Author's Notes: Long live Morrid!

Chapter Four

A warm beam of light came across his face and he pinched his eyebrows together, trying to turn away from it. His neck ached terribly and it ricocheted down his tired body. He twisted against the soft cotton beneath him and writhed for a moment as he became caught in a blanket. His entire body radiated in pain and he gasped sharply, as if he was emerging from water. Zidane shot forward, confronted by the sight of a brick wall with crumbling adobe. Pictures of people hung on the wall and ivy leaves from ceiling hanging pots dangled down around him. Beside the bed he sat on, there was a round window that displayed a green and majestic view of surrounding mountains and pastures. The sill was covered in trinkets that had been collected from all over the continent. Zidane recognized a tourist token from a Lindblum Air Cab station and a mini replica of the Red Rose airship that was sold at artisan booths in Alexandria. As he looked around the small cabin, that was modest with a kitchen and table for two, it felt as if Zidane's heart was in fast forward yet his mind was in slow motion. Where was he? Why was everything in his mind so fuzzy? What had happened? He began to sit forward, but he groaned, pressing a hand to his chest. Zidane ground his teeth together and lifted his white undershirt. The left side of his chest and shoulder were wrapped. The bandages were faintly red in some spots. Zidane's entire body was in so much pain that it prevented him from moving anymore. Zidane breathed heavily, slumped forward against his knees. Again, he looked around the cabin and very intently analyzed the surrounding lands. His mind was so bogged down and foggy from the pain and relative disassociation, Zidane couldn't process where he was. The small cabin offered no clues, either. The meager counter space was cluttered with bags of coffee and tediously stacked mugs. A small brick stove puffed nearby with dwindling charred wood. The table had a forgotten cup of coffee on it, plus a half-eaten bagel. Someone had been here recently. Who had been watching over him? Zidane's mind reeled as the faces of his friend came back to him. Zidane fell against the headboard, his chest rising and falling heavily. He applied pressure to his wound as it throbbed bitterly in his shoulder. Where were his friends? Were they safe? Had they gotten away from the Iifa Tree before it was too late? Zidane craned his neck to spy the calendar on the wall, but it was too far away to see the month. He noticed at the foot of the bed all of his gear was stacked together. His daggers had been polished. His clothes had been folded. His backpack seemed orderly.

Zidane began trying to pull himself from the bed again when the front door swung open. The young man paused, his eyes wide open. An elderly man with a few logs in hand came into the house. He was short with crooked posture. His gray hair was faded and wispy, peaking out from beneath his brown cap. A green cloak covered his wiry shoulders, a bushy mustache bristling from his large nose. "Holy mackerel, you're awake!" The man's raspy and airy voice rang out. Quickly, he closed the door behind him, carelessly dropping the wood beside the stove. "Don't try moving, young man. Your stitches are still healing." The man crossed towards Zidane, easing him back against the headboard. "Would you like some coffee? You seem a little stiff." Zidane only stared at the old man with wide intense eyes. "I'll make you a cup. Something warm will do you good. It's been a chilly spring!" He went to the counter, pouring himself some water from a clay jug.

"Did you… say spring?" Zidane tilted his head towards the man. "What year is it?"

"Why, it's 1801, son."

"What?" Zidane sat forward again but his body protested it. "1801? What day is it?"

"Oh, well, hm," The old man set a pot of water atop the burning stove, throwing a log in as well. He gave it a tender tap before fumbling inside his coat to reveal gold bifocals. "It's… January 4th." Zidane blinked rapidly. It was already time for Dagger's birthday again? How had so many months passed, yet it felt as if it simply didn't happen? Zidane felt in that moment very lost and incomplete. "Y'know," The old man clucked, poking the logs again and sending embers about. "You're quite the hard sleeper. You came wonderin' out of the woods over yonder just at the beginning of September. You were very rough lookin', like you'd been fighting for your life for days. It's amazing I was even able to drag you back here, I've got bad knees."

Zidane shifted on the bed, grounding his teeth together. "I've been here this whole time?"

