"Cyan. I need your help."

"Master Locke! Why hast thou-"

"Cyan, I know you can speak properly and we don't have much time, so quit it with the Mr Thou. I need help, and you're the only person I can think of who might be able to do something."

He took a step back as Cyan's eyes slowly narrowed and his moustache seemed almost to twirl a little more. Before Locke's eyes Cyan transformed into the fearsome and fearless retainer to the king of Doma, regardless of admirably fluffy pyjamas and pom-pommed nightcap. His eyebrows met as he glared over Locke's shoulder into the city beyond his front door. It was late enough at night that the streets twisted emptily away into the darkness; Cyan scanned the area for several long moments before ushering Locke in, apparently satisfied of their privacy.

"Now, thou shouldst be aware that Bushido in the Bedroom is an art practiced exclusively by the samurai who hath trained-"

"What? No!"

"No?"

"No!"

"… Oh." Cyan gave a carefully calibrated cough. "How might I be of service, Master Locke?"

Locke took a deep breath. Here went nothing…
"Would you happen to own the original script to The Opera of Draco and Maria?"

It was a long shot. It was a really, really long shot. If he stood at the entrance to Zozo and got out his slingshot and took aim at Mount Zozo-

"Of course!"

-It probably wouldn't be as long a shot as all that, thought Locke, almost dizzy with relief, because this was Cyan. Cyan, who was currently and with great aplomb flinging open the doors to what appeared to be an archive of every novel, script or libretto ever published that could possibly hold the slightest hint of romance.

(The reading desks were scattered with vases of flowers and carefully-shielded lanterns holding perfumed candles. There were also discretely-placed boxes of tissues. Locke didn't ask.)

His next request, it seemed, would be a mere formality.
"And would you help me to perform an amateur production in," Locke glanced out the window to where the eastern sky had taken on a golden glow, "About twelve hours?"

From the look on Cyan's face, it would be nothing short of a dream come true.

"I must say," confided Cyan as he rifled through the shelves in search of the relevant title, "While the Dream Oath Opera is an excellent choice, mine own belief is that the true star in the annals of stage amour must be I Want To Be Your Canary. Wouldst thou not rather perform that?"
"No, no, it has to be the-" Locke stopped, staring Cyan right in his innocently pom-pommed face. "Canary."

"It is astoundingly romantic!"

"Canary."

"Ah! Ye Dream Oathe Opera – a Tale of Love, Honour and Chocobos! Cominge Soone!" Cyan brandished a bundle that seemed to be comprised more of string and prayers than actual script. "Original pre-release edition! One of the ones out of Doma castle library!" A few angry moths fluttered out of the papers and into the lanterns Cyan had forgotten to close in his excitement, where they promptly became tastefully-perfumed ash. Locke stared.

"Are you sure that script will stay in one piece for long enough?"

"Certainly, my dear boy! And if not…" Cyan's face transformed once again into the triumphant battle glare that had frozen Doma's enemies in their tracks for a full generation, "I know every note of it."

Unbeknownst to Locke, a small figure had been following them through the shadows ever since his arrival, undetected even by Cyan. Living in the Figaro kingdom, of all places, where fancy mechanisms like the winch and the pump were practically a way of life, Cyan occasionally found himself in need of moral support from another man who was most certainly not a technophobe, humph, don't know the meaning of the word. So it was that, that night, Cyan's hushed conversation with Locke took place under the cover of Strago's earth-shaking snores, issuing from the guest bedroom.

And there was Gau to think of. Gau, who had insisted on staying with Cyan come what may, even if that meant a return to civilisation and trousers. Neither would ever claim to have adopted the other; neither could ever really replace what the other had lost. Nevertheless, Cyan and Gau provided for each other something necessary and unspoken, and they were happy.

Something necessary, but not everything. Gau was fifteen, Cyan was… not. And while there was no shortage, in this broken world, of children who had lost their families one way or another, few had also stood face to terrifying face with that world-destroying evil itself. So it was that Relm, on many occasions – on this occasion – accompanied her grandfather in his visits.

And, denied by the death of magic of her most intriguing talent, what could be more natural to Relm than taking the opportunity to hone her other? Besides, eavesdropping was always fun.

"Well of course," Cyan was saying, as Relm peered around the library door, "I shall depict Ralse. Misguided though he is, the fellow is truly honourable in his intentions. You see, if one explores the exact phrasing of his famed Dedication speech…" Yep, he's not going to get on with it any time soon, "… Ralse has not only a deep rooted adoration but a psychological need to accomplish…" Come on, old man, I just want to hear the gossip about Celes and Locke! Relm started fiddling with a loose thread on her nightgown. The candles flickered down in their holders.

"Okay!" Locke shouted, and she jumped. "I'm really glad you're so enthusiastic, I'll be Draco, you can be Ralse but what about Maria?" Maria, hey? Hm. I can totally see myself in the limelight, especially with that ribbon she wears.

