Mystic: Okay, so, I know an apology is probably futile at this point. Life took a hold on me. I'm homeschooling two kids (one's a teenager - HELP ME), my husband started a new job, and my faith in any sort of divine creator crumbled and died like a slug covered in salt. Meanwhile enjoy the long-awaited update. Hopefully I can crank out an ending for this fic. (I lost my notes...)

Witch Drums

If I've learned anything about the sorcerer (and thanks to the Deadly Nightshade I've learned quite a bit), it's that he likes to talk and it's best to let him do so. So while I relaxed against my fluffiest pillow with my weakened hearts, he moved his mouth and spun his story. Like always Kuja was creative in his words and flamboyant in his gestures, but then - oh, Shiva, it bloody hurts. Why does he persist in such gentleness toward me? Why was I so different from other women? His hands gripped my own as he sat beside me, his lips grazing my knuckles. I know I look horrible, pale and sweating from the poison, yet he still gazes at me with such tenderness and care ... while he talked.

And talked.

Alright, so I learned why he and Eiko struck an odd sort of friendship, or perhaps an odd sort of understanding. "Chocobo pox?" I wasn't sure if laughter was a good idea or simply a snort of indifference. "If Eiko had chocobo pox, why wouldn't Miss Rosemary contact me?"

He sat on my bed casually, with his legs tucked under him. "You and I both know, lady, that pox in children is nothing more than an itchy nuisance. Miss Rosemary felt it no good to alert you over something rather trivial, especially when you wasted your talents healing plague here in Lindblum."

Wasted. That deserved the snort of indifference. "And it involves you how?"

"You took the nightshade, Hilda; you tell me."

"My vision was accurate then? You told her stories so she shouldn't scratch?" The picture in my head was hilarious and worthy of a tea party. Kuja and my daughter, surrounded by stuffed animals and cups of broth, sharing outdated versions of fairy tales. Eiko probably interrupted every other sentence, and Kuja most likely took away a feather pen so she wouldn't play connect-the-dots with her pox marks.

Kuja rolled his eyes. "I had to hide her feather quill. Trying to draw on her skin of all things."

Now do you see why I risked the nightshade's drink? That plant works wonders for the mind. As he caressed my cheek, other parts of my memory stood up to be recalled. It involved our realm, the land of my ancestors, of spiced cider, and Kuja dragging me to the ground. Our inevitable future together meant I rarely left his bed and left my regency to rot. If a healer cannot heal plague with potions or remedies, that left the burning barrels to drive out the disease. Strangely the thought of Lindblum left in ashes didn't concern me as much as not ever feeling their sorcerer's touch. Again, Deadly Nightshade. Where have you been all these years?

Then the chest pain started again. I grimaced. Yes, that's right.

"Lady, lady, you need to relax." Kuja reached for the cup of white willow tea. "Staying here will not do you any good. You are stressed and not yourself. You'd do well to heal thyself, witch, then return to me in my palace."

Witch. He said the word. "The term is blood mage." I sipped the tea, fighting back the tears.

"Blood magic is witchcraft, Hilda. Call me a warlock if you wish, your warlock."

The fight was long lost. Fat tears dripped on to my bed-sheet. My hands shook, trying to hold my mug of warm tea. Every time I fought back a sob, the pain in my chest worsened, tightened. "Kuja, it hurts!" He grabbed me, firm in his fingers, as I descended to full cries.

"No, no, Hilda. Calm yourself." Again, no one on this planet could claim Kuja did not show gentleness. If we were not alone, it could be proved. He held me against his chest, ran his palm through my damp, tangled hair. "Lady, your hearts are weak and any excess strain will lead them into an attack. Shh... calm yourself."

He felt so good, so strong despite his lanky frame. He always smelled so good, like incense from a temple to the eidolons. A lover of dragons, Kuja kept a shrine to Bahamut in his palace. I was allowed access and made frequent trips for meditation. My own chapel here was long overdue for a visit, even for nothing more than contemplative prayer. "Kuja, I hurt. I just ... hurt." It wasn't really my hearts. Not all of it.

"My offer stands, lady," he murmured into my hair. "Return with me. Any more stress on your body will end in tragedy."

"There is plague," I argued. "People are dying." My people.

"And? Your point is? Life is a game of chance, a play where the actors have no control of the script. Life is at the whim of a heartless entity who decides the odds without a care what we do about it. Answer me this, lady. Did you enjoy telling that young mother there was no hope for her sick child? That her brat was too far gone for treatment? And don't think I didn't notice how much opiate you prescribed for the sickly little thing." Kuja sighed, brushed back a lock of my damp hair. "Not that I blame you, of course. I'd have done the same."

Blood mage healers do not adhere to the same oath human physicians vow. We believe in mercy, at all cost. Better a child die peacefully asleep, rather than in the throws of convulsions and vomiting. If that takes opium, so be it. (Consequently poppy flowers grow in abundance in my gardens.) "It's not my favourite part of the job, but duty calls."

