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Every Nibel child had heard the tale of the Snow Princess. She was a local legend after all, one that had been a part of the town’s folklore for countless generations.
Cloud, too, had been told the stories throughout his childhood, though like most of the other residents of Nibelheim, he found himself a bit skeptical.
It was said that the Snow Princess was as dangerous as she was beautiful, and just like the snow she held domain over, could change from calm to wild in an instant. There were tales of her helping lost travelers who showed her kindness, but there were also just as many stories about her cruelty. Many a man had tried to harm or own her, and all had met the same fate—frozen to death, buried in layer upon layer of snow. Or so it was said.
Though Cloud had never really believed in the Snow Princess, he respected the importance she held in Nibelheim. And her stories, at least, were much more believable than those of the Old Gods.
He wasn’t entirely sure why his mind was wandering to the legends of the Snow Princess now of all times, but he supposed that it might have had to do with the fact that he was surrounded by snow for as far as the eye could see.
It was the middle of winter; nobody would dare step foot in the Nibel mountains now, not when the weather was so volatile, with avalanches and blizzards running rampant on top of deadly low temperatures. And yet, here Cloud was, though it wasn’t as if he had much of a choice.
His mother had died only a few weeks prior, and while he knew that the Nibelheimers made no secret of their hatred and disdain for the Strifes, he never would have imagined that he would have been forced out of town. Useless, they’d called him, the Strife name only brought the town trouble, they’d said.
Nobody had hurt Cloud, not outright, but the men of the town with their loaded shotguns and the women with their scornful looks and averted eyes told him that they would have, had he refused to leave.
Cloud had been forced out of town in the dead of winter, and had only barely been given time to grab his coat before leaving his home behind. So he’d set out into the mountains, knowing that it was a death sentence all the same.
The knowledge that his time was limited, that he was going to die cold and alone, had him thinking of the Snow Princess, for whatever reason. Maybe it was his mind trying to distract itself from reality.
Because he’d lived all his life as an outcast in Nibelheim, Cloud knew his way around the mountains better than most. There were a few caves he knew of that he could take shelter in.
Unfortunately, even Cloud’s extensive knowledge of the Nibel mountains couldn’t have saved him from what he found in the first cave he came across. He’d never explored the mountains during the winter, knowing better to take such a risk. Cloud had no way of knowing that the cave he found was inhabited by dragons as they nested through the long winter months.
It was a grim discovery to find that his blood was remarkably warm. Cloud stumbled out of the cave before he could be attacked a second time, his hand clutching at the wound in his side. Death was surely imminent now.
He fell to his knees, his blood dripping onto the fresh snow, staining immaculate white a deep red. He would cry if he could, but he was too focused on the pain to think about his feelings.
The cold was bitter and aching, seeping in through his wound to settle inside of his bones. Cloud was going to die—he’d known that from the moment he’d stepped foot outside of Nibelheim. The blizzard that suddenly kicked up only seemed to cement that fact.
Through the shroud of the blizzard, Cloud swore that he saw a figure approaching him. He was sure that it was delirium brought about by blood loss or hypothermia or both, but he didn’t mind letting his mind run wild one last time.
Cloud had never believed in the Snow Princess, not truly, but in his dying moments, he found himself imagining that she was coming to rescue him. He didn’t want to die alone.
When Cloud woke up, the only thing he felt was surprise. That he felt no pain, that he was warm, that he was alive.
None of it made sense, yet his eyes fluttered open to find that he was looking up at stone bathed orange by firelight. Instinctively, he tried to sit up, and while he managed, he couldn’t help but grimace at the low throbbing that came from his side. Still no pain, not quite, but the sensation certainly wasn’t pleasant.
“Easy,” the voice was low and soothing, and was accompanied by gentle hands placed on his shoulders.
Cloud was suddenly aware that he wasn’t alone. His eyes traced a path from the hands on his shoulders to the person they were connected to, and he couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of them.
For his entire life, Cloud had been told Nibelheim’s legends, had been told about the Snow Princess. But he’d never believed them, not until now.
Who else could it be, other than her? Long white hair trailed on the ground between them. Eyes that were such a pale green they almost looked silver were focused on him, looking him over with a concern-filled gaze. Lengthy white eyelashes that looked as if snowflakes were clinging to them framed those beautiful, beautiful eyes.