"I thought at first of asking Terra," continued Locke, unaware of the awful, unstoppable wheels he had set in motion inside Relm's head, "But there's no way she'd be able to keep the secret from Celes. And I think if I asked Setzer now to ship her over from Mobliz, all they'd ever find of me would be a pack of cards." Ribbons are nice. Paintings of Granddad always turn out better when he's wearing ribbon. They make him look so imposing. I wonder how Gau would look in ribbons…

"Well, my dear boy, I could always play Maria as well. I am capable of being quite the soprano when 'tis required." No, Gau's pretty enough already…

"I'm sorry Cyan but there is no way on this earth or the last one that I am letting you go on as Maria." Perhaps it's time I put a stop to their bickering, funny as it is… It could go on all night and I need my beauty sleep.

"The star has arrived!" she announced brightly, stepping out into the open doorway with a flourish. Their faces fell in shock, and an awkward silence ensued. "No, no, no need to thank me, Locke. I know your show just couldn't go on without a beautiful young ingénue to play Maria and well… look who's here!" She struck a pose, simultaneously flashing a smile that was at once dazzling, demure and generally indicative of star quality.

"Uhm. Relm. Firstly… well, I'm not even going to ask why you're here or why you're pulling that face, but I'm going to guess that you've been eavesdropping?"

"Yeah, it's sort of what I do."

"We know."

"…So? Do I get to be Maria?"

"Well. No. You're too tiny – can you even sing? Whatever, just no. It's too weird."

"Well, I guess I'll have to go and tell Celes about it all then."

"What? No!" Cyan looked quite as upset by the idea as Locke. Clearly the romance of the situation had gotten to him.

What followed was the spectacle of two grown men grovelling before Relm, much to her personal satisfaction, in an attempt to get her to not ruin their plans and in fact to take the leading role in their show. I love how manipulative I can be. Even more than ribbons.

Once that was decided, Locke sent a grumpy Setzer back with a hasty message for Celes. As soon as his airship had soared off into the rising sun, the day began, passing in a blur of rehearsing, outfit-finding (fortunately there seemed to be plenty of white dresses in the stores. And Relm had her own ribbon stash) and scenery-painting. Locke had to admit that Relm came in handy there.

Although he knew magic was long gone from the world, he could have sworn he saw one of the wooden backdrop's painted courtiers eying him up. Maybe she'd just sketched his face like that to unnerve him.

If so, she probably deserved the slightly awkward discovery, when it came to the ghost-waltz scene, that Relm was in fact too tiny. It didn't really look like she was waltzing with Locke. It looked like she was doing something altogether more unfortunate.

"Um," said Locke after the third attempt, the most uncomfortable yet. He felt sort of like the leaf bunnies in the undergrowth were judging him. Relm gave him a look of unadulterated contempt that seemed to imply it was entirely his fault for having a gutter-mind, and also for being too tall. Despite himself, Locke was impressed by the sheer iciness of the expression. Celes could learn a thing or two from her.

Celes. They only had a few more hours before Setzer was scheduled to bring her here. Cyan, standing nearby in the armour and sword he had insisted on carving from wood and painting himself despite owning several full authentic suits, stroked his chin. "Hmm."

"This isn't going to work. Not with Relm."

"It has to," insisted Relm, "Or Celes will find out about everything. This. Minute."

"We're not even on the same continent as her!"

"I will find a way."

Cyan pulled on the ends of his moustache contemplatively. "As you might put it, Master Locke: methinks I have a really bad idea."

Locke would have wondered where Gau had learned to waltz, but, he reflected, Gau was living with Cyan. In Cyan's parenting guide, waltzing probably came somewhere between flower arranging and the Eight Degrees Of Formal Bowing.

Not only was Gau waltzing, but he was essentially doing so blindfold. (Locke didn't want to think about why Cyan might consider that an essential skill.) The long, white skirt of Relm's Maria dress puffed over its crinoline, covering Gau from head to toe while Relm herself sat astride his shoulders, glare almost level with Locke's face. It was definitely lucky that neither Relm nor Gau had had a major growth spurt in the last few years, reflected Locke, and that Maria's dress was intended to be floor-sweeping. He had a feeling Gau would have drawn the line at high heels.

Celes had looked a little worried when she first appeared in their appointed clearing, escorted by Setzer. Possibly Locke's disappearing for a day after ending the night on that sort of note hadn't been his most sensible decision. She seemed to have recovered by now, at least. He could see her from the stage out of the corner of his eye, leaning against a tree at the edge of the clearing with her hands covering her mouth and shoulders shaking from either emotion or laughter. At this point, Locke wasn't altogether sure which would be preferable.

