A Word From The Author:14/3/06: OK…this is my attempt to re-edit my story and hopefully fill in some of the plot holes. Sigh…

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FINAL FANTASY VII:

THERE IS ALWAYS LIGHT

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:

FRIEND OR FOE

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Meanwhile, oblivious to the drama taking place over their heads, Ivan Kinneas skillfully maneuvered the Ragnarok, if he could just know it, into the landing pad Quistis' Mirrormist had just vacated. Shutting down the engines, he turned to his passenger with a sympathetic smile. "You alright, pal?"

Arne nodded silently. His face was slightly greenish under his tan, and usually Ivan—or whoever accompanied Arne on a flight trip—would have taken the opportunity to tease him about his slight phobia. But, ever sensitive to his firend's grief, Ivan desisted. "C'mon, let's get outta here. I swear I'm melting." Gently he took Arne's arm when it seemed that the young captain would continue sitting there until the sun went down. Stirred to action, Arne managed a weak smile and clambered clumsily out of his chair. The two walked down the ramp to be confronted with extremely forbidding-looking guards and the wrong ends of several gleaming, triple-barreled guns.

"Whoa!" Ivan blurted out at the sight. "What did we do, barge into the Inquisition?"

The guards lowered their guns as he frantically held up his hands in a 'peace!" sign. After a moment of silent glances, the guy who was clearly the leader (his uniform was covered with more patches and medals than the others) stepped forward. He removed his helmet to reveal a youngish face with dark eyes and short brown hair. "Welcome to Esthar. I apologize for our presumptuous behavior." The man lowered his voice. "This is a matter of national security, and I trust that you gentlemen will not take offence."

Ivan and Arne looked at each other, puzzled. Since when had Esthar relied on armed soldiers to keep the peace?

Right, since Laguna had died, Arne thought with a pang.

One of the soldiers spoke quietly with his commander for a few minutes, and when the man turned back, there was a friendly smile on his face. "The new President of Esthar calls you his honored guests and would be pleased to invite you into his residence for the duration of your stay." He bowed slightly as he spoke.

Ivan looked at Arne again, who shrugged, though his eyes held a shadow of painful memories. When Laguna had been in office, the Palace had been open to all his family members. "Sure, why not," the young captain said. "I'd like to speak with President Mardon regarding my grandfather's murder."

The guard nodded in acknowledgement. "Very good, sir. Do you require our aid in moving your luggage?"

"We don't have any," Ivan said, with a sharp glance at the man. "We aren't planning on staying for very long."

Again there was that silent communication between the members of the squad, and Ivan felt a stab of unease. It was not dispelled by the guard's smile as he said, "Follow me, then. I'd be honored to escort you to the Presidential Palace."

"Oh, we know the way, we wouldn't want to impose on you—" Arne began, but the squad leader was already walking away. Arne looked troubled, and he shared another worried look with his companion before following. Ivan fell into step behind him, uneasily aware of the heavily armed guards behind him and their intense scrutiny.

There was an even bigger entourage waiting for them at the doors of the Palace. The two young men had scarcely stepped indoors before they were overwhelmed by an overload of sensation and noise as a group of servants swooped down on them and began clucking over their deplorable state. The guard leader, his duty done, clicked his heels and saluted before departing as Arne and Ivan were swept away by the waves of servants.

After firmly convincing them that they were tired and needed rest, Arne and Ivan were escorted to their rooms in the left wing. It was richly furnished, with lace curtains, silk overhangings bearing the Esthar crest, and a huge four-poster bed. A fluffy wool carpet warmed Arne's bare feet as he removed his boots and coat with a sigh of contentment. Ivan grinned at him from his room, where he had made himself at home in an equally comfortable manner. Skeiz had thoughtfully picked out joined rooms for them.

Arne rose from the bed and padded next door, where he joined his friend. "Thanks for coming with me, Ivan." He hesitated, not knowing what else to say.

"It's cool, Arne." Ivan threw an arm over his friend's shoulders with a bright smile. "Otherwise I'd be stuck at Trabia helping my sister hang up confetti. 'Sides, anything for a pal of mine."

He paused, put his lips close to Arne's ear. "Hey, noticed anything fishy?" he whispered.

Arne nodded slightly, whispered back. "They aren't wearing the Esthar crest, but some kind of raven and thorn thing. Skeiz's personal insignia?"

"If so, that means that Skeiz has been replacing all the old personnel with his own flunkies," Ivan murmured grimly. "If push comes to shove, no one here is going to help us, Arne. They're all in Skeiz's pocket."

