Mortal Sin
Chapter 3: Wrath
Wrath is a tricky emotion. It is beyond anger, it is a fury that is disproportionate to the injustice. There is a painting they study in the Art History course at Garden, Prometheus Bound, which depicts the wrath of the gods. The Titan, Prometheus, despite helping Zeus become king of the gods, made the mistake of giving mortals fire. Enraged, Zeus ordered him to be chained to a rock and have his regenerating liver perpetually gouged by an eagle. Apparently, Prometheus angered the wrong god.
Grass blowing in the wind, the scent of flowers wafting all around him. A chocobo trail, well-worn, crossing sign having seen decades of weathering at the hands of the elements. The town square was quiet, but he knew the residents were watching him from the safety of their small homes and businesses. He didn't belong here. He never belonged here.
The only redeeming part of Winhill was Raine. Hell, even the townsfolk felt that way. When Squall went to Winhill in his own body, he was disappointed to find out that the compensatory feature of a Podunk town was now a ghost. That sealed the deal on his aversion of the place.
Then, when he found out it was the site of his birth and abandonment-it became an albatross. Winhill was an albatross that Squall wore around his neck – a burden, a yoke - and he would have been perfectly happy never having to set foot in the damn place again.
Unfortunately, however, he had work to do.
Despite his repugnance of Winhill, Squall was hopeful. He knew Laguna wanted to please him. That had been made clear by the many messages, emails, phone calls, smoke signals, carrier pigeons, and Ellone-related interventions.
Only for Rinoa, would Squall suffer having to travel to Hyne-forsaken Winhill.
For Rinoa, he would tolerate a conversation with that man.
Squall knew Laguna could be reasonable. Certainly, the President would want to aid the love of the Commander's life. Of his son's life. Laguna would certainly see it his way. After all, Laguna lost the love of his life, wouldn't he want to protect his son from the same fate?
He opted to not take the Ragnarok, as it was a fairly high profile ship, and technically belonged to Esthar. Instead, Squall traveled in a small airship that he parked some distance between Timber and Winhill. A good hike would do him good. He was used to camping under the stars, and the time alone was a welcomed reprieve from his hectic schedule as Commander. Squall enjoyed the peace and quiet. He also needed to have his mind clear and composed for the conversation he was anticipating. While he missed Rinoa's warm body next to his, he knew it was better to do this alone. Rinoa had a bad habit of interfering with these sorts of things. Or she would annoyingly defend Laguna and Squall would cave into her.
He stopped underneath a large maple tree to pull out his rations for lunch. Squall smirked as he pulled out fresh Gouda, brie, and cheddar, a baguette, some sliced meats and various seasonal fruits. Rinoa. Of course. The Commander had packed himself a Garden-issued MRE that resembled regurgitated dogfood that even Angelo would turn a nose to. Rinoa, apparently, had decided that wasn't a real meal and set off to pack him something different. Squall could hear her voice in his head, chiding him that cigarettes and Bordeaux, plus the occasional granola bar or apple wasn't a real diet.
Squall enjoyed his lunch under the shade of the tree, reflecting on what was to come, eager and optimistic for the future. He was relaxed after the meal and before he knew it, he had uncharacteristically dozed off, dreaming vividly.
Rinoa had been waiting patiently by the Sorceress Memorial for him, as instructed. It was eerily empty, no guards present since it wasn't in use.
Squall stalked up to her, fire dancing off his skin.
"I need you," he said, his tone almost begging.
Rinoa gave him a small smile. "I'm right here," she gestured with her hands out.
Squall shook his head and grabbed her by her upper arms, "No. I need you." He needed to feel as much of her pure cleansing skin on his. He had never desired her as much as he did in that single moment.
He finally understood everything.
Squall shoved her shirt above her breasts and pushed her face-first against the metal wall of the Sorceress Memorial. Within seconds, her skirt had been hoisted far above her waist. He ripped his own shirt off and ground himself against her back, his persuasive hand snaking around and pressing his warm palm against her flat stomach.
The cold metal wall of the memorial was refreshing against her chest, a welcome relief from Squall's scorching skin. She could feel the familiar steel of his Greiver pendant digging into her spine, trapped between their bodies. Everywhere his skin was touching hers felt like it was being burned. As if her skin would peel off, the places Squall was touching her were downright blistering. It reminded her of the time she didn't listen to Selphie and got horrible sunburn on Balamb beach after skipping sunscreen.
It was if he had a fever.
