Chapter VI
Fragments of Memory

"Lord Bartholemew Portelair; Sir Edmund Rumplestein; Archduke Artemis… Flufflesworth? Beatrix, do you take me for an idiot?"

The scratching of said knight's quill ceased. Peering up at him over the two sizeable piles of paperwork between them, she said, "General Beatrix, if you please. And yes, I believe you're a complete dolt. Now get on with it."

"Flufflesworth, Beatrix. Go ahead, humour me. Tell me you wouldn't be suspicious."

Apparently the Great General had gone deaf for her only response was to duck her head back behind the stack of invitations, effectively avoiding Steiner's deathglare, and continue scribbling. Every so often, her hand made an appearance to swipe one of the paper sheafs from its lofty perch. More frequently, she grumbled about her inky fingers -- swords had always suited her more than pens -- and wiped them on a piece of cloth she'd thoughtfully provided for her own use. Under the firm belief that his own stack of paperwork, which was looking more and more like the infinite Tower of Babel with each passing moment, could tend to itself for the time being, Steiner contented himself with watching half-interestedly (or one-eighth-interestedly because she wasn't really all that exciting) as Beatrix's pile of 'to do' shrunk while her 'done to perfection' steadily grew. It wasn't right, her intruding on his free time with such a ridiculous task. She could repeat her orders as much as she fancied, but Steiner wouldnot accept her explanation that such an important matter could only be handled by the Princess' most trusted bodyguards.

In any case, it didn't excuse Beatrix from plonking herself and her irritating flippy hair directly opposite him. "No," he'd said, "Currently there aren't any spare seats in here. …Well, excepting the one across from me. …No, no one's sitting there. …No, I'd rather prefer you to keep it that way."

(It was at this point that, deciphering some kind of warped challenge in Steiner's words, Beatrix had assumed the role of General Nuisance and snatched the once-blissfully vacant chair.)

"Captain Steiner?"

Steiner blinked repeatedly, realising he'd been staring at her dirty digits. Obviously staring. For a long time. He suspected someone would begin ringing the alarm bell soon because she'd used his full title, which she could only seem to recall whenever he was in trouble.

"Unless you're blinking some coded message at me, kindly wrench your eyes away from your General and get to work."

Torn between relief at being let off so easily and embarrassment, Steiner bobbed his head to hide his burning face and picked out the first invitation his fumbling hand found. Carefully, he poured some liquid wax onto it and stamped it shut with the Winged Sword of House Alexandros. He blew on it a little for good measure then started his own pile of 'done' papers. After such a gruelling episode, Steiner permitted himself a lengthy sigh. (Beatrix bristled but said nothing.) His body was already becoming stiff after being stationary so long and, never revelling in the white collar aspects of knighthood, his mind was already beginning to wander. Feeling he'd earned some respite -- and that his face was sufficiently skin-toned -- the Captain flexed his arms, stretched his legs and tried to work the crick out of his neck.

Creech, creech, creech…

This time, Beatrix threw him a baleful look. Steiner paused mid-stretch and forced a smile onto his face, hoping he'd achieved the perfect mix of sincere-albeit-phoney with it. Frowning, the general re-immersed herself in paperwork. Oh well. It was her own fault for choosing to sit so close to him when she knew full well his musical choice of clothing annoyed her. When she knew she annoyed him.

Looks like he'd have to make her pay.

Grinning wickedly, Steiner gave her a sidelong glance, noting her nose was stuck in her work as always. His eyes fell on her 'to do' pile, which (he noticed with annoyance) was sizeably smaller than his and a most wonderful idea popped into his head. Silent as a cat in the night, Steiner refolded the yet-to-be-sealed scroll he held. He slowly extended his arm across the table, hoping his armour didn't betray him. With a flourish that would make one of those Tantalus actors proud, he placed it atop Beatrix's stack of unfinished work.

Steiner held in his breath. He held in his breath and his laughter.

Beatrix blindly groped for the next invitation. Grabbed it. Stamped it.

'Success!' he mentally cheered.

Encouraged by this, the Captain attempted another run. Daring to move a fraction faster this time, he flicked another invite onto Beatrix's stack, listening with pride as it landed so noiselessly that he wondered if, back in the day, he should have joined the stealth unit instead. When she didn't notice that either, Steiner became even more emboldened and attempted to dispose of three in one shot. On this occasion it appeared the small box labelled "pure madness" that was normally chained firmly closed in the dusty recesses of his mind had burst open -- as was prone to happen whenever Beatrix entered the scene -- and its incomprehensible contents had been loosed on his unsuspecting rationality, which was preaching disaster and childish escapades.

After five minutes of Steiner grinning like a man possessed the formidable tower had dwindled to the status of molehill. Downright cocky by now, he triumphantly grabbed the remains of his paperwork and at a recklessly fast pace reached out to dump it.

"Captain Steiner, sir!"

"Nyahh!" said Captain yelled, tossing his fistful of sheets into the air. Beatrix's quill suddenly drew a squiggle across her page before making a wild arc and joining the paper snowstorm in the air. Her flailing hand knocked over her ink well. A puddle of black engulfed half the table. "Steiner!" she barked, making it sound like an expletive.

