Chapter Text
“This is where you live?” Regis sounds affronted as they step into Fleur’s apartment. Fleur thinks her apartment is rather nice. The kitchen is updated with sleek appliances and a white tile back-splash, the counter tops are granite and the entire apartment has lovely hardwood floors. Not to mention the fact that she has a balcony. “It’s tiny.”
Six above she loves her balcony. It’s the perfect place for a cup of tea in the morning or to watch the sun set with a cool glass of wine. Fleur has lucked out on managing to snag her current apartment and she might have only won it after a fierce bidding war but it was worth it.
Once upon a time she had wanted a house. Nothing big. Just a small piece of land she could build her own home and garden on. Fleur never managed such a thing, she was always too busy running from one crisis to another to bother looking for a decent piece of land. Her apartment in Mizzenmast was more than enough for her to rest in before jumping into whatever crisis needed her attention.
Fleur has given up on the dream of a garden and a peaceful life. Her apartment - well maintained even though it’s nothing more than a crash pad - is all she needs.
“It’s a two bedroom,” Fleur says easily and directs the men toward the kitchen where Weskham and the others promptly unpack the groceries, “It’s big enough, not all of us can live in a palace, Your Highness.”
Regis spins around to look her at her with a frown on his face. He’s clutching a can of soup with a dent on it and Fleur wonders if it got that way because it hit Regis on the head. It wouldn’t surprise her. Regis is that sort of person.
“I didn’t say it was bad,” he protests. He casts an eye around the living and spies Fleur’s green velvet sofa that she splurged on after dragging herself out of the pit of despair that ate up her stomach when the twins birthdays came around. It was an impulse purchase but it has great back support and is large enough to be a bed should Fleur decide that the trip to her room isn’t worth it. “You have good taste in furniture,” Regis adds as if that is going to dissuade Fleur from teasing him.
The couch is another reason why Fleur doesn’t feel bad about making the others camp out in her living room. Two can have her spare bedroom and the other three can camp out in the living room which is furnished with not only the couch but also a love seat and a chair that Fleur enjoys curling up on with her embroidery.
The boys will be fine. Probably. Fleur is certain she hasn’t trapped this place. There is no need to. It’s not like anyone is going to come knocking on her door looking for the Warrior of Light.
Fleur debates teasing Regis some more. It might be cruel to point out how Regis is so used to a life of luxury that a normal apartment seems tiny to him. It also might be cruel to point out that he is going to be sleeping in the living room because Cor and Cid are getting the guest bedroom. Cor is still young enough that Fleur would feel bad making him sleep on a couch when there is a serviceable bed and Cid is the oldest of them and thus deserves the right to either share with the kid or kick Cor into a sleeping bag.
She’ll leave the choice up to them.
“You implied it,” Fleur says in a sing-song voice as she darts passed Regis and grabs the dented can out of Regis’ hands in a one quick movement. She spins on her heel as she reaches the garbage can, hits the lever on the side with her foot and drops the can into it as soon as it opens.
It lands with a clang.
Regis stares at her. Confusion lining his furrowed brow as he looks at his retainers helplessly. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with Fleur and that makes Fleur want to giggle like a schoolgirl.
She doesn’t. Fleur is old enough to admit that taking joy out of confusing those who assume they’re her betters should probably beneath her.
It really isn’t.
The others are too busy putting Fleur’s groceries away to pay Regis any attention. Fleur wonders if she can convince at least one to stay with her. It would make putting away groceries and shopping a lot easier.
“Can I take them from you?” Fleur asks. Changing the subject in an act of mercy on the poor prince.
Regis stares at her. His confusion replaced by a look of fierce possession before it smooths into something polite and worthy of court.
“Sorry,” Regis says all charming smiles and bright eyes and Fleur doesn’t buy it for a second, “I’m afraid I’m not keen on the idea of letting them go.”
“We are quite taken,” Weskham adds, “The dragon over there isn’t keen on sharing.”
Fleur laughs.
“A pity,” she calls out with a grin on her face, “I was hoping to keep you as a butler! You seem to know your way around the kitchen well enough!”
Weskham laughs. It rings through the kitchen like a bell and Fleur catches the look of fondness melt the court mask Regis wore.
“Does my lady want her meat in the fridge or the freezer?” Weskham asks
“Put the dodo in the fridge, we’re having soup tonight. The rest can go in the freezer.”
Cid makes a noise of interest.
“You’re cooking tonight?” he asks, a curious glint in his eyes, “What are we havin’?”
“Soup,” Fleur says and laughs at the unimpressed look Cid and Cor level her with, “No, it’s a dodo soup with rice and corn. The recipe itself comes from Galahd. The Furia taught me a few of their recipes while I was staying with them.”
“You mentioned them before,” Regis says recalling how Fleur had mentioned being taken in by them, “They raised you, didn’t they?”
Fleur raises a brow. The look of amusement on her face is telling.
“Ah, that is what I told you isn’t it?”
Regis blinks.
“They didn’t?”
“They didn’t,” Fleur confirms, “They were kind enough to take me in after I wound up lost in the jungle though, kinder still to take me in as one of them.”
“Your paperwork says that you’re a blood born Furia.” Clarus’ eyes are narrowed as he looks at Fleur. “How much of what is on there is a lie?”
