Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ When I Faltered ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

 

Disclaimer: I retain no rights nor am I receiving any profit from Final Fantasy IX.

 

A/N: These first few chapters were awful, I apologize. Please bear with me as I am steadily revising chapters 1-5 while simultaneously updating the story. With this chapter now revised and complete, I will continue to rework 2-5. Thank you for taking the time to look at my work, I appreciate it.

 

 

 

It resounded off the walls; echoing, refracting, frightening was the sound as her ears proclaimed it. The screaming; endless, continuous, and so forgone within it's madness that she couldn't breathe and wondered where her mind settled upon the plane of sanity and how she wished so very much that the cries would stop and she could think properly and her heart would stop racing and-

 

She recognized the voice as her own and immediately ceased the screaming.

 

And she woke up.

 

The glare of the sun shining through the colored panes of glass in her window caused her to wince and hold her eyes shut tight for a few spare moments before she chanced another open. And when she did, she was better prepared and it didn't offend as much. She sighed into the softness of the grand bed, the dusty calmness of the early morning, and the warmth from the sun and of the blankets before she recalled where she was.

 

They came in flashes like the chimes of a bell.

 

Depthless darkness with burning orbs for eyes. The smell of charred flesh. Feathers. A piercing animal shriek. Oceanic-jade eyes.

 

Here.

 

Kuja.

 

The Desert Palace.

 

Her mind fell into focus. Smoothing her growing hair with her hands, she made her way from the bed, washing her face after undressing, the liquid soothing against the slight sweat on her skin. With water dripping from her face, she wondered of her captor’s whereabouts, unable to ever detect whether he was in residence or not, the mage so eerily quiet about his movements despite the metal constructs of his most favored boots.

 

He had startled her on a few occasions, clearly capable of being unseen and unheard when he chose to be, ever deadly silent.  She would swallow her small butterfly wings of panic as he would approach her, the lithe sashaying of his hips almost rhythmic as he flicked silver locks from his eyes, henna accenting orbs that knew where the jade stone kissed the ocean, grinning impishly at her.

 

Despite her fear, it had occurred to her more than once that he had the prettiest smile she had ever seen. And his knowing smile, whenever he caught her unconsciously admiring him, was telling that he was very aware of his own allure.

 

His hair came in breadths of silver locks that fell in wisps about his shoulders and hips, causing her to restrain herself from grasping at the lengths and running them through her fingers, the peculiar feathers at his brow leaving the oculars struck and wondering, wanting a chance to make a pluck for them.

 

He worried her.

 

Always on edge.

 

Ready for battle.

 

And he drank in it. Arrogant, elegant, tired, and graceful, she was constantly being dragged along by his pace, making her dizzy, fearful, and weary all at once, the steps to his dance too quick and perilous to suit her tastes.

 

Blinking her eyes rapidly, asserting herself to think of anything other than the man that owned the establishment she resided in, she allowed herself to contemplate on other things. Despite the change in thought, however, her mind wandered unbidden to other distasteful things.

 

 

 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_

 

She had returned a day early to the Grand Castle, her stay with her father and visit to the university cut short as Dr. Tot’s special seminar on the Twin Moon theories had been cancelled, citing a delay due to him having business in Alexandria. Minister Artania had met her cordially at the cable car dock, escorting her to the elevator as he briefed her on the events that had occurred during her absence. Once arriving on the upper level, she briskly made her way to her husband’s chambers; listening as Artania’s sarcastic but welcoming wit brought a smile to her face.

 

The two of them turned a corner, reaching a red-carpeted hallway, the large ornate wooden chamber doors straight ahead, Hilda chuckling at something the Minister had said, her skirts ruffling against her legs as they closed the distance to their destination. She lost her footing momentarily as she heard a cry, quickly balancing herself as she slowed her steps, the echoes becoming louder, and passionate in nature. Something vile twisted in the pit of her stomach as her chest clenched, stopping in her tracks, her hands unconsciously grasping for the each other, fingers bitingly twisting into one another.

 

Artania’s usually controlled features were not so, evidence of his shock set within his wide eyes, staring at the door, his thin lips parted slightly as listened in disbelief. Looking to his mistress, he made to reach for her arm before her strangely still voice caused him to pause.

 

“Leave.”

 

She never took her eyes off the door, her command calm but firm. His mouth closed as his hand withdrew, a small nod given in turn, quickly making his way back where they had came.

 

The laborious sounds continued and she was unsure of how long she had stood there before her feet carried her forward. Quietly making her way into the room, her person gone completely unnoticed, she watched as her husband’s body arched and thrust into another, his sounds of pleasure something she had never heard from this point of view. There was another voice, feminine and very different from her own, crying out with him.

 

She had caught him in several affairs but had never actually caught him in the act. It had always been after the fact.

