A/N: Disclaimers and stuff can be found on previous chapter pages. Apologies for not updating more quickly, but real life does not like to give me time for this story. I can't promise faster updates, but feel free to prod me if you'd like to see faster postings. ^_^. That said, please enjoy and leave a comment if you can.
Lunge. Thrust. Parry. Parry. Retreat. Parry.
He leaned heavily on the dark, weathered stone of the rampart wall, his body slumped over his crossed forearms in the sweltering heat that even the shade of the awning above him could not abate. His half-lidded eyes lazily watched the spar taking place on the training yard a good distance below him.
Lunge. Slash. Parry. Lunge.
He fought off a yawn, and ignored the bead of sweat trailing slowly down the side of his temple. The two below him continued to exchange blows, oblivious to his presence. The only sound in the still, heavy afternoon was the occasional clash of iron as their rapiers met with force.
"She's pretty good, isn't she?"
Locke started at the voice, turning and nearly falling as he clutched desperately at the wall for support. Sabin smiled, amused at the younger man's reaction, and nonchalantly took the spot next to his startled friend against the wall.
"Damn it, Sabin," Locke grumbled.
"Didn't mean to scare you," Sabin shrugged, leaning on the wall as Locke had been doing. With a sigh, Locke returned to his former position as well. "She's pretty skilled though, wouldn't you say?"
"Hn," Locke grunted, carefully not meeting the blond's eyes. "I guess she's not half bad." His hand wandered along the wide stones, finding a crevice and digging idly for chipped pieces of mortar and granite.
"Not half bad?" Sabin scoffed. "She's been sparring Edgar for about ten minutes now, and hasn't even lost her blade once. She's gotten just as many hits in as he has as well. Didn't think she'd be half that good."
"…Whatever," Locke shrugged half-heartedly, flicking a chipped piece of stone off the wall. Sabin turned his tan face toward his companion, carefully appraising the young man whom he thought of as family.
"Anything you want to talk about, little brother?" he asked lightly, careful not to aggravate the other. Locke's shoulders tensed a little anyway.
"No."
"You sure? I mean, you've been brooding all week. It's been five days since you've returned from Vector, you know. Sure you aren't sick or anything?"
"… I'm sure."
"And nothing's bothering you?"
"Nothing you need to know about," Locke said softly. Sabin turned a little, completely facing Locke rather than the match below.
"I know when you're lying, Locke. Listen, I only want to help you. There's got to be a reason why you've been on edge. And you've been avoiding Celes like she's got a plague or something. What's with you?"
"Lay off it, Sabin," Locke sighed. "I said you didn't need to know."
"But there is something," Sabin pressed. "Well, if it was something that affected Figaro, you'd tell us, right?"
"Of course I would. It's a personal problem, and I intend to have it solved soon," Locke said firmly. "Now, would you shut up about it?" Sabin started to speak, but then thought better of it and gave a short laugh. Clapping Locke on the shoulder in a friendly fashion, the blond fighter smiled.
"All right, all right. I'm just worried, you know?" he said, and cast his glance back down at the sound of laughter. Celes and Edgar had finished their bout, and were sharing some sort of joke. Sabin's expression grew amused. "Funny thing, don't you think? A week ago, I never could have pictured Edgar with someone like her. Now, though, I feel like she's family already. You should try to get to know her, Locke. I think you two would get along pretty well."
Locke didn't respond, but he sighed audibly. Sabin didn't think much of it.
"Well, I have to get down there. Cyan and I have some things to discuss. If you change your mind about … talking and stuff, I'm here. Okay?"
"All right."
"Okay," Sabin repeated. "You coming down too?" Locke was still for a moment, but then he nodded and pushed himself away from the wall. He met Sabin's eyes and inclined his head, inviting the older man to take the lead. Sabin opened his mouth to speak but then thought better of it, smiling instead. Pivoting on the toe of his training boot, he started a lazy pace down the narrow walkway with Locke at his wing.
"You know, you ought to stop by the kitchens," Sabin began to speak again, keeping the conversation light and safe. "Matron's been doing a lot of experimenting in preparation for the wedding … there's some pretty tasty stuff just laying around going to waste, and I know she'd just love to stuff it down that skinny throat of yours, Locke." Locke's lips curved into a smile at the thought of the motherly woman that had taken a big role in raising both himself and the two princes. Now that all three of them were grown, the nurturing nature of the kind lady had drawn her to the kitchens, where she held the basic position of head chef of the castle.
