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Who Saves The Hero	By : azhiraz Category: Final Fantasy Games > Final Fantasy XIII-2 Views: 1223 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: square enix owns all things Final Fantasy, no intent of profit or gain whatsover intended

Chapter List
- 1-Who Saves The Hero
- 2-Chapter two
- 1
- 2
Author's Notes and disclaimers: Please credit the one & only Def Leppard for the mention of the song & lyric excerpt from "Tonight" off the Adrenalize album (Steve Clark, miss ya!); also mention of Iron Maiden's tune title 'Fear of the Dark" is mentioned. A lovely set of rock ballads arranged for the traditional harp did offer some motivation to write this additional chapter. Hope you don't mind the inclusion.
Square Enix owns all things Final Fantasy & there is no intent of profit or gain whatsoever.
As always, please keep in mind this is rated mature content for good reason: There can and will be fairly explicit heterosexual contact between adults, adult situations and violence, adult language and in between, the occasional romance story between two near immortals will creep out and lick someone's ankle for attention...
The evening lights twinkled a warm welcome to Lightning’s return from her hunt; even warmer was the welcome from the garrison and her friends; they were appreciatively tearing into the kill that had been grilling over the kitchen fires that afternoon; who’d have thought of the simple clever idea of sending her hunt partner back a half day early with fresh meat? She stopped, puzzled saying: ”My kill? Actually, it was Noel Kreiss who has credit there!” She kept it honest, the admiration a surprise to her listeners; they all thought he was bit full of himself, his nomad’s solitary ways mistaken for pride. She took her lesson in the desert to heart, telling them of her near miss, insisting everyone run practice programs with tailed creatures in the next month and discussed the merits of sharpening blades daily from now on. Of course, no one had known where Kreiss had gone to; they’d all assumed he was sleeping it off, as their Valkrie did tend to run anyone with her at a blistering pace.
When Noel made it back to the great room later that evening, he was treated with far more cordiality than the previous week, even invited to a table to throw dice and drink; he joined, but kept Lightning in his line of sight; she had looked up at him and started to smile warmly in welcome, determined to be gracious, but the smile faded into a confused stillness as he looked at her like she was a stranger, nodding tersely at first; and then later, the hunter looked daggers at her the next time she looked up from her conversation with commandant Johel, who was pouring her drink for her with that sideways play of his eyes he practiced on all women; said specimens were an intriguing amber in tint and had been the undoing of many men and women in the garrison and nearby township. She kindly turned him down as she always did, and carefully withdrew her hand from his as he gallantly held her hand to forehead in Etro’s blessing and kissed her fingertips, before leaving for the town bars to pursue more serious prey; he was reputed to change his lovers like he changed his underwear and anyone with a little sense usually steered clear of him or pretended they had a lover already.
The commandant and Lightning were both startled at a shout that had gone up suddenly at the gaming table during their little one-sided flirtation; they turned as one and saw Noel’s hunting knife quivering in the wood, driven there with savage stroke; his face was that of a hungry desert lynx and he hissed just like one for brief three seconds, then snapped the look off his face and nonchalantly shrugged: ”Baste it, I always get snake eyes when I bet my pay!” Everyone laughed, and offered advice, or other clever existentialist comments about luck, the evening falling back into predictable pattern. But no one, not even Lightning, noticed the jealous glint of the indigo eyes that followed her from table to table in the shadows of the firelight, until the evening wound down to a close.
Lightning couldn’t quite shake the feeling the strange bloom of passion that had happened the day before was a fantasy, or a wild dream. Maybe she’d picked the wrong bush & well, taken a trip without leaving the campfire, so to speak. She remembered a recruit who’d gone mad tripping his fool brains out after eating a cactus for water, wandering lost for two days, only to be found sleeping in a wadi, clothed only in bits of vine and wilted cactus blooms clutching a bunch of dates, the sticky sweet fruit smeared on his face wreathed in a blissful smile. She expelled her breath in a soft whew, telling herself the fantasy was far too detailed for a drug induced dream, but then, again, what if it were just a lonely fantasy blown out of proportion by a drink and nature’s high?
She kept trying to remember the scent of the resin and his skin while in the shower, and failing, she became desperate, looking for a sign, any sign that he’d really been with her, lifting and turning her soapsud covered limbs; disappointed, she gave up, rubbing her neck to wipe off the soap lather that had gathered there and…winced.