 

And this.

 

This hurt so much worse.

 

To know of it was one thing. To see it…was incomparable…

 

Every sound pierced her chest, and only later she would think to how such a feeling did not cause one to outwardly bleed.

 

Something bitter whispered against her tongue, hateful and encouraging, an acidic bile not of a biological nature but of something mystical and malevolent rising from her throat.

 

The scene before her incited violence.

 

She could hear the clicking of her travelling shoes against the marble as she made her way to the bed, slow and focused as magic gathered about her, her blood singing with something unnamable, something twisted and beyond her control.

 

She didn’t know if he had even noticed her before she casted at him, she couldn’t recall. All she knew was relief later when she realized he had become an oglop, a symbol of her inexperience in red magery, as what she had been truly conjuring had been much worse than death.

 

She had been quick to move thereafter, almost three hours after her heinous act and the Regent had yet to leave his chambers, nothing seeming amiss as two trunks and a crew of airmen began making their way on to the Hilda Guard, Lindblum’s cool Chief Advisor steadily climbing aboard in what mechanics and engineers at the docking stations at the middle tier assumed was a business leave, the Minister himself unaware as to what was transpiring.

 

Unsure of her destination, toying with the idea of visiting her niece in Alexandria, they had made their way past the Dragon’s Gate days ago, flying swiftly over the marsh before heading tentatively toward the North Gate, wondering if a trip to Burmecia might lift her spirits, before there was a shudder that rocked the vessel, Hilda pausing in her query with the navigator, everyone in the room becoming still as they looked at each other in question. The sudden silence of the room didn’t last long before a scream was heard, causing the men and woman in the room to jump, guardsmen turning to the door to find the source of the sound, unarmed. Where one scream ended, another followed, and a third, and all of the crew had existed the room to run aboard, unsure of what was awaiting them.

 

Bright streaming sunlight greeted her eyes as she lifted herself on deck, two men behind her, blinded only momentarily before she focused in time to watch in horror as a man’s body pulsed in convulsions as he was struck by lightning merely feet away from her, his skin beginning to darken in a frightening fashion, a foul and vomit inducing smell wafting on the wind. She instantly recognized the smell of the soldiers flesh and it began peeling away before he was tossed over the deck, no sound emitting from the cracked lips of the man as he fell, most surely already dead.

 

Her head whipped about back and forth at the sudden pandemonium before her as she began choking on panic and confusion, short stout men the likes of which she had never seen grabbing her men and throwing them overboard, another thunder clap cracking and shaking the ship as yet another soldier was hit, his screams shaking the very foundations of her soul as she watched another burn in flames, running to put himself out. In mere minutes, they were almost gone, a large hand grabbing onto her shoulder, another at her arm, pushing her too her knees.

 

Looking behind her, she flinched in fright as she looked to the man that held her down, faceless and dark, two glowing orbs for eyes peering down at her, evoking emotions she had not felt since the nightmares of her childhood.

 

Large scare-crow like hats covered darkness without faces, their clothes almost comical by comparison, a mixture of farmer and mage aesthetics dictating their attire, resembling something of a humble Dali sorcerer.

 

A piercing shriek split the sky and a large shadow flew across the ship as a gust of wind buffered against her, causing her hair and skirts to whip about her body. In the wake of the fleeting shadow came a figure from the sky, landing in a smart clip of what sounded like metal, hands pushing themselves from the ground, rising slowly as they assessed the situation around them, the sky darkening with Thundara magic. She had just enough time to see a person with long silver hair and bell like sleeves before she was grabbed again and dragged hastily to the edge of the ship. She began to shout and twist against her captor, kicking and lashing out, trying to free herself. She looked again over to the center of the carnage in time to see the person turn to look at her, a silver eyebrow raising in interest before she was tossed over herself, her breath suddenly catching in her throat as she began falling, the wind beating her body as the earth waited below hungrily, plunging down, down, down.

 

Suddenly, her body was jerked horizontally from her unintended destination, crying out at something worse than daggers pierced the flesh in her arm, blood seeping through cloth as she was tossed about once more, falling hard aboard the ship, crashing, the wind being knocked out of her. Gasping for breath, she lurched her head up just in time to see a flying serpent speed away as she shakily tried to stand, her fingers trembling in disbelief on the floor of the deck, trying to discern how she was falling one moment and back on her ship the next.

 

Gentle hands were there, helping her up, quick to right her without being invasive, a low and cultured voice bringing her out of her confusion as she looked up, blue meeting blue as the person from before smiled down at her, taking note not to touch her wound.

 

“I apologize madam, I fear my pet’s claws might have nicked you during its hasty rescue. “

 

It was a man.

 

Her eyes took him in as her mind raced, rattling in her skull, almost star struck. Silver locks curled around just below his eyes and again under his cheeks, breadths of down-like tendrils almost to his hips, curling again at his crown…

 

Were those feathers?