"General, ma'am, Cap'n, ma'am, sir!" Kohel squeaked.

Trying desperately to steady himself, Steiner slowly felt his heartbeat revert to a rhythm that didn't imply a burst aorta. Across the way, Beatrix's heavy breathing subsided and her eye lost its glazed sheen, instead adopting the murky grey hue of a furious tempest as she focussed on one of the scattered invitations. "'Flufflesworth'…?" she read, deadpan.

"Um…" Steiner said, experiencing the unpleasant sensation of his much-battered heart plummeting to rest in his lower intestine. He was sure a lot of gil could be made out of this horrid situation.

"Captain Steiner, sir! Princess Garnet requires your presence in the east guest room," Kohel called, dashing out the doorway without being dismissed. Ignoring the instinct to run to Esto Gaza and hibernate for the remainder of his life, Steiner's eyes tentatively slid towards Beatrix.

An ugly black splatter covered her face, making it look as if someone had used her as a spider squasher.

Against his better judgement, Steiner stood, saying, "Really, Beatrix, you ought to be more careful. Someone may mistake you for a dolt."

Then he gave in to the urge and sprinted away in such an admirable manner that one would think he was gifted with auto-haste. He ran all the way to the guest room before Beatrix had him drawn and quartered.

"…loutish, exasperating, talentless…"

Only too aware of her face's ridiculous state, the Holy Knight didn't pay attentionto the numerous soldiers who shifted their feet anxiously or vacated the area entirely whenever she marched past. Steiner shouldn't glance askew at his General's orders, no matter how silly their nature. If he didn't learn how to place some measure of trust in her soon, Beatrix worried she'd lose her head (figuratively) and Steiner his (literally). So far, things were looking grim for them both. It had taken him ten years to get to the point where he only poked fun at her when he was certain she'd instigated such an attack.

Problem was, according to Steiner it was always her fault.

…Actually, maybe he hadn't changed at all…

If anything, she could always count on the loudmouth to pick the moment she was completely distracted to play a juvenile prank on her. These past weeks, the innate kindness that epitomised Queen Brahne had drained away from her like a leaky bucket loses water. Her Majesty no longer dismissed her with, "Thank-you. You may leave now," and a gentle smile. Nowadays she spoke in abrupt tones that brooked no argument and ignored the Holy Knight entirely once she had gained whatever it was she needed from her. At first Beatrix had believed it to be the outward manifestation of grief, for the anniversary of the death of the late King Alexandros seemed to have triggered such a change. However, Queen Brahne hadn't fallen back into her usual caring manner, instead opting to devote her attention to the castle's newest arrival -- King, as her once- promised named himself now. Why he chose to dazzle the Queen with hidden roses and disappearing doves and other pretty magic tricks Beatrix hadn't the foggiest and that was perhaps the most concerning factor of all, for Beatrix was well-versed in the Ways of Kuja where rule number one was everything has an ulterior motive.

Then there was Garnet. It wasn't right that the weeks leading up to her coming-of-age were marred by these other troubles. Lately, dark rings had been pencilled beneath her Princess' eyes, a clear answer as to why she had been performing so poorly during the white magic lessons Beatrix had just begun conducting, at the Princess' behest no less. Beatrix also had caught the girl gazing out her bedroom window, a faraway mist in her normally bright eyes. No, Her Highness shouldn't bother herself with her mother's condition. She could leave that duty to her General.

"…dense, ignominious, foolhardy son-of-a-gigan to--"

"I hope you're not referring to me."

Beatrix barely smothered her surprise, frayed as her wits were. Fuelled with annoyance at having been ambushed twice in one day (and on her own turf no less!) she whirled on this rude newcomer…

…and came face to face with a pair of electrifying blue eyes.

For a second, her breath caught in her throat. Playing at fixing her gloves, Beatrix allowed herself time to reload her arsenal of sharp words, sorely conscious of this wizard's proximity. She'd hated him back then, a man who believed he could own anything if he threw enough gil at it, and whatever antics he'd been up to in the dungeons of Lindblum, his actions had made her furious. She drew in a deep breath through her nose, hoping the energy it brought would ensure she wouldn't retreat. Almost immediately following this, Kuja retreated a pace, twirling his lengthy sleeves through a series of mesmerizing patterns as he performed a bow. He may have been enchanting had his gaze remained downcast as befitted such a pose. Instead his eyes brazenly met hers, a hint of a smirk in their swirling depths. "Lady Beatrix," he acknowledged, his voice rippling with amusement.

"What are you doing wandering the grounds?" The accusation tumbled from her mouth before she could stopper it. Knowing Kuja, he would take pride in knowing he had raised Beatrix's hackles. Immediately, she regretted voicing her distaste.

"Then I should have… an escort?" he crooned, drawing out his words in a tone that put her in mind of sour milk.

'To the dungeons,' she thought acidly.

