Here we go, part three! I call it 'It's an Edgar Thing' for reasons that will later become apparent. But first, we must not forget my one reviewer!

LinkinFantasy: Yay, someone likes me! *happy sob* But yes, Locke's hair. It's real, and it's not THAT long. Only about to, say, his shoulder. Now, on with the fic!

It was the dead of night when Locke and Edgar arrived at the castle. Edgar had reached the conclusion that he didn't really want to be seen by anyone just yet, especially taking into account how his subjects were prone to gossip. If they saw him arriving at odd hours of the evening with a strange male that looked suspiciously like Locke, well- let's just say that the rumours would spread like wildfire, growing more and more outrageous with each re-telling. There were a lot of middle-aged women in the castle. Edgar wasn't going to risk it.

 This level of secrecy was somewhat amusing to Locke. It reminded him of all the times when he had had to sneak in to see Edgar in the past, and the more recent memories of being allowed to enter freely. However, the grin quickly faded and Locke's eyes turned cold when he remembered all that had happened since the last time he'd been here.

 If Edgar noticed these abrupt mood swings, he gave no indication of it. This seemed strange at first, but then Locke realised the King was using all his concentration to sneak into his own castle, not being as used to such things as the thief was. It was absurd in so many ways, and Locke found himself struggling to suppress his laughter. Tempting as it was to put Edgar out of his misery and take over, Locke had to concede that he did indeed enjoy watching the other man suffer. Payback time.

Edgar's efforts to be inconspicuous were, to Locke, very obvious and equally entertaining. It was just as well everyone was in bed at this ungodly hour, because had this not been the case, they would have immediately stuck out as being suspicious and of special interest. Watching Edgar was becoming almost painful, and Locke really had to fight the urge to roll his eyes.

After what seemed like hours, they eventually reached the throne room. Edgar placed a hand on Locke's chest and motioned for him to keep quiet and stay in the shadows. He didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes spoke of much fire and brimstone should Locke even consider the idea of making a break for it. Locke shrugged, and figured he'd hang around either way. This wasn't so bad, and it wasn't like he had anywhere else to go.

As Edgar snuck off to one of the little rooms at the back of the hall, Locke slouched against the cold stone wall and stared at the rich carpet with a bored expression. He had started up an incredibly stupid and infantile mental game of 'I Spy' when Edgar reappeared, dragging someone behind him. The person looked decidedly irritated. Locke could sympathise.

A few minutes later, it became clear that this mystery person was, in fact, the King's advisor. He did not look at all pleased at having been awoken by his rash and occasionally insane young employer. Edgar himself was talking softly but animatedly, gesturing wildly as he tried to get his point across. Locke had to stifle his smirk at that. No matter what, Edgar never changed. For a fleeting moment, it was almost like the old days, like the past year had never happened.

The counsellor looked rather miffed, but agreed to whatever Edgar was asking. Locke was even more miffed when Edgar did a small dance conveying victory and glee. Silently, he decided that this would earn a place of honour in his records of Edgar's Stupidest Moments.

Edgar was soon left alone as the other man ran off again, but in the opposite direction than from whence he came. Locke was confused, but reasoned that he'd understand soon enough. It was probably an Edgar-thing. He had found it was best not to question those; contemplation of them by anyone but Edgar often resulted in a slight sense of being disturbed. Locke sometimes wondered whether Edgar's skill at mechanics had to do with the weird, scary, and overly complex ways in which the royal engineer's mind works. He didn't really want to delve to far into that thought, though. He was a bit wary of what might be concluded.

After approximately an hour of Locke banging his head half-heartedly against the wall and Edgar giving him funny looks, the advisor returned. Reporting to Edgar in low whispers, he then returned gratefully to his warm soft bed for the night.

Edgar's grin was manically enthusiastic as he grabbed Locke's wrist and began to pull him through the castle. Locke was really too tired to bother objecting.

 "I got my counsellor to prepare a room for you. It's not too far from mine, so come on."

Locke shook his head wryly. Even when it was past midnight, Edgar was still perfectly hospitable to his guests.

Edgar came to a sudden halt outside one of the tower rooms, opening the door and ushering Locke inside. Something about Edgar's smug expression concerned Locke slightly, but for right now, he couldn't care less. All he wanted to do was crawl under the covers and sleep for a century or so. Oh, and bathe to rid himself of that stinky chocobo odour that currently permeated every inch of his body, but that could wait until morning.

Yawning, Locke kicked his boots of and started to pad over to the bed, but before he could collapse onto the pillows and pass out from sheer exhaustion, he realised he'd forgotten to ask Edgar about clothing arrangements. He really could not wear this outfit around Figaro, even if it wasn't worn and disgustingly dirty.

When Locke tried to open the door, however, it seemed to stick. Rattling the brass handle harder, Locke gave the wood an experimental shove. It refused to budge. Getting increasingly more frantic, he started to beat at the door. It began to sink in that it was locked. Locked very intentionally. Locked with a lock so big and heavy and complicated that not even Locke could pick it. He stared at it blankly for a few seconds, and then the rage began to build. Now that he was looking, he noticed that the window was locked and all the sharp or potentially dangerous items had been removed. The anger grew more.

"Bastard!" Locke fumed, kicking the door incredibly hard. He winced as the pain shot up his foot. The door was one of those big ornate ones, the kind that are impressive and expensive and above all, heavy.

Edgar's cheerful tones emanated from the other side.

"That's my name, don't wear it out!"

Locke found himself torn between the urge to laugh and scream. 'Yes,' he told himself, 'Edgar really hasn't changed'.