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Crescent Stigma	By : Cynthermes Category: Final Fantasy Games > Crossovers Views: 833 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Dissidia, Final Fantasy IV, Final Fantasy I and its characters belong solely to Square Enix. They’re not mine. I can only lay claim to some OC’s and the plot. No profit has been made for the construction of this prose

Chapter List
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CHAPTER ONE: Blood Ties
“…” A garbled sound as if a voice speaking underwater steadily and slowly drummed on his ears. He struggled to open his eyes but cold rough skin… someone’s palms pressed them shut.
A feeling of near-fear crept into his spine and his breathing started to become irregular, deep, and shallow in different intervals.
“…”
There it was again, the voice speaking something warped and incomprehensible, this time almost whispering on his ear.
He couldn’t catch a hint of it and troubled him deeply. His attempts to open his eyes were becoming more and more futile.
He instinctively moved his arms and tried to grasp, to reach whatever or whoever it was before him that covered his eyes.
The fingertips of his left hand grazed cold, pointed, and smooth metal. Tracing it feebly in the darkness gave him a mental outline of a crown?
His fingers dipped on a smooth forehead adorned by silky locks of hair…
Abruptly before he could go any further, the same cold rough skin crawled down the expanse of his exposed neck and started to strangle him.
He couldn’t breathe! He gasped practically clawing for air but the pressure at the base of his throat only increased threatening to snap his delicate, youthful neck at any moment.
Muffled screams were arrested from spilling out of his parted lips when a gauntleted hand clamped on it shut as well.
Blinded, throttled, and helpless he started thrashing on his bed…
A soft tapping on his cheek seemed to disentangle him from the gripping horror. “Cecil!”
“Cecil, wake up.” This voice was clear, familiar, and filled with affection. There was no mistaking it and soon enough the phantom that brought him irrational fear dissolved.
The vision of gleaming white faded along with his clouded sight. His once glassy, unfocused eyes cleared and the image of a middle-aged man appeared on his field of vision.
“My son,” King Odin called affectionately and the boy all but leapt on his open arms, whimpering in mixed relief and residual panic.
For a moment, a trick of the eye, his liege and adoptive father was someone he feared… all clad in blinding white—
The boy, Cecil buried his face on the king’s shoulder exhaling troubled breaths.
“There, dear child. T’was nothing but a dream.” Odin soothed, patting the flaxen-haired head.
When he calmed enough, his indigo-blue eyes impossibly widened remembering the significance of this day. He raised his head and collided with the monarch currently holding him securely in his arms.
They both recoiled at the pain of impact but the young one was obviously more hurt. A thin trickle of blood marred the skin on the boy’s head where a sharp thin tier of the king’s crown nicked it. Odin immediately scrambled around for anything, a piece of cloth to wipe and nurse the wound.
A tall, male figure inconspicuously within the room until now wordlessly passed him a kerchief.
The ever-clueless and flustered mess of a father gave his captain of the royal guard a grateful stare and patched Cecil’s wound with the soft cloth.
“I’m fine, your majesty. Thank you.” Cecil clutched at his padded wound and half-heartedly moved out of the king’s reach. It was a small cut, nothing to be fussed about.
Odin masked the feelings of inadequacy gnawing at him on his adopted son’s impersonal reaction. A logical part of his mind scolded him and deemed his son’s actions reasonable. Cecil was a promising child, training to be a squire. At his tender age of ten he was a very excellent page and denying him the next passage to knighthood due to traditional prudish constraints was a waste of his talents and potential. To coddle him like a spoiled whelp would stunt the noble knight’s spirit steadily taking root on a boy’s frail heart.
This was what signified the event of today and was the reason for him, as ruler to be attired in accord in the first place.
“The tourney and joust competition!” As if reading the monarch’s thoughts, the young squire in training scrambled quickly out of his loose embrace and was all over the expansive room in search of grooming essentials and his official livery for the upcoming events. The vestiges of the nightmare simply were nonexistent.
The king couldn’t help but heave an indulgent sigh. Unbeknownst to everyone, he was the least person who looked forward to what was about to come. The tourney and the joust… were nothing but a big farce.
What lay beneath might just steal Cecil’s sole affections for him and that made him more than afraid.
XxX
Morgatte’s grand stadium was packed with spectators: peasants and nobles, foreigners and citizens alike. Their shouts, cheers, claps, and the general uproar of an excited audience watching the annual match could be heard from as far as the behourd.
So the tourneys had already started.