Recovering her composure was difficult, especially considering his intoxicating fragrance was permeating the air. Mentally soothing her tensed muscles, the General flicked hair from her face. She'd started along the suspicious vein and supposed she had to continue it now. "That depends on whether you're causing trouble enough to warrant one," she replied, allowing an icy edge to creep into her voice. Never mind whatever favours he'd done Alexandria in the past. Never mind the supposed redemption he brought on himself by rescuing her from Lindblum all those years past. Being in cahoots with Cid VIII had nullified that.

Kuja laughed. "And to think I was to take you as my wife! Ah, but I've always been fond of such passion as you now reveal. Stirred like this, you are more like the girl skipping with street urchins, careless of ruining the new dress her father made her wear and less like the cold-hearted general."

"The general is more suited to dealing with your type, King," she said, hoping to distance him by reverting to his other title.

"But you'd prefer to be the girl, right?"

His perceptiveness frightening, she clamped her teeth firmly together, swallowing a gasp in the process. Her body cried out for oxygen, yet to draw air through her mouth would be to recognise her rising panic. Consequently, the insidious tendrils of his foul perfume infiltrated her body, increasing her feeling of entrapment. She found herself snarling, "My desires are none of your concern!"

"My dear Beatrix, whatever sins have I committed to deserve such hostility? Surely refusing you your title, which I only do as a measure of endearment, isn't enough."

Well, that was a small part of it. Unlike Steiner, who enjoyed teasing her every now and then, Kuja sucked some malicious pleasure from addressing her so disrespectfully. His persistent nicknames had irked her from the moment her father had introduced them in the pragmatic hope that marriage would expand his wealth. Beatrix's aspirations of becoming a knight, of escaping the Treno noble whose cold eyes belied his charming demeanour, had mattered little to either of the men back then.

Then King had suddenly stepped back into her world, calling himself Kuja, toying with her in Lindblum as if her life were a casual thing he could discard whenever he chose, like you would the peel of an orange. Not to mention… the dungeons.

'Know pain, bitch!'

She shut her eye against the memory.

"Lindblumese are not trained in magic," she said, opening her eye to glare hatred at him, hoping the murderous glint was enough to send him scurrying from the continent. For an instant he was disarmed, a childlike helplessness flickering within those blue orbs. Her deduction had clearly not been in whatever schemes he was hatching. Disconcertion momentarily flashed on his face at the prospect of having his foul secret illuminated. "You would have talked. Anyone would have talked."

"Not the Silence spell," she said. It sounded like a wolf's growl. "You waited. You were there and you waited, and then..." Her own anger choking her off, she gestured furiously at her face.

"They would have noticed had I acted sooner," he tried, the words seeping into her like poison. Beatrix snarled wordlessly. Kuja shrugged, regaining his former aura of self-assuredness, placing a hand theatrically to his forehead as he simpered, "I never thought appearances meant so much to you."

"Leave," she grated, hand itching for Save the Queen. Confronting him had been a mistake. The memory of his cruelty hadn't faded over the years. It had smouldered quietly, awaiting a chance to ignite anew, refusing to die out in the wake of the apathetic demeanour she'd withdrawn into.

Kuja eyed her. All trace of flippancy vanished from his features to be replaced by an anger as cold as hers was hot. "You would do well to tend to your own business, General," he hissed, making Beatrix recoil from his sudden animosity. Just as quickly as it had arisen the fire was tamed to its usual small spark, relegated to the bottom of his eyes. Kuja seemed to consider the ink smudge across her face -- Beatrix refused to let his scrutiny shame her -- then graced her with another bow before leaving.

Kuja out of sight, Beatrix sighed appreciatively. She ran a hand over her face, realised she was trembling slightly and then moved to clasp her sword hilt to calm down, enraged anew by her weakness. How foolish, illuminating the depths of the ill will she harboured for him, giving him reason to keep one eye trained her way. Now how was she going to ferret out his deceit. Worse, she had ordered him out of turn, not a day after Her Majesty had specifically given him free reign of the castle. If he took this news of insubordination to the Queen, Beatrix could very well find herself in the dungeons once again -- the Queen was behaving too erratically to merely give Beatrix a warning. The thought sent a wave of nausea through her shaky body. Once shackled, Kuja could do anything to her. She doubted the Queen, in her current state, would halt him.

Whatever it was Kuja was after, he'd be free to take it then.

"Beatrix?" the voice, unfamiliarly soft, salvaged her from black thoughts. She lifted her head to acknowledge Steiner, beyond caring whether he'd witnessed the unpleasant incident. "What is that strange man doing here again?" he asked.

"You didn't know? Her Majesty was so impressed by his trickery she allowed him passage through the castle whenever he so wishes." She shook her head, shrugging hopelessly in an attempt at conveying what words could not.

"You don't sound overly happy about that," he noted, a tinge of disapproval in the statement, but he cast his gaze around as if scanning for the villainous Kuja nonetheless. It cheered her a little, knowing that while straight-laced Steiner may not have trusted her, he still respected her judgement.

