Author's Note and Disclaimer: I realize that there are several FFVIII westerns out there; in fact, my title has been used with permission from author Kitsune Moonstar, who has written the fic "The Lady of Centra and the Outlaw Knight," another FFVIII western I suggest you take a look at ;) That being said, the characters in this fanfic belong to Square(Soft)-Enix and the makers of Final Fantasy VIII. The ideas are entirely my own but I'm sure others have thought of the same plots and written similar fics, but it was NOT my intention to plagiarize anyone in any way, shape, or form.
Please keep in mind that this is a fanfic. Feedback and constructive criticism is encouraged about my writing, however, not about my ideas. If you don't like what I put in here, don't ask me to change anything. You have the power to write about it yourself. And that doesn't mean by plagiarizing.
A good theme song to listen to while reading this is "Under the Apple Tree" from the FFVII Crisis Core soundtrack.
Seifer Almasy sat on top of a sleek, dark brown horse and looked out towards the horizon, now dimmed by the lavender clouds, colored with the recent sunset. He sighed. He was tired from riding – almost three weeks now – but he didn't want to make camp. The little town nestled next to some hills on the wide open range looked inviting – Lord knows he needed a bath, and he was dying for a good, hot meal – but he wasn't sure how notorious his reputation had gotten this far out. Odds are the law had spread word about him, and if the town sheriff knew what he looked like, it was enough for him to steer clear of populated areas.
His gaze traveled to a small cottage on the outskirts of town. Its windows were dark, but there was a thin trail of smoke coming out of the small chimney, and there was a white horse tied to a small post next to a watering trough. Shortly down the lane from the cottage was a small schoolhouse; its windows were still dimly lit, despite the time of day. School was well out of session, but it seemed that the instructor hadn't yet left. It was far enough out of town to have a quiet atmosphere and plenty of room for the children, but it was close enough to town that a commute by horse wouldn't be a burden.
Hyperion let out a low grunt and hooved the ground, moving the bit around in his mouth. The dark brown horse seemed just as impatient to get some well-needed rest and some hearty oats. Seifer leaned forward and patted him on his neck, then flicked the reins and tapped his heels back. The horse obliged and slowly made its way down the hill towards a dusty road that led to the cottage.
. . .
Quistis Trepe sighed as she sat down at her desk. She glanced around the classroom, making sure the children left everything neat and orderly, then she glanced out the window. The sky was a beautiful pale yellow, but the horizon was tinted with hints of orange and the clouds had turned a deep purple. The sun was setting; best be off.
Her gaze darted to the letter sitting on her desk, and she let out another long sigh.
She'd been thinking about that letter all day. She had tried not to get distracted during her lessons. But there it sat; the broken red wax seal facing up, staring at her as if it was taunting her. She'd opened it in the morning, before the children arrived. It was sitting under the crack of her door when she awoke; it must have been there for at least an hour.
She knew the wax seal.
It was the Marshal's.
She sighed again and glanced at the window, pretending to ignore the letter. After a moment's pause, however, she gave up and snatched it, opening it with spite and reading the words carefully.
Dear Quistis –
I have to apologize for leaving so abruptly, but duty calls and I'm off to the southwest again for patrols. Word has gotten around about the outlaw Chocobo Zell – he's on the move and I intend to catch him this time. He was last sighted in a town very far from here, so there's no need to worry. Balamb should be quite safe.
I wanted to tell you that I have been thinking about what you told me, but I just didn't know what to say. I still don't, I reckon. I'm not really sure what I'm going to say is what you want to hear, but I was always taught to be honest, especially to a lady – and you've been a very important lady in my life, Quistis. You're like a sister to me.
Quistis felt her insides churn as she read the sentence. She closed her eyes and let out another deep sigh, feeling incredibly foolish. She swallowed, lifted the letter, and read on.
I wish I had kinder words to give you, especially since you've been nothing but kind and gentle to me, and you deserve to be treated with respect. It hurts me to write this, Quistis, but I think this is the best for both of us right now. You know that my duties always come first, and I know that yours does as well. I don't believe you to be the sort of person who would begrudge a man's free will, but I think –
Quistis turned the letter over and slammed it down on her desk, angry at herself. She couldn't bear to read the rest, as the rest of the letter contained a simple but devastating message. Oh, to be sure, it was delicately written with politeness and discretion, but the message was there all the same. It was the message she dreaded he'd give, although for some reason, she'd harbored the delusional thoughts that he wouldn't ever give that sort of response to her.