Cecil paused from the task at hand and looked up at the clear cobalt-blue sky. Unlike the design of old, the behourd, where young squires and knights pursue their training was separated from the rhombus-shaped arena located midway from the city square before reaching the first gatehouse of Castle Morgatte.
The behourd was a part of the outer bailey constructed for those who aspire to be knights.
It was the open field within the kingdom’s outer walls where the military might of Morgatte first held batons and rebated blades over swords, lances and spears. It was where distinguished knights, captains, and generals spent most of their late boyhood and early adolescence. It was where Cecil and Kain would nurture both their friendship and combat skills.
“Spacing out again, I see.” A snort coming from someone beside him made him snap from his reverie. He almost dropped the broad sword he was polishing before he righted himself, resuming his task of sharpening it flawless.
“I was just thinking about the tourneys and how our knights are doing against the foreigners.” Cecil explained to the blond boy wearing the same livery whose stern features seemed to take an air of maturity over his youth. He need not look over his shoulder to know that it was Kain.
“His Majesty promised that we could watch the main tourney and the joust as long as we don’t inconvenience our knights. Lucky for you, the owner of that sword would not even miss his weapon if it were gone.” True enough, the blade was a ceremonial sword that hasn’t seen a single battle but nonetheless dubbed aspirant men to go into such.
Cecil wasn’t ignorant of the fact that many pages and squires envied him to be directly of service to the king. The Captain of his Royal Guard might shadow him for protection but when it comes to other matters, Cecil’s duty was the coveted position of every soul in the castle. Aside from a little formality the boy only needed to act like himself, to be the devoted son every doting father wished for.
“Don’t say that.” Cecil frowned at his friend’s crass tone. Odin still needed this sword and it was his duty to polish it sharp until it gleamed like a mirror.
Without a retort, Kain snatched the sword and the whetstone from his friend’s frail-looking hands. “I’ll fill in for you. Go train a while.” The dragoon squire-in-training said as flippantly as ever.
The king’s squire-in-training was at a loss. “What for?”
Kain heaved an exasperated sigh. “Have you gone deaf as well? I said practice with the pell. Give it all you have.” This uncharacteristic coldness and the way Kain addressed him was the exact opposite of the warm, caring nature he was used to. It’s as if Kain treated him like a rival, a foe, or a subordinate he didn’t know what. But it did nothing to quell his confusion.
Sighing and choosing to understand the oddness in his friend’s behavior, he took the baton but Kain yet again interrupted him with a huff and pointed at the newly sharpened blade directly across from it.
Cecil’s face was now a big question mark but his childhood friend completely ignored him.
Choosing to vent his confusion, anger, and frustration at the training dummy he took his best stance and confronted the pell like a live opponent. He had joined Kain in basic sword and spear training a year ago and was on the process of developing their own techniques and styles in handling both weapons.
At this stage he still lacked both the finesse, strength, and focus a veteran swordsman and an experienced knight possessed. But that didn’t deter his instincts in battle. When it comes down to it the main goal was to avoid injury and strike the enemy faster before they can land a hit. In every sparring match and stray encounters with monsters outside he made that simple principle the key to his victory and success.
Kain watched his friend have a go at the pell from the corner of his eyes with a hint of smile on his lips. He was older and his sword training was more advanced than Cecil’s but seeing how his friend slash, thrust, and swing mostly in the right angles and avoid being hit by the rotating pell’s arms rather than batter it like a nonsensical brute and get rebound damage for trying was indeed promising. With each passing moment, his anxiety and worry was slowly ebbing away.
He might have fretted over for nothing.
Still he was against what was about to come and keeping secrets from his dearest childhood friend wasn’t doing wonders to improve his sullen mood.
“Cecil Austere,” At the mention of one name, everyone in the courtyard stopped in their tracks.
Captain Zander Baigan was at the entranceway accompanied by two other members of the royal guard. They wore full ceremonial regalia for knights participating in the joust.
“You called my name, Sir?” A boyish but pleasant voice of the king’s adopted son answered their call courteously.
Kain’s hands curled secretly into fists as he too paused in his task, distracted. It was too soon! Can’t they give him more time? Unsupervised training on the pell wasn’t even enough warm up.
But Cecil couldn’t know, could he?
The blond fledgling of a legendary dragoon watched in silent horror as his friend was led away from the behourd.
Cecil! Kain wanted to scream his name but his throat tightened and no sound came out of his parted lips.
XxX
Cecil’s heart was hammering very fast in his chest he thought it would burst. He was being led to the armory and not only that. He was instructed to be attired in accordance to that of a full-pledged knight.
Seriously what was going on?
