Locke Cole's Final Repose

By Scribe of Figaro

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I. LOYAL RETAINER

"I'll tell him."

It was the time of year when lilacs bloomed in Doma, and Relm noted them superficially as she marched the path from the city proper where the Falcon idled to the countryside where Sabin would meditate at this time of day.

She had argued with the others as they came here. Both Sabin and Cyan need be told, Sabin most importantly. No one wanted to be the one to tell him of the murder of his brother, but no one would yield the burden, either.

Setzer had failed to reach Morgan in time, causing Edgar's death. He felt responsible.

Celes was the one Edgar had been trying to save. She too felt responsible.

Locke had delivered the killing blow, though Celes maintained he was tricked into doing so. Though he said nothing of the sort, he seemed more than hopeful that Sabin would take vengeance on him and free him of his guilt.

And Relm. Her conscience was clean, at least in the events of the past few days. She had not even seen Edgar until he was cast headlong and dying into her arms. But she knew Sabin well, knew him better than she had ever known any man, and she felt she must above all serve her Master. She would not allow anyone else to be with him when he was told. She would not let them see his hurt, his pain, his sorrow, or his tears. She would protect his honor and his dignity above all else.

She would find him in the dojo, tell him the news, stand with him for as long as he wished, forever if necessary, and she would never, ever tell another soul what she saw.

Relm stopped at the road, where before her lay a bed of lilacs. Some children playing, perhaps, picked them from the bushes and spread them around. They had been left a while and trampled. She leaned down and touched the purple-black lifeblood that had been squeezed out and covered with dirt and dust.

She studied the thick and pungent juice on the tip of her forefinger. She turned her finger as it dribbled down to her palm, causing some to stain her fingernails.

She admired her own hand, the fingernails that were rarely painted these days and always cut short like a boy's. Her fingers were thin and her palm delicate, but should any man touch her hand - she couldn't recall anyone recently who had - he would feel the rough calluses of a fighter, a master of open-hand combat. Should one look closer, he would see the faint traces of scars, the places on her knuckles where she had spent hours punching canvas bags, wood, and eventually stone, the places where she had broken her calluses, bled, and continued striking. Such were the times when Sabin himself saw the increasing red ellipse on her striking surface, grab her arms, and shout at her in anger and horror as he shook her bloody fists. He would tell her that a true martial artist is always hurt but never injured, and doing this harm to herself would ruin her hands, breaking bones that would never heal properly. It hurt him to see her so obsessed, to see her use the art that was his work and life become the tool for her self-destructive tendencies.

He cared for her wounds lovingly, and it was at that time she saw the empathy he had for her. There was love there. Real love. Not the sort of love between a master and student. Not the sort of love between a man and wife, or a man and his child. But there was something there, and she thought it romantic.

Life is so fragile, she thought, so how can I possibly deny myself the things I want so badly?

She wiped her hand on the weeds beside the road, wiped the road dust from her thighs, and continued walking.

Sabin meditated three times a day, the longest period beginning two hours before sunset and not ending until well after dark. It was barely dusk as she approached the marble steps leading to the dojo. She reached the platform, seeing Sabin still and silent in the waning light. Her shadow was long and passed over Sabin's face as she approached, though she would not get within a few yards of him.

He kneeled with his hands on his knees, utterly silent, utterly still. Though he made no indication, she knew he was aware of her presence well before she passed near him, before she approached the stairs, before she mounted the hill nearby. He probably heard her footsteps, but had she been quieter he still would have detected her – he would have heard the sound of her clothes as she walked, the feel of the wind as it passed by her. That same breeze carried the scent of her body, and he knew that well by this time. He could taste it on the wind like a predator, or a lover, and know the person standing before him was Relm and only Relm.

He also knew she would not disturb him. She kneeled obediently, a respectable distance away, and waited.

She waited for nearly an hour and was not startled when he spoke.

"Something is wrong," he said. It was matter-of-fact, forceful but distant. It was dark now, but she could still see well enough that he had not moved yet or even opened his eyes.

"Yes," she said.

"Tell me."

She paused for a moment. She wanted to tell him slowly, to be ready to leap up and hug him, and tell him everything was alright. But that was not what Sabin wanted, and she would not disregard his wishes.

"Celes was attacked and kidnapped by a master criminal from Zozo. Locke and Edgar went to rescue her. They killed the kidnapper, but Edgar was hurt badly and thrown overboard. Setzer and I arrived and tried to rescue him, but he died from his injuries late last night."