"You're probably right," Locke replied, feeling that Sabin was waiting for an answer. "She's starting in on all that already?"
"Well, the wedding isn't all that far off, you know. Besides, you know Matron. Always has to have everything just so," Sabin shrugged, happy to see a smile on his younger friend's face once more. They had reached the stairway, and Locke had to rush to keep up with the blonde prince. Sabin had the annoying habit of running when on stairs, an unconscious action that used to get him in trouble constantly. They reached the outer corridor that trailed along the training yards, and the extra space allowed Locke to walk at Sabin's side. He didn't notice the pair approaching them until it was too late to flee.
"Hey, nice match there Edgar!" Sabin called cheerfully, waving a hand at the pair. "Either you're getting rusty, or she's suspiciously well-trained."
"I don't think I like either of those implications, Sabin," Edgar threw back, smiling despite the tone of his words. Sabin shrugged, then grinned at Celes. The blonde woman had her rapier propped casually on her shoulder; she returned the grin with a smirk.
"Is there a problem, Sabin?" she asked sweetly. "Surprised that a woman knows how to use one of these?"
"No … I was surprised about that the first time you told me. Now I'm surprised because you're actually a match for Edgar. Better not let anyone else know about this, brother; gossip spreads quickly around here, you know."
"Are you implying that he should be embarrassed of me?" Celes demanded, raising an eyebrow. Sabin threw his hands up in front of him.
"No no no! Of course not! Just kind of sits badly on the old kingly pride, dontcha think? Being outshone by your fiancée?" Celes smiled then, tilting her head slightly.
"Well, I'll keep my mouth shut then. But I am not taking up needlepoint or anything else like that!" Sabin burst into a fit of laughter, leaning on Locke's shoulder as he shook a little at the thought.
"Oh, that would be something! Somehow I don't see you as the domestic type, Celes!" he managed to say between laughter. Locke shifted uncomfortably when Edgar and Celes both looked at him, as if noticing him for the first time. When he shyly met Celes' gaze she looked away, pretending to wipe a bit of sand out of the corner of one eye. Locke's eyes wandered to the ground; he began to count the cracks on the toe of his worn leather boot. The action did not go unnoticed by Edgar, whose face did not change despite the observation.
"Sabin, you're headed to the armory, aren't you? Won't you escort Celes there so she can redeposit her weapon?" he asked tactfully, shooting his brother a look. "I need to have a little discussion with Locke."
"Sure thing!" Sabin replied with a smile, never giving any indication that he had caught Edgar's silent plea. "Right this way, Celes. I'm on my way to discuss some matters of security with Cyan. Would you like to join us?" The two headed off down the hall, leaving Locke and Edgar alone. The king's worried eyes fell on the younger man, who was trying to avoid Edgar's stare without looking suspicious.
"Let's go inside first," Edgar suggested. "It is rather hot out." He motioned for Locke to follow him, and they walked in silence to one of Edgar's private studies. The blond waved Locke toward one of the plush chairs, and moved around the cherry wood table to pour himself some water from a strategically-placed decanter.
"Thirsty?" he asked Locke, who had taken his seat silently.
"No thanks," Locke replied softly, his fingers playing with the arm of his chair nervously. Edgar sighed and sank into the chair opposite Locke. His worried blue eyes bore into Locke's uncomfortable face, and for a moment neither spoke.
"I wish you had come to me, Locke," Edgar finally said, absently twirling the water around in his partially full glass. Locke frowned slightly in confusion.
"What are you talking about, Edgar?"
"About whatever it is that's bothering you, of course," the king replied, regarding Locke seriously. "I know these past few days have been abnormal, and granted everyone is entitled to time to adjust, but I sense that something else is wrong in your case. You've nearly turned into a recluse, Locke. You hardly speak to me and you practically disappear anytime Celes is around …" he sighed, running a hand down his cheek in a moment of uncharacteristic uncertainty. "Are you angry with me, Locke? Is it because I sent you to Vector? Because I honestly didn't think that you would be so opposed to the idea or I would have…"
"Edgar," Locke interrupted. "No, that's not it. I'm not angry with you at all."
