Freya was alone. Not alone in the sense that no one is nearby, but the feeling of being completely and utterly deserted, the feeling that haunts you, the feeling that feeds on all positive emotions until you are left in the jaws of misery. Burmecia was empty, with all of its residents gathered in the palace, leaving her undisturbed. She didn't want to be alone, but she didn't want company. All they would have is pity, looking at her with sad eyes. She feared pity. It may have driven her over the edge. She kept to herself, then, slumped helplessly against a wall. Her long spear was cast carelessly aside, a habit that normally she would never have accepted as a proper warrior. But today, there was no point to it. Let it rust.

A funeral bell rang in the distance, sealing fate for her. Each low, deep tone reverberating through her mind. It seemed to ring endlessly, letting the world know that a Burmecian soldier was dead.

Yet once the ringing stopped, Freya wished it would have kept going. To have music, to hear people talk, even funeral bells were better than this silence. Silence meant her thoughts couldn't be diverted elsewhere, and to let them run rampant could only magnify grief.

But then, Freya realized, there was always the rain. This thought surprised her. Over the years, she had learned to ignore it, and it became part of everyday life. Not once did she think about it. But today, she noticed the rain. She looked up with almost childlike wonder, watching as each raindrop fell from the sky, cascading around her. Reaching out a hand, she stared in awe as raindrops splattered against her arm, soaking her clothes. This must be why Burmecians don't cry, she thought to herself. The sky cries for them.

All of a sudden, she couldn't take it anymore. The gray sky, the cold rain, the empty streets suddenly pressed in on her. She couldn't live in this gloom anymore. Her home turned its back on her, no longer the inviting place it once was. She had lost the light that guided her through this darkness, and now it was gone. Dead...

No! Freya mentally screamed. It was impossible. Fratley... It had to be a bad dream, and any minute now, she would wake up. But could she escape this nightmare alone? Seized by blind grief, she grabbed her spear and ran, springing over the wall with ease, and kept on going. Fueled by frustration and the fear of being alone, she ran, running as though she could escape loneliness. But even the fastest runner cannot leave behind loneliness...

She didn't top until finally her legs collapsed, weakened by lack of energy. She had nothing left. Grief and rage and hope and fear had taken their toll on her, eventually abandoning her. As she lay there, panting, she realized she was lost. But that was all right. She didn't want to go back. They would wonder where she was, and why she of all people wasn't at Fratley's funeral. Of all people, she should've been here. Yet she couldn't accept it. His funeral without anything to actually bury meant nothing to her. He couldn't be dead. He wasn't dead. She knew it. As she lay sprawled on the ground, cold earth pressing against her frantic heartbeat, she knew he wasn't dead. And she would search the world over until she found him. Finally, lying there, with no more energy or thoughts left to give, she closed her eyes and fell into sleep as night crept into the sky.

She awoke with something poking her in the back. By instinct alone, she sprang up and tackled it, pinning it to the ground, ready to attack whatever it was. She was surprised to see startled eyes looking back into her own. Whatever she had tackled groaned and closed its eyes, trying to get free. Realizing her mistake, she rolled quickly to her feet, offering a hand to the person. A gloved hand accepted hers, pulling itself up. She was met with the stare of a rather surprised person, whose messy blonde hair seemed awfully familiar...

"Zidane?"

"Freya?"

"What happened to you?" they both asked simultaneously. Reaching out, Freya touched Zidane's cheek, where a huge bruise had formed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to tackle you," Freya whispered.

"No, no, this isn't from you," Zidane said, pulling away slightly from her hand and gingerly patting the bruise. As he pulled away, she became aware of several other bruises and cuts along his face and arms.

"What happened to you?" she asked, concern edging her words. She didn't know why she was so distressed with his affairs. After all, she had only met him once.

"Never mind," Zidane said, forcing her to sit down beneath a tree. "You look like you've been to hell and back." His words weren't sarcastic, rather honestly worried for her. Despite herself, Freya laughed bitterly.

"Perhaps I have," she said simply. Her run from Burmecia had left her wild thoughts gone, leaving her only with the tranquil emptiness that follows such rages. Hell and back. It seemed to summarize it well.

"Anything I can do?"

"I wouldn't burden you with it."

"Go right ahead," Zidane invited. Freya looked over at him. Though he was beaten, he looked as though he really wanted to help. Odd. She didn't even know him all that well. Fear, though, stopped her from revealing anything more, in case she would bring up any unwanted memories.

"Where are we?" she asked, dodging the question.

"Just outside Alexandria," Zidane informed her.

Did I run that far? "Oh..." Freya whispered. Zidane winced as he leaned against the tree, finally getting into a position that didn't cause too much pain. There was a silence, and it became clear that Zidane wasn't going to leave until he knew she was all right. Maybe that's why she took to him so easily. He looked out for her, and they had only met once before...

"They had a funeral in Burmecia yesterday," Freya began. Her throat suddenly became very dry, but she took a deep breath to regain confidence. "They buried the love of my life." Love. It was a word that once rolled easily off of her tongue, and now it stayed, feeling awkward to pronounce. It was as though love had revoked her rights to it, and she supposed that was true. Fratley...

"I'm sorry," Zidane said, avoiding her eyes.

"Don't be. He's not dead," Freya said, without any hesitation in her voice. Zidane turned and met her gaze. She noticed his puzzled look.

"He's been gone for years... so... they had a funeral without his body. But he's not dead. I know."

"You're sure?" Zidane said. She was unaware of whether he was speaking out of pity or really believed her. She realized she didn't look credible, with her eyes red and puffy, dirt smearing her wrinkled clothes.

"I'm sure," Freya said with as much confidence as she could gather.

"Well then, come on," Zidane said, jumping up and looking for all the world like a five-year-old about to go on a scavenger hunt.

"What?"

"We're going to go find him!" Zidane said, ready to take off at any minute.

"No, I'm going to find him." Freya said, standing up. Zidane looked slightly disappointed.

"I can help, you know..." he offered. He had become very different from the lost Zidane she met outside of Lindblum. She supposed he had recovered now, for a while anyway, and he really wanted to help.

"This is my quest, one that I feel only I must take. To burden other people would be wrong."

"Are you sure you want to be alone?"

"No, and that's the reason why I'm going on this quest."

"I don't understand." There was a silence for a while, an awkward pause turning into a slow, silent crawl.

"Won't your theatre troupe miss you?" Freya finally said. She noticed that Zidane's hand automatically flew to his face, covering the bruise on his cheek. Freya's eyes darkened. "Can't be a very good troupe if that's what they do to you."

"I messed up, so I decided to leave... and the boss..." Zidane trailed off, unable to explain it without giving away too much about Tantalus. Baku always beat him when he left. It wasn't the first time, and he suspected it wouldn't be the last. Freya motioned for him to be silent and handed him a potion.

"Drink," she ordered. He did, and he closed his eyes, the magic causing his to glow briefly. His cuts faded, his bruises vanished.

"Thanks," Zidane said, looking even more energetic than before. "Are you sure you want to do this by yourself?

"Quite sure."

"All right then," he nodded. "Good luck."

"And the same to you." They turned and walked different ways, wondering what fate had in store for them next.

A/N: I feel I am waaayyy out of my genre with this one. I decided to write this other chapter due to all my reviews asking for one, but I must say I'm truly unhappy with this. Please, constructive criticism is a valuable tool; anything you have along those lines is always welcome. And if I'm just being daft and he story is good and you want more, you can say that too. I've changed my mind, by the way. Flames are accepted too. So review! I need feedback if I expect to improve...