Chapter Text
The walls inside Alexandria castle were, as ever, quite depressing. Even the finery which adorned the walls and the windows did little to add cheer to the room. Bright, glorious sun shone through the open window, sheer curtains swayed in the gentle breeze. How delightful it might have been had the only occupant of the room not been sequestered away in the darkest recesses of the bedroom, shrouded in shadow.
Ensconced in a soft, lush bed, said individual laboured for breath. Since his defeat and subsequent discovery at the Iifa tree, Kuja had been carted across the world and sheltered while he recovered from his defeat. It had been a week since he had arrived at Alexandria and longer since he had made the trip from the Outer Continent. Certainly, Zidane had risked his life to find Kuja at the tree, but it had been more than a trial for Kuja to have survived the trip at all.
Although he was unable to maintain consciousness for very long, Kuja was aware that it was the now-Queen Garnet who had kept him alive on the journey. Her healing mended broken bones, but could do nothing for his dwindling life force. Now, Kuja was aware of periodic visits by healers of all kinds, who administer curative magics and even on occasion life-giving ones when Kuja’s breathing finally stilled.
After such times, Zidane would visit, sit with him and be so bold as to hold Kuja’s hand. He was meant to be a comforting touch, but Kuja didn’t have the strength to pull away, or the energy to tell him to leave. Queen Garnet had not graced Kuja with her presence since he had been sequestered away in a room that was far more comfortable than he deserved. He understood he had hurt her. He understood that he had hurt many people. He did not want to look her in the eyes, even if he had been strong enough to apologise.
The truth was that Kuja had not wanted to leave the Iifa Tree. He has felt it more than appropriate for him, after all he had done, to die there. But Zidane had come. The tree fought to keep Kuja, hostile as it always had been by nature, but Zidane had escaped with both their lives. If Kuja had had the energy for envy, he would have bemoaned Zidane’s strength. He had resented Zidane, perhaps he still did. He hadn’t decided.
Kuja was too exhausted for much in the way of coherent thought.
Kuja knew his time was nearly over. It had to be. Zidane had been visiting his room more and more. Healers were visiting with fewer guards, or perhaps they were merely told to wait outside. No-one was sure how dangerous Kuja was anymore. Zidane almost always had a healer with him, his comforting smile growing more insipid as the days passed.
Almost as though the thought had summoned him, the door opened and Zidane stepped through, dressed in his usual attire, although some of the fabric appeared more fine than they had once been. A healer followed a few steps behind, keeping a respectful and safe distance from them both.
“Hey,” Zidane said, stepping up to the bed and taking a seat, his hand finding Kuja’s as though it was second nature. “How are you feeling today?”
The following silence filled with Kuja’s strained breathing was more than enough of an answer for Zidane, whose sympathetic smile slipped slightly. Kuja’s hand twitched in Zidane’s own. “Listen,” Zidane said, thoughtlessly splaying Kuja’s finger’s wide before he laced his own through Kuja’s fingers, holding his quivering hand steady. “I know this is scary,” he said. “I’m scared.”
Kuja twitched again and made a concerted, but ultimately pathetic effort to pull away from Zidane. Zidane loosened his hold on Kuja’s hand a little, and breathed a sigh, forcing himself to relax. “We…we think you’re gonna go soon,” Zidane continued. “Like Garland said you would…”
At that, Kuja forced himself to roll onto his back so that he could look at Zidane through bleary, unfocused eyes. Sweat graced his brow. Zidane produced a handkerchief from somewhere Kuja couldn’t see and dabbed at his brow. Whatever Kuja thought his death might be like, he had not imagined the prolonged and seemingly unending fever that came with it.
“But I’ve been talking to some of Alexandria’s healers and scholars,” Zidane said, brushing Kuja’s fine silvered hair out of his face. “The finest,” Zidane tacked on at the end, as though to reassure Kuja, or perhaps himself, of the sincerity of his words. “Every time you’ve gone so far it’s been a premature death, right?” He asked, somewhat rhetorically, but Kuja’s eyes narrowed slightly as he attempted to focus on Zidane’s blabbering. “Sickness, injuries…”
Zidane took another breath and raised his head, eyes focusing for a moment on the ceiling above him. “It was never your ‘time’, right?” Kuja thought that if he heard Zidane say right one more time, he might just get up and smack him on sheer force of will. “So, we were thinking we’ll just wait, okay? Wait until your time is up and then bring you back.”
There was an edge of something Kuja thought might be hope in his voice. Kuja closed his eyes and Zidane let go of his hand so he could rest it more comfortably on his chest, only to squeeze it again.
So, that was Zidane’s grand plan? Wait for his expiry date and hope he’ll wake up after?
“You’’ have company from now on, okay?” Zidane said, gesturing the healer forward. “This is Niko,” he said, and Niko dutifully waved at him from a distance. Clearly female, but beyond that, Kuja couldn’t concentrate on her long enough to discover more than that. “She’s going to be part of a small team that will watch you until…but after that they’ll bring you back and hopefully you’ll be good as new!”
Typically, the Life spell was not thrown around freely. It was powerful magic, known only to some of the most talented white mages in the world. The Queen herself had the gift. It was not a favourite of Garland, who was so fond of the natural order…or fond of the order that suited him best. Kuja inhaled sharply, as though trying to make the effort to speak, but couldn’t quite manage. Cure magic resolved injuries, but did not touch upon disease. Life magic negated the negative effects of injuries and illness and brought a person back from the brink of death, not healed, but it did resolve the ultimate cause of death.
Kuja wondered if he was making sense even to himself. But, old age remained an issue. Kuja was tired, he was weaker now than he had ever been. Kuja did not have the time to grow old in the traditional sense, but his time was due to end in a matter of days. He supposed, technically, that could be considered old age…to simply expire when the time was right…so to speak.
To use Life magic on the aged was, at best, a temporary measure, for they would die eventually of the same thing they did the first time. Spare the dying another hour, a week, a year. It even sounded exhausting. Kuja vaguely wondered if he could refuse to acknowledge the influence of the spell in death? Die anyway.
The effort of trying to speak made Kuja cough violently. Ever helpful, Zidane let the coughs subside a little before he helped Kuja sit upright enough to take a drink from a glass that had been resting on the bedside table since that morning. Kuja eyed the healer as she took the glass from Zidane after he had given Kuja a good few sips. He watched her put it back on the bedside table.
Zidane helped Kuja settle back down in bed.
“If this works…we can finally talk about what we need to do with you,” Zidane said, frowning.
Kuja’s mouth twitched into an amused but dazed smile, wondering if he really had to be present for that conversation…