"Hey, hey! Take it easy, it's just me! Yevon..."
Auron lowered his pistol and studied the worn features of Wen Kinock, a man he hadn't seen in a decade. He was nothing like the former warrior monk of long ago, that much was clear. The long brown beard he once sported had been shaven clean off; his face was now as hairless as his head. Funniest thing, but his eyes were still the same, gray and sanguine, ever ready to fight for a cause or have a hearty laugh at someone else's expense. They hadn't aged a bit.
Auron holstered his weapon presently. "Don't remember you being fond of sneaking up on me like that." He didn't mention a word of it, but he was still shaken inside, which explained the gruffness of his reply.
Kinock was focused on Auron's appearance now. Just one look at his old friend told him that time hadn't treated the man very lightly. "Auron... Look at you. What happened?" His right arm twitched, meaning to point at something, but there was far more than just one difference to point at. He didn't know where to begin.
Auron raised his eyebrows. "Where do you want me to start? It's quite a story."
Kinock shook his head. "Ten years... It's still hard to believe, even when I'm lookin' right at you."
"Believe it. Just don't make too much of a scene; I'd rather have no one know."
Kinock's brows knitted. "Why's that?"
"Consider the answer to be the story's foreword." Auron rose from the barstool, took his hat, and gave the bartender a curt nod in departure. "Where are you sitting?"
Kinock pointed to a table on the opposite side of the pub, near the wall with the summoner mural. "All the way over there. Oh, and Auron, there's a few things I have to tell you---I'm not sitting there alone. A lot of things've happened while you weren't here..."
"Tell me when we're seated." Auron urged his long-time companion to lead him to the aforementioned table. Along the way they bypassed the crowd of Black Sashes. Perhaps it was paranoia on Auron's part, but he thought he felt eyes on his back as he passed that seemingly benign group of men. He hoped he wouldn't be recognized.
Just as Kinock reached the table, Auron abruptly stopped short of it. His gaze was fixed on a figure that had quite literally jumped out of his chair upon seeing him. The towering height, blue mane, and piercing eyes all spoke the same name.
Seymour Guado. Time has done a lot for you, hasn't it? You're dressed awfully tony for a summoner, old friend.
Kinock caught Auron's look and reminded him, "I told you I wasn't here alone."
Auron didn't answer him. His eyes were still fixed on the half-Guado. "Seymour."
The Maester of Zanarkand was at a loss for words, at least temporarily. When he finally spoke, he fumbled. "You... You? You!" His eyes were wide, but soon the shock cleared, making room for much doubt. "Wait a minute, maybe I'm wrong..." He started to sit down until Kinock spoke.
"Trust me, sir. It's him."
"If the gray in my hair is throwing you," Auron added, half-teasingly and half-patronizingly, "I can always put my hat on..." He made to do so then.
Seymour shook his head, stopping him. It's more than the hair, he thought. "I can hardly believe this. Well don't just stand there! Sit down, both of you! Sit!" He indicated the three empty chairs that were ringing the table. Kinock took the one on the side to Seymour's left and Auron took the one directly across from the half-Guado.
The low lighting of the tavern glinted off a metallic object resting against the back of the fourth and unoccupied chair, to Seymour's right. Auron gazed at it through the corner of his eye: it was the handle of a closed parasol, the metallic point resting at an angle against the floor. The table obviously included feminine company.
And seated beside Seymour... He must be courting her. I wonder who she is?
Seymour sighed, still surprised, looking as though he needed a good five minutes to recompose himself. Auron and Kinock sat there patiently. When Seymour resumed speaking, his tone was tinged with anger. "Ten years! Ten wasted years, I might add. That's how long I went thinking you were dead." His eyes were locked on Auron accusingly. "You better have a good explanation for why we never saw hide or hair of you for so long."
"He says it's quite a story," Kinock interjected.
