Ch 6, part 2
"Dark Skies over Palamecia" – a Final Fantasy II retelling
Disclaimer: Square Enix owns Final Fantasy II and all FFII characters featured within. Original characters and interpretations are owned by the co-writers of this fan fiction. There is no profit being made from this story.
Hilda didn't have much time. She scrambled at her table, writing a few letters on parchments with the quills she could find. On them, she wrote letters to Prince Gordon, Firion, and her court mage Minwu. She put them all into her pockets of her dress before heading out of the throne room. She looked around. It was empty, save for herself and her father, who still hadn't been moved even though she gave the orders for everyone else in town to leave. She all ready destroyed her crown, because she knew that after the town was reduced to ashes, that megalomaniac Emperor would come through here looking at everything, and if there was anything she refused to hand over to him, it would be the symbol of the ruling family of Fynn.
She took in a very deep breath, looking at all the banners which hung in the halls of the rebel base. They were all black with the wild rose emblazoned on them, and they meant everything to everyone who stayed and worked inside this building that she'd grown to accept as her home. Hilda loved this place. Altair had been nothing but good to the refugees of Fynn in their time of need, and now it was going to cost them something dreadful.
"Princess!" Paul shouted as he came into the base. "Why are you not packed? The hour has almost passed!"
Hilda nodded. "I'm aware of this. Paul, please. Come with me." It took every bit of her will to not break down and cry right that moment. "My father has not been moved yet."
"Oh, why didn't you say so?" Paul asked worriedly. "Let's move the King."
Going into King Gilbert's bedchambers, they both found the old man asleep in his bed. He looked so comfortable there that neither of them wanted to move him. He was barely alive as it was, and now he was going to have to relocate yet again? It was almost too much to bear for all three of them.
"Paul," Hilda said, reaching into her pockets. "I need to give you two assignments. You have never once failed me, and I need you to do this without question. Without hesitation."
"Princess Hilda, I am more loyal to you than I-"
"Good," Hilda said. "I want these three messages delivered. This one, to Prince Gordon. This one, to Firion. And this one… to Minwu. Find them, aid them in whatever they need, Paul. You have always been the best support anyone can ever ask for."
Paul hesitantly took the three notes and put them in his three pockets. "For Gordon, Firion, and Minwu. I will do as you have commanded, Princess."
"Do you have any weaponry on you, Paul?"
"I do," Paul said, extremely weirded out by what was going on here. "For protection, of course."
"Give it to me," Hilda commanded sternly.
Paul reached into his pocket, pulling out a short sword he'd always had stashed away in case of an emergency. "Here, Princess. This is a Wing Sword."
"It will do," Hilda said. "Now go. Carry your messages once you've torched the village." She stared down at the short sword in her hand, which had a very lovely wing-shaped hilt. She felt that it was fitting. "Get out of here, Paul."
"Wait, what are you-"
"Get out, Paul!" Hilda shouted at him. "Leave your Princess in peace!"
"Not if you're going to use that for what I think you're planning on using it for," Paul said, reaching over to take his sword back. "You're not going to die, Hilda. I will not allow you to die."
"When the Emperor comes to find out what happened here, you will be able to tell him that Fynn no longer exists," Hilda said. "Because here in a few moments, it no longer will. My father and I will be meeting with the angels, and… the rebellion lives because the three leaders of it are not here. He will come looking for me. If I am dead, he will think they are, too. That's when you can surprise the hell out of that twisted mother fucker. Paul, carry those messages to whom they are addressed. They are the three prongs of the rebellious trident in Palamecia's ass." She looked at him, her face marred with tears. "You must do as I command."
"No, Princess. You-"
Hilda looked at her father, who was sleeping so peacefully. "There's a special place in the Seventh Layer of Hell reserved for people who slay their own parents," she whispered. "So because of that, I will not be allowed to meet with my precious Scott." She rose the dagger above King Gilbert's heart.
"NO!" Paul shouted angrily.
By the time he could reach her hand, the sword was all ready through the king's heart. Blood poured out of his body, drenching the white blanket he was sleeping under. Gilbert tried to wake up out of his slumber, but Hilda withdrew the sword and ran it across her father's neck, cutting his head clean off.
"HILDA!" Paul couldn't believe what he just witnessed. "Wha… what… WHAT?!"
"You have your orders. Torch Altair. Leave nothing here. Nothing for the Emperor to claim," Hilda said, looking at the sword. "I am the seed which is planted in the ashes of rebirth."
"Princess, please," Paul begged her. "Princess, please do not…"
Hilda took the sword and put it to her own neck. "Goodbye, Paul. Tell Gordon that I… was starting to love him. I was starting to see that Kashuon passion I fell in love with in the first place and…" Then a few seconds passed before she said, "No. Don't deliver that last part. It would only pain his heart. He would be better off not spending the rest of his life mourning me."
"So you should not do this."
"I have to," Hilda said, smiling. "I am the seed… which is planted… in the ashes of rebirth…"
Paul couldn't watch her do it, but he knew by the sound of the blood splattering on the floor and her body falling over. Paul let his princess die willingly, and he blamed himself. Paul turned to look upon her lovely figure. He took the sword, which was lodged straight through her neck, out very quickly. He wiped it on a nearby drape, and placed it in the hilt which was strapped to his backside.
"…v…very well, your highness," Paul said, bowing before her dead body. "I will… I will carry out your wishes. L… long…" he couldn't even say it anymore. His words stopped coming out.
Long live the Wild Rose Rebellion, Paul thought. Long live Fynn! Long live Kashuon! What… what do these words even mean? What… what do these words… even mean?