"Enough of the duty, Hilda. How much of a change do you think you can make?" Again he motioned for me to sip the willow tea. "Allow the plague to run its course, and if Lindblum is devastated, well, that's the nature of things. There's an academy for White Mages out in the countryside; the novices can handle the dead."

They already did. Initiates in their white robes controlled a rickety cart for the corpses. Young men and women pulled it along the narrow roads and called out on each corner, "Bring out your dead!" Those four words haunted every family, every day, because they knew eventually they'd have to answer the order. Not me, thankfully. Not Freema, one of my best servants. Not today, not ever. "What shall I do instead, sorcerer? I know exactly what would become of us if I return to your palace and care."

His smile was, for lack of other words, adorable. I couldn't really describe it any other way. Kuja knew what we missed out on before. "Then why wait, Hilda? Come back to me. We shall collect your little summoner, and live peacefully in the desert."

His words tempted that small part of my soul I worked hard to keep hidden. No one was immune to the dark night of a soul, but a very few embraced it and allowed the darkness to stamp out the light. Kuja just described a heartless entity who watches and decides what happens on this terra firma, but that presumes there is an entity or deity in existence, one that controls the eidolons and the fate of our souls. Snerk. Blood mages do not propose any sort of deity in our temples. Gaia and the surrounding cosmos is our deity. The rest is left to the sciences and critical thought, something that is sorely lacking by many people. My spirituality dropped another fluttering degree.

"I am tired of playing the nurse."

He shrugged. "Not everyone is called to do so."

"I am not in any condition right now for heavy travel."

"One week," he said. "Tomorrow you may start to walk around and eat soft foods. For the rest of today and tonight, I'd prefer to see you rest and drink clear fluids."

Rolling my eyes, I answered, "I know the protocol for a weakened heart. Hearts. I must drink willow bark tea twice a day for six months, ingest two tablespoons of hawthorn syrup every morning for twelve months, and avoid all manners of stress for another twelve months after that. Kuja, do not forget that though I may not be called to be a nurse, I have been one for most of my adult life." Please, do not remind me of the six-hour long exam I was forced to take simply to earn my license. My brain hurt for days.

Unlike a few of my fellow students, I passed first try.

Still didn't help my hurting mind.

The sorcerer smiled, kissed my cheek. "So heal thyself, witch. I shall assist."

Only Kuja could heal my weak, broken hearts.

After a cup of tea and bowl of bone broth, the lady rested peacefully against her pillows. As for the sorcerer who preferred to be called a warlock, he listened to both her hearts one more time, checked the pulse along her wrist, and placed a mercury thermometer under her tongue. He documented everything in a notebook, heart-rate, the pressure of her blood, and bodily temperature. He mentioned her pale pallor and general fatigue. Healers kept such important information for each person they cared for; Kuja called it a chart and 'charting' made his mind hurt.

Miss Rosemary forced him to take that same six-hour exam. (Passed first attempt.)

How she did so without his striking her dead eluded him and the greatest historians who studied his story.

But while Hilda slept and Kuja charted, his thoughts turned to mayhem, more specifically, revenge. Not against Miss Rosemary and the blood mages who designed such an exam, more on the old man with his gray mustache who, for whatever reason, Hilda felt deserved to see Eiko. Hellfire, no. Kuja did not take a shine to the summoner only to see her fall under the influence of a filthy engineer who felt guilty only when in clear and present danger. (Oglop, hedgehog pie, direct poison, or ...)

The feather quill dropped against the notebook page. What if the Regent couldn't accept visitation from the summoner girl? Because he was in no condition to do so? Kuja sat back in his seat, let his hand drop and rub along the sleeping lady's thigh. It involved a spell the sorcerer hadn't actually performed, but if it worked, it'd leave Regent Cid helpless and incapacitated, under the beautiful male nurse's complete control. Cid would be locked in his body, unable to move or barely talk. Compelled, spelled, trapped.

In the shadows of the room, silent with nary a gentle hiss, a silver serpent began its slither on the pristine floor. No slime, only scales of a colour similar to the dragon Kuja forever loved. It slid out from his cloak, twisted and climbed up his chair, rested beside his owner's shoulder, flicking it's tongue briefly out. "There you are, my pretty familiar. I may have a job for you."

The legless creature flicked its tongue again.

"You'd do it for me, will you not? It'll mean extra feedings for you, but I doubt you'll mind that." The lady shifted under her blankets, but remained steadfast asleep. Kuja spoke more softly. "Shall we visit the regent together, pretty familiar? If this works, not only will his wife be again in my possession, but his entire country too. How about that, hm?"

The spell should not be too much trouble, really. All it required was for Cid to open his mouth one more time.