"Just sleepin'," The old man nodded, watching the pot of water attentively. "From a sleep that long, I reckoned it'd been a while since you had a good rest. Gave the town-folk a good scare, too." He smiled in a good natured way. "I was like you in my youth, too. Always lookin' for adventure. But you shouldn't push yourself so hard, son. You gotta live with that body for the rest of your life." The old man grabbed a mug from the cluttered counter and dipped it into the pot. Pockets of steam lifted into the air as the man added the coffee. As he shifted through his silverware, he glanced to Zidane. "My name's Morrid, by the way. I've lived here for the past three decades. I track and chart the night sky."

Zidane hugged his throbbing torso. "Where's 'here'?"

"A small quaint little village," Morrid said with his back to Zidane as he stirred the coffee. He took a waft, genuinely pleased by the smell. He then brought the mug to Zidane. "A little place called Dali."

"Dali?" Zidane echoed, cradling the mug against him and looking out the window. Suddenly, it all began to make sense in Zidane's mind. "I've been here before. Actually… it wasn't too long ago that I had passed through."

"We don't get many visitors," Morrid eased himself into a chair to drink his own coffee. "And when we do, it's typically trouble. It's been quiet ever since the war ended."

"The nations are at peace again?" Zidane settled against the pillow and sipped his coffee. The warmth of the drink seeped into his achy bones and the rich flavor nearly made his tongue tickle.

"For the past few months, yes," Morrid nodded. "At least the papers aren't reporting tragedy every day. In fact, all the papers do now is gossip about the new ruler of Alexandria, Queen Garnet. She's got quite a role to fill and a lot of work to do." Zidane paused, his lips hovering a few inches from the mug. "I'm not one to gossip, though. She sounds like a good kid." Morrid sipped his coffee, relishing in his favorite drink. "You never told me your name, son. What do you call yourself?"

Zidane was quiet, looking back out the window again. Just beyond the glass, it was familiar territory. He had been away from the comfort of his home, the place he felt he had belonged, for quite some time. Returning had come at a shock to Zidane. That very question stewed an internal confliction inside of him. It had been so long since he'd been awake and yet the world had just kept on going. Life continued as normal despite the feeling of being completely unhinged from the passage of time. After everything he had been through, faced, and confronted, Zidane could only ask himself the same question: who was he? What did he call himself? An Angel of Death…? A wayward tumble weed? The tempter of fate, maybe. Or the answer to chaos. Zidane pursed his lips.

"You can just call me Zeke…" He replied after a moment.

"Well, Zeke, do you have any family? I imagine someone's worried sick about you. You look so young," Morrid peered at him from across the room. "Is there someone I can write to?"

Zidane only shook his head, watching the steam rise from his coffee. "I don't have any family."

"All alone in this world?" Morrid cocked his bushy eyebrows up. "Well, that's downright wrong. A young man such as yourself should have more going on for him other than that. Where're you from, son? Where were you comin' from all those months ago?"

Zidane looked to Morrid. "Everything's still a foggy, I'm sorry."

"I shouldn't be pesterin' you so much," Morrid turned his attention on his mug.

The room was quiet for a moment as Zidane still reeled. "Is Cid still the Regent of Lindblum?" Zidane asked.

"Of course he is," Morrid nodded. "Lindblum even has an heir now. Lots of people were beginnin' to think Lady Hilda's nephew would have to step up."

"An heir?" Zidane echoed. "Regent Cid and Lady Hilda had a baby?"

Morrid grinned. "Awake after four months and already itchin' to know what the tabloids say, huh?"

Zidane tried to smile weakly, but it felt insincere. "I'm sorry… the last I remember of the world, there was mist everywhere and a dark power looming overhead."

Morrid laughed politely. "No baby, actually. It's a kid they adopted, she's called Lady Eiko. A fierce Mage from my understanding. But I don't understand powers and realms such as that."

Zidane blinked rapidly, turning his attention back out the window. Eiko? The heir to Lindblum? Lady? Was it his Eiko? Of course it had to be, how many children could possibly be named Eiko and also know Regent Cid? "And Queen Garnet… what do the tabloids say of her?"

