Fidelity

He never expected to find himself on knee before the royal spawn of his enemy, violet eye fixed on the immaculate, black leather of his boots while the diplomats announced him, their words blurring in his ears. Never thought he, a proud, elite soldier of the Amistri kingdom, would tarry here among this cess of pacifists. Never believed he'd be traded away like a commodity to be a mere servant in a foreign monarchy, because he was too valuable for that. But then, he'd never expected to lose the war either.

"…and so, his royal highness Grimmjow Jaegerjacques offers up his second highest ranking officer as personal servant to the esteemed Kuchiki family as a gesture of goodwill and peace, that our two kingdoms may find balm from this bitter war and again coexist as neighbors."

Pretty words, they meant nothing, and he wasn't the only one to recognize it. Everyone knew, even the diplomats themselves. Especially they, those crafters of lies. Amistri was not a country to retreat cowed with its tail between its legs like a common cur. No, it would lick its wounds and bide its time until the moment was ripe, then again descend upon the rebellious country that had resisted its last assault unexpectedly. For a country of merchants and artisans with a small standing army, it had shown a surprising resilience. But theirs had been a phyrric victory, for in the process, the majority of their high ranked military figures had been slaughtered and their economy thrown into chaos. Amistri would have her day, he would see to that. It was why he had come.

"Nnoitra Jiruga, rise."

He rose, keeping the cynical sneer off his lips and met the eyes of the king of Mercia. Those cool, dispassionate eyes that regarded him as if he were some filthy creature dragged from the muck of an outhouse. How he despised those eyes, longed to take a heated rod to them and melt them from his skull and watch them pour down his regal cheeks like tears. He even suspected he wouldn't scream as he tortured him; the man gave off the air of a stoic.

"You are knowledgeable in the art of defense as well as offense?"

"Yes, my lord. In all aspects of warfare," he replied, swallowing his pride to give a respectful reply. Tact was required on this mission, a skill he'd have to pick up quickly, but Grimmjow had entrusted him personally with this job. He would not slip up for male arrogance.

"Then you will assist my son and become his attendant. Guard him from poison and assassins."

"As you wish, my lord."

His eyes swiveled over to his future charge, evaluating the youth. Like his father, he was fair of skin and dark of hair, though even paler than his sire. His eyes were a stunning emerald green, and they surveyed him with apathetic disregard, his lips curled ever so slightly in distaste, as if what he saw disgusted him. Like father like son; only the color of their irises distinguished between their cold, superior stares. Again, Nnoitra felt the urge to snarl and take a weapon to those eyes. Mutilate them, so they would not look down on him and he would not view reflected there the label they gave him; refuse. But his military training won out; follow orders. Do not deviate from the task given. They would die, in time.

"But poison?" he asked, the words finally sinking in, and he glanced over at Byakuya, uncomprehending. "Poison wasn't part of my training."

"It will be now. You are to be Ulquiorra's attendant, and that means you handle all aspects of his security. Testing for poison in his food is just another such responsibility."

Poison taster. His eyes narrowed as he nodded affirmation, but inside he seethed. He was a high ranked officer, not an expendable servant.

"Very well," he assented, and amused himself with images of their grisly demise at his hands. They wouldn't live long enough for the affront to his pride to matter. Certainly it would smart, but that was all a part of the occupation.

Byakuya dismissed the diplomats, rising.

"Retire to the rooms we have prepared you. We will negotiate the terms of the peace treaty tomorrow."

They nodded, bowing themselves out, and Nnoitra watched them leave, still awaiting his orders. They came a minute later, when the heralds had departed and only a few guardsmen remained in the room. He dismissed these too, much to Nnoitra's surprise. Could the man really be such a fool? The entire royal family, minus the princess, was alone with him. And while he was unarmed, he was a master of improvisation. One did not make it to his level without learning to play dirty. He grinned internally at the thought; his task wouldn't take very long. But now was not the right time. Security was still very tight around the place, and if he took them down now, there was a good chance he wouldn't make it out with his life.

If there was one thing Amistrians learned, it was not to waste lives needlessly. Efficiency was key. He would not turn this into a suicide mission.

