Amidst Flight of Uncaged Wings
Setting: AU. Various worlds and places (in the KH and FFVII universe) are meshed together into one single planet, Gaia.
Genre: Fantasy / Action / Adventure
Also contains various sci-fi elements.
Warnings: Mild coarse language. Adult themes. Violence. Character Death. And a store of otherworldly surprises, none too pleasant.
Main Pairing: Roxas x Tifa. Well, if there is a Kairi x Cloud out there, might as well.
Disclaimer: This need only be mentioned once. I don't own FFVII or KH. Period.
A/N: This initially started off as a drabble-ish one-shot attempting a never before seen Crack!Pairing. Well, let's just say things never do go according to plan.
Shall we begin?
Prologue – A Path to Concluded Beginnings
Night was not now, and neither was day. Its presentation ended, the sun retreated behind the curtains of horizon, enchanting spectators' eyes one last time with the afterimage of its resplendent flaxen glory. Stars sparkled brightly in a bout of silent applause; even the moon, pale in its infancy, peered curiously around a veil of cloud. Aeons may have come and gone, and the land ravaged and reborn, but the brevity of twilight remained forever a treasure to hold esteemed.
Far down below, where undulating waves of evergreen trees rolled together to form a sea of green, lay Milton Valley. Autumn's dawn had graced the woods with a pleasant cool breeze, permeating the air with the sweet, liquid warbles of birdsong. For those more acquainted with the olfactory senses, the spicy scent of sapwood and two foreign others, discernible as chocobo and man, were present.
For along a weather-beaten track ambled the culprits of the aforementioned 'sniffing inquiry'.
The larger, its once-sleek ebony plumage slightly ruffled, was a full eight feet from the soles of its lethal three-taloned feet to its proud crested head. Leather straps encircled the girth of its belly, binding a saddle seat onto its back, whereupon several bags (of supposed provisions) hung from. Similarly, another set of straps held its cruel orange beak fast, extending to a pair of reins clutched loosely in its master's fist.
Now, its master, an insignificant five-foot-eight in comparison, was instead the greater oddity between the two. How his blond hair fell about his face, and retained its impossibly gravity-defying shape at the same time, remained a question to be pondered for the rest of eternity. Startlingly, his sapphire eyes were dull, weighed down by more than just weariness. Sparse down as yet unobtrusive to sight spotted the sides of his face, a testament to his youth.
The most distinguishing feature about him, however, were the dual scabbards strapped to his back, hidden partly by his ashen cloak. Three-and-a-half feet long, they concealed deadly blades of equal length. A white waterfowl in the midst of flight was worked into the hilts of both swords, a flagrant sign of the military kind to all and none who recognised it.
This youth's name was Roxas Fallista. And for his exquisite Arian looks of which another may call handsome, or even pretty, he was a useless loser of a nobody.
Apparently lost in thought, Roxas trudged onwards into the path, mindless of the dust trailing behind in his wake. His feathered companion followed along obediently, although its amber eyes roved around in wary anticipation.
Scuff, scuff, scuff, went the shuffles of clawed and booted feet.
Tifa Lockhart. Barmaid and owner of Seventh Heaven. Dark hair, wine-red eyes.
Scuff, scuff…
Now I have to stalk and probably freak out this person-I'd-never-seen-before. Great mess I'd gotten myself into…
Scuff. Pause. Silence.
Don't you understand? I'm not fit for this kinda thing. I bet the moment I turn up in her sight, she'll never wanna look the same direction again.
Yes, it's that bad.
It's all your fault, I'm telling you! All. Your. Fault! Why did you have to go and leave me with this? Why did you–A peal of thunder roared in the nearby distance, shaking him roughly out of his reverie. The bird made an odd noise between a soft cry and a whimper, visibly frightened. He laid a comforting hand upon its neck, and felt the muscles beneath relax slightly.
"I know. We'll have to find shelter soon."
Rain, hail, or shine, mountainous weather was treacherous and unpredictable in all circumstances. Armed with only a sheet of worn, oiled cloth and his own water-repellent cloak, they would be able to survive a mild downpour, but nothing worse. Certainly not the impending storm of promised lightning and who-knows-what-else about to sweep their path.
Closing the gap between his steed and himself, he reached into a bag attached to the back of the saddle. After rummaging around for a few moments, he extracted a glowing blue orb roughly the size of a chicken's egg.
No, it's all my fault. If I hadn't went after them, then you wouldn't have to… You would still be…Feeling the bile rise in his throat, he quickly tapped the orb three times with this thumb. A shower of light burst forth, revealing a shimmering image of their current whereabouts from bird's-eye-view, scaled a hundred to one. According to the map, they should be about five miles away from Milton Village now. Following that, it should be another three days travel to the City of Everton. Where she was.