"Oh, the same as usual," Morrid sighed as he stood, heading towards the stove to refill his mug. "The world still grapples to understand why Alexandria had done and gone through what they did all those months ago… she's also an unwed ruler. The tabloids get a field day out of that. But she's having a birthday gala soon, so there's talk of her gowns and menu choices. I hear rumors that Lord Avon will be put on just like at her sixteenth birthday. The Queen's a big fan." Morrid laughed, turning from the stove. "Now you have me gosspin'!"

Zidane offered another weak grin before lowering his eyes. Much more had changed than he had anticipated. But then again, he was still reeling to grasp the concept that he had been missing from the world for the better part of a year. Everyone had had time to come to terms with what had happened. For him, though, it was all still fresh, like it had only happened the other day. His friends must have all accepted that he had perished. They had probably already mourned him and hurried back to regular life as any means to offset the terror and turmoil they had been through. Zidane couldn't help but feel immensely guilty in that moment. In a way, it had been all Zidane's fault that things had spiraled the way they did. The situation got out of control, quickly, and he would never forgive himself for putting people like Dagger, Vivi, and Steiner through hell. He had promised Dagger he would return, but now he wasn't certain he could. Not after what had happened. How could he face her again and not feel awful for everything? Someone could have died and it would have been all on him. But his hands weren't clean. Tormented demons and inner anguish would follow them like a dark cloud of impending rain. Zidane was convinced he was the cloud. They deserved clear skies.

"I got some cabbage and potatoes boilin'," Morrid said, interrupting Zidane's train of thought. "A hearty meal will do you some good. Now that you're awake, it's time to get you back into working order."

Zidane watched the old man for a moment before nodding. "I'll be out of your hair soon."

…

Every day, Zidane only devoted himself to getting better. Each morning began rather painfully. His biggest obstacle at the moment was sitting up. Even moving his legs around put an awful burden on his spine and muscles. Zidane could only feel frustrated each time his body didn't want to listen. But old and achy Morrid was a patient voice who promised coffee and steamed vegetables were the way to proper healing. By January 7th, Zidane was able to stand from bed. He tired quickly and often had to use the counter or chair for support, but it seemed as the hours waned on, he was getting better and better at walking again. The narrow and small cabin was ample exercise for Zidane who became winded just from fetching himself a cup of coffee. Morrid continued to feed him steamed carrots and lima beans. He brought home the strongest coffee. And still, he kept on being patient with Zidane. On January 9th, Zidane felt well enough that morning to eat his porridge at the table with the old man.

"You know, I've devoted my entire life to the night sky," Morrid told him. "Every night for the past twenty-seven years, I've hiked to the top of the observatory and charted the sky. It's fascinating knowing that some of the stars you're looking at don't actually exist anymore. It's a funny concept, really. Even with my bad knees, I still go up there. You should come, too, tomorrow night. If my calculations are right, and I know they are, we'll have an unobstructed view of an asteroid storm."

"That's a lot of stairs," Zidane shook his head.

"Come on, Zeke, I've been around the sun far more times than you have."

The next morning, Morrid was able to coax Zidane outside to the spacious front yard. He cocked his head back to look at the sizable cliff that towered beside Morrid's modest cabin. "Take in that fresh country air!" Morrid said, stepping into the sunlight. "I have some apple trees just beyond the gate here, let's go get some. We can make a pie to have for the asteroid shower." Zidane's hips were still somewhat frail and his gait was awkward as he followed after Morrid.

"Do you always make pies and watch shooting stars?" Zidane asked, pacing his breath.

"Coffee, too, yes," Morrid nodded, pausing to bend over and grab a wicker basket. He then pushed his gate open towards the pastures with tall lush blades of grass. Just across the plain, Zidane spied Dali. A gust of air brushed his hair across his forehead and he continued after Morrid. "What a treat it is to have a tall young man to reach the finer apples for me. The pie will be the best it ever was. And perhaps the asteroids will burn bright." Morrid grinned to himself and stopped abruptly, pointing ahead of them. "There's the first tree. And the apples are nice and red. They're perfect."

Zidane reached upward, his left shoulder searing in pain. He plucked an apple down, examining it in his palm. "Did you do this with your family?"