"You're sure?" Edgar asked, smiling a little. "I'm relieved about that anyway. So what is it, Locke?"
"Nothing," Locke shrugged. Edgar smirked, pressing the smooth crystal of his glass to his lips for a moment.
"It's not nice to lie to the king, Locke." Locke frowned, growing impatient at the questions. First Sabin had been on his case, and now Edgar was heading down the same path. It's not like he had done anything wrong. He hadn't been acting that odd, had he? He'd only been doing what was best for everyone; staying away from Celes until he could sort out whatever it was that had happened to them.
"I'm not lying, Edgar, not really. I'm fine," he said, trying to assure his friend.
"But something is weighing on your mind," Edgar said, holding up a finger when Locke made as if to protest. "Don't deny it. You've been acting off, Locke, and you've been terribly quiet. Even Cyan has commented on it, and you know that he likes to keep personal opinions to himself. We're worried about you, all of us. Even Celes …"
"What?" Locke interrupted, sitting straighter at the words.
"We've had the opportunity to spend quite a bit of time together since her arrival. She mentioned having had a nice talk with you on the trip back from Vector, but you haven't spoken to her since. I think she must be worried as well, though she hasn't actually said as much." Locke nodded, feeling something inside of him sink ever so slightly at Edgar's words. He slouched back down again.
"You've been like this since Vector. Did something happen?" Edgar asked. Locke felt slightly startled at the question. What was Edgar implying? What did he know? Some of his apprehension must have reached his face, because Edgar leaned forward. His expression had become serious.
"I have to ask you, Locke, and I want an honest answer. I trust your judgment," he said in a calm tone. Locke's brow scrunched in confusion.
"My judgment? About what?"
"You were in Vector. If you saw or heard anything that gave you indication that they are not upholding their end of the treaty, you need to tell me. I deserve to know about anything that might be a danger to this kingdom," Edgar explained. "If you're feeling anything … suspecting anything … please tell me. You know I value your input."
Locke blinked, taken aback. Edgar had jumped to conclusions; they were logical conclusions, anyway. He assumed that Locke was acting skittish due to a lack of trust for the Empire, and that he had been avoiding Celes due to her citizenship. Well, it was a nice cover anyway, and Locke couldn't exactly tell Edgar the truth.
Oh, it's nothing Edgar. I'm just madly in love with your fiancée, that's all.
No, that would not do at all. Steeling himself and taking a deep breath, Locke met Edgar's eyes and prepared to bend the truth.
"All right, Edgar. I'll level with you. No, I still don't trust the Empire," he said evenly. It was true enough; he didn't trust the Empire, and it would be a long time before he did. Edgar nodded slowly.
"I see," he said. "Did something happen to make you feel this way? Something at Vector?" Locke sighed; this was going to be harder than he thought.
"Not specifically," he shrugged. "Everyone was congenial enough, at least those that we interacted with. I guess it's just a feeling I have … I know that sounds lame."
"It's not lame, Locke," Edgar said gently. "You have good instincts, and I trust them. Do you think it warrants any investigation?" Locke paused in thought. Maybe if he said yes, he could persuade Edgar to let him be the one to conduct the investigation. Any excuse to get away from Figaro and a certain woman would do.
"I guess you can't be too careful," he replied. "But, you wouldn't want to be obvious about it. You wouldn't want the Empire to feel you didn't trust them. If you sent anyone, they'd have to be stealthy about it." At that Edgar smiled.
"Yes, and who do I know that fits that description?" Locke gave a tiny smirk, and Edgar sighed. "I would feel bad asking you to leave again so soon, though. Are you sure you're up to it?"
"How bad could it be? I don't even have to let anyone see me, do I?" Locke replied, trying not to sound too anxious. Edgar nodded.
"That's true. However, there is the matter as to where I'd even send you in the first place. You can't exactly infiltrate the Imperial Capital and listen in on Gestahl's court meetings."
"What about the occupied territories?" Locke suggested, and Edgar raised a curious eyebrow. Taking that as a cue, Locke continued. "The Imperial troops are supposed to be clearing out of the invaded areas, right? But they probably aren't out yet. If the Emperor was planning anything, don't you think the commanders of these troops would know about it?"