"Jiruga."

"Yes, my lord?"

"You will accompany me somewhere before I entrust my son to you."

He rose from his throne, fluid as water but with a frozen expression more akin to ice. The difference in their heights did not seem to phase him as he stepped down from his dais, moving past him as if he weren't there. He never looked back to see whether he was following, and Nnoitra felt his temper flare as he watched his retreating back for a long minute before he finally surmounted his pride and fell into line. Yet even though the man before him had a disquieting air about him, the eyes that bored into his back were equally unsettling. One cold, one hot, and the both of them unnaturally keen. And suddenly, he had the sinking suspicion that perhaps they were not so foolish as they would appear. After all, these people had foiled Amistri not through military strength, but through a stunning display of strategy.

If Byakuya was confident enough to walk alone with him, former general of Amistri, it was not because he was naïve but because he knew with absolute certainty that he would not die. Nnoitra frowned. Where was he taking him that he did not bring guards?

"Where are we goin'?" he asked, a rough note creeping into his voice unconsciously. The natural, unrefined cant of his childhood he slipped into at times, though Grimmjow had mostly beaten that out of him. Or at least, taught him not to speak so crudely in his presence.

You are addressing a royal, whelp. You will speak as though you were raised in the academy, not some decaying slum.

"You do not have the authority to question me, servant," was Byakuya's cool reply, and Nnoitra's fingers twitched reflexively with the restrained urge to wrap around that slender neck and twist until he felt the crunch of bone beneath his hands.

God damn arrogant bastard.

He thrust his hands into his pockets and slouched a little as he walked, coiling the anger back into its box. Keeping it trapped for when he could put it to use properly. Not now. Not yet. To distract himself from his vengeful brooding, he looked around, taking in the geography of the palace. This was information he could use at a later date, and the passage they took seemed to be neglected. Not secret perhaps, but with the musty aura of infrequent use. Here was somewhere unusual. He straightened as he began to examine his surroundings more closely.

This was a place of faded glory. The walls were decorated by many fine tapestries, sewn with all the artistry and skill Mercia was renowned for. But they appeared dull. Aged. The colors seemed dim in the steady glow emitted from the sconces that lit the corridor. These themselves were unusual, for they did not flicker with fire light. No, something else appeared to fuel them. Underfoot was a rich carpet, not threadbare, but lacking a feeling of life, while above, the ceiling vaulted dramatically, disappearing into the unlit darkness. The entire place seemed to drain vitality from the air, and he shuddered ever so slightly. It was like a tomb. Not even the Spartan rooms of the barracks felt so lifeless. There was an energy that persisted in them that this place rejected.

When the passage split, Byakuya veered right, and Nnoitra felt the hair on his arms prickle. The sixth sense of his warrior training, his intuition, warned against treading that dark hall, but as he paused for a second time, he received an equal feeling of apprehension from the other fork, which twisted inwards and sloped down, disappearing into the underbelly of the castle. So reluctantly, warily, he followed the king in spite of his misgivings. And he only continued to feel more oppressed as he walked, the new passage much more enclosed and claustrophobic than the almost eerily spacious corridor from before. The shadow lights that illuminated the way here were so faint, they were barely perceptible; just a spiritless glow that haunted the walls. Never flickering. Never changing. Unnatural. His nerves crawled, writhing beneath his flesh like worms. Eating at him. Eroding him from the inside. He felt powerless, vulnerable… fearful.

Nnoitra narrowed his eyes at this, a light hiss escaping his mouth, which was eaten up by the stifling silence the moment it left his lips, and he almost startled to realize precisely how quiet it really was. He couldn't hear the footfalls of the man before him, nor his own. Not even his own breathing sounded in his ears. No, there was something very wrong here.

I'm not a child, to fear the fucking darkness. This isn't just me. This is something else.

An irrational phobia he'd felt once before.

