Work Text:
Anthea and I
Two sisters, side by side and smiling, against the backdrop of the view from the Skyarrow Bridge. Life had been hard for a while, but slowly, she and Anthea had got back on their feet. Yes, both of them had had to put their dreams on hold – but they’d made it, hadn’t they? A few years of waitressing and other odd jobs, and they were doing well enough to afford a holiday, even if it was only a little local one. The sadness never went away, but it became part of life’s background, instead of foreground, and in the picture it couldn’t be seen at all: just two sisters, with all the world before them.
A Day Out
The sisters had taken up volunteering in a nearby Pokémon rescue shelter. For Anthea, it was experience she could claim when, she hoped, she returned to the studies she’d been forced to abandon a few years before. For Concordia, it was just something good she could do, a way to give a little light to the rest of the world. She’d been on reception when the visitor first came: a man some several years older than she was, kind and genial. He’d asked her about their work, sympathised with the shelter’s stories. He’d explained he wanted to make a donation, and Concordia had been delighted.
He’d come back, as he’d said he might and she’d half expected he wouldn’t. Asking what they needed; asking if he could be any help. He wasn’t a regular volunteer: his work kept him busy. But he turned up, unexpectedly and at odd intervals, sometimes pitching in with his calming, confident presence, sometimes just talking. He spoke to everyone in the shelter, and Concordia hadn’t noticed for an embarrassingly long time how it was almost always the tasks near to where she was working that he’d offer to help with.
When he asked her, truly charmingly, if she might permit him to buy her something at the café down the road in token of his respect, her heart had done a backflip. She’d stammered some sort of agreement, and, still blushing, excused herself not long after to run and tell Anthea. They’d both been delighted: Mr. Harmonia was such a kind man.
Even kinder, Concordia had learnt in the café, as he talked to her over the plain table and let his coffee go cold. Whether he was laying out the reasons that a Trainer license should be seen as a privilege to be earnt, not a right, or whether he was simply complimenting her on her dedication, it had been perfect. She’d gone home far later than she’d meant to, drifting on a cloud, and when, the next week, he ventured to ask her again, she’d agreed instantly.
Gradually, Ghetsis had taken her to nicer and nicer places: from the little café, to a fancy café, to a nice restaurant, to the most expensive restaurant in town. Concordia couldn’t even believe he’d really made the reservation, and she’d panicked over not having anything at all to wear. But in the elegant surroundings, he’d made her feel at home; gently and unobtrusively hinted to her about the way she was meant to do things so that she almost, almost managed to act like she belonged there; and treated her with the same deep care and respect that he always had, that made her feel she was the equal to any of the rich ladies at the other tables in every way.
Anthea had, unbeknownst to her, turned up to wait outside with her camera, and the photograph she’d taken was of Concordia and Ghetsis descending the steps together on their way out, Concordia on Ghetsis’ arm, the streetlights softening her elderly and carefully-mended dress until it almost looked like the real thing. Concordia hadn’t even noticed her own sister loitering behind a tree a little further down the road, so delighted, even intoxicated, by the wonderful time she’d had. Weeks later, when the film had been developed, Anthea had given her the picture with a grin, and she’d put it straight into her scrapbook, hugging the entire thing to her heart.
Concordia’s eyes stung, and she turned the pages, flipping past more photographs of herself and Ghetsis, Anthea appearing less and less often though she had always been there.
The Happiest Day
Concordia wore a phenomenal wedding dress, more elaborate than anything she’d dared to dream of, Ghetsis almost as stunning in impeccably tailored formal clothes beside her. Ghetsis had told her that money was no object, that money would never be of any importance, and he’d encouraged her to choose whatever she wanted, giving her catalogues from the most expensive and exclusive dressmakers, places she’d never have dreamed of being able to afford. And she’d let him, as she’d always let him, drawing her into his world and making her feel like she belonged there.
Anthea, the maid of honour, was barely less resplendent, and in every one of the wedding photographs her expression was one of unalloyed happiness for her sister. As for Concordia herself, she’d been beaming, radiant, on top of the world. Everything had been perfect, and the future had stretched away before her into sunlit uplands, where she and Ghetsis lived a charmed life together, and worked to make the world a better place.
Concordia sniffed, twin tears escaping her eyes to splatter on the scrapbook, and she blotted it gently with her sleeve, trying not to smudge the old, faded ink and the old, faded photographs. The old, faded memories, once soft, now sharp as a knife.
Before they left on their honeymoon, he’d told her his first gift to her as his wife would be unconditional funding for Anthea’s studies, so she could finally finish her training and become a Pokémon vet as she’d always wanted. Touched beyond words, Concordia’s heart had melted again. She had everything she wanted; all she could have asked for would have been for her sister, and Ghetsis had known her heart in that as in everything else.