There was the briefest pause in Sabin's breathing.

"Death comes to all things," Sabin said. "One must not be saddened by the loss, but gladdened to have had something to lose."

He paused for a moment.

"Leave me. I must meditate further."

She stood, and it took all the effort she had to obey. As she walked away, she could have sworn she heard him crying.

II. PREPARATION

Relm was in her apartment for only a few minutes. She found a quarter-loaf of bread and a few slices of cheese in a cupboard that was rich enough to serve as her dinner. She ate this quickly, staring out the front window so that she would see Sabin when he passed by.

As she brushed a few crumbs off her shirt she realized for the first time the dark red stains on her thighs and legs, and the smaller splotches on her chest and stomach, all sharply contrasting with the white of her clothes. The blood Edgar spilled.

You informed Sabin of the death of his brother while you wore his blood.

She shivered in shame and revulsion.

You fool. You stupid, stupid bitch.

She stripped where she stood, and as she balled her clothes up and carried them to the laundry pile, she felt the sensation that the smell of the blood had permeated into her skin, and that perhaps if she was going to make any effort at all to improve her appearance she may as well do it right.

She drew a bath, waiting only for the water to get warm enough to be bearable, spending only a minute to rinse her hair, trying not to notice the slightly pink tinge the water took when she scrubbed herself.

Ten minutes later she left her apartment wearing white cotton pants and a shirt, her unbuckled sandals slapping her feet as she walked, her hair pulled back in a ponytail that dripped water down her back.

III. FRIENDSHIP

By the movement of the moon, Relm guessed that she had been sitting at Sabin's doorstop until well past midnight before he returned. The night watchman passed her twice, but paid her little attention. Like most of the people in this town, he knew who she was but did not have any reason to speak with her. He waved at her with his lamp the first time he passed. He pretended not to see her the second time.

Relm, meanwhile, had nearly fallen asleep while waiting. She sat at the edge of a stair with her face in her hands, and didn't notice Sabin's approach until he was but a few steps from her. He stopped before her and she stood.

"Sensei," she said. "We must go to Doma Castle as soon as you're able. Locke, Celes, and His Excellency are waiting for us."

Sabin nodded. "What time do they expect us?"

"I told them I wasn't sure how long you would want, so they're expecting us at anytime. There's no hurry, Sabin."

Sabin opened the door. "Since this is no time to be received by Emperor Cyan, I think it would be best to have a few drinks to my brother's honor and then retire."

He glanced over her in the moonlight.

"Are you waiting for me to invite you in?" he asked.

She said nothing. Sabin shook his head.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude. Come in, please."

She followed him inside.

Sabin's apartment was sparsely decorated. There was a couch for entertaining guests, a comfortable chair facing it where he would smoke his pipe on cold evenings, and a few wall hangings. The kitchen was small but functional and clean.

Whatever rooms existed beyond his hallway – bedrooms, perhaps an office or a shrine – she had yet to see.

She waited in the living room as he took a bottle and two glasses from the kitchen. He placed them on the rickety coffee table between them.

"The best wine Figaro has to offer," he said as he poured her a glass. He then poured his own glass and studied it. She read his face, the small lines of worry crossing them, and knew that it wasn't the finest wine Figaro had to offer, that Sabin had no idea what a fine wine tasted like, and would not recognize it if it was set before him. She read him clearly, and though anyone else would see nothing through his stony expression, Relm understood the doubt in his mind, the feelings of inadequacy for a long and difficult job that stood open to him.

"I don't know what to say," he said. "I've lost my brother, and it seems my life here is over as well. I'm the King of Figaro now, I suppose."

Relm nodded.

"A damnable lot." He turned the half-full glass back and forth in his hand. "Ah well. To Edgar."

Sabin drank quickly. Relm found the wine harsh to the taste. It was surely very strong wine, but she made sure to drink as quickly as Sabin did. She was used to alcohol, but Sabin had nearly twice her weight, and she felt a bit light-headed only after one glass. Still, she did not hesitate when offered a second.

"This drink is to you, Relm."

"Sensei?"

"No longer. I need someone to take my place here, and there are few of my students able."

Sabin walked to the corner of the room and picked up a small wooden box. He pulled the chair closer to the sofa so he was within arm's length of Relm, placed the box between them, and opened it.

Inside was a patch about the size of her hand. It depicted a dragon curled around the crest of Figaro. The background depicted what were surely the snow-capped peaked of Mount Koltz. Lettering in a language she did not understand followed the curl of the dragon's body.