"There's a turn here, and a step down," Byakuya warned him as his head bobbed slightly, then disappeared from sight. Nnoitra stopped, his disappearance so abrupt even despite his warning. And in taking the moment to absorb his vanishing act, he also observed that the passage had grown lighter. The blackness was tainted by gray now, suggesting an exit ahead. Perhaps just around that bend. He lengthened his stride, navigating the step more by instinct than by care, and turned the corner. Sure enough, it opened up a few hundred feet ahead, and Byakuya waited by the exit, looking as emotionless as usual. He was coming to understand that this was his typical expression. He kept his sneer internal as he walked into the light, blinking his good eye myopically. And when he finally adjusted and was able to take in his surroundings, he couldn't help but blink again in astonishment.

They appeared to have been transported to another world, the change of scenery was so dramatic. He felt himself staring, amazed, but couldn't bring himself to tear his eyes away and save face. Above them, the entire ceiling was made of glass. He could see the thin, structural metal beams that crisscrossed it sparingly; just enough to hold it up without interfering too much with the aesthetics of what was otherwise a perfect view of the darkening sky. It had a remarkable clarity, barely distorting vision, and he envied the engineer who had designed it. The man was a genius; Amistri would benefit greatly by absorbing Mercia.

And then there was the room itself. Bursting with greenery in every direction. A veritable jungle of foliage that appeared at first sight to grow wild, but with closer observation was revealed to be subtly organized. A greenhouse hidden in a castle? For what purpose? The lands around the Mercian palace were already landscaped prolifically, with gorgeous courtyards and walkways and even ponds of imported fish. Nnoitra breathed in, inhaling the heady odor of rich loam, flowers, and ripening fruit. It was so humid here, it felt almost like he was breathing water, and the heat quickly brought a light sweat to his skin.

"Szayel, we both know full well you have visitors. Will you reveal yourself or force me to question your loyalty?"

Nnoitra glanced over at Byakuya who had come to a stop finally and now addressed the air in a stern but dignified tone that brooked no nonsense. For a moment, he believed the man to be a little mad, but his doubt soon morphed to surprise as another seemed to materialize from nowhere. The lithe newcomer swept the king a graceful bow, then straightened with a smile. Nnoitra noticed immediately his full head of hair, colored- and he nearly smirked at this -a shocking shade of pink. He looked like nothing more than another exotic variety of plant that belonged to this garden, with his delicate frame and flashy looks. A hothouse flower that required his carefully modulated environment to survive.

"Oh no, my lord. I'd merely hoped to get a better look at our new guest before I made my appearance. I never intended insult, of course."

The humble words made his stomach turn, but he couldn't help but feel that they weren't entirely honest. There was a soft cynicism to them, barely perceptible yet there nonetheless. Despite his simpering, it was quite obvious this man had his pride. And he was no menial personage; from the way Byakuya treated him with something akin to… regard. He had power. And he knew it. He could see it in his stance, in the nonverbal cues he gave off. He lowered his eyes and smiled deferentially, but there was also amusement in that smile and cunning calculation in those eyes. Eyes that promptly turned on him, and his breath caught at the intensity of those amber irises. The feeling of irrational phobia returned to him doubly, setting his teeth on edge, and he could not pinpoint why. Only narrowed his eye a fraction. Szayel's smile widened, an impish quirk that soon faded as he returned his attention to Byakuya.

"If I may ask what services you require of me this evening, Lord Kuchiki? You so rarely visit my humble abode to solicit my assistance, this is really a treat. I take it this isn't about my last request for you to send the prince to me for lessons though?"

Byakuya glanced over at him, and Szayel followed his eyes back to Nnoitra's again. Nnoitra remained stoic under their combined scrutiny, but his feeling of apprehension was rising. There was something about the pink haired man he found incredibly repellant. Some visceral aversion to him too strong to be coincidence.

"Ulquiorra is busy with his other responsibilities, but I will consider your request. As for my business with you tonight, it lies with this."

"This? What about this?"

The slender man walked over to him, tilting his head in an avian fashion as he leaned in to observe him. Like some specimen; his eye was critical. Clinical almost. Nnoitra held firm, the only sign of his distress visible in the rippling of the muscle in his arms as he held them forcefully relaxed at his sides. Szayel caught this, smile growing sly at his reaction to his proximity.