"You're probably right," Edgar nodded. "And as I recall, one of the largest battalions currently in that position is camped just outside of Jidoor. If there was anything in the works, I'm sure there would be word in that camp."
"Jidoor's not that far," Locke noted. "A couple of days ride at most. I wouldn't even need a ship. Do you think it's a good idea?"
"I think it has merit, even if I don't like it," Edgar sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. "I don't want to give off the impression that I'm doubtful, but I don't want to risk the safety of my people either. I'll be pulling our troops back soon, and I could be leaving innocent people defenseless. South Figaro would be wide open to attack."
"It's not wrong to worry about your people, Edgar," Locke said seriously. "I'm sure the Emperor is not without his own precautions, so you should be allowed to take yours."
"All right, Locke, all right," Edgar sighed. "I'll send you to Jidoor. But I want you out of sight and avoiding any sort of conflict. You're not to fight or harm anyone, is that clear?"
"As crystal. Unless my own neck is at risk, that is," Locke replied, flashing a teasing grin at his friend. Edgar smiled along with him.
"I trust you won't be so careless. I guess it's settled then. When would you like to go?"
"As soon as I can," Locke replied immediately. The two hammered out the rest of the details, completely oblivious to the blonde woman pressed against the wall of the hallway outside of the door, listening to the entire plan.
* * *
Only hours later, Locke was standing at the front gates, a pack slung over his back and his hand fisted around the reins of a rather impatient chocobo. The large bird pawed at the sandy stones with one clawed foot, eager to start moving. Locke ignored the bird's fidgeting, his eyes on Edgar. The king had accompanied him to the gate, discussing last minute issues as they came to mind.
"Okay okay," Locke finally said, interrupting Edgar's rambling. "You make it all sound so hard! What, would you like to come along too?" Edgar gave a lopsided grin, and pulled on his cloak's edge.
"Sadly, I couldn't even if I wanted to. A group is supposed to be arriving from Vector shortly; attendants and such for Celes, to help prepare for the wedding. It's only proper that I be here to greet them. That and the whole king business. I'm afraid my disappearance would not sit well with the chancellor or any of my other advisors." Locke grinned at Edgar's playful tone, feeling better already. Soon he would be out of Figaro, and there would be time to clear his head of this whole mess.
"Too bad for you that Sabin doesn't have hair as long as yours, then. Otherwise you could get him to fill in for you," he replied. Edgar rolled his eyes.
"Sabin? Do you honestly think the big ox could act in a dignified fashion for more than three seconds at a time?"
"Point taken. He'd never agree anyway," Locke said, and was suddenly interrupted by a sharp but mostly gentle peck on his shoulder. Sighing, he turned to look at the large liquid-black eyes of his ride.
"Guess she wants to get going," he said, pulling himself up onto the bird's back. He turned back to Edgar and gave a mock-salute. "I'll be off, then."
"All right. Be careful. Remember, I want you back here in a few days. No more," Edgar replied. Locke waved his hand dismissively.
"Yes yes, I know the rules. A curfew at my age … honestly, Edgar," he said flippantly. Edgar smirked.
"Safe journey, Locke." Then, with lightning quick movements, Edgar gave a sharp blow to the chocobo's flank. The bird, while not harmed, was startled, and it lunged forward with a squawk of dismay. Locke instinctively grabbed for the reins, nearly falling off at the sudden quick start. Edgar laughed and waved the young man off, smiling at the dirty look that Locke cast back in his direction.
* * *
A little more than a day and a half later found Locke cold and irate, crouching in the underbrush on the edge of an Imperial camp. His chocobo and most of his equipment had been left at the inn in Jidoor; he had allowed himself only to take the things he thought he would need. He had already made one wide sweep around the camp, glad that the nearly moonless night had sheltered him from any of the sentries that wandered the camp's perimeter.
The base was larger than he had anticipated. There were enough soldiers to take out a small town, and Locke shuddered at the thought. He really hated the empire; he wouldn't put it past them to do something that destructive. Clutching his deceptively small assassin's knife in one gloved hand, Locke crept furtively through the trees.