"Gods, Rinoa," his breath was now on her ear, his hard, bare chest pressed against her back.
She whimpered slightly as he shifted to lift up her hips and entered her roughly.
Squall was in a frenzy, Rinoa now flush against the memorial, her hands flat against the wall clawing at the smooth steel, desperately trying to grip at anything to keep her grounded. She felt like she could float away.
He was whispering huskily into her hair, his body almost unbearably close as he made love to her. Greiver kept digging harder into her spine.
"You're a goddess…" He kept repeating.
"You should be worshiped."
"Let me be the one…"
Fucking Rinoa, Hyne's gift to the world, was absolution.
Rinoa swore she saw stars flash in front of her eyes as she trembled against the memorial, Squall's steady arm around her waist holding her tightly. She didn't even hear the words he was saying.
He mercifully slowed down as she rode the high, Squall smirking in satisfaction.
But, Rinoa knew he wasn't done with her yet. He wasn't finished.
He moved his hand from her hip and reached up to cover her small hand in his own. Those tiny hands would never have to get dirty, they would never be stained with blood. He would protect her with everything he had.
"You're mine," He stated gruffly in her ear. "Be mine."
Rinoa smiled, she was dizzy. "I'm yours…"
Squall shook his head nipped at her earlobe. "No."
Rinoa opened her eyes and craned her neck to look back at him. "No?"
"Be mine. Forever." He rubbed his fingers over her fourth finger purposefully, willing her to understand.
Rinoa smiled and closed her eyes again. "Yes."
"Yes?"
She nodded. "Yes."
Squall hooted in pleasure and unpeeled Rinoa from the wall of the memorial, pulling her against his chest. He kissed her and was rewarded with a sweep of electricity from her lips.
He urged to claim her again.
Squall unceremoniously pushed her onto her knees and pressed into her again, howling like a wild dog in heat. He gripped onto her hips, intent on finishing what he started. His fingertips dug into her skin, leaving red marks.
Rinoa was on her elbows, barely able to hold herself up, her face and hair in the dirt. Squall was in such a fury that it was almost painful. Almost. Sometimes Rinoa wondered if she was a masochist. She could now feel Greiver scraping up and down her back, almost comforting, as Squall rocked within her.
There was a moment of rapture and Rinoa swore she might pass out, screaming his name loud enough for people miles away to hear. Letting them all know to whom she belonged. She could have died in that moment, and it would have been worth it.
Ego well satisfied, Squall finished, grunting her name. Breathless, he reached down and brushed the hair from her face.
She was smiling, content. His other hand was sweeping up her back, from the base of her spine up to her neck. It felt like blizzaga now, mercifully cold against her skin that, mere moments before, had felt like it was on fire. A witch being burned at the stake.
"So, you'll be mine?" He asked again, softly this time, lovingly.
Rinoa chuckled. "Yes," she repeated.
"Good," Both hands were on her hair now, stroking it back. "Sleep," he whispered, casting the spell on her.
She collapsed fully to the ground, sleeping soundly.
He knew that when he made love to her he was able to draw her magic. Her magic. That's why it was so powerful. He wondered if she realized it as well, but was going to keep the information to himself. He would never need GFs again.
Squall stood proud before the memorial, Greiver shining in the moonlight against his bare chest, Rinoa peacefully asleep at his feet. He was surging with power, overflowing with confidence. Magic seeping from his pores.
Suddenly, thunder boomed in the distance, and he realized he was dreaming. But the power didn't wane. It remained a part of him, steadfast and sure. He knew when he awoke, he'd retain all he taken from his lover.
The hot Estharian desert wind whipped up, blowing sand into his face.
Rinoa thrashed on the couch, her book falling to the floor. Angelo jumped up and arched her back, the hairs on her body bristling. She growled at her mistress, staying back a safe distance.
Deep asleep, Rinoa's body sizzled with magic. Arcs of lightning raced over her clothes, her hair nearly standing on end. Flames flickered to life on her fingertips. The temperature of the room dropped to near freezing. Angelo was now barking at her.
Her eyes shot open and she cried out in ecstasy, hand flying to her chest, pressing firmly on her heart. It was beating madly. She grabbed for her necklace, fingering the familiar rings for comfort. Body ablaze with magic—and near painful pleasure—she trembled as she tried to calm down.
She could still feel Squall's body pressed against hers, sheathed within. His hands roaming, his breath hot in her ear. The feeling of fullness only he could impart on her. She could feel Greiver pressed almost uncomfortably on her spine. Her body tingled, her heart skipped a beat.