"Lord Jaegerjaques offered him to us as part of the package of peace reparations."

"Ah. I see the problem now," the pink haired main murmured.

Szayel looked over at Byakuya, expression rueful.

"Yes that is most unfortunate," he finally remarked lightly.

"Then you know what I want of you," Byakuya said.

Szayel paused, appearing to consider this for a moment, then coyly replied,

"I presume you have the necessary supplies? You know what I require."

The king nodded, a flicker crossing his face. Nnoitra watched him, feeling of dread growing. That cryptic reply had caused a reaction in Byakuya. A reaction, however brief. His body tensed, adrenaline beginning to pump through his system in preparation for a fight or flight scenario as Byakuya produced a small package and handed it to the pink haired man. Szayel thanked him with a murmur, then reached into the bag, and that was when a distressing realization hit the warrior. His eye widened as he crouched, ready to spring away. He knew this man. Felt a fool for not recognizing him earlier, but his servile words and attitude had stalled the recognition. It did not fit with the image he'd built of him on the battlefield. Szayel's eyes flickered up to his, and this time he openly smirked. A twitch of his pinky, and Nnoitra couldn't move. He was locked to the spot. Nnoitra growled, eye narrowing to a slit.

"God damn fucking mage!" he managed to shout before he felt his mouth sealed as well. The man tched, shaking his head as he pulled out the materials contained in the bag; they consisted of several glass vials, each with a lock of hair.

"Oh dear, no you have it all wrong. I'm an archmage, you see. Not some half rate magician."

He arranged the locks into a square in his palm, then reached into his pocket and withdrew a ceremonial knife decorated with garnet in the hilt. He brought this up against Nnoitra's throat, pressing teasingly, and he felt the edge of the blade slice into his skin, eating further into the flesh as the archmage steadily applied more and more pressure until the cut bled freely. Then he withdrew it, cupping the hand with the hair beneath the stream to collect some of it in his palm while he licked the spare blood off the knife. Nnoitra watched in morbid fascination as he proceeded to turn the blade on his own wrist and slice a shallow gash into it, tilting it so the blood ran down it to join the pool he held cupped in his palm, and once again repeated the licking ritual. Only then did he stow the knife away and extended his hand straight before him, as if holding an offering. And as Nnoitra watched, it began to burn.

The fire was rose colored, though edged with an ominous crimson, and blazed like a star in his hand. Yet the man did not appear to be in pain. He was in control of his fire, completely focused on it. His eyes did not blink as he uttered soft incantations under his breath; his lips hardly made a sound as they moved, and the sound that they did make was more like a low hum than anything resembling words. The fire blazed brighter, tongues of flame licking up high into the air as he progressed, and Nnoitra felt a tingle race through his body stemming from the shallow gash in his throat. But after what seemed like an eternity, it finally began to die, burning lower and lower until finally it flickered and died completely, leaving only a small pile of ash. Szayel's incantation faded, and he blinked, concentration finally breaking. Turning back towards Nnoitra, he took his free hand and ran it through the ash. Then he began to anoint him with it, painting designs onto his skin until it was almost completely used up. The last of it he smeared over the cut in his wrist, on his lips, and then a faint sign over his temple; a six pointed star, circumscribed. With a finally smirk towards Nnoitra, he turned back to Byakuya and offered him a deferential dip of his head.

"It is done," he said.

"The terms?" Byakuya asked.

"The usual contract."

Nnoitra growled against his bindings, seething, and Szayel gave him an amused look.

"Shall I inform him of the details?" he inquired of the king. Kuchiki gave him an unfathomable look, then nodded.

"It would be best if he fully understands his situation."

What fucking situation?

"Nnoitra Jiruga, you are bound by blood to serve the royal Kuchiki family unswervingly. If you should attempt to harm or kill your masters, you will die. The curse will cause your blood to boil in your body, killing you if they should ever chance to die by your actions. Harm them, and you will suffer. Take action to harm them, and you will feel your blood burn even before you lay a finger on them. And thus you are bound. Do not seek asylum with another mage; the addition of my blood ensures that only I can undo this curse."