…But for all the beauty Cloud saw, for as sure as he was that this was the Snow Princess he’d been told of, something wasn’t quite right—the person in front of him was most certainly a man.
“Are you… the snow princess?” Cloud croaked out, his voice sounding much worse than he felt.
The man in front of him let out a quiet chuckle, pressing a hand to Cloud’s forehead to check his temperature. When he spoke, his voice was like spun silk, “That is what the people of Nibelheim call me.”
Cloud noticed the careful wording, the way the man skirted around accepting the namesake. “What do you like to be called?”
Though the man before him was clearly something that was more than human, something borne of the cold itself, the smile he offered Cloud was as warm as the fire before them. “My name is Sephiroth.”
For whatever reason, hearing his name was like a puzzle piece finally sliding into place. The puzzle itself had long since been abandoned, and only with the final piece could Cloud see the full picture, memories he hadn’t known he’d lost returning to him all at once.
Cloud and Tifa had never been friends, no, but that didn’t mean that Cloud didn’t want to be her friend.
When Tifa headed out toward the mountains, alone, Cloud didn’t follow her to gain her favor. He did it because it was the right thing to do. None of the other kids seemed to care, but Cloud wouldn’t let Tifa get hurt, even if they weren’t friends like he wished they were.
He knew that Tifa’s mom was in the Lifestream now, that Tifa was sad, but Cloud just couldn’t understand why she was heading toward the mountains in the middle of winter. Cloud’s ma always told him he wasn’t allowed outside of town until he was twelve; he still had four years to go. The mountains were dangerous, she said.
He hoped he wouldn’t be in trouble if his ma found out. She would understand that he had to help Tifa, right?
Tifa was close enough that Cloud could see her, but either the wind was too strong for her to hear him frantically calling her name or she was choosing to ignore him. Soon, his voice grew hoarse from yelling so much, so Cloud continued on in silence, keeping his eyes firmly set on Tifa.
As soon as they left the woods surrounding Nibelheim, Cloud shivered. It was cold, but he was scared, too. They weren’t supposed to be out here, but Cloud couldn’t leave Tifa all alone…
Cloud wasn’t sure how much time had passed, only that his fingers and toes were getting tingly. He tried to wiggle his toes in his boots, and found himself worrying even more for Tifa. He was wearing his good boots, his warm coat; she was not.
Tifa’s jacket was bright blue. It was pretty, Cloud thought, but it wasn’t made of the thick furs that Cloud’s ma said were the warmest. The color, at least, kept Cloud from losing sight of Tifa as it began to snow, making it harder to see.
They eventually reached a bridge. It was old and tattered and Cloud was scared just looking at it.
The winds were strong enough that the rickety old thing was swaying back and forth, stretched out over a drop that looked like it went down for forever. Cloud didn’t dare look over the edge.
Apparently Tifa was braver than him, for she stepped out onto the bridge without hesitation. Her hands grasped at the rope sides, guiding her along even as the visibility grew worse.
Cloud tried yelling for her again. He was close enough now that when she didn’t answer, he knew she was ignoring him. Seeing no other choice, he stepped onto the bridge to follow Tifa.
It swayed beneath his feet, making Cloud feel sick to his stomach. He didn’t know how far down the ground was, but he knew that if he looked, he would get too scared to keep going. Instead, he kept looking between the pieces of wood he was stepping on and the bright blue of Tifa’s coat in the near distance.
With all of the wind and snow, it was hard to hear his own thoughts. But the loud snap of the rope was even louder.
Cloud saw where the bridge had broken, right in front of Tifa. She turned around to look at him, her eyes wide and scared.
Before either of them could run back to the other side, the bridge fell down, and they did too.
When Cloud hit the bottom, everything hurt. He couldn’t move, and he couldn’t really see, either. The snow storm was really bad. He tried yelling for Tifa, but he couldn’t even do that.
Cloud was so cold. Even in his good boots, his warm furs, his whole body was starting to go tingly. He hoped that Tifa was okay with only her light coat.
It was hard to see more than a few feet in front of him, so he had no idea where Tifa was. But he did see when a pair of boots walked up to where he was curled up on the ground.
He couldn’t move his neck very much, but he used his eyes to look up at the person. They were very tall, and their hair was long and white.
“Snow Princess…?” He wondered aloud, remembering the stories his ma had told him, the ones the other kids said were for babies. He swore he didn’t believe in the Snow Princess, not one bit.