"I know it's wrong to doubt Her Majesty's competence, but surely her odd behaviour has unsettled even you." Beatrix almost winced to hear the pleading undertones in her voice, but her uncertain heart needed some form of consolation.

Steiner shook his head in a furious 'no'. "My thought and my will are meaningless. How can a knight, pledged to servitude, possibly hope to understand the workings of his liege's mind?"

Beatrix hid a smile. His blind loyalty was admirable, if asinine. "You're sure."

Mistaking the statement as a question, Steiner began scratching his chin in thought. Slowly, he said, "A tailor sews. A thief steals. A knight defends. How else to explain it, I know not."

Between alternately avoiding potentially humiliating situations for herself and planning them for Steiner, Beatrix had never given much thought to the man's positive attributes. In fact, she'd been quite convinced they were non-existent. After becoming head of the Alexandrian military force their private war had subsided to the point where they'd contented themselves with verbal duelling -- time was a quickly-consumed commodity when you were practically top of the chain of command -- and perhaps the occasional underhanded trick like the one he'd pulled on her before. However, with those three short statements the normally blundering man of little brainpower became a soldier who would give more blood than he had in him if it meant keeping his country from harm. "You are sure…" she marvelled.

It was very likely shock at her sincere tone that caused him to reply by means of a salute.

"So why did you venture out here anyway?" she continued, pleased that he was finally deferring to her.

"Oh!" Steiner exclaimed, practically leaping into the air at his remembered errand, "Princess Garnet requires your assistance in the east guest room."

"Me?"

"She… As soon as I arrived, that was the order she gave. Apparently, Kohel misunderstood her use of the word, 'Commander'."

Beatrix tried not to see the wounded look in his eyes. Roles resumed. "Very well then. Good day, Captain."

"But you've still…" he muttered, rubbing a finger over his nose.

Pausing, she raised a hand to scrub the black mark from her visage.

Thank Alexander for Steiner!

'How odd. Beatrix is normally so in control -- so much so that I expect if Hades himself dropped out of the sky she'd just politely tell him to leave! -- yet with that man…'

Steiner watched her retreating image, her lengthy white coat twisting in the breeze. Only now did she relinquish her grip on Save the Queen and reluctantly at that. The Captain grimaced, disappointed his pep-talk hadn't worked. It was different matter, Beatrix being upset when he wasn't the source of her ire. A different matter altogether. In fact, he couldn't shake the feeling that this King character was treading boldly into territory that had undisputedly belonged to Steiner for the past ten years.

'All I succeeded in was eliciting some half-hearted abbreviation of a smile. Although now that I think on it, at least she looked at me.'

Even such a tiny gesture was rare. Having the best swordsmanship in the land tended to put an arrogant spin on every brief sentence Beatrix uttered barring when she conversed with her superiors. Of which there were far too few, in his opinion.

Steiner shook his head, smiling to himself.

"You've gotta move together!"

"Not that way!"

"Look out!"

Splash!

Knowing only a certain cluster of Alexandria Castle's residents sounded that completely lost, Steiner dashed along the red carpet of the entrance hall towards the courtyard, dread nestling in the pit of his stomach. Already in a fit of rage, he burst outside only to be confronted by blonde woman headed straight his way. They collided with a comical clang, creating fresh dints in both their suits of armour. The woman was repelled by Steiner's bulk to land heavily on the ground with an, "Oof!"

"My word! Are you okay?" Steiner asked, eyes darting between the injured soldier and the ensuing calamity ahead.

"Uhnn…" She rubbed her head dazedly, then changed her actions into a wonky salute. "I was just looking for you, sir."

"What's going on!"

"The Pluto Knights nearly capsized…" she trailed off and just pointed in the direction of the moat.

"What!" Steiner bellowed, following both her finger and his ears rather than waiting for an explanation. In his experience, it was easier to see the unbelievable situations his men ensnared themselves in rather than trying to get someone to vocalise the impossible. What he discovered wasn't the craziest scene he'd chanced upon, but it was a typical case of a simplistic mission fallen to pieces, an unsolvable jigsaw puzzle without their Captain's guidance.

"Swim harder!" a thoroughly distressed Kohel was calling from the bank. Floundering a few meters from shore, Weimar choked out a garbled rush of words that may have translated as something along the lines of, "Help!"

"He's drowning!" Mullenkedheim said, leaning over the boat's edge to try to rescue his companion. The vessel tipped, making its large-of-girth occupant spring back with a yelp, while its cargo -- a wine keg labelled with a yellow star on a green field,easily as tall as Steiner -- tilted perilously close to the point of no return.

"Can't you idiots do anything!" the Captain yelled, running frantically up and down the shoreline. "Get his armour off!"

"Yessir!" Kohel declared, then, "Arrgghhh!" he screamed, diving headfirst into the water. His voice, half-muffled, turned incoherent, his head periodically disappearing beneath self-created waves. Steiner clapped a hand over his eyes, unwilling to see the woeful manner in which his order had been interpreted. He heard a third splash, feeling his heart sink along with his men.

"By the Sword!" came Mullenkedheim's happy voice. Unable to think for the life of him why the man was rejoicing, Steiner hazarded a glance.