 

Henna delicately edged the corners of his deep blue fluorite eyes, long thick silver lashes almost whisper-like as he blinked, skin cream-like and pale, no scarring or visible flaws to be seen on his person. 

 

Young too, his posture resembling that of gentry, his clothes hinting that of a courtier, his demeanor speaking calmness in what was surely a storm.

 

He whispered something she didn’t recognize and jerked her head to her arm, frazzled; watching as flesh knitted itself back together, her pain dissipating as if it had never been there.

 

White magic. He was a healer! She grasped onto one of his sleeves, frantic. “The soldiers! Quickly! You must save them before their wounds-“

 

“Oh?” he asked calmly, his head tilting to the side, extracting her hand from his clothing, polite but clearly setting a boundary between acceptable familiarity. “But there are no such people aboard, madam.”

 

Confused, she looked around, her legs unsteady as she turned from man to man, dread and horror consuming her as she realized none was her own. She looked to her savior in question, his smile still intact, titled head prompting her for a question.

 

“They killed them!” she tried to whisper, trying to inch closer to the man in order to implore the importance of her words to him, her panic rising, making him take a step back.

 

“Yes, they did, “he confirmed, his attitude still jovial. She stopped then, her body going cold as the pieces began to fall into place, everything happening so rapidly, she didn’t even have the time to curse herself for her lack of recognition and common sense.

 

“You…you did this?!” Fear was beginning to ebb into anger, but not uncontrollably so as she realized that she needed to gather her wits about her, her current predicament something she understood too little of to properly assess what her next move should be. She stilled her body and rose, standing straight.

 

Watching the change in her stature obliviously pleased him as his eyes appraised the shift in her attitude, something resembling nobility forming before him.

 

“Might I ask why?” Her voice no longer wavered, eyes dead set on the ones looking down on her, unyielding.

 

“You are most welcome to, “he invited, a hand rising to a hip. His grin broadened into a playful dare, inviting her into a game she was sure to lose.

 

“Why?” she implored firmly.

 

He watched her in amusement before shrugging nonchalantly, not the least bothered by her command. “I am limited in my means to travel at the moment. And this, “he gestured to the ship, “seemed to be quite the thing. It caught my eye, you understand?”

 

“And my men?”

 

“Had a feral look about them, “he offered, “They didn’t look the type to relinquish such a vessel.”

 

His playfulness ebbed away slightly as he suddenly focused on her, as if zeroing in. He looked her up and down, calculating, fingers settling on his chin. The clouds were beginning to part, the aftermath of casted spells dissipating as the fetid smell renting the air began billowing away.

 

With a delicate tap of his fingers, an outward gesture of decidedness, he looked to her with another cordial smile, an arm tucking around his abdomen.

 

“Your dress looks to be tailored from a modiste madam, with impeccable detail. I imagine the fabric is quite exclusive to a certain set.”

 

“Your point sir?” she quipped out of frustration, his change in topic throwing her for a loop, her confusion mounting by the second.

 

“I apologize; I have an eye for these things you see?” His fingers flickered to his eyes as if to emphasize his point, leaning forward, his smile almost radiant despite the circumstances they were in. “My point is that your dress would cost quite a ransom from a commoner’s perspective meaning you are not just anyone.”

 

He paused here, inclining closer toward her, a shadow being casted upon her, making her shudder.

 

“Who are you?” The words were suddenly cutting and to the point, his eyes sharpening as he enunciated each word, peering down at her.

 

Her mind raced on what to say. Would her name mean her damnation or salvation? Would he manage to catch her in a lie if she tried and would that evoke the wrath of the strange men clustered about around them? She knew she had mere seconds to answer, the longer she toiled, the more suspicious he would become.

 

“Hilda Fabool, “she started slowly, trying to tread carefully as she watched his reaction. His narrowed eyes widened then, surprise evident in them despite his lack of change in his smile. He recognized the name, she could see. He knew who she was.

 

“Lady Lindblum herself?” Again, his eyes roved over her, perhaps marveling at his unintended catch. Even though he remained in place, it felt as if he was circling her the way his startling blue eyes looked at her, as if invading her secrets. His eyes stopped then, catching on to her wedding band, his hand lightning fast as it latched onto her wrist, turning her hand around to see the dragon etched on the underside of the band, the Lindblum crest carved proudly.

 

Looking into her eyes, he released her. “Chief Advisor, might I ask where you are travelling then?”

 

Again, she reeled at what to say. How was she to impart to this stranger his understanding that she honestly did not quite know where she had intended to go? She had considered visiting the princess in Alexandria but had not finalized the decision as she knew her arrival would alert her husband as to her whereabouts and she was not quite ready for that interlude yet, her anger and hurt still raw.