Despite how genuine it had felt, it had only been a dream. Wasn't it?
A dream.
Dream…
Squall awoke from his nap, power surging from him. He remembered every detail intimately. Rinoa's skin, her cries of pleasure, her promise. He could smell her on him. Rinoa had endowed upon him to finish what he came here to start, sparks unknowingly flying off his fingertips. He set off for his final destination.
He knew Laguna would be walking towards Raine's burial site. He did every year at this time -a pilgrimage to Winhill. Completely alone. Squall didn't want Kiros or Ward to be in the way, or Odine, or any of those stupid Estharian advisors.
He had planned to intercept Laguna and plead his case. Her case. She would never do it for herself, and she never needed to know that he was doing it for her. He was sure he could change Laguna's mind if there weren't others around to whisper in his ear.
Laguna was pleasantly surprised to find Squall standing near Raine's gravestone when he arrived. He thought that his wayward son had finally heard his pleas and wanted to become family. Maybe Squall wanted to honor his mother. Laguna smiled warmly at Squall, a bouquet of fresh white lilies in his arms he was planning on placing at the grave.
"President Loire," Squall began.
Laguna's smile waned at the formal greeting. It wasn't as though he expected Squall to call him "dad" right away, but "Laguna" would have been nice. But these things took time. At least, that's what Ellone had told him.
"Squall, m'boy," Laguna started. He noted that Squall seemed…different. More commanding. It was as if he was a full foot taller than Laguna remembered. He felt his familiar leg cramp threatening to appear and figured he would bring up a safe topic with his offspring. "It's wonderful to see you. How's that lovely girlfriend of yours?"
"That's why I'm here," Squall tersely said.
"For Rinoa?" Not Raine. Not Laguna. Laguna couldn't help the disappointment that flashed across his face.
"For me," Squall responded.
Laguna rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, I'm at your service then."
"I need the Sorceress Memorial destroyed or disabled. As long as it exists, Rinoa has to live in fear. I have to live in fear." Never one for needless small talk, he got right to his point. He was hopeful that Laguna would be willing to destroy the Sorceress Memorial, or at least permanently decommission it. Squall figured that after the exposure of his birthright, Laguna would be eager to please him. To do anything for him. It really wasn't that big of a request.
Laguna chuckled nervously, shifting Raine's bouquet from one hand to the other. He was hesitant, not only at the request, but at Squall's demeanor. "Squall, I can't destroy it, Rinoa won't be the last Sorceress, you know that. Even if…um…when she lives out her life, eventually another Sorceress may need to be frozen. Don't forget Adel." Laguna shook his head as he quietly added, "Esthar's Parliament would never allow it anyway."
Squall knitted his brow in frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose, "You're the President. Don't you have some executive rule? Can't you do something to make people realize she isn't a threat? She couldn't hurt anyone. You've met her. You can see that."
"I know that son, I…." Laguna began.
Squall realized too late that coming there was a fatal mistake. The seething rage he felt under his skin was tangible in the air, sparks were prickling off his skin like small spells bursting. Something shattered within Squall upon hearing that word. Son. Son. As if Laguna cared for him the way a father should care for a son.
If Laguna cared for Squall, he would be doing anything within his power to protect Rinoa.
If Laguna loved Squall, he would love Rinoa like a daughter, like he loved Ellone.
If Laguna saw Squall as a son it would be excruciatingly clear that Squall would rather die than be without Rinoa.
If Laguna wanted to save his son's life, he would save his son's "life." What gave his son life: Rinoa.
Squall felt the tingles of power that had surged within him when he woke up from his dream. It was as if the magic was consuming his brain, his ability to think rationally. He knew he was invincible. "Son? Son?" Squall began to laugh hysterically and was stabbing his gunblade into the dirt, his knuckles white on the handle.
Laguna watched him warily, unsure of how Squall was going to act next. He clutched Raine's flowers a little tighter in his hands.
"Son? You look for your son. You care. You…you care about the mother. You try…" Squall paced frantically.
Laguna held out a hand to him, and the young man scoffed, hand clenching ever-tighter around the hilt of his weapon.
"Don't ever call me that again," Squall whispered harshly, coming to a stop from his pacing and bowing his head next to his mother's grave.
In that moment, Squall realized he resented Ellone. She was the one both Raine and Laguna loved. She was the child they wanted. She was the one Laguna saved. Not him. Never him.