The person laughed a little. They were very pretty.
Suddenly, Cloud was being picked up. He was so tired, his body tingly all over, but he still managed to wiggle about in the Snow Princess’ arms. His voice cracked and it hurt to talk, but he did anyway, “No! My friend, you have to help her!”
“Alright. We will find her,” the princess’ voice was really rumbly and soft. It made Cloud feel sleepy, like the lullabies his ma would sing to him.
And they did. The Snow Princess carried Cloud and Tifa to somewhere warm. Tifa was sleeping, so she couldn’t talk to him. But that was okay. Cloud didn’t really feel like talking, anyway.
Cloud was so happy to finally be warm. He wasn’t even hurting or tingly anymore. He hoped Tifa was warm, too. He looked at the Snow Princess, at her pretty hair and kind smile, and let himself fall asleep.
The next thing he knew, he was waking up back in Nibelheim, and everyone was yelling at him. Tifa was hurt, they said, but he was fine. How had that happened? How had he let her get hurt?
He was scared, and sad. None of the other kids had ever liked him, and they were being so mean now. Even the adults were mad at him. But as sad as all of that made him, he just hoped that Tifa was okay.
Cloud’s ma was upset. She was even crying, and she never cried. When he tried to apologize, she told him that it was alright, that she’d been scared, that she loved him very, very much. She made him promise never to go into the mountains during the winter again. And he did.
Now, a decade and a half later, Cloud had broken that promise, only to end up being rescued yet again.
He and Tifa should have died that day, Cloud was sure of it. If not from the fall, then from succumbing to the cold soon after. His body… it had been broken, and yet, here he was, still alive. Tifa had been in even worse shape than him, he was sure of it, which was probably why Sephiroth hadn’t been able to fix everything.
As quickly as he’d gotten lost in thought, he pulled himself back to the present. He looked at Sephiroth, at the man who he’d apparently met before, his memories buried deep under sadness and the refusal to believe that a legend could be real.
“Thank you,” he rasped, knowing that the words would never be enough.
“For which time?” Sephiroth asked, almost playful.
“Well, obviously for the first time, but… for now, too. I… no one is looking for me this time around. You’re the only person who has done something so kind for me.” When Cloud finished, he coughed a few times, his throat dry after so much talking.
Sephiroth brought a flask to his lips, helping him swallow down a few gulps of water.
“You’ll have to tell me your name, at some point,” Sephiroth said, completely avoiding Cloud’s awkward confession. He probably didn’t know what to say in response to something so depressing, but it was just as well. The wound of being forced away from all he’d ever known was still so fresh—it was probably better not to poke at it.
“It’s Cloud. Cloud Strife,” he said, his voice finally feeling a bit more like normal.
“It’s a lovely name,” Sephiroth’s voice was low and rumbly.
Now Cloud was the one who didn’t know what to say. He felt the way his cheeks grew warm, and he hoped it could be blamed on the fact that he’d almost frozen to death.
“Why were you out in the mountains this time of year, Cloud? Surely you know how dangerous it is, and you’ve already escaped death once,” Sephiroth’s words were concerned and chiding all at once, and Cloud felt oddly touched that a total stranger seemed to care so much.
So much for not poking at fresh wounds.
“I’ve lived in Nibelheim all my life—of course I know to avoid the mountains this time of year. But… I didn’t have much choice. The villagers forced me out of town, and I had nowhere else to go, really,” his voice was even more quiet than it had been before, strained by his heartbreak. It took everything he had to keep tears from slipping out from the corners of his eyes.
Silence settled between them, leaving Cloud unsure of himself. When he dared to look at Sephiroth, still tucked in near his side, the silence made sense. Sephiroth was fuming. There was no other way to put it; his hands were clenched so hard that his knuckles had gone white, and they were shaking. Cold anger was brewing in his eyes.
Cloud probably should have been scared by the sight, but he wasn’t. He didn’t know if it was because Sephiroth had been overwhelmingly kind to him so far or if he was still a bit delirious, but fear was the last thing on his mind when he saw Sephiroth’s quiet anger.
After a moment or two passed, Sephiroth took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He relaxed his hands, choosing instead to check Cloud for fever once more before maneuvering to sit in front of him.