"And it is," said Auron. "It explains why I don't want to make a scene." He leaned forward in his chair and rested his arms on the tabletop. Seymour and Kinock moved closer accordingly. "I've been avoiding the Sin all that time. You don't escape them alive without looking back over your shoulder every now and then." He paused and removed his glasses demonstratively. "No doubt you've noticed this scar. It's a mark of attempted resistance."
"What about the glasses?" asked Seymour pointedly. "Those clearly say Al Bhed to me. Not everyone is fooled by them; I imagine someone must've thought you were..."
Auron shook his head. "Not at all. They're just a detraction for the scar, nothing more." He placed them back on the bridge of his nose before continuing. "I came back here now because I've put off a return visit for too long." Ten years is long enough, I dare say. Not that they need to know about the deal I made to escape the Sin. Not yet, anyway. "That and the girl under my charge doesn't need me anymore." He sat back then, feeling a little more relaxed. When the reflex to look over his shoulder came up again, he mentally beat it down.
Seymour and Kinock nearly asked the same question simultaneously. "Girl?"
Auron nodded. "An Al Bhed orphan. She was five years old back then. I knew something happened to her when I found out she could speak our language. She told me her father was the same way, and that she was separated from him in a raid on her Home. She lost her brother, too. She really had nowhere else to turn. So I took her under my wing. Gave me something to do until I felt it was safe to return."
Seymour was mildly surprised. "You and a five-year-old girl... Forgive me, but I can't quite see you being a father."
Auron shrugged. "I do what I must."
Kinock chuckled. "An Al Bhed girl... You know what they'd say back in Bevelle?"
"Heathens," Seymour answered for him. "Not that I care about the Al Bhed, mind you; I've got worse things to deal with."
Auron raised a brow at him, studying him suspiciously. "And what would that be?" And is it something besides you becoming a summoner at last? If it took you all those years to pull that off, Seymour, you have my pity. Though that wasn't quite all of Auron's suspicions. The rest involved the attire of the man, the effect of which had an air of importance, of hierarchy. He had noticed that right off the bat. High summoner, then?
...Maester? No, not possibly. Not Seymour.
"It has to do with the one thing I didn't get to tell you..." Kinock shot a sideways glance at the half-Guado on his right. "You wanna break the news yourself, or do you want me to do it?"
Seymour glanced at Kinock, then fixed Auron with a very serious look. "Since you fell off the face of Spira for so long, I might as well give you the whole story. After Braska was found murdered, the surviving staff banded together and oversaw the city for several years. When Yuna turned sixteen---"
"Yuna," Auron murmured, a whole rush of memories coming back to greet him. In his mind he had a vision of the seven-year-old girl he saw last, dark-haired, with one eye blue like her father's and the other green, the only noticeable sign of her mixed heritage. "How is she? Is she here with you?" Is she the owner of that parasol?
Is she the one you're courting? Yuna and Seymour... It struck Auron as inconceivable that such a match would happen. They hardly knew each other back then.
Kinock shot Seymour a meaningful glance, then answered Auron, "'With' is an interesting choice of words..."
Outwardly Auron was unruffled, but within his suspicions heightened. "Do clarify."
Seymour turned on his guardian. "You really enjoy killing suspense, don't you? Auron, Yuna and I are married. It seemed like a good idea at the time---"
"Hold on a minute." Auron stopped the Maester of Zanarkand mid-flow, his face a study in disbelief. "Don't tell me you're Maester."
"Well as much as you obviously don't want to hear it, yes, I am the latest Maester of Zanarkand."
Auron had considered it, yes, but that was different from having it confirmed. He was taken aback. I knew they wouldn't let Yuna take her father's place. But still... Seymour? Apparently no one else was available. It didn't anger him or upset him as much as it surprised him. Seymour had been a longtime friend of his; he presumed he could trust him to take care of Yuna well. It just seemed like such an odd coincidence that the girl he knew since she was a baby and the friend he'd known for over a decade would end up running Zanarkand together. When he finally spoke, it had been meant for interior monologue. "Who came up with that ridiculous idea?"