Shoving the orb back into its respective place, he then threaded one foot through a stirrup, and hoisted himself into the saddle in one smooth action. He could feel the chocobo tense beneath him, ready for flight.
"Time to go, Fenrir."
Digging his heels in, the rider and his chocobo sped off into the sinking sunset.
--- ---
Full dark was nigh by the time they reached the village. It was remarkable how a relatively clear sky could be overrun with grey cloud in a matter of an hour. Fat, crystalline droplets fell from the heavens, instilling into his bones an icy coldness even as they repelled off his waterproof coat.
From what he could see of it in the darkness, Milton Village was an islet locked into medieval stagnancy by the impenetrable fences of its mountains. Traditional chocobo-drawn carriages slumped forlornly against equally traditional wooden houses, as handcarts and collapsible stalls, abandoned in the wake of dusk, gaped their empty contents at passerbys. There was not a trace of life as of now; affairs began and ended with the rising and setting of the sun.
A worn hanging sign a few cobblestone roads down read "The Golden Hearth". Assuming that to be the name of an inn, Roxas guided Fenrir inside, under an open wooden-roofed shelter.
As he dismounted, he felt Fenrir shiver violently, flinging water everywhere. Chocobos were particularly susceptible to the cold, and the loss of bodily contact would be felt instantly. He raised a hand to rub his steed's throat, only to find it cold also.
With exceptional timing, a middle-aged woman in an overlong coat came into view, a globe of soft, silvery light in one fist.
"Ah! Welcome to the Golden Hearth," she chirped in high-pitched, girlish soprano, contrasting sharply with the lines on her matronly face. "I'm Fara, mistress of the inn. How may I help you?"
"I'd like to rent a stall for him overnight. And a room for myself, if possible." The second sentence had came as an afterthought. Delighted as he was with the prospect of sleeping in a real bed again, he was not wont to leaving his chocobo's side for any moment of time, especially on this journey.
"Most definitely," she replied smoothly, while her gaze travelled up and down his malnourished profile, coming to finish on the bared hilts of his swords. Without missing a beat, she turned back to the stable, calling out a couple of words he had never heard before. Two boys appeared, scraggly and lean, aged in the pre-adolescent years.
They must have only ever encountered mild, thoroughly domesticated animals, for they did not recognise the raised wings indicating suspicion as they approached Fenrir. Before Roxas could say anything, however, the innkeeper had refocussed her attention upon him.
"Now, if you would come this way, young Sir…"
Although demanded by propriety, the woman had imbued the title with scepticism, as though she was wondering about the authenticity of his swords. He knew he must look hardly any older than those stable boys of hers, which was too young to have earned those dangerous weapons by honest means.
Still, swords were swords, and he understood that she dared not question him lest he actually knew how to use them and took offence at her effrontery.
Handy, these intimidation tricks. They had spared him frequently the nuisance of hearing useless trash.
"Actually ma'am, I think– "
He was interrupted by a sharp, hissing noise. One of the boys had tried to take hold of Fenrir's reins, and by his retreating steps, had regretted that decision immediately. The chocobo's feathers were fluffed out, adding to its already imposing size, and its neck was drawn back like a spring ready to uncoil.
For a second he stood frozen in place, watching their futile attempt to calm the high-strung Fenrir. A second after found him at the latter's side, reins reclaimed in his right hand. He then jerked his head at the younger boys, signalling that they should back off. They complied at once, glad to put distance between themselves and the over-hostile bird.
Ensuring that the boys were out of striking range, he made soft clicking noises with his tongue. The chocobo seemed to be soothed a little by the sound, but was no doubt still agitated.
"Ma'am," he said firmly as he turned to face the innkeeper, "I think it safer if I were to settle him in myself. He gets uneasy on unfamiliar territory. Once he falls asleep, he should be alright."
"Of course."
She gestured for him to follow her, and he did, ignoring the muttered but clearly impressed whispers behind him. Fenrir did likewise with reluctance, but Roxas continued to make the same clicking noise, even laying a tentative hand on its neck. By the time they had entered the stable, the bird was no longer glaring, and its stance was visibly relaxed.
"Looks like you know how to handle your chocobo," she commented with approval in her voice, her respect for him increased a little.
Roxas, too spent to reply accordingly, accepted her compliment with a half-smile. She didn't seem to pay it any mind as she led him to the stall in the farthest corner, past other roosting chocobos of various colours – yellow, green and blue.
A loud ringing sound shattered the monotonous pitter-patter of falling rain – probably an alarm of some kind.
"Oh! Another customer," clucked the innkeeper, picking at the folds of her skirt. "Just a moment, young Sir. I'll be back with supper shortly."
She pumped out of the building on her short, plump legs, leaving him and the boys inside. Removing his hood, he immediately set himself to work, unenthusiastic to meet the others' fervent eyes and wild gesticulations.