And with another twitch of his finger, Szayel released him. His body, locked in struggle against the spell that had held him, toppled forward at the unexpected release, and he just barely caught himself as he fell. His breathing came out jagged, fingers clenching so tightly the knuckles showed white. He could feel that contemptible man watching him, laughing at him silently behind his bespectacled eyes. Those same eyes that had gazed out at the battlefield with a savage light during the war. One of a few unpredicted factors that had led to their defeat.

Fuck fuck fuck, no! Not him!

The situation had suddenly gotten a lot more difficult with this new complication. He wiped at his face, trying to remove the ashes and knowing it was a useless endeavor. They'd already imparted whatever powers they'd been meant to.

"Rise, Jiruga."

That was Byakuya. That damn Byakuya. He should have killed them all when he'd had a chance, and to hell with his own survival. Now he'd screwed up. Screwed up so royally, he wasn't sure if he could recover from his error. Trembling with rage, he stood, trying to remain calm. Trying to not scream and lash out in senseless, instinctive violence.

"You understand that I could not let you roam the palace freely without a guarantee that you would not murder us all in our sleep. This is my guarantee. If Amistri truly wishes for peace, it shouldn't be a problem."

"Lord Kuchiki, you are so generous. If I may presume to ask then… should the prince prove too occupied with learning the affairs of state, then might you send the princess to me in his place? She shows a talent for magic, and it seems such a shame to let that go to waste."

Szayel interrupted mildly, looking suitably humble. Nnoitra looked over at him, eye widening.

God, if the future noble bratlings learned magic? Shit!

"I already told you that I would consider your request, Szayel. Be content with that."

"Yes, of course. How rude of me. Just one last… thing. It would appear your new servant expresses, ah… resistance. As such, it would be best if you sent him to me twice a month to renew the bond."

Byakuya appeared to consider his words for a moment while Nnoitra's mind reeled. Visit him? Twice a month? His flesh crawled at the thought. And what did he mean by resistance?

"I would have sent him to you at first to have you train him in poison tasting, but that can be arranged as well."

"Poison tasting?" the archmage remarked with interest, eyes lighting up.

"Yes. I'll send someone down to inform you when to expect him."

"Excellent. I anticipate his visit."

He gave Nnoitra a wink, then bowed to Byakuya.

"I'll return to my work then."

A flicker of light, and the man disappeared again, vanishing as swiftly as he'd materialized, and Nnoitra swore the last thing he could see of him was his Cheshire grin, promising unpleasantries to come. He stared, numb with fury, at the place where he'd disappeared, only stirring when Byakuya addressed him.

"You'll retire to your quarters, which border on Ulquiorra's. The other servants will have prepared it by now. Your duties begin tomorrow. Are we clear?"

Nnoitra flexed his fingers, regretting that he could not have wrapped them around that throat like he'd longed to earlier, before the repercussions would have been so lethal. But he gradually forced himself to bury the urges, to lock his resentment away so it did not seep into his face and voice. And in a painfully even tone, he finally managed to reply.

"Yes my lord. Crystal."

A/N: Well, I'm back with the last multichapter fic I will start until I finish FP. Then I will probably start another. But in the meantime, I have a good explanation.

This is a late(ish by a few hours) birthday gift fic for Xylexia, who wanted a NnoitraxUlquiorraxSzayel love triangle fic, especially NnoixUlqui because its such a rare pair. And of course, being the masochist I am, I agreed to write one for her. I intended it to be a oneshot. My idea was too grand for that. I really do need to work on smaller plot planning. x_x

But I digress. This is going to be a very cracky fic. Full of pairings. And crack. And pairings. And crack. And basically, you have the plot right there. Woohoo! For this story, you get Nnoitra POV primarily, but it will switch around a bit in certain chapters. So enjoy the first chapter; I have permission from the person I am gifting this fic to to procrastinate as much as I want on it. (Seriously. I just want to finish up one of my fics at least. I already have one on hiatus, and I don't want that to happen to another)

Read and review if you like, as ever. And see you in the next chapter. :3

~Tinari