When Anthea had come to the airport to wave them off, it had been with her bags already packed, ready to go back to the life their parents’ untimely death had robbed her of, and Concordia had known that all would be right with the world.
My New Home
A mansion with sprawling grounds, over-elaborate, fanciful as a castle. The sharp newness of the stonework showing it was fresh-built; the manicured grounds showing meticulous attention to detail, the invisible work of an entire team of gardeners.
A month and a half abroad, and she and Ghetsis had returned at last. She hadn’t gone back to her little apartment, all her things already packed up and sent to Ghetsis’ unbelievably luxurious home. He’d stopped her at the gates as they walked in, the porter carrying their cases, and suggested she take a photograph of her castle. She had, almost laughing, barely able to comprehend that all this was, as far as her new husband was concerned, hers.
Later, Ghetsis would offer to let her sister live there too, in comfort and luxury, for as long as Concordia wanted. And Concordia, alone in the remote mansion save for its ever-respectful staff, would agree, even ask Anthea to join her. Of course her sister had: the bond between them was stronger than almost anything, and she would no more have left Concordia alone – especially not when she was pregnant with her first child – than Concordia would her.
She hadn’t held the isolation against Ghetsis. The castle was beautiful and incredible and, as he told her, its grounds could be used to create the perfect sanctuary, where Pokémon would be free to live almost naturally as they recovered from mistreatment, rather than in the little pens the shelter in a little town and another, increasingly distant life had been forced to use. But of course, the difficulty of buying such a huge plot of land, and of building such an incredible structure, had meant it had to be somewhere rural, and so it had been built tucked away in the countryside with no-one around for miles. Ghetsis had even sympathised with her; had her chauffeured to the nearest town time and time again if he couldn’t go with her himself – ‘I’d rather there was someone with you, just in case’.
Our Darling Son
A baby, wide-eyed and innocent, looking at the camera from Concordia’s arms while Ghetsis stood with an arm gently around her shoulders. Anthea had made an increasing variety of stupid noises to get their little boy looking her way, and Concordia had had to stop herself from laughing for the photograph.
He’d been born at home. Ghetsis had literally helicoptered in a midwife and a small medical staff just in case, doing everything for Concordia as he always had. She’d been in her own familiar, safe surroundings at the moment of his birth, and when she held him all the difficulties and all the pain had faded into insignificance.
Ghetsis had suggested a beautiful name for him, Narinder, and she had agreed at once, loving the way it sounded. He was their beloved child…
Another sniff escaped her, and she turned the page quickly. Then another – but it was all too late, and Concordia closed the book and rested her head in her hands.
Ghetsis had been busy with the sanctuary, and he’d had to split his attention between it, Concordia, and their son. They no longer talked quite as much as they once had, but she knew it was difficult. He kept her shielded from it: said he’d deal with the work of running the sanctuary so that at least one of them could devote their time to raising their boy. They had their first rescue Pokémon, and Anthea, now graduated with honours, employed as the on-site vet: Ghetsis had taken in difficult cases other, smaller shelters might not be able to handle, and it kept him and the staff even busier. Amidst all this, Concordia would wander with Narinder, singing to him and talking to him and playing with him, trying to teach him all the little things of babyhood.
Ghetsis, as always, spared no expense. He’d had one of the biggest bedrooms made up for little Narinder, even though he was far too young to make much use of it yet: once he was crawling, all the space would give him an entire little world to explore. He’d bought in a stack of simple baby books, all with fanciful Pokémon main characters, which Concordia had read aloud over and over until she knew them back to front. She’d been too busy to realise how little she left the castle.
She’d been too busy to realise that little Narinder had never left the castle.
One day, when he was old enough to crawl, but not old enough to walk, they’d gone out for a picnic in the grounds during the period all the Pokémon were in their pens: just the two of them and Narinder. Ghetsis had apologised for not spending as much time with her as he’d used to, and Concordia had told him she understood, that it was all right. They’d talked just like they had in the old days, about all their dreams and a better world and, yes, the world they’d raise their son to dream of too. Concordia had lost herself in Ghetsis’ eyes, in his voice, in their conversation, just like she always used to, and since she could still hear their son babbling and giggling nearby, she’d assumed he was perfectly safe. Until she’d glanced around, hearing him make a sound that usually meant he was reacting to someone – and seen him some distance away across the grass, one of the rescue Pokémon looming over him, her son innocently reaching up to touch it.