Unfastening the latches that held the safety straps tight, Roxas removed the saddle from Fenrir's back, depositing it cleanly on the hay-covered floor. The bill bridle followed after that, falling atop the saddle with the same neat precision.
Its bodily burdens removed, the chocobo folded itself into a comfortable sitting position on the ground, and cast an expectant gaze at its master. Roxas nodded in response, pulling out a compressed block of dried Mimett Greens – rationed, of course – from a bag, before promptly setting it in front of his steed. The latter eyed the miserly heap of flaky, dehydrated vegetable with disgust.
"Stop glaring at it. It's all we can afford now."
It appeared that the bird was none too pleased with his dismissive remark, for Roxas found his thumb to be nipped rather painfully. Wincing at the stinging sensation, he directed a heated glare of his own at his feathered companion, but Fenrir had already begun pecking half-heartedly at his makeshift dinner.
Touche, he thought grudgingly. I swear; this bird is too smart for his own good.
With a resigned shake of his head, he unslung the swords from his back, feeling the additional weight of other eyes upon them. The boys were at the opposite end of the stable, and by the sounds of it, sweeping, but their mere presence made him… shifty. Stableboys had not been a pleasant experience for him in the past month.
He looked back at Fenrir to distract himself. For a rather unappetising meal, the block of Mimett Greens were already gone. The bird itself had its beak tucked under a wing, its feathered breast swelling and shrinking with the steady rhythm of sleep.
A huge yawn creaked his jaws. Well, he was pretty tired himself.
Shifting hay to cushion his back, he sprawled himself against the wall, an unconscious hand upon the scabbards of his dual swords. Out of weariness and the need to escape perception of the boys' intense scrutiny of him, he closed his eyes.
Unfortunately, shutting one sense out meant sharpening the others, and right on cue, their shrill, unsteady pubescent voices flooded into his ears.
"See dat? Da bird on de 'andle o' 'is sword? 'Tis de Risin' Egret! 'E's a Soldier, I tell ya!"
Ah, the katanas. He really shouldn't have brought them with him. They drew attention like moths to a light. But Dextron and Sinistron gave him a sense of… capability, and frankly, he didn't think he would be able to stand the feeling of feebleness once more.
To his immense fortune, the majority of his journey was through Vespilladian territory. Thus few questions were asked, and they let him be on his way.
"Wow… a Soldier. I always wanna become un'."
"Lass go talk to 'im!"
Footfalls of soft leather shoes loomed closer and closer, before stopping abruptly. Thank Gaia.
"Shhh. He doesn' look like 'e wanna be disturbed. Yanno, dey say dat 'em Soldiers are like weap'ns, deadly an' all. Ya wuldn' wanna go mess wid 'em."
"C'mon! 'Tis not oft'n ya see a Soldier! 'E's like, the firs' in wat… three muns?"
"'Dose swords look real sharpish, if ya ask me."
"Sharpish? 'E 'asn' even taken 'em out yet, ya doofus."
"Wube all shine and sharpish. Betcha 'e polish 'em ev'ry nite. Culd cutcha 'ead off in un' go."
"Now ya dun needa go sayin' dat. I like my 'ead where 'tis, thanks."
"S'why ya shuldn' be botherin' 'im. 'Is chocobo's bad enuff. Mus' be a warbird, the way isso egressive– "
"'Ids eyes are scary, too."
"'Is got guts, tryin'a ride sumthin' like dat."
"Pierre? Josh? Get yer scrawny behinds 'ere right now!"
"Comin', Mistress."
The scuffle of two pairs of feet departed into the distance, causing Roxas to breathe a sigh of relief. Slowly he opened his eyes, raising himself on elbows to check above the stall screen if the coast was clear. Satisfied with what he was seeing, he sank back into the hay mound, wondering whether he would be able to capture sleep successfully before they came back.
He shifted his head tiredly to glance at his feathered companion. Surprisingly, Fenrir had not been disturbed by the boys' loud conversation – or was making a very good pretence at that. With its scowling amber eyes and dangerous claws hidden from sight, Fenrir looked an almost… cute mass of soft black fluff, enticing all hands to come touch.
Absent-mindedly he reached out to stroke a black feathered wing, relishing the feel of warm silken plumes between his fingers. With tomorrow, would come a new day, and as inevitably, his imminent doom.
"Fenrir… what am I gonna tell her?"
--- ---
True to her promise, the innkeeper returned with a steaming bowl of beef broth and bread, but Roxas had already fallen asleep.
"Kids these days," she muttered in exasperation, turning on her heel to find a more appreciative client for her well-cooked supper.
A/N: Well, that was a pretty drowsy introductory chapter. Still, I would like to hear from you. Any suggestions? Reviews are very much appreciated.