Her mind went into shock as she remembered being ravaged by a full sexy mouth exactly there, and almost trembling, she pulled her small arm shield from the pile of armor in the dressing room, stepped to the mirror and squeezed her eyes shut in a brief prayer to Etro before opening them to her reflection in the shield; then she steeled herself into a soldier’s stare and swept the wet hair off her neck. Her neck was untouched, pure unbroken skin, no purpling bruise of passion or teeth marks. I’ve gone mad, I just know it… I am obsessed; I just dreamed a night of Noel Kreiss….she shut her eyes again, this time wearily, a prickle of tears rising at her own insanity. She shook her head, laying the shield back down, went to reach for a comb and froze as Noel Kriess’ image reflected back in the mirror stared back at her; he had the same intense look of impudent admiration, but mixed with a spark that was quickly fanned into hot jealousy that scorched her skin. He arched a brow and stated with dry humor: ”I should have left you marked the first time as mine.”
Silently he pounced, wrapping a hand across her mouth to ensure not a sound escaped her lips as she was pulled to his lean sinewy body; she threw her nastiest kick and throw hold break, but he had judged her better and had her caught right this time. He hung on, his long arms tightening into a steel band around her and she violently flexed, trying to shake him, but failed and ended up bent over the end of the high table piled with towels and sea sponges like a common wench about to be taken in lust. But passion ruled the moment, not lust.
Another savage sucking bite was delivered, this time deep enough to make her growl and grit her teeth, now angry at the uninvited intrusion. A soft romantic kiss stolen in the bath was one thing, but this? It was pure unadulterated animal behavior. His soft accented tenor unkindly informed her with the rawest, nastiest, downright dirty tone of possessive ownership: “There. If that man-whore hasn’t the sense to stay away from you after seeing that, I’ll carve his pretty amber eyes out and sell them to the nearest witch for spells. And if you even try one healing spell, It’ll be a tattoo next time, and in a place you will NOT like.”
And just like that, he was gone, leaving a panting, pissed off female of the species staring at a reflection of a very obvious lovebite on the back of her neck. Her screech of rage could be heard past the bath door, echoing down the hallway of the officer’s private wing, causing heads to pop out of doors in confusion. Noel didn’t pause once in his stride, but a corner of his mouth quirked up and almost smiled.
The next day was odd for Lightning; she forgot about the lovebite for about 5 minutes at a time or until the rasp of fabric against bruised skin would remind her of the rough handling; the flare of anger made her mood turn foul, and she laid into everyone at practice; any excuse to pick on Noel was taken, but he bore it well, never complaining and answered every whiplash of command with the utmost respect. Even when shaking with exhaustion and well worked over by the various drills, he was the first by her side carefully holding his hand up to allow her to step out of the practice ring without a misstep; he even did things unasked or ordered: he brought her water, dry towels to mop away the sweat and dirt. He did not let anyone touch her weapon, sharpening it until the edges gleamed, then knelt again like she was Etro to sheathe her gunsaber, but this time in front of everybody in the great hall. The few observers who even cared to note it were amused, thinking the hunter must have really pissed off their Lightning, or thought it no more than a simple nomad’s gesture of respect.
She didn’t know quite how to treat Noel, as he did intrude into the personal space she’d carved out for herself; but again, she had decided to let him in while in the desert, so she blamed herself for the current state of affairs, if a single night could even be called an affair. She concluded in a few days, his jealous infatuation would fade; possession wore on men quickly, it seemed. If it got violent, well, she had a gunsaber. Shoot first, ask questions later. Still, something intrigued her about Noel: Why such a conflicting attitude? Why behave like he was her servant, every last whim of hers was to be obeyed without question today? Why did he say whatever pleased her would please him? Why did he disappear in the night like shy boy after silently worshipping her like she was the only woman on the planet, like he was never there? The fierce possessive act of the lovebite and a warning was a puzzling contrast. Had it been any other man, she’d have written it off as psych and promptly ejected him from the garrison; but there was something so…so…savagely innocent, so vulnerably simple about him she could not help but want to delve deeper.