The retired knight in charge of the armory was handing out modified versions of a cuirass, a lamellar, a gambeson, plate armor in display for his choosing. They were pleasing in the eye and just being able to touch them filled him with childish awe but even with their reduced sizes they were all very heavy and simply not built to fit the physique of a scrawny boy.
The charge asked him again if he wanted to try any of them and he would be glad to be of assistance but the flaxen-haired youth vigorously shook his head. The captain of the royal guard and the armory charge traded unreadable stares and soon exchanged nods and without another word, the former led the livery-attired Cecil towards the deepest part of the castle.
Dark, damp, and cold…
Any grown man would have feared the depths of this place. Endless walls, empty, lengthy corridors and winding pathways lined with blazing torches were the very definition of an enclosed maze.
Gooseflesh quickly prickled on Cecil’s nape and the rest of his body. Captain Baigan and his escorts were leading him to an unknown location via the dungeons. He heard his minder tell him and Kain tales of terror about the Morgattian dungeons when they refused to be put to bed early.
These dungeons were said to be used by the kingdom’s former tyrannical monarch to torture and execute rebels.
The prison grills and barbed partitions have been removed and destroyed the moment Odin stepped in to fill an empty, crumbling throne. But some markings on the stone coupled with the suffocating feeling of being watched didn’t stop the hackles from rising up his throat when they turned on certain corners.
“If I wouldn’t be so impolite, could I ask where we are going, Lord Zander?” Cecil asked to break the entombed silence that was currently making his rapidly pounding heart thump higher up his throat.
The king’s captain of the royal guard paused yet didn’t turn around to face the insolent boy. “It matters not where we are going. But you best be on your toes, Austere.”
This reply didn’t thaw the icy cold fear steadily freezing his frantically beating heart but it gave him fair warning that something unpleasant awaits him.
The large patch of light at the end of a blind curved corridor and the uproar of undistinguished voices coming from it immediately told him where he was.
Cecil fought the urge to literally freeze in place. The earlier practice on the pell, the authentic weapon, the choice of armor and the formally-attired knights escorting him was beginning to make sense and the inevitable conclusion of being chosen for a mock-duel or a tournament was very clear in the boy’s logical frame of mind.
“Hurry on, boy.” One of the knights chastised him.
The king’s squire looked at him and at the weapon sheathed on his left hand. “Am I to fight in a tourney, Sir?”
A fleeting look of panic crossed both knights’ faces while Zander’s strong back remain unmoved. Perhaps they were surprised for a youth Cecil’s age to understand what was to come so quickly. “Don’t ask any more questions. The terms of the tournament will be explained to you, shortly.”
The Captain of the Royal Guard didn’t even incline his head as he spoke.
‘He won’t even look at me.’ “Aye Sir.” He gave them a curt nod and followed them in the open field of the grand arena.
The sudden glare of sunlight made him instinctively raise his arm to shield his eyes. The roar of an overexcited crowd however made him wish to cover his ears instead. The underground tunnels were a complete contrast to the stadium. Somehow he suspected that the knights used the nonconventional path to purposefully jar his senses. Was he to undergo some test of chivalry?
He wasn’t made to ponder more about his predicament for a speck of gold quickly claimed his attention. The sights and sounds of the arena were muted when the young Cecil and the young Rosa’s eyes met. Of all the persons to find within the open field for men, the white-mage-in-training was the last person he expected to be there with him.
Rosa stood in full white robes; her blond hair was loose save a small knot of braid behind her head when she tried to steal another side-long glance at him. She was uneasy, he could tell so and she appeared to be withholding a grimace from showing openly on her beautiful face.
If he was surprised to find one of his childhood friends in the arena he was appalled to see a full-geared knight standing ahead of her. The knight was really tall; taller than most of the members of the royal guard while his physique was more slender than muscular. A complete headgear covered the man’s face and the armor he wore was Aaragornian, if he was any good judge.
“Page Cecil Austere, step forward.” Captain Baigan commanded.
The boy suddenly had the urge to look up amongst the crowd and spotted the royal rostrum. His adoptive father, King Odin was nowhere to be found.
Not to be told twice and shame his honor and the king’s name he obeyed.
“A pleasant morn to all. We are gathered here for a special part of the tourneys’ closing ceremony. As Captain of the Royal Guard of His Majesty King Odin, I was delegated the task to stage a mock battle between His Majesty’s chosen and the Alliance’s chosen champion. There is only one expected outcome: The duel ends when one of the two participants is expelled from the ring.”
Cecil noticed that a small ring had been erected at the very center of the field. Its diameter was comparable to ten men with hands linked together like in a child’s game.