She sighed and stood up, grabbing her shawl. Why did she keep doing this to herself? Why did she stay at the schoolhouse, pining, staring out the window, hoping that he'd miraculously drop by to reconsider? The words in the letter weren't going to change. Marshal Leonhart had made up his mind, and by the sound of things, he'd made up his mind long ago, even before she'd come to have feelings for him. He'd always thought of her as nothing more than a…a…
…a sister.
Her hand went to her forehead and she let out a deep sigh, ashamed. She'd never be able to show her face to him again. What a fool she had been!
She tucked a stray piece of blonde hair behind her ear and blew out the lantern. Giving the schoolhouse one last check for untidiness, she made her way towards the front steps. After closing and locking the door, she took a deep breath and sighed, glancing around. The horizon was still beautiful, but it had started to grow dark and the last of the orange glow in the sky was almost gone. She slowly and begrudgingly started to walk up the path towards her cottage.
. . .
Hyperion trudged along slowly and whickered, clearly tired and cranky. Seifer gave him another pat and glanced up, spying the woman walking up the lane, from the schoolhouse, towards the cottage. Her blonde hair was neatly pinned up, and from what he could tell, she was a tall, slender woman. She wore a high-collared, black-and-white, small-checkered, button-up blouse that was tucked into a long, black skirt with a dainty red belt. She carried only one book and held an oatmeal-colored shawl around her shoulders. He couldn't tell from this distance, but if he had to guess, she seemed distracted.
. . .
Quistis was almost to her porch when she stopped. A brown horse was coming down the lane from the east, with a stranger on top of it. He was wearing a grey trench coat and a brown hat – two distinctly unmatched pieces of clothing – but the trench coat was simply to shield the wind and dust. She couldn't see what he wore underneath, but after glancing at his black boots, shiny silver spurs, full saddlebags, the folded blanket on the horse's rear, and the shotgun tucked into a holster in plain view, she knew he'd been traveling for a while. He wasn't from the area, and she always regarded outsiders with a wary attitude.
As the horse came closer, he pulled the reins to slow it to a stop. He nodded at her and tipped his hat. "Ma'am."
She straightened and gave him a brief smile. "Hello."
He nodded towards the small cottage. "This your house?"
She blinked at the question and her smile immediately faded. Any courtesy the man initially displayed had immediately vanished upon the blatant inquiry, which was a taboo remark. No stranger would outright address a lady so directly, nor was she willing to admit to a drifter she lived alone so unprotected. Her only response was an attempt to dodge his question.
"I beg your pardon?"
He pointed. "That house. You live in it?"
She narrowed her eyes. "I don't believe that's any of your business."
"You a teacher?"
She stiffened, not appreciating the sudden barrage of questions. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name?"
He sat back in the saddle and examined her. "That's because I didn't give it."
She set her jaw. "May I ask for it, then?"
"No."
She bristled. "Then I bid you good day, sir." With that, she turned on her heel and started to walk towards the house, ignoring his smirk.
He waited for a few seconds before adding, "You didn't answer my question."
"I don't believe I'm entitled to," she replied, still walking.
"Well hell, lady, you just came from that schoolhouse," he motioned towards the school, "so either you're a really old student or you're the teacher."
"First of all," she turned to face him, her patience running thin, "you may address me as Miss Trepe, not lady. Secondly, please don't swear. And if you must know, yes, I am a teacher. "
"Miss Trepe?"
"That's correct."
"You're not married, then?"
Her face turned pink and she opened her mouth, outraged.
He grinned. "I'll take that as a yes."
"Excuse me! Can I help you, sir?" she snapped irritably. "Are you in need of some schooling? Perhaps I can teach you some manners?"
He shrugged and squinted as he glanced at the schoolhouse. "Nah. School never really worked out for me."
"I can't imagine why," she replied sarcastically.
He leaned forward on the saddle and patted his horse. "Can you tell me who's the Sheriff in these parts?"
She narrowed her eyes, ignoring his grammar. "Why do you ask?"
"You're the teacher in town, Miss Trixie, so you must know everybody."
"Miss Trepe."
"Whatever."
"No, not whatever, I am not a saloon floozy. If you don't address me in the correct manner - "
"I'm lookin' for the sheriff," he interrupted her in a bored tone. "Know where I might find him?"
"Perhaps you could start by being a bit more polite," Quistis crossed her arms, "and I would be happy to oblige."