The small box by the stage issuing music as if from a ghostly orchestra – a gift from Edgar to Cyan, untouched until that morning – stirred into a higher key; Locke took his cue to disappear from the stage as the phantom he portrayed. Peeking around the corner of the backdrop, he watched the roses Cyan had provided soaring from the stage, watched Cyan himself ascend to take Relm's hand as Prince Ralse – felt a sudden, hot, inexplicable swoop of jealousy deep down in his gut.

A blink.

He is back in the Jidoor Opera House, back before feelings have been realised and a world shattered. Half-watching the opera from the rafters, this time, heart racing with the violins as he struggles forward to save Celes – falling, her head, promised to protect her, no no no–

And on the stage a nameless, faceless man takes Celes' hand for a dance.

A surge of emotion, searing as the phoenix flame. For Locke, a world teetering towards destruction stops, just for a moment.

A blink.

In the clearing, Locke drew his wooden costume blade as if wishing it were steel and leapt up onto the stage. "Maria," he called, but the name that echoed in his mind was very different.

Cyan's voice boomed in response, the words indistinct to Locke's ears; his own lines came to his mouth without thought.

"Then we duel!"

He barely gave Cyan time to finish the line before charging, sword-first. They had choreographed this fight together earlier that day, he recalled hazily, Cyan making constant and bemusing references to X and O, which Locke had assumed formed some bizarre sort of samurai's fencing notation. Now, however, he threw the planned duel to the winds, battering again and again at Ralse's blade in an attempt to break past his guard.

Ralse? Cyan. Or was it Ralse? The music was a pounding rush in Locke's ears – or was he Draco? Either way, the man in front of him stood between him and-

A white blur barrelled into him from the side, sprawling him down on the boards. The sword skittered out of his grasp, its blade almost splintered.

"NOT. HURT."

Gasping, Locke attempted to sit up, coming face to irate face with Relm in the process. The voice seemed to be issuing from Relm's midsection, which was currently forming an improbably heavy weight on Locke's chest.

"NOT. HURT. MR THOU."

The music stopped and the weight lifted. Locke glimpsed Cyan's concerned expression as he began the process of reassuring Gau while disentangling him from both Relm and the crinoline, but his attention was caught by Celes.

She was standing at the edge of the stage, now, gripping its edge with white knuckles and appearing in two minds as to whether she should climb up to him. Locke felt the heightened emotion of the opera dissipate and his sense of self return, along with a rush of blood to his face and a heavy sickness to his stomach.

Running off after a proposal and a disappointment. Abandoning her with barely any explanation, sidetracked by a foolish mission – like he'd never done that before – and losing his head in the middle of the one thing he'd-

She didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve her-

Struggling to his feet, he vaulted off the stage and chased the dying sunlight into the forest.

Before an hour had elapsed, soft steps and a breath of warmth from behind him brought a brief, unwilling smile to his face. A treasure hunter always covered his tracks, even in a rage of regret, but then Celes had always had a talent for finding him no matter what.

"I can't believe you did that."

He shook his head, ready to apologise for anything and everything, but a touch of her hand on his – a tug at that ring, again – brought him to a halt. Locke turned to face her directly. Celes was smiling.

"I mean, I can't believe you found the script, and learnt the script – gods, it isn't even as if you were using it to get hold of an airship. And you got all our friends involved and," while her face remained solemn, her words began to break into laughter, "You danced with Relm, and with Gau…"

Locke felt his face flush again, but less painfully – this time, the smile she brought to his face stayed. He knew what he wanted to do. "I know how the ending goes, now, you know."

"Really?

"Really." Locke reached inside his wooden breastplate, where he had secreted the ragged script. He turned to a few pages from the end, although he knew the story without prompting.

"Here – Draco triumphs over Ralse, and promises Maria a life of peace. Both men beg her to return to them... and then Maria chooses. It's – the script isn't clear which man she's singing to in the grand finale. Cyan says the words could be referring to either. I- we were going to have Maria choose Draco, for, um, obvious reasons, but the fact that she chooses, herself, after everything… it just stuck with me." He squeezed her hand a little tighter. "It reminded me of you."

"I see," murmured Celes, one finger following a line of the text, the other hand still tangled in Locke's. And then she began to sing.

… I see in your eyes, so gentle and wise

All doubts and fears erased …

(A few trees away, Cyan sniffled stealthily, wiped at his eyes with a handkerchief, and restrained himself from providing Ralse's harmony in the final verse.)

… Our love, come what may,

Will never age a day,

I'll wait forevermore…

"I cannot wait to do this!" Edgar was almost dancing around the room; Locke, sitting at the centre of his orbit, had decided to just wait it all out. "It's been far too long – I can't believe we never got around to getting all the boys together for a night out. It's going to be so great – we'll go to Zozo, don't give me that look, I know a place, fantastic staff, brilliant customer satisfaction standards. Tolerable drinks. I swear, Locke, we're going to give you a night you'll never forget!"