There was no way he'd ever be able to reach anyone of importance this way. The camp was far too big and tightly organized to allow him infiltration as he was. That left only one option, one that Locke had been hoping to avoid. Sighing, he resigned himself to the task.
Waiting for the last of the guards to pass by his line of sight, Locke sighted a small tent on the outskirt of camp and dashed toward it. Throwing back the flap effortlessly, he dove in and let the cloth fall back to its original position, sending him into near darkness. His eyes adjusted quickly, but not fast enough to notice the lone soldier who had been startled by his sudden appearance.
"Hey," a voice demanded as a hand descended on his shoulder. "Just what do you think you're …!" Locke jumped, startled by the soldier's presence, but he acted quickly. Twisting around, he managed to land a sharp elbow to the area he hoped the soldier's temple was. The man gave a gasp of pain, momentarily paralyzed by the blow. Locke took advantage, grabbing the soldier by the shoulders and slamming his knee into the man's jaw.
With a sickening crack, the threat of the man shouting was eliminated. Locke let him drop to the ground, and waited for his eyes to adjust fully. Then he fell to one knee next to the mostly unconscious man, and began to strip him of his outer armor.
"Sorry about this," Locke murmured a whisper as he began to put on the gaudy green attire over his usual clothes. "You'll be okay in a while though, so just sleep it off." Attaching the last buckle of the chest piece, Locke stood and looked around. There had to be a helmet around somewhere; the man hadn't been wearing one, but he knew that he owned one. His eyes fell on the sturdy headpiece and he hurried to pull it on over his bandana, scowling at the feel of it. The helmet banged around his ears, too big for Locke's head. He sighed, attempting to adjust it and failing miserably.
"Oh well, guess I can't be picky," he sighed, returning to the comatose soldier and pulling him behind a rather large chest. He figured the man would not be found until he himself was safely away from the camp. Tucking his blade away in an accessible location, he ignored that fact that the clothes beneath the armor he wore looked awkward and strode out of the tent confidently. If he didn't draw attention to himself, he'd probably be all right.
The camp was pretty quiet, despite the fact that it wasn't that late in the evening. The soldiers that weren't patrolling sat in groups on stacks of crates or huddled around the fires that burned here and there. They were talking and drinking, but not in the raucous way that Locke had seen so often. Something was up, definitely, but he couldn't figure out what.
"'Ey! 'Ey, 'old up there, kid!" a voice called out, and Locke suppressed the urge to wince. He wasn't being that careless, was he? Turning toward the source of the words, Locke's hand crept inconspicuously toward the hilt of his knife. The soldier approaching him didn't look happy, but he didn't look suspicious either.
"Who, me?" Locke asked casually, pointing a finger at himself as he did. The man nodded impatiently, waving some kind of rolled paper in his hand.
"You doin' something important? I got somethin' you need to do," the man said. The style of his armor informed Locke that this man was of higher rank than the soldier he was impersonating. Damn, he had to do whatever this guy said or he'd blow his cover. Grimacing internally, he nodded his head.
"Well, I gotta patrol soon …" Locke tried to get out of whatever task the man had. The soldier shook his head adamantly.
"Forget that! Message just arrived from th'Emperor! You'd better take it to the General right away," he said, slapping the message scroll into Locke's hand as he spoke. Locke gaped for a moment; why the heck couldn't the man do it himself? The soldier just nodded to him and walked off, and Locke sighed. If that upper-level guy was afraid of delivering a simple message to this General, then Locke certainly didn't want to. He looked at the paper in his hands, locating the familiar seal that was Gestahl's. He thought about opening it himself for a moment, but quickly shook his head at the idea. Edgar had meant for him to keep a low profile; interfering with the Emperor's message would most surely get him in trouble.
Slowly, he took off toward the center of camp where he knew the General would be. He wracked his brain, trying to figure out who would be the head of this camp. General Leo had been in Vector, so he probably wouldn't have come out here within such a short span of time. Leo wasn't one to be feared anyway … Locke sighed. He'd just deliver the message, hang back to hear what it said, and hope that it gave him enough information to take back to Edgar so he could get out of here.
The General's tent was easily located, being far more ornate than any other in the camp. Locke approached the sentry standing outside of the entrance, clearing his throat slightly.