Fleur makes a considering sound. She wonders if telling the truth will get them to release her from her contract. Does she want to leave them? That’s a question she doesn’t care to think about. Fleur will have to leave them one day, whether it’s because her contract is over or because they’ve all ascended to the highest pillars of society she knows that she’ll have to leave them.
Maybe it’s best to plant the seeds of doubt now so that when it comes time for her to leave she’ll be let go easily.
“Most of it,” she admits with a shrug all too aware of the eyes on her. Regis looks at her like he’s considering something and once again his magic reaches out and tries to latch onto hers like a snake wrapping itself around it’s prey. Fleur tilts her head and stares at Regis. She knows what the prince is doing. As Regis catches her eye Fleur can see the calculations running through his mind. Whatever conclusion he comes to will be far from the truth but Fleur has no intentions of correcting him.
“Then again,” Fleur adds, “If I had told the truth while applying fora visa to the mainland none would have believed me.”
“So you weren’t raised on Galahd,” Weskham says.
“I wasn’t. Don’t ask how I go there though, I have no idea.”
Cid closes a cupboard door and turns to look at her.
“You don’t know where you’re from?” he asks incredulously.
“I know where I’m from,” Fleur corrects him, “I don’t know how I got to Galahd. There’s a difference.”
“So where are you from?” Cor asks what everyone else has been thinking.
Fleur does some quick calculations. She had been living in Ishgard for a good while before the End of Days, she supposes that Tenebrae would be the closest to the place she calls home but-
She really doesn’t want them to think that she’s an offshoot of the Oracle family tree. She still isn’t sure what they do but she knows damn well that if they’re connected to the Astrals Fleur doesn’t want anything to do with them. Nowhere else feels like home.
Fleur sighs.
“Tenebrae,” she says at last and it doesn’t feel wholly like a lie, “I come from a small ass village in Tenebrae. It’s cold as hell in the winter and there used to be legends about it being prone to dragon attacks. That’s all I know.”
“Haven’t you considered ever going back?” Regis’ voice is soft, as though he’s trying to be comforting. His magic lingers near hers and Fleur valiantly resists the urge to set him on fire.
“Why?” Fleur’s voice is bland. “Everyone I loved there is dead.”
Things grow quiet after that as Fleur pushes them out of her kitchen and into the living room. She instructs them that Cid and Cor are to have the bedroom beyond the second door down the hall and that the rest are to sleep in the living room.
Cor makes an attempt to try and switch places with Regis. He stops when Fleur glowers at him like a mother Behemoth defending her cubs.
“No,” Fleur states firmly, “He might be a prince but he can rough it for a night or two on the couch. You are a child and therefore get to hang out with the old man over there. I’m not taking any questions at this time.”
Regis wants to be offended at her presumption that he’ll be fine on the couch but he finds himself too distracted by the new revelations about their traveling companion. If Fleur is telling the truth - if she is from Tenebrae it could offer an explanation for that strange aura of hers that refuses to react no matter how hard Regis pokes and prods at it. It would mean that Fleur is part of Slyva’s line. A cousin or a sister, it wouldn’t matter, they would take Fleur in regardless. The Oracles of Tenebrae are as possessive of those belonging to them as Regis’ own line is.
But does that mean that Fleur is capable of magic? It’s too soon to tell. Regis isn’t even sure that she’s part of the line of Oracles.
But if she is it would be a great boon if he could get her on his side.
Dinner is a quiet affair. Weskham asks Fleur about the soup she’s made and how it differs from his own recipe for chicken and rice soup. His notably lacks corn and the variety of peppers that Fleur uses.
“It’s an easy dish,” Fleur says as they all sprawl out in various places around her living room and kitchen, “I can write it down for you if you’d like.”
“Would Clan Furia approve?”
Fleur shrugs.
“Clan Furia believes food is meant to be shared. They would insist I give you this recipe and the rest of the cookbook too.”
Regis steals a glance at Fleur out of the corner of his eye. She looks small curled up in her chair the way she is. Regis hasn’t noticed it before but he almost has a foot on her height wise. Fleur can’t be taller than five foot three and yet the way she carries herself makes those around her feel like she could take on the world if they let her.
Regis has no intentions of seeing if she can do such a thing - for now she is his guide and if she is related to the Oracle’s Regis cannot allow harm to befall her - but it’s interesting that she carries herself the way kings do. As if she is used to leading and having people fall in line. It’s odd. Another thing that points to her being royalty but her mannerisms, the way she seems more at ease with common folk and turns her nose up at the luxurious lifestyle Regis lives has him questioning himself.
She could have been a bastard, he thinks to himself as Fleur talks with Weskham and Cid easily. They are all still suspicious of her, suspicion that has only grown with the admission that she lie on her paperwork. Unlike before Regis doesn’t think she is an assassin, he doesn’t think that she is a threat.
Not to him at least. Not to those around him either. But Fleur is dangerous. It’s shown in how she holds herself in the field, in the way she is used to combat as only a veteran can be. It’s seen in the way she shot down those MT units without blinking despite the fact they were shaped like humans. Fleur is dangerous. Regis knows this.
He also knows that dangerous things are best kept on his side lest they wind up a plaything of his fathers.
Regis only has a week and half to crack the mystery that surrounds her. It’s almost not enough time. But it will be enough.
It has to be.