"Relm, you've shown incredible progress, and I realized a short time ago that there is nothing left for me to teach you."

Sabin handed the patch to her. She took it carefully in her hands, like something alive, and held it just above her lap.

"I have a number of insignias of my school that all my students will receive, showing that they were under my training. But this one is special. This seal, and only this seal, is a symbol of the completion of my training program."

He kneeled on the floor beside her and held her hands.

"You are my student no more, Relm. I name you master of Figaro kung-fu."

He squeezed her hands.

"You have shown me nearly a decade of servitude, and I am thankful. I could not have asked a better person to take my legacy."

"Your legacy?"

"I can't teach anymore. You and Tony are the only ones who I will graduate. One of you must stay behind to teach the others. I want their teacher to be you, Relm."

She jumped up from the couch and paced back and forth, clutching the insignia in her hands.

"Relm?"

"I . . . I'm honored, Sabin. I'm honored, but . . ." She shook her head from side to side.

She leaned her back against the wall and slid down to her knees.

Sabin stood. "It's overwhelming, and I'm sorry to shock you like this. I guess I should have kept you more aware of your progress. I know you're the best person for this. You're leagues above all the other students. They all fear and respect you as they do me. Don't think for even a minute that you can't do this, and do a better job than I ever could."

Relm took in a deep breath.

"It's not that. If you're that sure of me, then I believe you. But as much as I've loved being your student, I don't want to be a teacher. It's never been my way to teach. I love life, I love learning, and I love art – all kinds of art. Sculpture, painting, and the human body itself." She shook her head. "But I don't want to teach what I know. I'm not at that point yet where I feel I know enough. And I don't have the commitment you have. I . . . god, I'm selfish, Sabin, but I just don't want to!"

He kneeled down before her and put his hands on her shoulders.

"It's alright, Relm. I'm not offended. To be honest, I'm disappointed, but that will pass. My path has been chosen for me, but that was fate's doing. I'm not about to force you into a life you don't want."

She hugged him.

"I'm sorry, Sabin. I wish I could help you. You've been so kind to me all these years. You've never asked for my help until now. . ."

"I'm graduating Tony as well. I'm sure he will do almost as good a job. And if he doesn't . . . well, then, he doesn't. It's my responsibility, not yours. Don't dwell on it any longer."

She looked up at him and smiled, failing to hide the fact that her eyes were suffering a reddish tinge from tears just barely held back. Some part of her wanted to draw out this fantasy where he continually reassured her, comforted her all the way to his bedroom, but the strain and wear in his soul must have been great this day, and she would not continue an emotional conversation that he clearly wanted to end.

"Thank you," she said.

Sabin nodded and turned to retrieve their wine glasses.

"So, then, what will you do now, with me gone?" he asked.

She stood up and received her newly-filled glass from his hand.

"Well, I don't have too many connections in Doma, really. I've painted everything and everyone in town by now. I'd like to go with you to Figaro."

Sabin smiled. "Really?"

"Absolutely. After all, you'll need a retainer."

Sabin nearly choked. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, gasping.

"A . . . a retainer? You want to be my bodyguard?"

She laughed. "Why not? You said yourself I know everything you know. And it's not like you're going to be in prime physical shape all the time anymore." Her laughter settled as she registered the hurt that caused him. "I mean, you'll still look amazing, and be strong as hell, but you can't expect to be an all-powerful combat machine and run a kingdom at the same time."

He put down his wine, apparently finished with alcohol for the night. He looked worn, and tired, and perhaps a bit disturbed by her latest words, but clearly part of him was amused by the idea of her being his protector.

"Look," she said. "Here's the deal. Tomorrow, we can meet with Cyan, Locke, and Celes, and discuss arrangements. I challenge you to a match before then. At dawn, at the dojo, I'll be waiting for you. If I defeat you, you will accept me as your retainer and I will continue to serve you."

Sabin chuckled lightly. "And if I win?"

"Don't worry. You won't."

"It won't be fair without terms, Relm."

"Then pick something. Anything."

Sabin mused for a moment.

"I'm afraid I can't think of anything. But I'm sure it would be something very embarrassing."

She smiled. "Good. I'll have something to laugh at tomorrow when you tell me about it."

They shook hands, Relm handed him her wine glass, and she left for the evening.

"See you at sunrise," she said.

Sabin waited for a moment after she left, then raised up his glass and studied it.

"She's going to slaughter me," he muttered.