"You think Skeiz is going to be trouble?" Arne looked anxious. "Why would he want to do anything to us? Balamb is Esthar's traditional ally. Surely Mardon isn't that dumb…"

Ivan grunted. "Some people would do anything for power," he said cynically. "And you've got to wonder how come they haven't caught the assassin yet." He gave Arne a meaningful look. "Mardon doesn't trust anyone but his own people, Arne. Paranoid leaders make good dictators. I think we're in some trouble."

Arne grimaced. "Marched right into the lion's den?" he muttered.

"We'll just have to keep our eyes peeled," was Ivan's quick reply. "I think it's best if we don't even wait until morning to leave. We'll clear out when you have a talk with the President. There's a political storm brewing in Esthar, and I don't want to be in the thick of it when it breaks."

Arne was about to reply when a knock sounded on the Ivan's door. Arne jumped up and pressed the silver button set on the wall. A butler in a stiff white-collar and black-tie ensemble stood outside holding a silver tray with a white napkin, a lilac envelope, and a small plate of edibles. "From the master," the butler said in a polite tone that somehow managed to convey his displeasure at the young man's scruffy attire. Arne thanked him and thumbed him when he departed. Carrying the platter, Arne set it on the desk and plucked the card out. It was very fancy, trimmed with a gold border set on a creamy background. Jet black words printed attractively in cursive proclaimed: You Have Been Invited…

"What's that?" Ivan poked his head over Arne's shoulder. "You Have Been Invited to dinner with the President tonight at nine o'clock in the Grand Ballroom. A talented cabaret has been specially arranged for your enjoyment and entertainment. Formal dressing is advised. I look forward to your attendance. Yours faithfully, Skeiz Mardon, President of the Republic of Esthar."

"Okay." Arne said, sliding the card back into its envelope. "Why do I have the feeling that Mardon wants to show off for our benefit?"

"A demonstration of his power and wealth," Ivan suggested. He put on a ridiculously chessy, 'classic villain' voice complete with thick accent, "I have flunkies and am ridiculously powerful! Bow to me or be crushed by my little finger!"

"Aren't you a one-man show," Arne said humorlessly. "But we'll have to figure out what to do next."

"Sorry," Ivan said, sobering, but not before helping himself to a few cashew nuts. "Well, I don't particularly want to go, but we might risk potentially offending him if we don't attend. Considering the tenacious position we're in, that's bad. And it's not like Skeiz will poison us…"

He looked at Arne and was alarmed to see that his friend actually seemed to be considering this.

"Nah," Arne murmured. "He'd probably have guests there to wow them with our presence…and then he'd have to hide the bodies…"

"Jeez, snap out of it," Ivan said, rolling his eyes. "Mardon is not likely to do direct harm to us, definitely not under his own roof. He'd have Trabia and Balamb on him quicker than we can say, "Skeiz Mardon sucks." Relax."

"Do you think he had anything to do with Laguna's murder?" Arne asked suddenly, out of the blue. Ivan stared at him. "Gosh! Can you just say that a little louder so that Mardon can order his guards to put us in prison?" he asked sarcastically.

Arne rubbed his temples. "Your point is made, Ivan." Now speaking sotto voce, Arne continued, "Skeiz is the only one who obviously benefited from Grandfather's death, didn't he? With Laguna removed, he was free to just take one step up—and become top dog of the most wealthy country in the world. And so he has."

"That had occurred to me too," Ivan said soberly. "But I didn't realize that my suspicions could be true until I stepped into Esthar. Look here, buddy." He went over to a window and lifted a curtain. It faced onto a view of Esthar, admittedly not bird's eye, since they were only on the second floor, but it was enough for them to see the black-clothed groups of soldiers standing vigilantly at the back of the palace, all heavily armed. "Those aren't local militia, Arne," Ivan said. "They're soldiers, pure and simple—and they don't look the type to give mercy. Probably SeeDs that Skeiz pulled out of his faction."

"SeeDs don't serve the President," Arne said darkly. "Their first loyalty is to the SeeDs' code and the Garden Master."

"Hey, Arne," Ivan said. The setting sun cast half of his face into shadows, and his eyes glinted in the dying light. "Skeiz is the President. He wants to be the Garden Master, he can. It's all about power and getting your way."

Arne scowled. "I hate it when you're right."

Ivan smirked. "I guess you must hate me a lot."