Beside Auron, Kinock burst out laughing. It was the old days all over again, when the three of them used to needle each other relentlessly. In the familiar atmosphere Auron began to forget about the Sin seated some distance behind him and loosened up greatly.
Seymour smirked, hardly amused. "You're a riot, Auron. You really are. Do you want me to finish the story or not? ...Would you stop laughing?"
In the midst of his chuckling, Kinock managed to utter an apology.
The explanation for Yuna and Seymour's marriage was a practical one, as Auron might have guessed. Seymour filled in his old friend. "The marriage arrangement was due to my background. Being half-Guado, it was thought that if Yuna and I were wed, it would do much to improve human-Guado relations. That and I was already a master of the summoner's craft. They wouldn't let Yuna run the city by herself. Her father's remaining subordinates insisted that she be married. I was their choice for her husband." A flash of pride shone in Seymour's eyes, but it quickly disappeared. It didn't bring about as much happiness as I thought it would...
"You don't seem too happy about that," Auron pointed out, catching Seymour's faltering expression. "I hope you're taking good care of her."
"Of course I'm taking good care of her! She just has her moments where she tries my patience..."
"Which must mean that she's still the same stubborn little thing I saw ten years ago," Auron remarked benignly. "Are you letting her fool you, Seymour? She's tougher than she looks." He paused there, his eye falling on the idle parasol to his left. "I take it then, that she's somewhere in here with you?"
"She left for the ladies' room a few minutes ago. She should be back soon."
And that was precisely when the young summoner emerged from the back of the tavern, prim and pretty but still as unassuming as she had always been. Perhaps the only thing that the years had done to her was to make her a bit more resilient and a lot more romantic. Her marriage with Seymour caused some strain on her part as well: she found it difficult to get through to her new husband when their opinions differed, and sometimes he could be so terribly cold. In her heart she entertained many thoughts of what it would be like to be free of her obligations. Such ideas accounted for her wandering gaze and the dreamy look in her eyes. Yuna was a bird locked in a cage of summoner's responsibilities, and privileges denied to those of her sex.
Yet she wore the mask of happiness rather well, even if it was hauntingly shallow on her features. She weaved her way gracefully through the crowded tables. As she did so, two of her guardians---who had been waiting for her to emerge from the ladies room---trailed after her: Isaaru, another summoner, and Kimahri, the Ronso in exotic clothing, who was devoted to her even more so than he was to the Maester himself.
When she reached the table of her husband, she immediately noticed the extra person seated there. But before she could ask who he was, the man rose from his seat politely. "Yuna," he began, in a voice that was startlingly familiar, only perhaps a bit deeper, "it seems all those years have done you many favors." A smile tugged at the man's lips.
The Lady of Zanarkand gasped. Realization had hit her like a flash. "Oh... Sir Auron? Is that really you?" Her eyes ran up and down his six-foot figure. "I barely recognize you. It was your voice... What happened to you? Where have you been? I can't believe you're standing here...!"
Auron chuckled good-naturedly at the barrage of questions. "You'll have to sit down, Lady Yuna; it's quite a tale." He paused and eyed her for a bit. "Correct me if I'm wrong," he started, a grin in his voice, "but you hardly seem taller than the last time I saw you." He drew himself up tall and stared down at her. Yuna had always been tiny; Auron used to tease her similarly when she was much younger.
She caught on to his joke after a while, deadpan as it was. She started giggling, and so did the guardians around her. Her eyes were bright with mirth when she narrowed them and said, "Oh, not funny!"
Auron's dark eyes darted up to the faces of the much taller men behind the lady summoner. "These must be your other guardians?"
Yuna remembered her manners then and quickly composed herself. "I'm sorry. Sir Auron, this is Kimahri and Isaaru. Kimahri, Isaaru, I'm sure you've heard of Sir Auron..." She stepped aside so the three men could shake hands.