Morrid pulled his own apple down, shining it against his cloak. "I don't have any family, either. I'm just like you."

Zidane's grip tightened on the apple. "But did you… ever have people you considered family in your life?"

The old man bit into his apple, taking his time to chew it and inspect the interior. "I consider you my family, Zeke."

Zidane pursed his lips, placing his apple in the basket. He reached again despite the pain, snagging another. "You've lived a long life, Morrid. Didn't you have parents? Or… a wife?"

"As time has gone on, it's been easier to let those memories go adrift," Morrid told him. He continued to only eat his apple as Zidane worked at plucking the fruit and filling the basket. "My mother died thirty-nine years ago, my father… it's been even longer. I had a wife, too. Two kids."

"Where are they all now?" Zidane paused.

"They're all dead," Morrid told him very simply. "You see, we used to live in the village. This was twenty some-odd years ago, mind you… it was much different than it is today. Our village was raided in the middle of the night. It was a grim massacre, random at that. They took many valuables and were unpredictable in their means to kill. My family was a victim of that cruel fate. Worst part, we didn't even know who did it. To this day, it's a political topic that enrages the community, it divides them even more. That is why I moved here after it happened. My family is buried in these lands and I must stay close. But I want to be left alone."

It was very quiet between the two men. The pleasant spring breeze came between them. Zidane watched Morrid very carefully before bowing his head. "I'm very sorry, Morrid."

"Well," Morrid took another hearty bite of his apple. "Now that I've told you a little somethin', why don't you tell me about yourself?"

"I was raised in Lindblum," Zidane told him, placing another apple in the basket. "I was… an aspiring actor, I guess you could say."

"Hm," Morrid raised a bushy eyebrow. "I'm guessin' that didn't happen."

Zidane grinned weakly, dangling the basket at his side. "No, that didn't happen. Life got in the way… I fell in love…"

"Ah, that'll do it," Morrid laughed. "Your entire life comes to a screeching halt just for one lady."

Zidane started back up the path with the old man behind him. Zidane sighed. "Yeah, that's sorta what it felt like."

"So? It didn't work out?"

Zidane paused as he pushed through the gate at Morrid's property. He could hear the squawk of birds perched on the abrupt cliff side. The spring air was somewhat rejuvenating. It was a beautiful season on the Mist Continent. Zidane looked over his shoulder at Morrid. "No, it can't work out. We're just two completely different people."

Morrid clapped his hand to the back of Zidane's shoulder. "Well, that's alright, son. Like they say, there's plenty of Cactaur in the desert. You'll find a lady whose right for you."

Yeah, right, was all Zidane could think in his head as they returned to the cabin.

…

The two men spent the afternoon in the cabin with inadequate counter space making pie dough was scratch, rolling it, kneading it, and finely laying it into a dish. The apples were dressed in melted butter and cinnamon, some nutmeg by Morrid's request. As the two worked together laying strips of dough across the top, Zidane laughed. "You know, this is my first time ever making a pie."

"I've done it too many times to count," Morrid grinned, tediously adjusting one of his dough strips. "My wife was a baker. An artisan of all things cakes and biscuits. Oh, I weighed so much when I lived with that woman."

Zidane dusted his flour-covered hands off over the wash basin as Morrid took the apple pie to the stove. "What was your wife's name?"

"Camellia," Morrid said, coming to wash his hands, too. "She was as delicate as one, as well. What about you? What was your sweethearts name?"

"Uh… Dagger…"

"Dagger, huh? That's an interesting name," Morrid laughed and set about making himself a cup of coffee. "With a name like that, she sounds a little rough around the edges."

"A diamond in the rough, so to say…" Zidane eased himself into a chair and took a long-winded breath. "I don't know if I can do all those stairs, Morrid."

"Oh, you'll be fine," Morrid shook his head, setting a hot mug down in front of Zidane. "I'm not eating apple pie alone up there and if I eat apple pie down here with you, then I won't get to see the asteroids!"

"When is the last time you even had someone over for apple pie and asteroids?" Zidane furrowed his brow.