Were they to wrestle in that ring and push the other out? But that doesn’t connect with the weapon he had been given prior to this match. His opponent seemed not to have any weapon at all either.
“This special tourney is known as Zantetsuken. Two opponents shall have different roles. The novice will play the role of ‘Odin’ while the veteran shall play the role of ‘Tyrant’. Therefore, Odin who bears the sword must make the Tyrant flee outside the circle with one stroke to gain victory. If the Tyrant evades the blow and remains inside the circle then the Tyrant will be the victor.”
The young boy’s heart plummeted down his belly in hearing those words. He was to attack this unknown knight with his small sword and force him out the ring with a single blow? Were the knights making a jest out of him? There was roughly any chance for him to win except if his opponent stood still and be willing enough to be pushed outside the circle…
As they were commanded to take their respective positions Cecil watched with wide, anxious eyes when the knight’s blade touched the ground marking the start of the duel.
He closed his eyes and struggled to quickly compose himself. If he couldn’t act like a knight and accept this challenge despite the odds then he wasn’t worthy to even be the king’s son.
The passing thought that flashed through his mind erased his doubts in himself. He charged, determined against his opponent with a full swing.
The crowd went ecstatic, erupting with uproarious yells and shouts.
Cecil saw the still figure of the man in full armor. It surprised him but he didn’t slow his pace.
Before he knew what was happening the man was moving, slowly pacing towards him then broke into a charge wielding a broadsword that was concealed from the start.
Against the sun, everything on the man from head to toe appeared black even his sword.
He wanted to stop his advance but there was no way to pivot now. A shadow fell above his head and the boy could only see a blade swiftly descending before him.
The sword was swiftly parried before it could cut a single strand of ash-blond hair.
“You don’t lay your blade on my son, even though it is you.” His father’s startlingly clear voice resounds beside him, shaken, admonishing, and somewhat sad…
The shape of Odin’s back brings solace and security on the young page’s rattled frame.
By Cecil’s feet lay a wooden broadsword, a ‘baton’ sliced into pieces on the grainy soil of the arena.
The crowd immediately grew silent. A few gasps of shock and indignation along with murmurings distracted Cecil enough before a woman dressed in the most sumptuous silken gown came forth in slow majestic steps flanked by knights and ladies-in-waiting.
“I apologize, King Odin in behalf of my elder son. Sometimes youth carry untamed vigor with them, yes?” The Queen Nastasha curtsied before a suddenly thunderstruck king.
“Pardon me Your Majesty and Your Highness but may I be allowed to attend to those who might be injured?” The small but firm voice of the neophyte white mage snapped Odin from his trance.
“Why, of course Ms. Farrell.” He really wasn’t looking at the girl but the queen.
“Let’s end this farce Odin. Let the children know each other.” Nastasha gave a soft radiant smile but it wasn’t meant for him but for the boy he calls his son but was biologically hers to begin with.
Cecil’s eyes were neither locked gazes with his father’s nor his mother’s and not even his friend’s.
The armored man had removed his dark helm.
A shock of gold-spun hair as blond as Kain’s, a perpetually sad beautifully-sculpted face and deep amethyst eyes were boring holes into his very soul.

                            ***
He awoke slowly in a semi-lit room. The place was unfamiliar but a soft flowery scent wafted into his senses.
“Lavender?” Cecil’s lungs were filled with the invigorating fragrance. He inhaled deeply only realizing the mistake when pain hit him like a wave. His head suddenly felt heavy, his injured sides stung and his left leg throbbed incessantly. He groaned hoarsely and tasted something bitter in his mouth: medicine? He soon noticed that he was topless due to the bandages and he wore silk pants that were quite too long.
“Don’t push yourself and lie down a little more.” A smooth baritone voice admonished.
“What?” Cecil turned to the direction of the voice. He hadn’t noticed until now that a dark figure curled next to the fireplace. This shadow was watching him the whole time. It caused the hairs at the back of his head to stand knowing that at this state he couldn’t quite defend himself if this stranger decided to kill him. “Who are you?” He resisted the urge to back away when the towering armor approached in heavy footfalls.
“My, I’m deeply wounded by those words. Have you forgotten to recognize my voice for not seeing me for so long, Cecil?” The man inside the armor replied mock accusingly.
“Don’t be a coward and show yourself! Don’t hide inside that armor!” Cecil demanded, fiery indigo eyes narrowing to the armored soldier who slaughtered his would-be murderer mercilessly. The receding memory in the dream had a disquieting effect on the already vulnerable knight.