Before Arne could come up with a cutting reply, there was another knock on the door. Ivan mumbled a curse and answered it this time. It was a maid, who had been sent there by the butler to provide suitable evening attire. Ivan took the boxes from her and practically shoved her out of the room.

"Some gentleman you are," Arne drawled. Ivan glared. "Oh, normally I'm quite a gentleman. Some of you must be rubbing off on me," he retorted, opening the boxes he had been given. Inside was a classic black suit with a white collared shirt and a tie plus neatly pressed trousers. The other one sported a dark red smoking jacket and a frilled white shirt. Other packages contained the heavy robes that was the standard attire of the Estharians, trimmed in gold and edged with black fur. Gleaming boots, recently polished, were also offered. Ivan held up a long robe (dark green and with an elaborate design sewn into wide, flowing sleeves) in front of him, examined the mirror and muttered, "I think not."

Arne pawed through the clothes and eventually, mumbling under his breath, selected the tux. It fit perfectly, much to their non-surprise. Ivan took the jacket. Since it was still early, they opted to take a bath first—flying in the Ragnarok for a couple of hours had not improved their smell.

The bathroom was fit for a king—or a president. The walls and floor were black, smooth marble in which small gold chips were embedded throughout. The ceiling was covered with a skillfully painted mural of the everyday scenes in Esthar. Oh, and had he mentioned that the taps were solid gold? Arne got into the enormous bath gingerly, almost as though afraid the huge thing would swallow him, and tried the vast array of taps. In seconds he was covered with bubbles, assailed with perfume, and comfortably settled in warm water that did wonders for his sore body. He closed his eyes, let the grief that had filled him ever since he had heard of Laguna's death drift to the back of his mind. As a captain, times like this to relax were few and far between, and darned if he didn't enjoy this while he could…

If certain annoying people didn't get in the way first, that is. Arne awoke groggy from a nap he had never meant to take at the sound of pounding at the door. "Hey, sleeping beauty!" Ivan said jovially from the other side. "It's eight, so get that fat ass of yours moving! Move it, move it!"

Arne snarled silently and made a rude sign in Ivan's direction. "No vulgarities, now!" Ivan said merrily. Reluctantly, Arne dragged himself out of the bath and dried himself. He then put on the garments he had selected with some distaste. The stiff collar chaffed his neck and the tie nearly choked him, but at last he looked presentable when he finally stepped out. Ivan looked dashing in the crimson jacket, which draped over his form like a second skin, and black drainpipe trousers, the bottom of which was tucked into knee-high, flaring boots. "Deigned to grace us with your charming presence at last, Princess?" he asked with a smile.

"Show-off," Arne sniffed and claimed the last pair of boots, similar in design to Ivan's except that they were white and made from soft flayed snow lion-hide. He felt uncomfortable in his new clothes, as though he had been cast into a mold that did not belong to him. Despite his apparent ease, he could tell that Ivan felt the same; he was constantly tugging at his frilled cuffs with an air of disgust.

"You know where the Ballroom is?" he asked.

"Sure," said Arne, who had been exploring the Palace since he was a young boy. "This way, please, sir."

"If only you could be as polite as this more often," Ivan said jokingly,

"Or I'll clobber the back of your head, Captain Wit," Arbe said candidly, dropping his butler tones.

"Or not," Ivan said as though as an afterthought."

They arrived half an hour early, but already the Ballroom had been lavishly decorated. Two long tables, covered with white tablecloths, laden with silver and gold platters and cutlery, lined either side of the massive room. A stage made of transperisteel stood at the front, shaped like a circle and built in a series of steps that expanded from top to bottom. A lone microphone waited the arrival of the speaker. A rich crimson carpet led right from the bronze double doors to the platform. Bouquets of bright, tropical flowers filled the air with a rich scent that was sweet without being choking. The technicians were swarming all over doing a last minute check on the sound system, so Arne and Ivan were greeted by a loud fanfare as they entered. The master technician leaped up and muttered apologies for his crew's delay, and that we won't take up any more of your time, so sorry…

"It's okay," Arne said, somewhat alarmed at this deluge. "You aren't late, we're just early."

The two men sat down in a couple of chairs and looked around the sumptuously appointed ballroom with some admiration and a little unease. If Skeiz had meant to boast the resources and workers he had at his disposal, the ploy was working. This room had to been arranged in only a matter of hours, unless Skeiz had coincidentally been planning a dinner on this day before their arrival.

"Damn," Ivan said. "Esthar's rich, but its wealth isn't forever. What game is Mardon playing?"