The knight who had spoken was still seated in the boat, a grin plain on his face. The woman who had crashed into Steiner moments ago had plunged herself into the moat and was dragging the drowning Kohel and Weimar landward. "Yes! That's it!" Mullenkedheim began egging her on. Steiner soon lent his own voice to the ruckus with, "Keep going! You can do it!"

Once the trio of sodden Alexandrians were safely on terra firma and Steiner had given his troops a good reprimanding, he fixed his attention on the blonde. Though grateful for her efforts, he was dismayed to find the rose insignia of Squad Beatrix on her uniform. "I am indebted to you… ah…" he halted at her name.

"Major Catherine, sir," she supplied.

"Ca…" he frowned in consternation, recognising her as one of Beatrix's favourites. "Well, thank-you anyway." He turned to watch as Mullenkedheim valiantly commandeered the boat landwards. It bumped into the docks with a sullen thump, both cargo and captain in mint condition.

"Catherine…" Weimar blubbered, mouth opening and closing as he continued emptying his lungs of water, "Such a beaut--" and the rest was lost in a fit of coughing. Steiner glared at the womanising knight. "Stealing a boat… to transport liquor… and you can't even row." Whatever effect he'd counted on his words having, it was lost. Weimar was too preoccupied trying to breathe.

"Actually sir," Catherine said, her tone wandering between submissive and superior, "They acted on Lord King's behalf. He needed this barrel brought to the castle for Her Majesty. The Pluto Knights just happened to be standing around at the time."

As if dealt an electric shock, Kohel flew up violently. "We were patrolling," he frowned over at Catherine, "when Lord King interrupted to ask us to do him a small favour. How could we refuse someone so loved by the Queen? We never expected it would be so hard." He directed a look, somewhere between cautious and vindictive, at the barrel. Steiner couldn't believe he was trying to shirk responsibility onto an inanimate object. "And it's not alcohol, Captain," he emphasised.

"Hmm?"

"That's right. It's magic!"

Steiner blinked, wondering if his men hadn't ingested too much lake water.

"Can't be," Mullenkedheim joined, giving the barrel a guarded stare. "You can't just stuff a fire spell into a barrel. You make it and it happens and then it's gone."

"Well, I mean, it's something magical."

"Like I-pull-rabbits-out-of-my-hat magical or scary, I-can-call-meteors-from-the-sky magical?"

"Dunno. It's just magical."

"I like magical."

"Mmm, magical's magical."

"Stop saying magical!" Steiner roared.

"Perfect timing! I couldn't have asked for more laudable knights," a voice behind Steiner announced. He grimaced, attributing the distinctive musical quality to Kuja. Caught between Kuja's appearance and their superior's glower which spoke of ramming swords down their throats, the Pluto Knights jumped to attention. "Sir!" they chorused, each snapping a salute with varying degrees of sloppiness.

"You! What is the meaning of this?" Steiner demanded.

Kuja sketched a bow. "Sorry for acting without consulting you first, Captain, but I didn't want to distract you from the vital duties you attend. Besides, after being instructed personally by you I was certain these men would have no troubles with the menial task I requested they perform."

"Oh. In that case…" Suddenly realising he'd been looming over the smaller man, Steiner carefully extracted himself from Kuja's personal space and crossed his arms over his chest. While throwing a temper tantrum -- or a variety of pointy objects in Kuja's direction -- was definitely not the proper way to act, neither was letting him nose around with the belief he could best certain Captains simply by flattering them. With a disparaging grimace on his face, Steiner let the platinum-haired mage know he hadn't fooled him.

Kuja smiled.

"Uh, should we get back to patrolling, sir?"

"Of course," Steiner said, waving away whichever of his idiot knights had spoken while maintaining his vigil. By means of response his prey suddenly came to life, blinking wide blue eyes, the shaking of his head making his hair swish in a cascade of molten silver. "But you can't leave yet. I need this taken to your Queen." Lazily, he indicated the keg, which was dripping after its treatment at the hands of lapping waves and wet soldiers.

Put off by something in the Kuja's tone, Steiner feigned a resigned sigh and moved to the barrel himself. "You," he pointed at Kohel, "Give me a hand with this."

Kuja's smile became mechanical. Eyes glittering, a cruel edge now visible in them, he watched (allowed?) Steiner to heft the keg. "Lead the way," he sang, regarding the Captain with veiled malice. Had Steiner not spent half his life keeping people from killing him, he doubted he would have noticed the threat.

'Beatrix is right: this man reeks of bad intentions. Perhaps some careful questioning is in order…'

"I hear you're a particularly gifted magician," Steiner ventured as they trooped through the entrance hallway. Behind him, Kuja chuckled -- 'What kind of man laughs like tinkling bells?' -- and picked up his pace, walking beside Kohel who was labouring beneath the burden. "I'm no magician," he said in an amused tone.