That Auron did, with Kimahri first and then Isaaru. The Ronso was graciously quiet; his greeting was little more than an accepting grunt. His eyes seemed fierce, but with enough scrutiny they betrayed a rather gentle interior. Though it was probably impolite, Auron couldn't help noticing the broken horn that jutted from the massive guardian's forehead. Momentarily he wondered how it had gotten that way.
Isaaru was considerably more vocal. His voice carried clearly over the din of the saloon. "I dare say, I think I'm shaking hands with a legend." He smiled there. "It is an honor to meet you, former deputy marshal of Lord Braska himself..."
Auron would have nodded, save for the hairs on the back of his neck that were now on end. Instinctively his left eye wandered over to the table where the Sin were seated. There was noise from them now, shuffling. They were rising from their chairs. Auron watched them for as long as he could. It looked like they were leaving.
When he turned back to Isaaru, he found a thousand questions in the man's eyes. That was when he leaned closer and whispered, "Never speak too loud. There is always someone listening in."
He released the man's hand, then made to sit down again. Yuna took her seat at Seymour's right; the Maester called for more chairs for the guardians that joined them. With the great crowd of Black Sashes having now departed, the atmosphere of the Three Trade Foxes felt much lighter---not just to Auron, but to all the patrons therein.
The talk amongst the table of six was very lively now, and began with the one thing Auron had noticed when he came into town. "Maester Seymour," he started, but was cut off.
"Please, Auron, the title is unnecessary. At least in here."
"As you wish, then. Seymour, it was quite a sight to see your watchmen missing at the city limits. And there are so many gunslingers on the walkabout. Just look around you. Have you gone soft all of a sudden? Bevelle would have a lot to say about this." Not that I give a damn, but...
"Oh, that's something that happened very recently," the Maester replied, sounding rather pleased with himself. "The town's in a bit of an uproar about it, but I'm glad to see that some people have the sense to take advantage of the new law. Under it, the people of Zanarkand are free to bear firearms."
"It's so they can defend themselves against the Sin," Yuna added. "We felt the people were powerless against them using just swords and spears. The Sin were taking advantage of our weakness."
Isaaru and Kinock spoke up then, talking of how the guardians were planning on purchasing weapons of such nature in the very near future. They had such high hopes of changing the face of Zanarkand for the better, Auron thought, but fire can't be fought with fire. I can only imagine what will happen once Bevelle hears of this.
"Do you have everything?"
Lucil's words drifted into the ears of a graceful, raven-haired woman standing tall in the midst of a lavish living room, her eyes two garnet orbs rimmed with black makeup, her skin pale as moonlight. "I should think so," came the response, slightly absent in tone, as the responder was busy stuffing a few last-minute items into a velvet purse. "Hey, Elma! Hurry it up in there!"
A tall, dark-haired woman peered out from the doorway to her room. "Give me a minute, will you?" She returned to the large mirror before her dresser, and set about readjusting the low neckline of her gown for the umpteenth time.
Lucil, impatient, walked in to check on her. "El, if it gets any lower, the upper half of you won't be a secret to this town anymore."
From the living room came the sounds of laughter. "I don't think it was a secret to begin with, Lu."
Inside her bedroom, Elma's hazel eyes widened and she came back snappishly, "As if you're one to talk, Lulu!"
Lulu, the dark-haired, pale woman, said nothing in reply. Oh, it's still a secret to more than you make it sound, Elma dear. It had only been a few. A few that were required on those nights when the shape of the moon would mock her memories with familiarity, or when her bed felt colder than usual. A few that had only served as temporary solutions. That suddenly, there was a jab of melancholy. Lulu got defensive. I was lonely, damn it. It hasn't been the same since...
Since he had died, he the reckless one, he the avid gunslinger who insisted that swords weren't good enough---long before any law saying otherwise had been passed. He whom she loved more than anything, once. But she had told herself that there would be no more dwelling on it, so as soon as those thoughts had come she dismissed them stubbornly.
Lucil and Elma finally emerged from their shared room, having decided on a suitable lowering of the latter's neckline, which was quite low indeed. "She's going to pop out of her dress that way," Lucil started hopelessly.