IV. THE CONTEST

She was waiting for him at the dojo, ending her meditation as he approached. He was usually quite early, but clearly she was eager to welcome him there.

He bowed to her as he entered the dojo, and was surprised to find the area shining and spotless. Normally it was he who began the cleaning ritual alone at this time, but clearly Relm had done so already.

She stood now, and Sabin took the opportunity to assess his student. She wore as always loose cotton pants and sandals, a tight tank top, and her hair was tied back with what appeared to be a black scarf. It dawned on her that this was clearly a scrap of clothing given to her by Shadow, the lone assassin that had allied with them against Kefka but disappeared. She had kept his dog until it died several years ago, and it was rumored among all of them that Shadow was related to her. Were it true, only Strago, and perhaps Relm herself, would know for sure. Now Sabin came to believe she was in fact his daughter, and she wore his scarf to honor him on the day she would surpass her teacher.

Sabin grinned, thoroughly excited now. He flexed his muscles and clasped his hands together, bowing reverently to her.

"I've been waiting for this a long time, Relm. If I'm as good an instructor as I hope I am, then you will defeat me."

Relm bowed in turn.

"This will be full-contact, full endurance. We fight until one of us yields, or is too badly injured to call 'yield.'"

Sabin nodded. "As it should be." But there was a mild hesitation in his voice. He had no qualms with striking her, as it was clear he considered them now at an equal level. But the thought of him breaking her bones, of killing her, was something that clearly frightened him.

Relm noticed this with distaste as she stretched out her arms in a defensive posture of her own design.

"I don't care if you break me in half," she hissed. "But if you hold back at all for even an instant before I call yield, I will hate you."

With a feral cry she launched herself at him.

Sabin blocked her bicycle kick to his chest with a sweeping block of the arms, trapping one foot in his elbow and throwing her across the dojo. She landed on her back, bounced, and backwards-somersaulted to a kneeling position. In the next breath she sprang forth again with the energy stored in her legs, hands outstretched toward Sabin's throat.

He brought his hands up to block, but she grabbed at his forearms and spun her body around him. Now she was behind him, wrapping one leg around his waist and the other around his thigh. He grabbed at her ankle to pull her loose, but before he could do so she wrapped her right arm around his neck and punched him hard in the kidney with her left.

Sabin elbowed her in the waist and then backhanded her. She jumped backward and he turned to face her.

Relm spat blood and crouched into a tiger stance.

Dear god, Sabin thought. My back is numb. I had no idea she could hit that hard.

She attacked, hands open and scratching at the less-than-perfect blocks Sabin attempted. He felt her nails rake across his forearms, drawing blood, and found himself being backed closer and closer to the back wall of the dojo.

Then she made the smallest of mistakes – bringing her hands up too high, trying for his face. He trapped her arms and brought his knee up, contacting her in the abdomen, striking hard.

Her face went pale instantly, and the pain that radiated from it made him forget himself.

The moment he loosened his grip on her, however, she bashed him in the nose with the heel of her palm. Sabin stumbled and might have fallen over save the wall behind him that he found himself leaning against. Stars flew before his eyes.

She gripped her belly, gasping in quick breaths.

"You . . .hes. . .i. . .ta. . .ted." She dry-heaved. "You-fah-king-bas.. . tard."

Sabin shook his head, finding his vision returning. She stood before him, a bit hunched over, her left arm trembling as it guarded her chest, her body avoiding the logic of combat and fighting her mind to control that arm, to nurse her current injuries. Her right fist was balled up a bit higher.

It looks almost like monkey stance. But I've never taught her that. No one has. Did it just come naturally to her in this posture?

Her face was still quite pale, and a stream of blood still dripped from her otherwise ashen lips. She watched him as he regained his balance, took a step away from the back wall of the dojo, and regained his combat stance.

The instant she saw him prepared for her she was upon him, and he realized with a mixture of shock, horror, and absolute pleasure that she had been holding back. She was twice as quick as he thought.

All the pleasure in that thought quickly drained out as her fist drove into his chest. He felt ribs give, and for a stricken moment believed her hand had pierced him.

Then came her left, driving straight and true into his gut. He doubled over, and found Relm's right fist balled up to meet his chin.

His head banged against the wooden wall behind him, and for the first time in his life he found himself on the receiving end of the Bum Rush. Four more solid blows struck his chest.

As the last blow fell, so did he. The strength drained from him like water. His left leg gave first, the world tilted to the right, and he found himself on his side, gasping for breath.