Making a point to hold eye contact with Cloud, of showing his earnestness, Sephiroth spoke, “Just as you have been shunned and cast out, I too have looked upon the town of Nibelheim with longing, wishing for acceptance despite knowing that it is something I will never be able to have.”
Cloud’s breath hitched at the implication of Sephiroth’s words. It made no sense to him that a man as beautiful and kind as this wouldn’t be accepted by the villagers. Except, the longer he thought about it, it made perfect sense. For as wonderful as Nibel culture was, the people were incredibly insular, attacking and ridiculing those who were different. Cloud knew this all too well, just as he knew that Sephiroth would certainly be considered an outsider.
They were kindred spirits, in a way. It was a strange realization to have, that a man as ethereal and kind as this would have more in common with Cloud than the people of Nibelheim, but it was also comforting, in a way. For the first time in many years, Cloud didn’t feel so alone.
“I’m sorry,” the words didn’t feel like enough, and Cloud knew they never would be. Still, it felt important to say them.
Sephiroth chuckled, pinning Cloud with a serious look. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
A comfortable silence settled between them after that, with Sephiroth continuing to fuss over Cloud’s health, offering him water and checking him for fever every few minutes. Each time Sephiroth’s hand made contact with his forehead, Cloud felt himself grow a bit warm even though they’d established that he, in fact, did not have a fever.
He wasn’t sure how much time passed like that, but he took comfort in Sephiroth’s presence. Eventually, once the man had determined that Cloud’s condition was indeed stable, he offered him some more water and a few pieces of dried meat.
As he ate, Cloud peered over at Sephiroth where he’d settled in along his side, propped up against the wall of the cave they were in. He could tell by the look on the man’s face that his thoughts were running away with him, that he was struggling with something.
“Is everything alright?” He asked, gently prodding.
Sephiroth looked at him, eyes wide and startled, as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He looked away before mumbling a few words to Cloud. Though he hadn’t known the man for long, Cloud knew that Sephiroth had a strong, handsome voice, one that was always easily understood. To hear him mumble felt… wrong, and Cloud didn’t quite catch his words.
He nudged Sephiroth, asking him to repeat himself. Sephiroth huffed out a breath, but obliged, “As neither of us are welcome in the town of Nibelheim, would you like to stay here? With me?”
“Here?” Cloud asked, incredulous. He gestured to the literal cave they were currently taking shelter in, unsure if that was what Sephiroth had meant. He didn’t let himself focus on the implication of his words, on what Sephiroth was truly offering. He was sure that if he did, his face would grow so red that Sephiroth would surely think he was feverish.
“Well not here, of course. I only brought you here to heal and warm up. I have a cabin in the far reaches of the mountain range. I must warn you that it is very isolated, but you are welcome to have a place there with me, should you want it.”
Cloud’s face was red anyway. His mouth went dry, but he still managed to spit out his eager response, “Alright. I’d like that.”
Many, many months later saw Cloud and Sephiroth relaxing in bed, as they often did. Cloud was propped up against the headboard, Sephiroth’s head pillowed in his lap.
He’d already wrapped Sephiroth up in warm blankets, and would have gotten some for himself if the man sprawled out across him wasn’t as warm as a furnace all on his own. They were both naked, and it was only Sephiroth’s natural warmth that kept Cloud from doing something to change that (that and the fact that he knew Sephiroth would complain if he got up to search for something to wear). Though he kept his thoughts to himself, he found it rather amusing that the so-called Snow Princess, a godsdamned deity of the cold, ran so hot.
Cloud’s hands were busy, flitting about through strands of silvery-white hair. A teeny-tiny braid just behind Sephiroth’s ear, a larger one across his crown, an intricate weave along the back of his head.
As he worked, he explained to Sephiroth what he was doing. He told him the meaning of each braid, of their placement, the significance that each one held—one for his family name, one for belonging, one to bind the two of them together, and so many more.
Sephiroth was fascinated by Nibel culture, but he loved the braids the most. He’d spent countless years watching over the town, captivated by its traditions, yearning for inclusion. Though they’d both moved past the town and the pain it had brought them, Cloud was more than happy to share his culture with the man he loved.
His voice was quiet as his hands slipped through silky hair. He looked down at Sephiroth in his lap, at the soft smile on his face, at his long white eyelashes brushing against his cheeks. Inside and out, he was the most beautiful person Cloud had ever known.
Cloud braided his love into Sephiroth’s hair, knowing that this was where he belonged.