 

But if she was to be expected…

 

“Alexandria,” she replied flatly, a small surge of hope garnering her a more confidant tone. “I have an audience with the Queen. This little, “she looked about her, her shoulders and spine postured as her eyes looked about her coolly,” delay will be noted. You do see the dilemma, surely?”

 

She understood she was playing with fire. There was no doubt. But this man was a stranger to her and she needed to see where she stood, if she could intimidate or frightened him a little, perhaps. He didn’t hesitate to let her know.

 

“Liar,” he declared, his smile widening enough to show his canines, his eyes shimmering something dark and excited, taking delight in her untruth.

 

He said it so smoothly, so definitely that her panic began to return, wondering how it was he knew and what would happen to her for it.

 

Who was this man?

 

He chuckled then, the sound startling her despite its melodic resonance.

 

His hand rose to her face and she flinched, but he merely let it pause a half inch away from her cheek, amused at her reaction.

 

“I’m not quite sure what to do you with, my lady. Until I find a suitable…purpose for you, perhaps you will be my guest?”

 

She was scared. So very, very frightened. She tried her best to not let it show, damning herself as her hands began to tremble, clenching them.

 

“And might I ask what my…host, “she bit out, “calls himself, sir?”

 

His features softened, only slightly, the game won.

 

“I am called Kuja, my lady, “his bow low and sweeping, a perfect display of courtly manners.

 

“And your family name?” she added, her frustrations at her helplessness eating away at her.

 

“I’m afraid Kuja is the only name I have to give. Now, is there anything else you need my lady?”

 

She turned and walked away, her head held high despite not looking at the little men she walked past, too fearful to peer into the abyss that was their faces, her silent compliance making her curse herself as she found her way to her room. The wretched smell still lingered, the vileness a reminder of the horror that had taken place a mere 15 minutes prior. She didn’t dare turn back, as she knew he was still smiling as he watched her walk away.

 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

 

Dressing lightly, the air becoming hot and dusty within her room, she left her newly acquired chambers to venture into the library of the desert palace once more, information her only ally within the confines of these alien walls.

 

 

 

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

 

 

 

He was humiliated.

 

The unveiling of his latest creation was in three days and she had taken it, damning him in this form while running off with his latest airship to Madeen knew where! And while only a select few within his set knew of his demise, their opinions were the ones that mattered the most!

 

Artania had been the one to discover his wife’s deed, quick to recognize the skittish, foul little thing he had become, stopping a maid just in time from lashing out at the squawking creature. Dismissing the woman and giving orders to locate and “gag” his runaway mistress, the man was quick to work.  Grasping hold of the situation, a mage whose silence could be bought was presented within the privacy of the Regent’s chambers in order to undo the ghastly thing his wife had done.

 

After much consultation the sorcerer brought irritation not only to the Regent but to the Minister as well, as nothing was being done.

 

His attempts were failing and making the Minister question whether his missive was interpreted incorrectly as the mage before them did not seem to be of reputable standing as he had dictated.

 

The mage however was not bothered in the least, only resigned.

 

“I’m afraid this is beyond my capabilities, as you may have noticed.” He gestured to the oglop before him, his accent cultured and educated, “Rather than a transformative spell in nature, you have been cursed.”

 

The Regent squawked, by way of indignation or predisposition to his new nature, the man did not know.

 

“I can see that I have! What of it?! Why can it not be undone?”

 

The man was quick to clarify, seeing that the Regent did not indeed understand. “You misunderstand, sir. This isn’t merely a spell, but a curse. Curses are old magic. These things are not even taught in guilds or through apprenticeships anymore. Such knowledge is all but lost much less reputable. Curses are built from raw emotion and are binding until the castor themselves undo them. I’m not too sure how this mage even had knowledge on how to conjure such a thing. It leads me to believe that perhaps the action was instinctual in order to bring about such a result?”

 

Cid was quiet for a moment, the man’s observation much too telling. Indeed, his wife was a mage but she knew so very little of the craft that it was almost in name only. Her minor abilities were inherited from her father’s side and what little the man had known, he had taught her, more for child’s play than anything else as the Gerrick’s were a family dedicated to scholarly pursuits rather than magic, the head of the family a prestigious professor of histories and ancient civilizations at the university.

 

After much silence and dreaded resignation, the mage was dismissed and Cid sat in silence as Artania watched his strange little face carefully, trying to gauge where his lords mind was to.

 

“So I am to remain this way until Hilda returns.”

 

He wanted to slam his fist down, frustration and humiliation reigning in once more. Damn her!

 

 

 

A/N: *covers eyes* Apparently I didn’t believe in proof reading among many other things when I was writing the original chapters. I hope this new chapter is a suitable replacement as I try to mend this story. Thank you again for reading and please bear with me.