"What is it, soldier?" the sentry asked in a bored tone. Locke lifted the message scroll.
"Message for the General, bearing the Emperor's seal," Locke explained. The sentry perked up a little at that, and nodded as he extended his hand.
"Very well, I'll gi…"
"What?!" a voice called out from inside the tent. "What the heck does the old man have to say now?!" Locke's eyes widened at the disrespect in the tone, and he watched as the tent's silken flap was thrown back to reveal a very unhappy-looking General.
Locke swallowed with great effort, resisting the urge to bolt.
Of course. It was General Kefka. The Emperor's errant son.
He was in deep trouble.
Kefka strode out, his hand darting to snatch the scroll from Locke's still hand. Locke released it immediately, too shocked to do much else. His mind spun as he tried to think of a way of escape. He didn't want to face someone like Kefka if it came down to it; Kefka was like an insane man. He'd heard enough stories, some from Sabin's own mouth.
The pale general gave a passing glance to his father's seal, then tore the message open with a snarl. Stepping over to a crate, he set the scroll down and unrolled it hastily. Locke, who happened to be standing near the crate, couldn't help but glancing over at the script written on the fine parchment.
As Kefka's scowl grew, Locke's wide eyes grew wider. The note was inquiring as to why the troops stationed in the camp had not yet made arrangements to return to Vector. The Emperor was basically entreating his son to surrender his base and come home. From the look on Kefka's face, this was not an option that appealed to him.
"That stupid old fool," Kefka growled, slamming a fist onto the crate before spinning on his heel. "He actually intends to follow the peace treaties? Doesn't he understand that this would be the best opportunity to crush Figaro, while their backs are turned?!"
"Sir, I do believe with the agreements that your father has made, we no longer have a right to strike against the…"
"Did I ask you?! When I want your opinion, I'll tell it to you!" Kefka burst, whirling on the sentry that stood nearly. The man shrank back, bowing his head.
"Of course, sir, I didn't …"
"Shut up," Kefka rolled his eyes, then he suddenly turned to Locke. "When did this message arrive? Who brought it?" Locke's throat constricted for a moment, but he sucked it up. He was a good actor, he could pull this off.
"I wasn't informed as to that, General sir," he said respectfully. "I was given that scroll by a corporal to deliver to you. He must have received it."
"Incompetents!" Kefka snarled, putting a hand to his head in a melodramatic fashion. "All right then, which corporal gave it to you, soldier?!"
Locke blinked. Oh, hell. He didn't know the man's name. He tried to remember if the man had identified himself, or if anyone had mentioned any name of any corporal.
"Well?!" Kefka demanded, impatient. "Who was it, man?! Was it Kinnick or Biggs?!" Locke's mind clicked on the name Biggs … he'd heard it somewhere before …
"It was Biggs, sir."
"Fine. Then go get him and bring him here. I want to ask him something," Kefka ordered. Locke managed a sloppy salute, surprised to find that his hands weren't shaking like he felt they should be.
"Yes, sir. Is that all?!"
"Did you see me saying anything else?! Get out of here!" Kefka barked. Locke nodded, turning and trying his best not to run away screaming. Kefka was beyond scary, if he did say so himself. He was ditching this armor and getting as far from this camp as he possibly could.
However, he had not taken five steps before his plans shattered.
"Stop where you stand!" Kefka said, and Locke couldn't stop the tension that built suddenly in his shoulders. He kept walking, praying that Kefka didn't mean him.
"I said stop!" Kefka roared, and suddenly Locke's arm was jerked harshly as someone caught him with iron hands. It was the sentry; he tried to free his arm but the man held fast, dragging him back toward the general. His hand went for his blade, but it was stopped as Kefka suddenly caught his wrist. He winced as his arm was twisted at an odd angle, and his face was suddenly met with the fearsome scowl Kefka wore. Kefka's dark eyes traveled up and down Locke, carefully scrutinizing him, and then he laughed. It wasn't a good laugh; in fact, the sadistic tone of the laughter made Locke almost numb with apprehension.
"Well, what do we have here? Spies should be more careful," Kefka fairly purred in his face. Locke blinked, stunned.
He was definitely in deep trouble.
Continued