"Hell if I know." Arne looked around. "Maybe Quistis will know more. I'm surprised that she hasn't come find us already. Quistis can smell a rat from a mile away."

"Probably too busy," Ivan quipped. Quistis and her workload was an ongoing joke among her friends and acquaintances and a source of admiration among the besotted fans in her fanclub. Arne chuckled in reply, but it did not entirely erase the expression of worry from his face. Surely, if Quistis had something urgent to tell them, she wouldn't have let hell and an army of behemoths get in her way.

"Look," Ivan said at last, seeing that Arne still looked strained. "Try to have fun, okay? Your troubles won't go away, so just push them back and relax for a while. Stressing yourself out isn't going to make things better."

"Hey, you started it by talking business and got me all stressed up," Arne retorted.

"Fine, fine. Let's just talk small now." Ivan held up his hands.

The duo spent the next half hour chatting about irrelevant subjects until nine when the first guests began to drift in. All were dressed in extravagant finery that did justice to the luxury of the Ballroom. Arne and Ivan got up from their chairs as the guests converged on them offering sympathies and expressions of goodwill. Arne kept a fixed smile on his face throughout the insincere condolences. Ivan thought he looked pale. At last, he intervened. "Pardon me, but it seems my friend needs some time to himself," he said politely but firmly. "Thank you for your concern, nonetheless."

At that moment, a new guest entered, eliciting a new flurry of excitement in the group. They willingly deserted Arne, who glanced at Ivan sidelong with a grateful smile. "Thanks for saving me from those vultures," he said in a barely audible tone.

"Well, it looked like you needed some help there," Ivan said. "You owe me another one."

Arne straightened up and glared with mock righteousness. "I thought you were too helpful to be true." His expression altered. "Well, look who's here…"

"Mardon," Ivan said with noticeable dislike.

"And Loki," Arne said sharply. "Where's Quistis? Something's wrong,Ivan." He broke off as Loki scanned the room, saw him, and steered his President over. Skeiz Mardon bore a complacent smile and a blossoming black eye. "Wonder who did that?" Arne mused aloud.

He pasted a smile on his face and rose to meet the President. Ivan followed, but more reluctantly. His green eyes were narrowed with annoyance.

"Good to see you, Leonhart," Skeiz said, his penetrating eyes meeting Arne's as he shook his hand. "My guards have informed me that you are here to look into your grandfather's death. I'm truly sorry, boy," he added, angular features softening. "Laguna was a good man, and a good leader. I sometimes wonder if I can be half as successful as he…"

"I'm sure you'll do your best, President," Arne said neutrally.

"Back to business." Mardon said briskly. "We have good news for you, Leonhart."

"You found the murderer?" Ivan blurted out, the expression on his face hovering between incredulity and delight. Loki gave him a sharp glance. Mardon nodded. "Indeed. However, we have not been able to apprehend her. Shortly before both of you arrived, she was able to escape in a stolen Mirrormist, which accounts for the rude nature of your welcome in Esthar."

"Well, who is she?" Arne asked, fists clenched. "Who is it, damnit?"

Loki's hand strayed near his sais. Mardon, however, was unperturbed by Arne's excitement. "I believe you know her very well—and so did the late President." Mardon paused, probably for effect, and his next words sank into Arne's soul like tiny poison-tipped daggers. "Quistis Trepe, the ex-Headmistress of Esthar Garden."

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"What rubbish," Arne said, drink tightly clenched in his hand. "What scandalous, lying, slander…how can that scumbag look me in the face and say that…trash…"

"Arne," Loki said, a mildly admonishing expression on his face. "But you have to admit, these are extenuating circumstances. She assaulted the President and fled when there was no charge against her. How else can you explain that away?"

Ivan spoke up. "I don't believe that, Calrior. You still haven't told us the nature of the meeting between Quistis and Mardon."

"President Mardon, if you would please…" Loki said. "It is a top-secret matter. Even I am unaware of what had transpired. Of course, it is not my place to ask."

Arne got right in Loki's face, jabbing an accusing finger at him. "Oh, I bet!" the young man shouted. "When she left, you got her job, didn't you? Nice and cushy, isn't it? Did you and Mardon strike some kind of deal, huh? Drive Quistis out of Esthar and frame her, and you get her chair!"

Emotions flickered behind Loki's dark eyes as he battled for control. His muscles tensed. "That's not true!" he cried, his iron will cracking slightly enough for Ivan to see that deep within Loki didn't really believe that hype about Quistis either. But Loki was a man of rules, a man who followed, and he believed in his President.