"Forgive my ignorance. I'm unfamiliar with your trade." He didn't like the way Kuja sifted through his words, picking apart each syllable as he scavenged for an opportunity to berate him. Ordinarily, Steiner would've simply tossed the offender out of the castle; at the very least he would've put him in his place with some hard words. However, having already seen the General unsuccessfully clash horns with this man and knowing he was the Queen's flavour of the month, Steiner reined in his temper and settled for civility.

"Weavers of illusions. The magicians you speak of are nothing more. But I, I am a conjurer of true wonders. I can raise an ocean with my fingertips, command the moon to eclipse the sun, draw hell's fire into the palm of my hand without being singed. I even have the potential to summon great beasts of yore into this realm. What you call 'magic' is far from the fairytale smoke-puffs an eon of misuse causes the name to imply. No, the reality is far more frightening."

His voice, which had begun softly, had risen to a level where its musical quality had taken over completely and was now trying to suffuse Steiner's notion of magic with a rhythmic pulse, vitality. During his speech he had also strayed in front of the knights, choosing to speak the words to the entirety of the castle rather than simply his audience of two. Now he turned around to regard Steiner with cool eyes. "Do you understand?" he asked softly.

Kohel swallowed audibly. "Frightening?"

That same knowing smirk tugged on Kuja's lips. "Would you like to see?" he said. His eyes were asking Steiner.

"I am not blind," he countered.

"Then what have you to fear?"

Steiner restrained his apprehension. He locked eyes with the mage. He nodded.

Flash of light, darkness devouring -- leg, leg, torso, arm, arm, neck, head -- and night.

"Help! Someone, please! Help!"

'Ugh… Where amI…?'

With a groan, he cracked open his eyes. His head was pounding, the thundering reaching a crescendo as he hauled himself to his feet, blinking rapidly against the pain. Flickering flames were eating their way through the crumbled remains of the building where he was standing. For a moment, Steiner observed the fiery tendrils chew their way through ruined furniture and the portrait of a noblewoman whose long blonde hair, then delicate chin, then blue eyes were consumed by the blaze.

"Help!" someone -- a boy -- shouted. Abruptly his cries were cut short as he was overcome by wheezing coughs. As if the sound triggered some internal mechanism Steiner clapped his hand over his mouth, praying sickly smoke wouldn't infiltrate his lungs. He had to find the child; he knew this with utter certainty. He took a wary breath and was surprised when the air felt clear. A deeper breath yielded no side-effects. Satisfied, the knight began picking his way across the debris-strewn floor, weaving past fallen beams, tip-toeing between broken roof tiles and chunks of wood. The pull, which had been faint in the beginning, seemed to swell with each step he took until it grew so powerful that he no longer had to pause to listen for the boy's cries, pleading alternatively to Alexander and Mother, his desperate assurances that Father would be there soon. Steiner had to sidle out of the room he'd awoken in -- the door had semi-collapsed under its own weight -- and tread extra cautiously down the hallway he emerged in. Peppered with holes, gaping monster-mouths spewing rolling thick clouds of smoke, the hallway looked as if it would give way any second. Unable to help himself, Steiner looked into the first such hole he came to. A chandelier was dangling crookedly in his vision. Further down, two lancers sporting Lindblumese livery emerged from a fiery corridor, their booted feet tapping on the polished wooden floor. One of them was limping badly, the other clutching his side.

"Think she's dead?" said the soldier favouring his right leg. His voice echoed throughout the ballroom.

"Who knows. In any case, the fire'll get her if we didn't," the other replied between breaths, not deigning to look at the man he addressed.

"What about the other ones?"

"The girl's as good as gone. So's the woman that went in after her. And the boy…" Here, he stopped, turning to look back across the expanse of the room. It was disheartening to think such a place had once housed hundreds of women in billowing skirts, hair twisted elaborately about their heads as they spun a field of wildflowers across the dance floor whilst men in smart black suits with shining shoes vied for their attention.

"Hey, I didn't say stop," the first complained, smacking his comrade on the arm. "Am I your commander or am I your commander?"

"Yes sir, Major Biggs, but if General Madelene finds out…"

Intrigued beyond caring whether this delay would cause his death, Steiner flattened himself to the ground and wormed his way to the edge of the hole he'd been looking through. On the lower floor, the taller of the pair was staring resolutely at the fiery passage they'd came from, seemingly weighing the pros and cons of dashing back in there. Whatever errand he contemplated, it must have been important -- it didn't look like that hall was going to remain intact for long.

"He"s a kid, Wedge. Even if he survives he won't remember a darn thing."

Wedge snorted. "You sayin' you wouldn't remember who offed ya mama?"

"What I'm sayin' is, if I were knee-high to a grasshopper and some big bad men --"

"And a woman."

"And a woman," Biggs conceded, "with spears came into my home and messed me up --"

"And a sword."

"What?"

"'Big bad men and a woman with spears and a sword,'" Wedge recited helpfully.

Steiner recognised the vexed expression contorting Biggs' face as one he himself often wore. For a moment his heart went out to the man. "Yeah, yeah, a sword and the rest," Biggs snapped, his eyebrows bent downward at such an angle that they appeared to be trying to slide off the officer's face and desert the army for good. Wedge gazed at his superior expectantly. Slowly, Biggs' face relaxed. And relaxed. Until eventually, he was forced to say, "…Um… What was my point again?"