The man sighed, slowly dismounted his horse, and took off his hat. Dust blew off of his trench coat as he moved, and a line of dirt had collected on his forehead where the sweat caught beneath the brim of the hat. Thick, unshaven, dirty blonde stubble grew from his cheeks, chin, and neck. He'd obviously been riding for days, and had paid no attention to his hygiene. Quistis automatically took a step back and eyed him in revulsion. He gave his horse a pat, brought it forward to let it drink out of the water trough, placed his hat on the saddle, removed his gloves, and ran a hand through his hair. She swallowed when she caught a glimpse of a large, black pistol in a holster hanging low on his hips, but the trench coat swept in front of it before she could see anything else. Even her milky white mare seemed averse to his brown stallion. She whickered nervously and stepped away as he drank from her trough.
The man glanced at her and flashed her a small, mischievous grin, despite the fierce look in his striking green eyes. If he would've been a washed, clean-cut gentleman, he would've been incredibly handsome. Instead, he was a dirty drifter with a dirty mouth that obviously had no respect for women.
"The name's Almasy. Seifer Almasy. If I was to say that I'm lost and need a sheriff to direct my way, it would be ever so kind of you to help, Miss Crepe."
She frowned. He was most definitely not lost, nor was he in dire need of a sheriff. At least his arrogant smile told her as much.
"Trepe. I am not a dessert. And judging by your character, you're more like to find the saloon than you are the sheriff."
He tried to hide a grin. She has no idea who I am. Which means… He put a hand to his chest. "Why, miss teacher, that hurt. Now, why would you say something like that about me?"
"You've been anything but polite to me."
He bowed slightly. "Your pardon, ma'am. I never meant no disrespect, I was only foolin'. It's been a hard ride and I haven't seen a beautiful creature such as yourself for so long - "
"It's much too late for that," Quistis rolled her eyes. "You've already displayed your true nature, Mister Almasy, so you might as well get on with it."
"Did I say beautiful?" he raised an eyebrow, his grin never fading. "My mistake. I meant feisty."
She set her jaw and narrowed her eyes. "Mister Almasy - "
"Ain't no shame in that," he shrugged, smiling at her, as if he were enjoying every moment of teasing her. "I know lots of feisty women. They're not exactly respectable teachers, if you catch my drift, but all the same - "
"Mister Almasy!" she snapped. "If I direct you to the Sheriff, will you leave immediately?"
He laughed and put his hat back on his head. "I promise, Miss Trepe."
At least he remembered this time. "About a mile that way," she motioned towards the town, "you'll find his office a few buildings down, to the left. You won't get very far, though. He's out of town."
Seifer raised an eyebrow. "Out of town?"
"He's joined with the Marshal. They're looking for Chocobo Zell."
"That idiot?" He snorted. "Good luck."
Quistis blinked, not quite knowing what to make of that statement. "The Marshal, or Chocobo Zell?"
He looked away and rolled his eyes, his answer barely audible. "Both."
"I'm sorry?"
"Who's the law in this town, then?" Seifer asked, changing the subject. "This sheriff got a deputy?"
Quistis nodded. "His deputy should still be there, keeping the peace in town until he returns. The mayor should also be available, should you be so inclined to meet with him."
Not a chance in hell. "I just might. Thank you, ma'am." With that, he made a clicking sound and tugged on his horse's reins, grabbing his gloves from the saddle as the horse turned obligingly.
Quistis stepped forward. "If you don't mind me asking, what do you need to see the sheriff for?"
Seifer slid on his gloves, wheeled the horse around, and climbed into the saddle. "I'm a stranger in town, Miss Teacher. Small towns don't take too kindly to outsiders; it would be best if I went straight to the Sheriff to let him know I'm just passin' through. I'm not one to beat around the bush."
"No," Quistis replied dryly. "You most certainly are not."
He flashed her another impudent grin and tipped his hat. "Well, I promised I'd leave, and a promise I'll keep. It was a pleasure speaking with you. Perhaps we'll meet again?"
She forced a smile. "Mmm…yes, perhaps. If we do, I trust that your manners will have improved by then."
He chuckled and flicked the reins. "Aw, Miss Teacher, you know my rough manners are only to help me keep my guard up around feisty women!"
Before she could open her mouth to retort an answer, he trotted off down the lane towards town. Even his horse seemed to have an extra spring in its step, as if to taunt her as it cantered away. She set her jaw and narrowed her eyes, glad that she was seeing the last of this foul-mouthed rascal.
Spurned by two men in one day, and one of them didn't even know me!
It could hardly get any worse.