Laguna was taken aback. "Squall, I didn't know you were at the orphanage, I swear! I loved Raine, I thought you were dead with her. I didn't know until Ellone told me… Squall…I do care. You're my son."
The combination of mentioning Raine, Ellone, and calling him 'son' did something to Squall. The flames that had been ebbing off his skin earlier burst and Squall saw nothing but red behind his eyelids. It was as if someone else was possessing his body and controlling his movements. He had never felt this amount of rage in his entire life, not even when he found out Rinoa had been possessed. It was like a white hot ember pulsating across his chest and up to his brain, stealing away any remnants of rational thought.
"Do not call me that!"
His gunblade swung in a graceful, purposeful arc.
The next thing he knew, Laguna's cleanly decapitated head was rolling on the ground, the separated body twitching and convulsing next to it, the nerves still reacting despite being headless. Steam settled into the twilight air evaporating from the rapidly cooling corpse. The cut had been so precise and quick there wasn't even blood on Lionheart's blade. Raine's white lilies were scattered around the body like a chalk outline.
Squall stared, watching blood pool beneath the former president, seeping into the dirt. The blood was pulsating from the severed carotid artery, slowing quickly as the heart stopped pumping, no longer getting a signal from the brain. The granite headstone gleamed in the waning sunlight, only a small splatter of blood flecking on the pristine surface. A smirk crossed his lips and he felt a familiar power surge through his body.
A final awakening.
Tossing Laguna's headless body into the forest, he made quick work of the remains by charring them with a strong firaga spell. Squall still maintained the natural magic from his dream. Wild animals would get rid of the bones, and he was quite confident nothing would ever be found.
Squall returned to the macabre site, blood still staining the ground. He could smell the metallic stench keenly. He looked down at his feet, and into the haunting, lifeless eyes of Laguna Loire. Eyes that showed he never saw it coming. Grabbing the head of the man who had both given him life—and taken it away—he dragged it by the hair towards the airship. In his pocket, he ran his fingers over the silver band he had ripped from a dead hand. The last memento of his mother.
Squall knew he had to return to the scene of his dream. The scene of his awakening, his revelation. The dream that made him realize his ultimate supremacy as a Knight: The Sorceress Memorial.
They were all fools. Idiots. They had nothing to fear from her. She was never the one they should have been scared of.
Everything was crystal clear now. How hadn't he realized it before?
Squall carefully stacked some stones on the ground behind the memorial, the ground where she promised herself to him, dream or no dream. He now owned her. He knew that. Him. A mere mortal. He had a goddess. He could still feel her influence brimming beneath his skin, magic oozing out of every pore.
Squall built a makeshift altar with the stones, finding a flat one to be at the surface. Thundaga coursing through a fingertip, he etched words on the topmost rock with his finger, barely discernible to the naked eye.
Dies iræ, dies illa
Solvet sæclum in favilla
Everyone should be worshiping Rinoa. She was Hyne's descendant. Hyne's heir. He finally comprehended the power of the Sorceress.
Gods deserved sacrifices and he had one for her.
He buried Laguna's head in front of the altar, a first gift for her, and quietly vowed to always protect her from her enemies.
He knew Hyne would forgive him, he was protecting her successor after all. And Rinoa. Rinoa was his path to absolution.
Claps of thunder awoke Rinoa in the wee hours of that night, jolting her from her sleep. She had been on edge ever since her dream of Squall the day before, but now she found herself relaxed.
Squall's familiar warm body was pressed behind her. He had come back and found his way to her. He always did. She closed her eyes again, content, fully relaxed now that he had returned. She unconsciously went to finger the rings she always kept around her neck. That brought her comfort.
A third band now hung on the chain.
She reverently ran her fingers over the offering that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere.
Laguna's disappearance from Winhill was international news in the days that followed. All kinds of theories, ranging from Galbadian assassins to Estharian separatists. Crashed into the sea. Purposely left the presidency, sick of the political drama. Even alien abduction.
A rainstorm the day after his demise washed the only evidence away. Streaks of crimson, rolling down the engraved surface of a lone headstone, seeping into the ground above the body of his beloved.
Thank you to the amazing bebedora, my awesome beta! I would not have gotten through this scene without her!
Prometheus Bound is a by Peter-Paul Rubens and can be seen at the Philadelphia Museum of Art in the United States.
Dies iræ, dies illa, Solvet sæclum in favilla is latin for: "Day of wrath, the world turns to ash"