She’d drawn breath to scream, tensed her muscles to throw herself to her feet and snatch him out of danger, and Ghetsis’ hand had locked over her mouth, silencing her and holding her back. He’d whispered to her urgently to hush, to not make any sudden moves. That particular Pokémon, he’d whispered, hated adults – but it was very protective of children. As long as neither of them moved, Narinder might be all right.
She’d sat, frozen, her heart racing in her ears, as Ghetsis smoothly lifted his hand and carefully moved it to her shoulder; as the big Darmanitan leaned down and nuzzled her little boy, mindful of his reaching fingers. It seemed to be playing with him clumsily, almost petting him with its big handlike paws, and Concordia had been able to do nothing but watch in terror in case it all went wrong. If she hadn’t been so frightened, she’d have said it was like magic, but she was terrified, and all she could see at first was the potential danger their son was in.
Their son…
Ghetsis had eventually, slowly, begun to pull her backwards. Narinder had tried to crawl back towards them, only to be scooped up and brought back to what the big Pokémon clearly considered a safe distance. He’d whispered that they might need to get Anthea and the tranquilliser darts. That he hated to use them, but it might be the only way short of waiting for the Darmanitan to go to sleep. Concordia had let him lead her, both crawling awkwardly backwards until there was easily twice the distance between them that there had been before, and Ghetsis had told her to wait there for him, that he’d be right back. He’d bolted into the castle, and Concordia, who didn’t feel she could have gone inside and left her son there, had stayed, watching.
Before long, Ghetsis and Anthea had emerged, both keeping low and moving slowly, non-threateningly, at least as much as Anthea could with the tranquilliser gun cradled in her arms. They’d reached Concordia’s side, and she’d pointed, not daring to speak a word, to where their little boy was now going about his explorations of the grass again, the big Pokémon watching over him from more of a distance. They’d wavered, not wanting to set back its recovery, desperately wanting little Narinder back and safe. What if the dose wasn’t strong enough, what if it reacted in anger? What if being sent to sleep now only traumatised it more later, and the next time it saw a child it reacted violently?
In the end, all three of them had stayed quiet and still, Ghetsis watching Narinder and the Pokémon alternately with a calculating look so unlike his normal self. It had almost relieved Concordia to see it, strange and uncomfortable though it was: he was thinking; he was on top of the situation; he would make sure it turned out all right.
And it had, in the end. The Darmanitan had wandered off, and Concordia had seized the moment to carefully, quietly, call her son; to go to him and snatch him up and run inside, shaking with relief. Ghetsis and Anthea had followed, Ghetsis musing aloud how the pen had come to be unlocked, asking Anthea if she’d treated that Pokémon today, even considering firing all the sanctuary staff. Remembering how it had been for her and Anthea, their world upended under them and with no income or savings to fall back on, Concordia had begged him not to, and he’d relented. It had been one slip, that was all, and Narinder hadn’t been hurt, no-one had been hurt, and she’d speak to the staff and make sure it never happened again.
Ghetsis had offered to do that for her, promising he wouldn’t threaten them, and she’d let him.
It was no wonder that nothing had changed.
Ghetsis had spent more time with Narinder after that, walking around the castle with him, often taking him down to the pens outside of roaming hours. It was safer that way, and it was probably still good for Narinder to get used to having the Pokémon around. He reported that the boy was a firm favourite with the Darmanitan, and the others in nearby pens seemed to be warming up to him.
Narinder was just barely walking when it happened again. This time, he hadn’t been outside, or at least not deliberately: Concordia had been in the reception room just off the main hall, considering the décor – Ghetsis had asked her to think about whether it should be updated to present a better image of their sanctuary to visitors, not that there ever were many of those – and Narinder had been toddling about behind her. She was sure the door had been closed; there was nothing dangerous in that room for him to get into; he should have been safe – and the next thing she knew, she could hear his little voice through the window; she hadn’t believed it at first, had looked behind the curtains, only then realising in mounting horror where he had to be and leaning on the windowsill, pressing her nose against the glass, her breath fogging it as she stared out.
There he was, again, out on the grass, right in the middle of the Pokémon’s roaming time – and there, again, was that big Darmanitan, now bounding towards him. She’d shrieked, she couldn’t help herself, but the Pokémon had just swept her boy up for a cuddle and he’d laughed and grabbed at it in his still uncoordinated, innocent way.
Ghetsis had appeared behind her as if by magic, presumably having heard her shriek.
“Look at that…”
“How did he get outside?!” Concordia had demanded.
“I don’t know, but look at him. Isn’t that remarkable? I think he’s going to have a way with our rescue Pokémon that none of us can match.”
“He’s not even two yet!”