"That's why you must go," Morrid gave him a playful whack with a tea towel. "These asteroid showers only come around these parts every twelve years. What a way to welcome you back, Zeke. An asteroid shower reminds you that you're here on this crazy planet somehow." Zidane lowered his eyes for a moment. "I think you could use a little reminder, young man."

…

"Twenty-nine down, only seventy-seven to go, come on," Morrid said. On one arm dangled a wicker basket, filled with their apple pie, dishes, and cups for coffee. "The trick is to get into a steady pattern." The old man continued as he advanced a few steps in front of the winded Zidane. "You're far too young to be this out of shape."

"I'm not… out of shape," Zidane panted. The cool breeze was welcomed the further he climbed. His skin was sticky from exertion. "I'm injured…"

"Yes, well," Morrid clucked, shifting the wicker basket to his other arm. "We're getting you all straightened out. You looked like you'd been in an airship crash."

"Yeah…" Zidane lifted his head. "That probably would have been better, actually."

"Come on, now, we must hurry!" Morrid called. Zidane let out a sigh, forcing himself to go forward. "You're more than half-way now, you can't give up. Going down will be easier."

"Sure, 'cause I'll ride my face down the whole way," Zidane snorted. "You know, I didn't used to be this helpless. I used to the person who helped you."

"Funny how that shifts, huh?" Morrid said. "Now keep climbin'!"

…

Zidane found himself sitting on the cliffs edge, intensively watching the sky. He nearly missed his mouth with the apple pie. The asteroids were incredibly beautiful as they burst across the skies in purples and blues. Morrid was ever so enamored by them, too. He had probably seen the event dozens of times over, but it was easy to tell the thrill of them never waned. The asteroids careened through the sky, disappearing beyond the mountain ranges. They dissipated in the direction of Alexandria. Zidane looked across the distance, almost longingly, the shooting stars illuminating his glassy eyes.

"Thinkin' about your sweetheart?" Morrid nudged his knees. "The asteroids will do that to you."

"Do you still think about your wife?" Zidane asked, his eyes glued to the mountains that separated him from Alexandria.

"Every time," Morrid nodded.

"I just…" His blond hair fell to frame his face as he dangled his head, apple pie filling his vision. "I don't know if I'm making the right decision. We could still be together. I've spent so much time doing anything to make her see that I'm adequate but after all this time… I don't think I'm good for her, Morrid. She's important. She's got things to do and see and take care of. But me? I'm a vagabond. Always have been, always will be…"

"But if she loves you and you love her… nothing else should be able to stop you two," Morrid shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Morrid, but I truly can't make you understand," Zidane was visibly frustrated.

"Well, what are you going to do about it?" Morrid asked, watching the asteroids attentively. "Are you going to let your past dictate your future? Who cares what happened in the past? Make peace with it. You're always becoming a new version of yourself. You can't beat yourself up over who you were in the past. You couldn't have known what you know now."

"I wish it was that easy," Zidane set his pie aside, slumping his shoulders. "She's probably better off without me, anyway."

"And who are you going to let decide that? The world or yourself?"

"I haven't seen her in so long," Zidane drew his knees to his chest and hugged them. "She's probably doing just fine… she's always just wanted to take care of herself."

"That's how you're gonna leave it?" Morrid shook his head. "You're not even gonna go see for yourself? You said you had no family. Why would you turn your back on someone who probably cares about you, Zeke?"

Zidane furrowed his brow and pursed his lips. "'Cause I'm trouble. Always have been."

"Oh, to be a melodramatic teenager again," Morrid smiled at the sky. "You're over thinking it, son. Life isn't so black and white. There is no direct line between good and evil. Nobody is the bad guy in their own narrative. Just like every heroes actions aren't for righteousness. The worlds a big place, Zeke. A cruel and unforgiving one at that. But if you find a little pocket of good somewhere in this world… you have to hold onto it. You gotta fight for it."

"But how do you know when to stop?" Zidane shook his head. "How do you know when it's been enough?"

"When you're at peace with it," Morrid told him. "And I can see, son, you've got a long way to go.