"You wouldn't remember who'd done ya mama in, being so utterly terrified an' all."

"Precisely," Biggs nodded vigorously, folding his arms over his chest contentedly. Sighing to himself, Steiner wondered if his own men made him look like a moron this effortlessly. Again, the Major gave a firm yank on his man's arm as he turned to leave. It was sufficient to get Wedge moving, though he did toss some forlorn looks over his shoulder on his way. Steiner pushed himself to a stand and hurried along until he came to a flight of broken stairs leading down to what he guessed to be the entrance hall. A second was all he needed -- it was as if he was on a set path. He had no real decisions to make now. Lengthening his stride, he half-hopped, half-ran down them. By the time he reached the ballroom, heart leaping in his chest, blood thundering along his veins, he was sprinting for his life. "I must be mad," Steiner muttered as, running full-tilt, he entered the flaming corridor the Lindblumese had fled from, metal drawn to magnet.

The boy was down here. He knew it.

As if to confirm his thoughts, a frantic voice echoed down the corridor. And then, the sound of a crying child suddenly filled his ears, high-pitched keening that seemed to press heavily against his chest. Steiner gasped, tried to increase his pace. Suddenly his foot caught on something and the air froze around him, stopping him in time and then he was all movement and head-over-heels and floor and where the hell had that come from? Fallen at the end of the passage, strangely unhurt from the impact, the Captain lifted his head. The simple act seemed to take years.

He looked up at the woman's corpse.

"Captain?"

Someone poked him firmly in the ribs. Steiner opened his eyes to find himself staring into Kohel's concerned face. "I'm fine," he said as he inspected his surroundings. He was at the top of the stairs, propped against the barrel he'd been lugging around, Kohel crouched in front of him. A grin split the younger knight's face and he straightened, saying over his shoulder, "You see, Lord King? I told you he'd be fine!"

'King!'

Springing to his feet (as his bones creaked like they'd been gathering dust for the past decade or two he immediately wished he'd done otherwise) Steiner pushed past Kohel to confront the sneaky magus. Kuja took a step forward to meet him. "You're unharmed?" he asked quickly.

"No thanks to you!" Steiner thundered, "What was it you did to me?"

Kuja's eyes flickered to Steiner's sword. They gained a measuring look. "Interesting…" he murmured.

"Tell me!"

Kuja's lips moved as he seemed to converse with himself, the words indistinguishable. He trailed off abruptly as he realised Steiner was listening to every word. The Captain gave him a look that could have sheared the meat from his bones. With a long-suffering sigh, Kuja succumbed to the tirade. "What I mean to say is, funny that one untrained in magic would have such a powerful reaction to my spell. The memories I conjured, they belonged to you?"

The rage that usually came so effortlessly seeped away, leaving behind a very drained Steiner who wanted little more than to go to sleep where he stood. Those words... How did someone know for certain which memories belonged to them? Significant moments often corroded at the persistent caressing of time's tides, vivid snapshots that paled to whitewashed vagueness. For all he knew, those events could have occurred millennia ago. After all, throughout Alexandria's bloody history, more than one General Madelene had held Save the Queen. That was assuming he'd even been in Alexandria…

Sighing, a tiny act that did nothing to assuage the maelstrom of thoughts in his head, Steiner about-faced and made for his quarters, one foot before the other.

"It's a shame Uncle Cid's duties detain him in Lindblum," Garnet said again. Beatrix looked over at her and was surprised to find that despite her conversational tone, the Princess was regarding her intently.

"That is the message he sent," she replied, resuming her assessment of the royal box and its surroundings. Would the Pluto Knights be enough to control the crowd if it turned unruly? No, but that mattered little. Nobles would not chance impropriety in such a public domain. Riots wouldn't be a problem today -- hadn't since Queen Brahne's rule -- though caution, no matter how prude it may seem, was never amiss. More pressing were the commoners packed shoulder-to-shoulder, lining the rooftops for a rare glance at foreign gentry or the funny man in the rusty suit of armour or the cyclops general, the one who slew a hundred knights unassisted ten years past. Maybe if they were lucky Queen Brahne herself would acknowledge them with a wave. Princess Garnet, if they were luckier.

Alexander knew what pickpockets and women of ill repute could hide in that carousing, jostling, milling mass! An assassin would find hiding in that throng a treat. They were prepared for any eventuality though. Archers on the battlements, pikemen down at the waterfront, triple guard in the main entrance hall… Cannons had undergone final inspections the other day. The amount of time spent mentally scrolling through her checklist, ascertaining each point was covered, was likely longer than the time spent actually seeing to everything! And everything was settled. Her obligations were fulfilled. All that remained was to stand at attention. Beatrix was used to that.

She suppressed a yawn. Sometimes she thought she was just ornamental.

