A Fated Child: Pages in the life of Quistis

A Final Fantasy VIII fic

by Andrés aka Faethin

Because of the hostilities towards the nation, the Republic of Esthar was on the verge of an international conflict with the Republic of Galbadia. It had been by sole chance that she had been on the scouting assignment when the Esthar Government had requested Balamb Garden a SeeD mercenary to evaluate the current situation of their military. Headmaster Cid, of course, assured them that their very best Instructor was, in fact, in Esthar territory as of the moment.

After the fact, Quistis was given a day off. The students were to return to the Garden and another SeeD officer was to be sent. President Loire had asked her to stay in the Presidential Palace instead of being sent to the Ministry of Defense and she had been happy to oblige. Since Nida would not arrive until the next day and her dormitory (which was more like a suite than anything else) was quite comfortable she decided to spend the afternoon, after an enjoyable walk in the city, resting.

Before leaving, Dack had let the attendants know about Instructor Trepes's talent with the violin. A beautiful one was brought to her at the request of President Loire, who just happened to be walking at the time Dack praising her almost untruly (he was well on his way to become a Trepie, as Irene had clearly pointed out during dinner the day they met the rogues). An elderly butler delivered the instrument to Quistis about half an hour after she had returned to her quarters. She thanked him and immediately sat down to play it.

But there was something in her mind that did not quite let her play any music to her delight. It was like a little vine that had been growing in a tree, seemingly nothing but, left unchecked, had now reached a noticeable length; and now it grasped the tree trunk and would not let go easily of it. She could not see it, she could not speak of it and she could barely perceive it; yet there it was pressing against her chest and burdening her every time she had had to spend by herself. A sore heart, a mind ache, she would have loved to call it so, but the most terrible thing of all was that she did not even feel it deserved such titles. They were too much. That thing she felt was not quite that much.

She had often thought of it as a broken heart (because of him, of course) but now not even that explanation was enough, nor did satisfy her yearning to see it... to see what? She could not see anything.

Then, after she had discarded a broken heart (perhaps not entirely, though) she had thought about loneliness, and that gave her sort of peace (but that hardly helped in the long run). Of course, she felt quite lonely, but having her friends and all she felt it was quite unfair to feel lonely. She thought, after realizing this, that it was also quite unfair the unfairness of feeling lonely. She often puzzled herself with these kinds of statements. Fortunately, they only took shape in her heart. She could never speak about such pointless conclusions.

There was nothing she hated more than not knowing what to think. Sadly, that was precisely the way she felt every time these ponderings came to her. That is why she often tried to lose herself in any kind of activities, from practicing in the Training Grounds to playing her violin a whole evening, until she could barely raise her arms and hold them so; then, her music's volume dropped almost to a whisper. She liked to think of it as caressing the strings. At the bottom of the poetry, though, she could still feel it there.

Maybe there was nothing. Perhaps it was nothing at all. Stupid child, maybe you're just in the need of being spoiled, like every stupid child had been at some point in her life. Free of all, even of SeeD, especially of SeeD. What then? Find a husband, raise a family, teach the little Quistis how to defend herself and see her proudly growing into a beautiful young woman. Stupid child.

No, but seriously ("I was being serious" she timidly told herself) she wanted to know what. What. What. It angered her almost to the point of tears. But, assuredly, "almost" was the key word. It angered her, but it was even more upsetting to know that it did not bother her enough to take any drastic action, just like she would dearly like to. "The calm and collected Quistis would never act that way," Rinoa had said. She hated a little that maybe she was right.

She walked out into the balcony, beginning to tell herself that she was dead on the inside. "Hasty conclusion" she told herself at the same time she noticed for the first time that someone had been playing a melody ever since the violin had been brought to her. A piano sonata. By none other than the Composer, Quistis' favorite. Oddly, though, the person was playing a sonata written for piano and violin, though, obviously, without the parts written for the violin. Oddly enough.

Quistis was a very skeptical woman, so she really did not think anything about it. She thought it was a nice coincidence, since she knew the tune and could fill in with her own playing and since, hurriedly, she could get away from herself. She went inside to fetch the instrument and walked back into the balcony. Carefully listening to the compass of the new sonata the person had begun, she played the correct note at the exact time it would have joined the other melody. The melody flew about the presidential palace, across some of the hallways, and into many rooms until it finally got stuck in Laguna's head for the rest of the day.

It was a small comfort, but it was a comfort.