The receiver of that stare sighed and strangely consented to the bed occupant’s compelling words. The armor dissolved into nothingness and revealed the vision of his last dream in the flesh.
Cecil gasped simultaneously uttering, “Brother?”
Radian smiled gracefully wearing fine clothes with Aaragorn Kingdom’s royalty insignia at the center of the fabric.
“No…” The ash blond’s eyes widened realizing he is in enemy territory at this crucial point.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you knowing that I just saved you from your… former comrades.” Radian chuckled at his brother’s alarmed expression.
“Why then? …Did you save me?” Cecil asked quietly looking away and holding back the sting in his wounds.
“Because I was certain this would happen eventually. I know I will get you back on my side that day I walked out of Morgatte’s gates.” Radian said smoothly.
“This doesn’t mean I will cease to being Morgatte’s Knight. After all you’re the one who trained me to become a fine protector of my kingdom, Brother.” The young ash blond knight stated with pride and honor.
“Your homeland has turned its back on you. This stubbornness would get you nowhere. King Odin wouldn’t spare you from doubts since I influenced your knighthood. He thinks I devised this from the very beginning.” The elder brother explicated.
“No. You have nothing to do with this brother. It was because of the crystal.” Cecil replied with a resigned tone.
“So I heard. Since the day mother died, King Odin’s been obsessed in collecting them. How foolish is that?” Radian moved closer and sat on the bed observing that the other occupant had gotten paler than normal.
“In order to get the crystal, we have to kill innocent people. I just couldn’t stand it, especially when I was forced to decide killing a young girl. I… couldn’t do it.” The young knight visibly trembled.
“Then he declared that as cowardice and treason, am I correct?” Radian guessed impartially, soothing his brother as he brushed silver hair with his fingers in a relaxing manner that Cecil liked.
“It is treason for Morgatte but I just wouldn’t become a merciless killer.” Cecil faced him with lustrous indigo eyes.
“I guess that’s enough for tonight Cecil. You’re straining yourself just remaining awake. We can talk about plans tomorrow.” Radian quickly cut him off. “We might as well retire for the night.” The blond took his pillow got an extra blanket on the locker and walked across the room where a divan waited for him.
But as he approached the divan, he paused and turned to his young brother. “You really made me proud standing up to the King and not following him blindly like a puppet. You have become a valiant knight filled with honor, good night my Cecil.” Radian lied down and closed his eyes leaving Cecil to contemplate.
Cecil gave him one last glance before he too complied with the demands of his body and soon drifted into a deep slumber.
Radian watched him sleep. After four years they were once again reunited by fate. It was quite surreal at the same time a strange ache surfaced from the depths of his heart. He had made up his mind. He would convince his father Silva to adopt Cecil.
XxX
What’s left of the combined forces of Morgatte’s cavalry and infantry returned shaken and more battle-scarred than ever.
“Did you succeed in executing Cecil Austere?” Zander interrogated at once as the soldiers marched into the royal chambers. The Adviser stood inches away from the empty throne.
“Negative, Your Excellency,” was the soldiers stuttering reply.
“WHAT?” Zander hollered in rage. “How can you fail to eradicate a traitor in his helpless state? For sure he was in such a disadvantage considering your number!”
“Pardon us Your Excellency but there was interference. A strange knight clad in black impenetrable armor came for Cecil’s rescue just the moment that we were about to execute him. That knight also… killed General Gringast on the spot.” The remaining commander of the cavalry unit reported.
The adviser’s lips compressed into a very thin line. “Very well, you’re dismissed. Have those atrocious wounds treated.” He said suddenly to the great astonishment of the army.
When he was left alone once again, the adviser started to tremble uncontrollably. His muscles spasmed and the bones snapped in convulsive motions. When he collapsed panting for breath against the side of the throne, his shadow lengthened and the other half of it was ripped violently as if an invisible force did so.
A human form began to materialize in the darkness. Its leer was only reserved for the suffering, writhing body of the court adviser. “I suppose your body has reached its limits. I apologize if I have to handle it so roughly. I was never used to handle my toys so gently either.”
“The king’s heir is safe now. Morgatte still has hope. Long live the king! Long live the king’s son!” Baigan said valiantly though with great effort and pain.
The figure hidden by shadow crouched down near his prone form. “Oh is that so? I should worry about myself first before others if I were you.” He raked a sharp nail at one corner of the adviser’s mouth making it tear and bleed. Behind him three darker more monstrous figures appeared wearing devilish smiles in their faces.
A/N: Go ahead! Criticize me! (But in a good way, hehe)
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Crescent Stigma