Elma ignored her. "Come on!" She threw a glance at the grandfather clock standing grave and stately in a corner of the room. "We only have a few hours. It's already after three." At seven o'clock that evening the three women had to be at the Chocobo Cage Theater to prepare for yet another performance, which would begin at eight. The four hours in between would be spent relaxing in the company of their admirers, most of whom lingered in the dank environments of Zanarkand's saloons.
The three of them gathered their remaining things and left the classy cottage they owned near the heart of Zanarkand. Outside they opened their parasols against the relentless sunshine of midday, almost as simultaneously as they would perform a dance routine. They paraded down off their porch and onto the dusty streets of the booming town, their elegant dresses trailing behind them in great swaths of silk and calico and lace. One was purple, one was wine red and black, and one was white and gold.
A man crossed their path along the way, and as he did he turned to ogle at three unabashed displays of cleavage. Most men in Zanarkand didn't pay the women that kind of indiscreet attention on the streets, as they were often out and about like this. Lucil, Elma, and Lulu exchanged looks. Stranger in town.
They turned onto Main Street from the side road they lived on. They were now passing a row of saloons; the louder establishments filled the air with much noise. At the humble Three Trade Foxes Elma came to a stop. "Hey, when's the last time we've been in here?"
Lulu ran her eyes over the modest building. "Not in a while. Personally, I'd rather go someplace more lively."
Lucil agreed with her. "And those Sin folks are in there a lot nowadays. And they're so demanding."
"Riffraff," said Lulu contemptuously.
Elma turned around and made a face. "Fine, then. Where would the two of you rather go?" The look on her face made no room for compromise; she was only stalling.
Lucil glanced at Lulu before saying, "Well, I can't speak for Lu, but I'd rather go to the Bonfire, the one further up the street. You know, the place where they serve the drink you set fire to? The owner hasn't had any trouble for weeks now, so I've heard."
"But we've been there so many times!" Elma whined. "Lulu, what about you?"
"Well, I'd rather go anywhere but here..."
Elma grew impatient. "Well all right then, girls. You go where you want to, but I'm going in here. You'll see me again at seven." With that, she turned and headed for the entrance of the saloon. She paused only to close her parasol and rest it against her right shoulder before marching inside defiantly.
Lucil shook her head. "There she goes again."
Lulu sighed. "We'll have to follow her, I suppose. Make sure she doesn't get too drunk."
"Like last time," Lucil added. She made no effort to conceal her disappointment at having to enter the undesirable tavern, but she joined her black-haired friend as she made for the entrance.
Lulu had seen no black chocobos outside, at least not in large groups, which would be a sure sign of the presence of the Walking Pirates. She had seen a lone one, however, and it made her very curious. The Black Sashes never go it alone...and it's rare indeed to find a man who owns himself a black chocobo that doesn't deal with the Sin. She looked it over. It appeared to be a fine animal, in good condition, its eyes clear and its plumage glossy. The owner is quite the rancher, I assume.
Either that or simply fortuitous.
She dwelled no longer on the bird then and stepped into the saloon. Inside the sudden change from bright sunshine to darkness assaulted her eyes. As she gave them time to adjust, she was immediately engulfed in tobacco smoke. Thicker than usual, she noted. This place has been holding quite a few crowds as of late. And is that the Maester by the mural there?
It had to be. Even as Lulu's eyes were still dazzled, she could make out Seymour Guado's distinctive blue hair. By the time her eyes were fully adjusted, she could discern the tiny form of the Maester's wife, Lady Yuna, over all the heads in the crowd. There were guardians too, seated all around the table. Lulu didn't know all of them by name, but their presence alone gave their purpose away. They always followed the Maester and his lady wherever they went.
She squinted. One of the guardians, the one with his back facing her, had quite a bit of gray streaking his hair. That's odd. Was there a guardian shortage that the Maester had to hire someone so aged?
"Hey, I thought you were going to get your drinks ignited! Or were you frightened of leaving me to my own devices?"