So she sat deep in thought by the great firepit in the center of the room, idly twirling a glass of a red wine, raising it to occasionally admire the deep ruby flashes in the liquid as she observed it against the licking golden flames; she was a perfect picture of a relaxed leader in her chair, and the firelight softened her naturally lovely features as the stresses of the day faded away listening to the fall of the dice, the idle chatter against the pop & crackle of the logs in the pit. One of the younger soldiers brought out his harp and began to pluck it; he did not break into any ballads or try to impress anyone with arpeggios, but simply plucked lightly, coloring the air with sound which pleased the occupants of the room; the hands soon fell into old patterns and resurrected a few old tunes, like Isle of Kisses, Within Temptation, Fear of the Dark and Tonight; she gazed raptly at the hands plucking at the harp and visibly relaxed into the music; the solider-artist softly hummed to accompany the music, occasionally softly singing a line or two as he remembered them in a pleasant husky tenor; the lyrics to tonight were a poignant echo of the strange occurrence she had experienced with the man in desert garb not sitting 30 feet away from her, hand propping up his head on the scarred table; ….for if it pleases you, it pleases me….
His gaze flicked to her at hearing that line; it was as if he couldn’t help himself; no impudent arrogant admiration, no lazily sarcastic attitude, just a look that somehow pled, that somehow seemed surprisingly intimate with its focused intensity on one object in the room: her. The eyelids fell almost bashfully over the now – tranquil lakes of cerulean when she returned the gaze steadily with no fear, remembering his accented tenor whispering those scorching words. She would have never marked him for sensitive, but those eyelids were just that, the silk fringe of dark lashes sweeping his cheek as if to hide from an ardent suitor.
But when he looked up again, oh, what was spoken without words! Caught by the story unfolding in those eyes she could do no more than sit transfixed as he relived some memory, the cool sapphire waters slowly melting into something more, darker, deeper than just attraction or lust. He kept his gaze on her, the iris of his eyes darkening; something in it was looking right into her, deep inside to the very soul of her and what was found was supremely….erotic. Lightning felt like she was falling into those smoky blue depths & finding a profound exhilaration in those open eyes to match her own excitement spiraling up in her soul; the maddening rhythm of her pulse was unbearably sexual; all other sensations in the room fell away, and she was alone with him, the sheer intensity verging on agonizing , soaring to night sky with the sparks from a falling log until her body gently released itself, drifting back down in a welter of sweat, trembling, & thudding heart. The rest of the world slowly hazed itself back in, plucked harp notes quivering in the air surrounding them, the feel of the soldier-artist changing beat as the music coaxed the crowd into handclapping along, people changing movements, places; some of them quaffing beer, or lip locked in frenzied embraces in search of what might have just happened with Noel, here…???
What in the name of Etro is happening to me tonight? Lightning set her unfinished red thunder in a bottle down and made her way somewhat unsteadily to the soldier with the harp to thank him for the music; he grinned and bobbed his head before breaking into a rowdy drinking song as she turned to go back to her room to relax and sleep. Weariness began to set in as she made her way through the tables to the stairs beyond the double doors; she bumped into a corner and sighed at the thought of another bruise rising on her leg tomorrow. A light touch on her elbow ghosted into a Noel Kreiss silently offering a hand to guide her; he latched onto her hand with the lightest of touches and another fell light as a feather around her waist as he guided her through the crowded tables through the double doors and up the stairs to the quiet darkness beyond. There were a few couples kissing in the hallway of the officer’s wing, but he kept himself totally circumspect, just another soldier turned guard to his leader. She swayed a bit as she unlocked the door and quietly thanked him, albeit formally for his escort.
His only comment was: ”You’ve pushed yourself too hard today with too little sustenance, Lightning.” He reached into his waistpack at the back of his belt , rummaged and brought out a fresh leaf folded into a packet, dropping it into a palm he’d turned face up. “Eat before sleeping. It will restore you. Now, sleep.”
She looked the leaf packet over, and decided it was no worse than a paan, a betel leaf wrapped round a betel nut that the desert dwellers all chewed as a mouth amusement or after dinner to freshen breath. She put into her mouth after curiously sniffing it; it had a fresh peppery smell and slightly chewy texture; the leaf was wrapped around a creamy white nut, which was subtly sweet and quite enjoyable. She crawled into bed to sleep off a long day.
Later, in the still of the night, a lean shadow walked into Lightning’s room with the silent tread of an assassin and sat on the window ledge cross-legged, watching her unconscious movements with a deep possessiveness and feeling of utter satisfaction at the sight of a very private fascination enjoying his gift of a deep healing slumber.
She didn’t even murmur as he tenderly brushed strands of icy pink silk off a creamy neck, well pleased to see she did not erase the way he had branded her as his own. Silently exultant, he knew he had caught her interest. He had the power to do anything, everything, if he wished it. Tonight, he chose nothing. Knowing was enough.
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Who Saves The Hero