"I wish he were here." Garnet's voice was small. She seemed to be missing the regent a great deal of late. With her mother paying increasing amounts of attention to Kuja, Beatrix supposed Cid was Garnet's last connection to her father. It was unfair, a girl being so alone on her birthday. As the theatre troupe's leader ambled out on stage clad in the bejewelled cloak of King Leo and began booming introductions, Beatrix angled her head to surreptitiously consider her Princess. Dainty hands gripped her dress, twisting in the fabric; her gaze pierced through both actor and curtain as if they were sculpted of glass. Frowning, Beatrix privately cursed Cid for refusing to attend tonight's festivities.

Far to her right, standing stiffly at the ready on the other end of the royal dais, Steiner's eyes flickered toward the Princess every few moments. He wore a grimace to match Beatrix's own -- in fact, he'd been the first to don it. Even his introduction to Lord Flufflesworth (who turned out to be a well-muscled man who favoured pink shirts) hadn't altered his worried expression. That, Beatrix understood. What she didn't understand was the look that overtook his face, one of crinkled eyebrows and pursed lips, whenever his eyes fell on her, as if he found her as interesting as the rooftop viewers did. As if he'd never even seen her before, let alone sprinkled itch-weed in her wardrobe or substituted her dessert for a flan. The violent kind.

Briefly, she wondered if she'd spilled ink on her face or something.

Intermission arrived suddenly and Garnet pleaded a need to refresh herself. Steiner barely offered a protest when Beatrix nodded deferentially at their Princess, who, after a word from her mother, left her place briskly. In full mother chocobo mode, Steiner's eyes intently followed Garnet's steps. He went so far as to raise a hand in a gesture of appeal, barely managing to restrain himself from following her. Beatrix believed he'd narrowly avoided begging the girl for a smile.

Minutes ticked by. Intermission ended and the curtains opened to reveal a banquet hall, banners draping the polished wood-panelled walls while mouth-watering food steamed on the long table. Descending from the central staircase, Prince Schneider's appearance was hailed by blaring trumpets and a rainbow of confetti. On his third step down his foot caught on the edge of the carpet. Arms windmilled wildly, one finding the banister to save him from complete embarrassment while he steadied himself. Both Prince Schneider's on-stage audience and the true audience chuckled appreciatively, the low humming of bumblebees. The depths of Schneider's foolishness only became more apparent as the scene progressed. He produced gifts for the King, a pair of albino chicobos that went on a berserk rampage, tangled themselves in the hanging banners and fled the castle, servants clearly being out-run in their pursuit. Following this, he set fire to Cornelia's napkin, talked himself into a duel with the renowned General Gilgamesh and eventually ate part of the centrepiece by mistake, at which point he was stretcher-ed off for life-saving surgery. The humour failed to penetrate Beatrix's black mood. Thumb circling the pommel of Save the Queen, she wondered what was holding Garnet's attention.

"Let us in!"

Steiner marched towards the source of the interruption, fists forming at his sides as he began trumpeting some nonsense about manners and timing. Briefly, she looked over her shoulder, decided he could chase off whoever elected to petition Her Majesty on the perils of employing moogles and turned her attention back to the stage. Princess Cornelia was just declaring her undying love for Mar--

"Let us in!"

Oh, the romance was even worse than the humour. Beatrix fixed a steely expression on her face. It came easily. "Is it an emergency?"

"An emergency it is!"

"A veritable emergency of terrible urgency!"

The General faltered, her expression slipping into one of vexation. With their sing-song manner of speaking, Zorn and Thorn were merely tolerable at the best of times. Deciding concealing her irritation would serve no purpose tonight -- and that she deserved some small outlet -- she ignored whatever it was Steiner was grumbling about and asked the twins to come out with it.

"Her Royal Highness…" began one.

"Princess Garnet…" the other continued.

They both gulped nervously before spluttering out the rest of the sentence, "…is missing!"

The rapidity at which the colour drained from Steiner's face would have been comical at any other time, but Beatrix was occupied suppressing a tide of fury at the news. Of course it had to have been more than Cid's absence, more than coming-of-age jitters or trepidation about meeting future suitors. More than a teenager's mood swings. Even more than the episodes of melancholy that occasionally took the girl over when she thought on her father. How could she have dismissed Garnet's odd behaviour so simply? Hadn't she learnt that the most dangerous enemies were the ones you didn't know you had?

Generals were most certainly not supposed to be this incredibly stupid.

Beatrix swallowed her rage. There would be time for self-deprecating thoughts later. Attempting to channel inner calm, she delivered the news to Queen Brahne in machine gun fire spurts, and moments later she was running a perimeter search, methodically narrowing down the places Garnet may have fled to.

That was working on the assumption that she hadn't left the castle grounds.

Alexandria's Holy Knight groaned, frustrated at the current state of affairs and the fact that moments ago she'd been praying for something -- anything! -- less bland than guard duty. Everyone knew the old saying: be careful what you wish for. Evidently,just because one's wishes had remained unfulfilled for half their lifetime didn't mean this particular cosmic law was untrue. The universe was selective about enforcing such laws, apparently.

Maybe it was high time to break those rules. Generals were renowned for such feats.