He felt her standing above him.

"Yehieeeeld," he gasped, sounding like air escaping from a balloon.

She crouched down before his face.

"You sure? You went down pretty easy, I thought."

He grabbed at her ankle, and he was sure the only way he succeeded was because she let him. He had no strength in him, and she knew it.

She pulled his hand loose of her foot and squeezed it.

"Not a bad match, I guess. I should have asked for more, though."

"Like what?" he asked. He was beginning to catch his breath, but still found it nearly impossible to move.

"Marriage would be nice," she said. Smiling with an evil, catlike expression, she looked him over. "You're glad I'm such a well-disciplined woman, or I'd be liable to take advantage of you, laid out as you are."

Only a few days ago Sabin would have slapped her for such an utterance, but he merely laughed, and winced a little. He rolled on his back and stared up at the clouds.

"You know, Relm, I remember something Edgar said to me once. He said I was too damn pigheaded, that I'd never marry a woman because there wasn't one out there with the guts or the strength to knock some sense into me and show me the ways of the world. I've been thinking about that lately, and it occurred to me that the only woman I could ever love would have to be someone strong. I mean, really strong. Someone who would fight me and win."

She leaned over him, smiling.

"I've been the only one, haven't I?"

"Yes."

She leaned down and kissed him lightly on the lips. He gently took her head in his arms, running his fingers through her hair, and suddenly he found her slipping away from him.

She extended a hand to him, letting him up, and he gently began touching his face and chest, inspecting the damage there.

"We both look like hell," he said.

She reached into a pack she brought with her and left in a corner of the dojo. Inside were a few powerful potions. She handed one to him.

"Rest for an hour and you'll be fine. You want to meet at Castle Doma at noon?"

"Sounds good," he said. Quickly he drained the vial.

She turned to walk away as he kneeled for his morning meditation, but stopped.

"You never told me your demands. What would you ask for if you won, Sabin?"

Sabin blushed and turned away from her. "It's not important."

She giggled. This would be good. "Oh, come on now. Tell me!"

He sighed. "Keep in mind I only came up with this because I knew from the start I would lose, and had I by some miracle won I would ask for something different."

"Just spit it out, Sabin."

"Relm, if you had lost, my demand would have been for you to go on a date with me."

Time froze. It seemed the birds chirping in the morning mist all about them suddenly stopped all at once.

Relm raised both hands to her face and burst out laughing.

"Oh my god! That's so sweet!"

Sabin looked down. "It's not sweet, it's stupid. And sick, for god's sake. I don't know what I was thinking. I've known you since you were a kid. Damn near raised you."

She slung her pack on her shoulder and walked behind him, rubbing his shoulders. "First off, if I was ever a kid, it was well before you met me. You helped me out a lot, but you're not my guardian, and I sure as hell never thought of you as a father. Strago raised me, then I raised myself."

She gripped his shoulders a bit harder.

"Second, I'm a woman, and even though you might be fifteen years older than me, that does not make me a child."

"Third," she said, now leaning close to his ear and whispering, "I would have gladly gone on a date with you, and since I'm the sort to go for the gusto, I would probably have gone all the way."

She was off and running before he could reply, but the flustered utterances of Sabin were so well known to her she could imagine them as she ran.

Author's notes:

I wrote this chapter in December 2002, found it earlier this evening while re-organizing some files, and decided to revise, format, and post it. I think it's more my lack of inspiration for this story than the lack of reader feedback that's caused me to can it for so long. Perhaps replaying the game would rekindle my interest.

My ultimate plan for my Final Fantasy Six fanfiction begins with re-tooling "Terra Branford's Flight of Fancy" in a heavily-rewritten version, the most important factors of which include the removal of multiple inappropriate acts of "slashness" and a significant tightening of a meandering, angsty, and somewhat embarrassing plotline. I'd leave it to rot on my hard drive if I could, but the Gods of Continuity require me to ensure events alluded to in "Locke Cole's Final Repose" exist in some written form.

The final goal, though perhaps unapproachable, is a complete four-volume pseudo-epic. "Flight of Fancy" will be pruned down and split into two shorter consecutive stories, making "Final Repose" the third. The story arc will be wrapped up entirely in a fourth story, as yet unwritten, in which discontent over Sabin's ascention to the Throne of Figaro climaxes in an attempted overthrow.

Final note: Relm is a tease and a pervert. Not a slut.

(Chapter written December 7 2002; posted June 23 2003)