"Neither is the drivel Mardon is spouting!" Arne raged, his voice rising, causing several heads to turn their way. The three of them were standing outside on the balcony, but Ivan couldn't risk Mardon or his paid spies overhearing. He walked up to them, grabbed their heads and banged them together, effectively ceasing their argument. "That's enough from you two thick-skulled morons!" he said coldly. "Arne, you obviously don't care if you get yourself arrested, but I do!" He turned to Loki. "And you are being an insensitive jerk, Calrior!"

Somewhat shamefaced, Arne and Loki shook hands in apology. Arne accepted a napkin from a passing waiter and used it to wipe off the liquid that had slopped down his front when Ivan had grabbed him. He gave Ivan a ghostly smile. "That's a few thousand gil gone down the drain, Ivan."

"It doesn't belong to you anyway," Ivan shrugged.

"Exactly my point."

This witty conversation was interrupted by a contrite Loki. "I'm sorry for being an 'insensitive jerk', as Ivan so charmingly put it," he said. "If it helps. Quistis was also a friend of mine. I couldn't believe at first…" he paused. He smiled, unexpectedly. "I do not believe she did the deed, and I hope you will prove that she is innocent, my friends. But Skeiz Mardon is my President and he thinks that Quistis is guilty. In his time of need I cannot be seen to disagree with him or his position might be weakened. I hope you understand."

"Of course, Loki." Arne said, refraining from mentioning that he thought it was extremely likely that Skeiz had 'dunnit' himself. Loki had made a huge concession, and Arne honored him for that. "You'd better go back, I think Skeiz is waving at you."

"Will you be staying the night?" Loki asked, lingering.

"No, we're leaving tonight. Why?" Ivan asked suspiciously.

Loki looked like he wanted to say more, but his President's gesture was becoming more impatient. "I'll talk to you later," he whispered and hurried away. His glass halfway to his lips, Arne frowned unhappily. "I don't like this," he muttered, downing most of the wine in one gulp. "Mardon is keeping too many secrets from us."

"We must leave tonight, Arne," Ivan said determinedly. "No matter what."

"Yeah. Pity, our rooms are really nice…" Arne said wistfully, thinking of the soft feather bed.

Ivan laughed. "Now is not the time for that misplaced sense of humor of yours to manifest," he said cheerfully. "It only seems to appear at the oddest times…"

"I'm random, really random," Arne said. "Just ask anybody."

"What did I just say, Arne?" Ivan asked teasingly. Lulling strains of music caught his ears, and he said, "Let's go and watch the show, shall we? When in Esthar…"

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"Enjoying yourself?" the President asked politely, looming over the duo, who were watching the violinists sleepily. Jerked back into wakefulness, Arne nodded vigorously. "Thank you for your generous invitation, President. I hope that you didn't go to all this trouble just for us…?" His eyes strayed to Loki, standing ominously at Mardon's side. He looked upset over something.

"Oh, it was nothing, Leonhart," Mardon said, showing his white teeth in a dazzling smile. "I could do nothing less for the son of the world's savior." Ivan, listening hard, thought he detected a trace of sarcasm in the man's voice and concealed his scowl. The snake, he thought irritably at Skeiz.

So it was spur-of-the-moment, Arne thought, worried. Mardon had more loyal sycophants than he had thought. "I really can't express my gratitude adequately, President," he said absently. "Therefore, we'd hate to intrude upon your hospitality any longer. Now that you have successfully solved Laguna's murder—" He could not refrain from biting off the words sharply—"we have no more need to be here. We leave in the hour."

Amusement gleamed in the President's eyes and smile. "I'm afraid that that's not possible."

"What?" Ivan demanded, almost upsetting his drink. Loki refused to meet his eyes. Smiling smugly, Mardon said, "You were not aware? Several insurgents were caught trying to rally a group to leave the city this afternoon. Also, in two days' time there will be an inauguration ceremony to launch"—the man's cold blue eyes bored into Arne's—"the founding of a new nation, Galbadia and Esthar, joined as one." The man paused to let his words sink it. "Till then, no one goes in, and no one goes out."

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Author's Ending Note: Finally I've gotten started with my editing. This chapter may clash with other existing chapters, but those will be replaced when I've got more time. Anyway, obviously the thing that's changed is that Ivan will be a prisoner in Esthar instead of in Deling City, which I felt was harder to break into.

Remaining chapter/s to be edited: Chapter 19, Part 1; Chapter 20, Chapter 21, and Chapter 22. See ya guys next time!

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