out of the corner of her mouth. The carriage carrying Sephiroth's fiancée had mercifully appeared at the palace gates. He followed its progress with his eyes, idly wondering who - and how many - was employed to keep it all so white. 'It does bring out your eyes.'

'I like this one,' he said.

'It looks stupid,' muttered Kadaj from behind him.

'Kadaj,' Jenova managed to growl, without moving her lips.

'Your opinion is noted,' said Sephiroth levelly. He heard Kadaj huff behind him, to his satisfaction.

The carriage halted at the foot of the stairway and a troop of servants flitted around it, unloading and hauling away trunks and helping two women step out. Both were small and had the unsteadiness of tread that came with long travel. They kept close together as they approached the royal family.

One was dark-haired and buxom, her skin creamy-pale and her hands delicate. Her gown was sapphire-blue silk, unembroidered and complimented with simple pearl jewellery. A neckcloth, apparently meant to draw attention away from her ample breasts, was rendered somewhat ineffective by a small pearl and sapphire brooch centred below her décolleté. She looked tired, her eyes rimmed with bruise-coloured smudges, but she held her chin high and steady.

The other had a more robust build: she wasn't big, but her shoulders were broad for a woman, and the bones of her wrists and hands weren't as fine as her companion's. Perhaps she was embarrassed about it. She kept her eyes - large and sky blue - lowered. Her - yellow - dandelion coloured hair strained against the ornamental combs holding it in place, and a few tendrils brushed quite fascinatingly against the curve of her neck. Her gown was purple, trimmed in diaphanous white lace, and closed demurely over a fairly unimpressive bosom.

The pair curtseyed when they reached the top of the stairs, the fair one somewhat clumsily. Sephiroth heard Kadaj snigger behind him.

'Oh! Let us not stand on ceremony,' Jenova said. Sephiroth resisted the urge to stare at her disbelievingly. 'We are most pleased to greet our son's new fiancée.' She paused. 'Which one of you is Lady Tifa?'

The fair one stepped forward abruptly, even as the dark one opened her mouth.

'I am,' she said. Her voice was quite deep, and she spoke softly. Behind her, the other woman gaped silently. She ignored her, and met Jenova's eyes unflinchingly.

Sephiroth was, despite himself, impressed.

'And your companion?' asked Jenova.

'My cousin. Vala.'

Sephiroth saw the dark girl mouth her name disbelievingly, before she apparently caught herself and snapped her jaw shut.

'Well. Welcome, my dears. We do hope you will be comfortable here.' She lifted a bejewelled hand and gestured gracefully at her sons. Her rings clanked together. 'I am sure you recognise Prince Sephiroth - ' Sephiroth inclined his head when the women glanced at him ' - and these are my younger sons. Loz, Yazoo and Kadaj. You will doubtless find them most agreeable.'

The fair one - Tifa - glanced at Vala, who made a little flicking gesture with her fingers.

'Thank you, Your Majesty,' said Tifa, bowing low. She straightened up again hastily, a rather pretty blush in her cheeks.

'You are most welcome, my dear,' said Jenova, inclining her head gracefully. 'If you will excuse us, we will leave you in our son's capable hands.' She turned away with a great sweep of her skirts, her younger sons and a gaggle of attendants in her wake. The clinking of her jewellery receded down the hallway, leaving Sephiroth alone with the two women.

'If you'll follow me,' he said, gesturing courteously, 'I have refreshments waiting in my quarters.'

'Thank you,' said Tifa. She reached out and took Vala's hand as they followed him.

As they walked through the corridors to Sephiroth's quarters, he heard the women whispering together behind him.

'What were you thinking?' hissed one voice. Vala's, he thought.

'You don't want to do it. This way you can go home and marry your blacksmith.'

'Cloud... did you hit your head?'

Cloud? A nickname, perhaps? It was none of his business, he supposed, if one woman was frightened to marry the monster prince and her friend decided to take her place. He didn't want to marry either of them. Maybe he'd force Kadaj to swap places with him and run away to join the circus as Zackary suggested.

He shook his head minutely and held the door of his outer chambers open, gesturing the two women through ahead of him.

'Two fiancées! Honey, you were so wrong about Queen Jenova!'

It occurred to Sephiroth that he should probably warn people before introducing them to Zack.

'Please, sit down,' Sephiroth said, ignoring him. 'These are my friends, the Viscount Zackary Fair, and his fiancée Lady Aerith Gainsborough.'

'Isn't it cute, he used our titles and everything!' cooed Aerith.

Sephiroth sat on the couch across from them, beside Tifa - Cloud - the fair haired one - with dignity. She shifted restlessly, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. He watched her hands - not inelegant, he decided, despite their unladylike coarseness - smoothing and folding the fabric of her skirt.

'So,' said Aerith brightly 'Which of you is Tifa?'

There was a quiet knock at the door, and a maid entered, carrying a tray loaded with tea and dainties. Her shoes made no sound over the floors.

'I am,' said the fair haired woman. She watched as the maid set the tea tray on a lacquered table between the two couches. 'This is my cousin Vala. She's ... on her way to be married too.'

The maid dropped a curtsey toward Sephiroth and handed him a sealed envelope. He dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

'Who are you marrying?' asked Aerith. 'Do they live far away?'

Sephiroth slit open the envelope. He could feel Zack's eyes on him.

'Um, yes,' said the dark-haired woman. 'He's... he's the third son of a lord.' She blushed hotly as she spoke, glancing constantly at her companion.

'Good luck,' said Aerith. She smiled warmly and poured herself a cup of tea, gesturing for Tifa-or-Cloud and Vala-or-not to do the same.

Sephiroth sighed and handed the letter and envelope to Zack.

'Her Majesty, mother, requests an audience with my fiancée and I,' he said, at Aerith's questioning glance. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vala-or-not grab Tifa-or-Cloud's hand.

Aerith frowned and stirred her tea. 'Requests?'

'Demands,' Zack threw the letter onto the coffee table. 'Is she going to discuss ...that?'

'That?' echoed Tifa-or-Cloud. She and Vala-or-not traded a worried glance.

'I'd hope not,' said Sephiroth. 'Tonight I ... have other duties to attend to.'

Zack's mouth pressed into a straight line. Aerith bit her lip and took Zack's hand.

'I don't like this,' she said.

She spent the rest of the afternoon uncommonly drawn, chewing on her lower lip.

I have to say this, or it's going to eat at me: the term corset wasn't used until the 19th century. In the 18th century, when this story is set, the garment in question was referred to as "stays", and was designed to give the torso an almost triangular shape. Most women didn't lace them tightly; rather, they used them for support and to give them a fashionable posture. Corsets/stays designed for a female figure differ considerably than a male corset, and would be brutally uncomfortable for a man to wear.