…

That night, Zidane dreamed vividly of the asteroid storm. And in those dreams, he saw Dagger. She was there amongst the belting stars and milky star fragments. She was glimmering with the asteroids, reaching towards him, but they were always just out of touch. Zidane was sweating profusely when he awoke and Morrid promptly brought him some coffee. Zidane's dark and tired eyes stared at the calendar seeing it was January 11th. He was quiet as the steam stuck to his chin. Morrid was shuffling about, preparing a breakfast of left over apple pie and cream.

"Morrid," Zidane said evenly. His eyes remained on the calendar, but he heard Morrid stop sifting through the dish rack. "I think I should be leaving soon."

Morrid found the fork he was fishing for, setting the pie slices on the table. "The asteroids spoke to you, didn't they?"

"For the first time since I've come back to myself… I dreamed about her last night. I saw her face."

"Where are you headed?" Morrid seated himself at the table. Zidane pulled himself from bed stiffly, coming to join the old man. He held his mug close.

"Alexandria. I'll find her at the birthday gala."

"And what will you say to her?"

"Nothing, for the time being," Zidane shook his head. "I just want to see her."

"Well, it's a start," Morrid smiled, pushing a plate towards Zidane. "But to Alexandria… you'd have to leave today to make it in time."

"I'll be ready after breakfast. Just need to wash my face. Somehow my coin purse is still in my backpack so I'll stop in town for a few things before I go," Zidane said, helping himself to his food. "It's really important I lay eyes on her. This is my one true chance." Zidane paused before putting his fork in his mouth. "I can't thank you enough for what you've done for me, Morrid. Giving me a comfortable bed, feeding me… endless coffee. I promise I'll bring you coffee from every place I go."

"I see it as my redemption," Morrid told him. "I couldn't save my own son, but now, I've saved someone else's."

The older man and the younger man continued to have a pleasant breakfast together. They laughed and joked as if they'd known each for a lifetime, yet it had only been seven days since Zidane's awakening. But Morrid watched over Zidane's still body for nearly three seasons. He gave him water and washed him. Zidane was eternally indebted to this man. It was almost as if he had just received a lovely grandfather. When breakfast finished, Zidane suited up into his gloves and boots, slipping his daggers on his waist.

"Take this, in case it rains," Morrid held a black hooded cloak out towards Zidane. "Might be helpful if the rumors are true and its a garden party."

Zidane grinned. "I'll give you the truth if the tabloids don't." Morrid, of course, thrust a container of coffee into his backpack, too, and together the men walked out to the beautiful sunshine and cerulean blue skies. Zidane took in a deep breath of the sweet country air. He took a few steps forward but stopped, his cloak brushing against his thighs. "Morrid, I have one more thing to tell you."

"What's that, son?"

"I… lied to you about my real name," He said very slowly. Morrid's face did not move, however. "I don't know why it was my first instinct, but… my name is Zidane. Zidane Tribal."

Morrid grinned. "You're much more clever than you think you are."

Zidane blinked. "What?"

"Your first instinct was to gather intel. You wanted to know what the tabloids said. So I started bringing them home for you. You saw your real name in there, I know you did. I read the same articles," Morrid was almost chuckling now. "You were playing it safe this whole time. Why wouldn't you want Queen Garnet to know you're alive after all, Zidane?"

"Wow, you're a lot more privy than I thought, too," Zidane sheepishly rubbed the nape of his neck. "Look, I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm going with my gut feeling on this. I've been gone for a long time and if I see the world's a better place…" Zidane shook his head. "I just want to see everything from an outside perspective. A lot has happened, Morrid. A lot that I haven't even confronted or processed. My friend's might be better off without me crawling back to them."

"Son," Morrid stepped towards him, placing a hand to his shoulder. "You have yet another journey in front of you. You must find out who you are and what you want to be. They are often two very different things. I have faith you can do it. Just remember: don't forget who you are… or why you're here, alright?"

"Thank you, Morrid," Zidane said softly, giving the man a hug. Morrid laughed, patting him on the back. As Zidane pushed the gate open, he turned and waved. "I'll write."

"Just send coffee!" The old man called back from his shaded porch.