Lulu turned to find Elma giving her a rather haughty stare, perched on a stool by the bar. She walked over and took the empty seat beside her. "Of course we're frightened. Remember the last time we let you go off on your own?"
Elma looked part confused, part tickled. "Not all of it, no..."
"Exactly." Lulu smiled knowingly. Then she heard rustling off to her left. She turned; Lucil had taken the empty barstool beside her.
"Well, I'm rather surprised," she remarked, her eyes skimming over all the heads before her. "Since when does the Maester stop in here?"
"So I noticed. And I can't begin to answer you," Lulu responded. At her left, Elma had risen from her barstool to get a better look at the esteemed personage.
"Hey, I didn't notice that! My, what an honor, being in the same saloon as him...!"
Lucil snorted. "Ha, honor indeed. With the law he sanctioned earlier today, I'm surprised the people haven't had his head yet. Guns! It's like giving these people a right to kill."
Lulu gave an absent "mmm" in reply. Suddenly she was steeped in memories again. He was a big lobbyer for guns once. Thought they would do this city favors. Turned out to be his death warrant. Her expression darkened. Her eyes were still on the Maester and his guardians; soon the lot of them had risen from their chairs. Her brows furrowed; she spoke to herself, "That old man's quite tall."
Lucil and Elma didn't hear her, as they had become engaged in an argument. "We're no different from the Sin this way."
"Yes we are! We're not using guns to bully people; we're using them in defense..."
The Maester and his wife and the pack of guardians made for the saloon's exit. Lulu couldn't tear her eyes away from the tall, black-haired guardian with the silver in his mane. He was dressed almost as well as Maester Seymour, in a kingly black from shoulder to foot---and head now too, as he was in the process of donning his hat. The cuffs of his pants and his boots were dusty from the streets of the city. How long had he been a guardian? Lulu hadn't seen anyone like him before. He had the air of a man who was new in town.
As a continued study would reveal, the man looked much younger than the gray in his hair would have a person believe. He was rather nice-looking, actually. Lulu continued to stare.
"Swords do the same thing. The teachings allow swords. There's no need for guns."
"Swords can't hold up against the Sin's guns, Lucil!"
Perhaps it had been due to Lulu's intense staring, but before the tall guardian left he turned and gave the interior of the Three Trade Foxes one final look. Four days' growth of beard, scar down the right side of his face, square jaw, a strange pair of glasses low on his nose, eyes dark and sharp as a hawk's---all of that would have been filed dispassionately, had it not been for the stare in those hawk's eyes. It seemed to be the glitter of interest, or the shine of curiosity. He was focused on something that evidentially piqued his interest.
"Forget it. I'm not speaking any more on this."
"Fine then." A pause. "I still want to get one."
"No, Elma! I told you, I don't want one of those horrid things in our house. Lulu, help me out here!"
Disconcerted and annoyed, Lulu turned to find Lucil staring her forcefully in the eye. The spell was broken. "What? Help you with what?" She glanced hopelessly at the doorway for a final time, only to see the Ronso guardian stride out. The handsome guardian was gone. Damn it.
"I keep trying to tell Elma that I won't have those lawbreaking guns in our house. We've all been raised to obey the teachings our whole lives. Maester Seymour's making a lot of unnecessary changes. This city's going to become as unruly as the Pirates themselves."
Elma snapped back, "It's for the better! Sometimes things need to change. The way Zanarkand's been all this time, we need a new way of defending ourselves! I say we buy one. No doubt they'll be opening up some shops here soon enough."
"Yes, you're right---shops run by those Al Bhed. They're the ones who make all that machina. They're the last thing this city needs."
Lulu sidestepped the disagreement. She had no qualms about the Al Bhed in spite of the teachings, though she did have one or two things to say about the new gun law. Yet above all, her mind was cloudy with thoughts of the stranger she saw. That would certainly be something new. Never tried a guardian before. She raised her voice then, addressing both Elma and Lucil. "Girls---drinks? Have you decided?"