Ghetsis had turned her around gently, holding her shoulders. “Sssh. You can’t risk him hearing that you’re scared. If you’re scared, he’ll be scared. If he’s scared…”
She’d swallowed, and pressed all of her emotions down into a cold hard lump at the base of her chest, and she’d been proud of how calm her voice had been when she spoke again.
“What do we do? Do we wait, again?”
“I think that’s all we can do.”
He’d been out there for hours, that time, toddling after the big Pokémon, following where it led. Wrung dry by stress, Concordia had stayed in the window, watching, waiting. And he’d been fine: the one time one of the others had made a mock snap towards him, the Darmanitan had bowled it over with a quick cuff.
When he comes back, don’t make a fuss. You don’t want him to think there’s something wrong with being near the Pokémon. That’s the opposite of what we’re trying to achieve.
And she’d agreed, though it hurt, and so when she finally got him back her emotions had been crushed back down into that cold hard knot, and all she’d done was calmly welcome him as if he’d just been in Anthea’s custody for the day. He’d babbled happily, half-formed half-language with its handful of recognisable words mixed in with all manner of nonsense. It hadn’t meant anything to him. He’d had no reason to be afraid.
From that day on, he was outside more and more. Ghetsis was firm about not smothering him, that it had been proven safe, and the knot in Concordia’s chest had stopped unravelling at all. But she’d smiled, and kept her voice light, and played her part. Even when he was outside all night, some of the calmer Pokémon now free at all times and keeping him cuddled up to them, she’d played her part, never letting him see her fears or her sorrows.
Perhaps, if she found him some friends to play with, he’d come back of his own volition. It hadn’t occurred to her until then how alone he might feel. The castle housekeeping staff were nice enough, but distant, and the shelter staff never had much time for a child. The gardening staff had stopped coming in at some point, and the grounds were growing wilder and wilder, making it less easy to watch him, harder to know he was safe. If she got him some friends…
She’d raised the idea with Ghetsis. It would be awkward to take him out of the castle every day, such a long trip with such an early start, and then to come back again, but she wouldn’t mind. Or perhaps some of the live-in staff might be able to bring their families, if they had little children? She could set up a playroom just like Narinder’s bedroom that they could all play together in, and she’d watch over them herself, to make sure they didn’t get into any trouble.
For the first time in her life, Ghetsis had flat-out refused her. He wouldn’t countenance their son having friends, and Concordia couldn’t believe it. For the first time in their life together, she’d truly raised her voice, shouting at him.
If he’d shouted back, it would have been better. Instead he’d gathered himself and stepped up to her so that she had to look up to see his face, stern and unforgiving as he looked down. There was no hint of kindness in his expression, only something ruthless and terrible as he’d told her again about his dream. As he’d told her that she knew that, no matter how much money they had, it wouldn’t buy change. That change would have to be brought another way, whether through winning people’s hearts and minds, or through force of arms. He’d told her of a long-term plan, one measured in decades, not years. He’d told her if their boy grew up innocent, if all his youthful ideals were kept alive, then he would be their hope of peace. That he might win the favour of Unova’s most legendary Pokémon, Reshiram or Zekrom themselves. That if he did, the country’s people would follow him to the ends of the earth.
But for all that to work, Narinder had to first believe, utterly and completely, that his goals were right. And the best way to ensure he believed that was to control what he knew, and who he knew.
Concordia had been stunned. She hadn’t been able to find the words to say anything, scarcely able to draw breath. The curtain of all her dreams had been drawn back to show that the view beyond was of a graveyard, and her life had crumbled around her.
Very calmly, very matter-of-factly, Ghetsis had told her that there would be no other children. That she would continue playing her part. That she would not confuse little Narinder by trying to give him the wrong kind of hope. That he wouldn’t allow anything, or anyone, to stand in the way of his ambitions for the boy, and if she wasn’t willing to stand with him, then he would not let her stand against him.
The knot in Concordia’s chest had become a freezing iron weight. She’d agreed, numbly. She couldn’t do anything else. She’d run to her sitting room and cried, sobbing into the sofa, until her tears ran out.
She’d thought about running away. But who would she ask; where would she go? The staff were faultlessly polite, but she wasn’t close to any of them. Anthea would help her, but she was living in the same building: she had no more way to leave than Concordia did. They had no other family, no-one to ask how they were doing, to come and find them, and Concordia had let raising her son distract her from writing to her remaining friends, Ghetsis’ soothing voice telling her they would understand.
At last, far too late, she saw the trap she had walked into, had actively helped to build around herself. She couldn’t leave. There was no way out. And the way he had looked, the way he had spoken, the things he had said…
If she tried to leave, and failed, she didn’t even know if he might not simply kill her.
If her son stopped being useful to his father’s ambitions, she didn’t even know if he would let him live either.